The milkman sets out on his travels

I only slept for a couple of hours before waking back to the reality of my position. I almost reconsidered going straight to the police and trusting their judgement but soon realised the futility of this. I had to get away.

My man Paddock arrives at 7.30am, but my milkman comes at 6.40am. I made a plan and waited his arrival. When I heard the rattle of bottles at a quarter to seven, I opened my door.

"Come in here a moment," I said, "I want a word with you." And I led him into the dining-room.
"I reckon you're a bit of a sportsman," I said, "and I want you to do me a service. Lend me your cap and overall for ten minutes and here's a sovereign for you."

His eyes opened wide at the sight of gold and he grinned. "What's the game?"

"A bet. I haven't time to explain but to win it I need to be a milkman for the next ten minutes."

And so I made my escape into the street. As I whistled cheerily down the street trying to be the milkman, I spied a face at a first floor window in the building opposite. There was also a policeman 100 yards down the street. My flat was being watched. Round the corner I made sure it was safe to drop my disguise and made a sprint to St Pancras and made the train with seconds to spare. I bought a ticket from the conductor, to Newton Stewart.

As I write this we are rattling past Carlisle, I am using the train's Wifi connection.


~Franklin P. Scudder arrives~
~The body in number 15~
~The inquest and darker dealings~
~Scudder has been murdered~