My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventuresDoyle, Arthur Conan
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My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventures
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Detective and mystery stories, English
I soon got a chance, and made good use of it. A big collier came
athwart the bows of our steamer, and we had to slacken down to dead
slow. There was a barge astern, and I slipped down by a rope and was
into the barge before anyone had missed me. Of course I had to leave my
luggage behind me, but I had the belt with the nuggets round my waist,
and the chance of shaking the police off my track was worth more than
a couple of boxes. It was clear to me now that the pilot had been a
traitor, as well as the captain, and had set the detectives after me. I
often wish I could drop across those two men again.
I hung about the barge all day as she drifted down the stream. There
was one man in her, but she was a big, ugly craft, and his hands were
too full for much looking about. Toward evening, when it got a bit
dusky, I struck out for the shore, and found myself in a sort of marsh
place, a good many miles to the east of London. I was soaking wet and
half dead with hunger, but I trudged into the town, got a new rig-out
at a slop-shop, and after having some supper, engaged a bed at the
quietest lodgings I could find.
I woke pretty early--a habit you pick up in the bush--and lucky for me
that I did so. The very first thing I saw when I took a look through
a chink in the shutter was one of these infernal policemen, standing
right opposite and staring up at the windows. He hadn’t epaulettes nor
a sword, like our traps, but for all that there was a sort of family
likeness, and the same busybody expression. Whether they’d followed me
all the time, or whether the woman that let me the bed didn’t like the
looks of me, is more than I have ever been able to find out. He came
across as I was watching him, and noted down the address of the house
in a book. I was afraid that he was going to ring at the bell, but I
suppose his orders were simply to keep an eye on me, for after another
good look at the windows he moved on down the street.
I saw that my only chance was to act at once. I threw on my clothes,
opened the window softly, and, after making sure that there was nobody
about, dropped out on to the ground and made off as hard as I could
run. I travelled a matter of two or three miles, when my wind gave out;
and as I saw a big building with people going in and out, I went in
too, and found that it was a railway station. A train was just going
off for Dover to meet the French boat, so I took a ticket and jumped
into a third-class carriage.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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