شیرفروش

Chapter two

The Milkman

I sat down and felt very sick. I sat there for perhaps five minutes and then fear brought me to my feet again. Scudder’s white face was too much for me. I covered the body with a tablecloth. I found a drink and sat down again to think. Scudder was dead and his body proved his story. His enemies killed him because he knew their plans.

‘They’ll kill me next,’ I thought. ‘They know that he lived on the top floor. They know that he was staying in my flat. And they’ll guess that he told me their plans.’

What could I do? Well, I could go to the police and tell them the story. But there was the problem of Scudder’s death. ‘The police will think that I killed him,’ I thought. I thought about it for a long time and then I formed a plan. I did not know Scudder very well, but I liked him. I enjoyed an adventure too and I wanted to continue his work. ‘I could write to the Prime Minister,’ I thought, or to the Foreign Office. But perhaps that won’t be necessary. I’ll go away for a few weeks. Then I’ll come back to London and go to the police.’

I went over to Scudder’s body and took off the cloth. I searched his pockets for his book of notes, but the book was not there. He had no other papers.

I opened my desk and took out a map of Britain. I thought that Scotland was the best place for my plan. I was born there and I spoke like a Scotsman. I spoke German very well too, and I thought about going to Germany. But perhaps Scotland was a better idea.

I chose Galloway, which was an empty part of the country. There were few big towns there, and it was not too far. I knew that there was a train to Scotland in the morning. It left London at ten minutes past seven. But how could I get out of the flat? Scudder’s enemies were probably outside the building, so I had to leave secretly.

Then suddenly I had a great idea. Every morning at half past six the milkman brought my milk. He was a young man and we were the same size. He wore a white hat and coat. My idea was to borrow his clothes and the can of milk. Then I could get away from the building dressed as the milkman.

I went to bed and slept for a few hours. In the morning I counted my money and put fifty pounds in my pocket. While I was getting ready, I remembered my tobacco. I put my fingers into the large tobacco box and felt something hard under the tobacco. It was Scudder’s little black book, and I put it in my pocket. It was a good sign, I thought. Scudder hid it there, and his enemies did not find it.

It was twenty minutes to seven now, and the milkman was late. But suddenly I heard the noise of the milk can on the stairs, and I opened the door. ‘Gome in, please,’ I said I want to speak to you’

He came into the flat, and I shut the door.

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘you’re a good man, and I want you to help me.’ I took a pound out of my pocket and added, ‘If you agree, ‘I’ll give you this.’

When he saw the pound, his eyes opened wide.

‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.

‘I want to borrow your clothes and your milk can for a few minutes,’ I said.

He laughed. ‘What do you want them for?’ he asked.

‘I can’t explain now. Let me borrow the things, and I’ll be back in ten minutes.’ I put the pound into his hand.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I like a bit of fun too.’

I put on his clothes and we went out of the flat. I shut the door behind me.

‘Don’t follow me,’ I said. ‘I’ll soon be back.’

I went down the stairs and into the street. I made a noise with the milk can and began to sing. A man who was standing outside looked at me. He did not say anything. I looked at the house across the street and saw the face at the window again. I turned into another street and began to run. Then I took off the milkman’s clothes and threw them, and the milk can, over a wall.

When I arrived at the railway station, it was ten minutes past seven. The train was moving slowly out of the station, and I had no time to buy a ticket. I ran towards it and caught the handle of a door. I opened it with difficulty and climbed into the train.

The ticket-collector soon came along. He was angry with me, and I had to give him some excuse. But he accepted it and wrote a ticket to Newton-Stewart in Galloway.