Reginald in Russia | Page 7

roof-tree for some habitation which would be run at my expense, I had
crammed my pockets with a store of banknotes, which represented a
good deal of my immediate worldly wealth. When, therefore, I stole
away into the world in the guise of a nameless Salvationist, I was not
without resources which would easily support so humble a role for a
considerable period. I tramped to a neighbouring market-town, and, late
as the hour was, the production of a few shillings procured me supper
and a night's lodging in a cheap coffee-house. The next day I started
forth on an aimless course of wandering from one small town to
another. I was already somewhat disgusted with the upshot of my
sudden freak; in a few hours' time I was considerably more so. In the

contents-bill of a local news sheet I read the announcement of my own
murder at the hands of some person unknown; on buying a copy of the
paper for a detailed account of the tragedy, which at first had aroused in
me a certain grim amusement, I found that the deed ascribed to a
wandering Salvationist of doubtful antecedents, who had been seen
lurking in the roadway near the scene of the crime. I was no longer
amused. The matter promised to be embarrassing. What I had mistaken
for a motor accident was evidently a case of savage assault and murder,
and, until the real culprit was found, I should have much difficulty in
explaining my intrusion into the affair. Of course I could establish my
own identity; but how, without disagreeably involving the doctor's wife,
could I give any adequate reason for changing clothes with the
murdered man? While my brain worked feverishly at this problem, I
subconsciously obeyed a secondary instinct--to get as far away as
possible from the scene of the crime, and to get rid at all costs of my
incriminating uniform. There I found a difficulty. I tried two or three
obscure clothes shops, but my entrance invariably aroused an attitude
of hostile suspicion in the proprietors, and on one excuse or another
they avoided serving me with the now ardently desired change of
clothing. The uniform that I had so thoughtlessly donned seemed as
difficult to get out of as the fatal shirt of--You know, I forget the
creature's name."
"Yes, yes," said the Chaplain hurriedly. "Go on with your story."
"Somehow, until I could get out of those compromising garments, I felt
it would not be safe to surrender myself to the police. The thing that
puzzled me was why no attempt was made to arrest me, since there was
no question as to the suspicion which followed me, like an inseparable
shadow, wherever I went. Stares, nudgings, whisperings, and even
loud-spoken remarks of 'that's 'im' greeted my every appearance, and
the meanest and most deserted eating-house that I patronised soon
became filled with a crowd of furtively watching customers. I began to
sympathise with the feeling of Royal personages trying to do a little
private shopping under the unsparing scrutiny of an irrepressible public.
And still, with all this inarticulate shadowing, which weighed on my
nerves almost worse than open hostility would have done, no attempt
was made to interfere with my liberty. Later on I discovered the reason.
At the time of the murder on the lonely highway a series of important

bloodhound trials had been taking place in the near neighbourhood, and
some dozen and a half couples of trained animals had been put on the
track of the supposed murderer--on my track. One of our most
public-spirited London dailies had offered a princely prize to the owner
of the pair that should first track me down, and betting on the chances
of the respective competitors became rife throughout the land. The dogs
ranged far and wide over about thirteen counties, and though my own
movements had become by this time perfectly well- known to police
and public alike, the sporting instincts of the nation stepped in to
prevent my premature arrest. "Give the dogs a chance," was the
prevailing sentiment, whenever some ambitious local constable wished
to put an end to my drawn-out evasion of justice. My final capture by
the winning pair was not a very dramatic episode, in fact, I'm not sure
that they would have taken any notice of me if I hadn't spoken to them
and patted them, but the event gave rise to an extraordinary amount of
partisan excitement. The owner of the pair who were next nearest up at
the finish was an American, and he lodged a protest on the ground that
an otterhound had married into the family of the winning pair six
generations ago, and that the prize had been offered to the first pair of
bloodhounds to