“Then I saw a man standing in the street outside this block. I used to stay close in my room all day, and only slip out after dark for an hour or two. I watched him for a bit from my window, and I thought I recognized him⁠ ⁠… He came in and spoke to the porter⁠ ⁠… When I came back from my walk last night I found a card in my letter-box. It bore the name of the man I want least to meet on God’s earth.”

I think that the look in my companion’s eyes, the sheer naked scare on his face, completed my conviction of his honesty. My own voice sharpened a bit as I asked him what he did next.

“I realized that I was bottled as sure as a pickled herring, and that there was only one way out. I had to die. If my pursuers knew I was dead they would go to sleep again.”

“How did you manage it?”