The Man Who Was Two by Fred M. White

Mallison drew a long, deep breath of relief as the heavy curtains of the studio closed behind him. There was a certain suggestion of reliance in that well-remembered haven that quite foolishly gave him a sense of safety, though a moment later he realised the absurdity of it. But at any rate he was on old, familiar ground now, and prepared to make a fight for it if things came to the very worst. He would not go back there.

Not that he was in the least blind to the perils that lay in front of him. So far everything had gone in his favour. By the accident of fortune he had found himself in a position to make good his escape exactly at a spot every yard of which was familiar to him, and this he had managed by the same set of curious chances in such a way as to convey a definite impression that he was lost beyond recall. This was greatly in his favour, of course, because it eliminated the faintest chance of anything in the way of pursuit. This was all to the good, beyond question, and Mallison did not fail to see it. But, on the other hand, he was all alone, with no possible chance of communicating with any of his friends, and though the bungalow might hide him for some two or three days, it would not be possible to remain there unless he could find something in the shape of food, and that was utterly out of the question. Nor was he disposed to ignore Baillie's advice as to the necessity of keeping his presence in Merston a secret from the people in the village. He could see clearly enough that once this was known the story would spread rapidly, until it came to the ears of the authorities. Above all things, the story must be kept within a limited circle of his own particular friends, who would help him, though, of course, by so doing they would be what the law called compounding a felony, and that in itself was a punishable offence. Mallison could see one or two of his particular intimates who would take that risk, but certainly not a man in Sir Marston Manley's position. The famous artist would no doubt help him as far as he could legitimately, but that did not involve shielding an escaped criminal.