The House in Lordship Lane by A.E.W. Mason

I didn't intend murder. I had played with the grim word sometimes during the last months, no doubt; and I had the blue-handled knife. I bought it a long time ago in Uruguay, and, being at the age when what you want to do you want to do one plus, I got proficient in throwing it. It had lain in an old box, but I got it out. Did you ever notice how many commons there are close to London with small woods on them where you can wander most of the day and never meet a soul? I had reason to, for I acquired a greater proficiency than I had ever had. I could pin a strip of white paper round the trunk of a tree, walk away with my knife in its sheath within my breast pocket, turn, and it seemed that as I flashed my hand the white paper split and the knife was quivering in the bark. I carried it about with me always. But that was not because I definitely meant to use it, but because the possession of it, the sense of it against my ribs, made me feel less paltry.

Of course the idea must have been in my mind. I had, in fact, prepared a hidey-hole for myself in the West Country in case it should be necessary. But I had never formulated a time or a place or a definite point of the dialogue which I should reach before--before the collar of white paper split. Certainly I did not on this Thursday evening. For I took Preedy with me. Preedy was a smart, quick, sedulous small-job attorney who had been very useful in resisting claims when I was in trouble and in settling them when I was better off. I had managed, in return, to slip him into the company's affairs. A few small cases which he handled very well did his reputation a world of good. He was devoted to me, and I certainly should not have taken him to White Barn had I definitely meant to turn the grim word into fact. Indeed, he was so angry that I had allowed myself to be blackmailed without consulting him, that I seldom mentioned Horbury to him at all.