I had ruined my hat, and my clothes, as Amos had observed, were not respectable.

I had got rid of a four-days' beard the night before, but had cut myself in the process, and what with my weather-beaten face and tangled hair looked liker a tinker than a decent bagman.

I thought with longing of my portmanteau in the Pentland Hotel, Edinburgh, and the neat blue serge suit and the clean linen that reposed in it.

It was no case for a subtle game, for I held no cards.

Still I was determined not to chuck in my hand till I was forced to.