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About Google Book Search Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at |http: //books .google .com/I A3 5--f7. 'f,ii,5' sa V^ 1ban>ar^ College Xibrar^ FROM ^VtVu-tl-Ct. -^,o--^-»-v/— THE THIRTY- NINE STEPS JOHN BUGHAN THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS BT JOHN BUCHAN AUTHOR OF GREENMANTLE, Etc. NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS jjcTwo coujj <5^ A>< Copyri^t, 1915» Bt Thb Cubtib Publibhino CoMPAmr Copyric^t, 1915, Bt GaoBGB H. Doban Compant PBINTJiO IN THB UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS CBAPTEB PAGB I. The Man Who Died 9 II. The Milkman Sets Out On His Travels 34 III. The Adventure of the Literary Inn- keeper • • . r • 48 IV. The Adventure of the Radical Can- didate 73 y. The Adventure of the Spectacled Roadman 97 VI. The Adventure of tAe Bald ARCHiE- ologist . . . . r 117 VII. The Dry-Fly Fisherman . • . . 149 VIII. The Coming of the Black Stone . :. 172 IX. The Thirty-nine Steps • . . . r. 189 X. Various Parties Converging oj^ the Sea • 200 x\ THE XraRTY-NINE STEPS THE THIRTYNINE STEPS CHAPTER I THE MAN WHO DIED I RETURNED from the city about three o'clock on that May afternoon pretty well disgusted with life. I had been three months in the old country and was fed up with it. If any one had told me a year ago that I would have been feeling like that, I should have laughed at him, but there was the fact. The weather made me liverish, the talk of the ordinary Englishman made me sick, I couldn't get enough exercise, and the amuse- ments of London seemed as flat as soda-water that has been standing in the sun. "Richard Hannay," I kept telling myself, "you have got into the wrong ditch, my friend, and you had better climb out." THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS It made me bite my lips to think of the plans I had been building up those last years in Buluwayo. I had got my pile — not one of the big ones but good enough for me; and I had figured out all kinds of ways of enjoying myself. My father had brought me out from Scotland at the age of six, and I had never been home since; so England was a sort of Arabian Nights to me, and I counted on stop- ping there for the rest of my days. But from the first I was disappointed with it. In about a week I was tired of seeing sights, and in less than a month I had had enough of restaurants and theatres and race meetings. I had no real pal to go about with, which prob- ably explains things. Plenty of people in- vited me to their houses, but they didn't seem much interested in me. They would ask me a question or two about South Africa and then get on to their own affairs. A lot of Imperi- alist ladies asked me to tea to meet school- masters from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that was the dismalest busi- ness of all. THE MAN WHO DIED ■ Here was I, thirty-seven years old, soundl in wind and limb, with enough money to have! a good time, yawning my head ofif all day. Ifl had just about settled to clear out and get back to the veld, for I was the best-bored man in the United Kingdom. That afternoon I had been worrying my brokers about investments to give my mind something to work on, and on my way home I turned into my club — rather a pot-house, which took in Colonial members. I had aJ long drink, and read the evening papers. They* were full of the row in the Near East, andl there was an article about Karolides, the! Greek premier. I rather fancied the chap. From all accounts he seemed the one big man in the show, and he played a straight game, too, which was more than could be said for most of them. I gathered that they hated him pretty blackly in Berlin and Vienna, but that we were going to stick by him, and one paper said that he was the only barrier be- tween Europe and Armageddon. I remem- ber wondering if I could get a job in those TH^' THIRTY-NINE 'STEpI parts. It struck mc that Albania was the sort of place that might keep a man from yawn- ing. About six o'clocli I went home, dressed, dined at the Cafe Royal, and turned into a music-hall. It was a silly show, all capering women and monkey-faced men, and I did not stay long. The night was fine and clear as I walked back to the flat I had hired near Port- land Place. The crowd surged past me on the pavements, busy and chattering, and I envied the people for having something to do. These shop-girls and clerks and dandies and policemen had some interest in life that kept them going. I gave half a crown to a ' beggar because I saw him yawn ; he was ^-^l- Llow sufferer. At Oxford Circus I looked Up into the spring sky and I made a vow^ I would give the old country another day to. fit me into something; if nothing happened, i. would take the next boat for the Cape. My flat was the first floor in a new block behind Langham Place. There was a com- mon staircase with a porter and a lift-tnaH THE MAN WHO DIED at the entrance, but there was no restaurant or anything of that sort, and each flat was quite shut off from the others. I hate servants on the premises, so I had a fellow to look after .me who came in by the day. He arrived before eight o'clock every morning, and used to depart at seven, for I never dined at home. I was just fitting my key into the door, when I noticed a man at my elbow. I had not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance made me start. He was a slim man with a short brown beard and small gimlety blue eyes. I recognised him as the occupant of a flat on the top floor, with whom I had passed the time of day on the stairs. "Can I speak to you?" he said. "May I come in for a minute?" He was steadying his voice with an effort, and his hand was pawing my arm. I got my door open and motioned him in. No sooner was he over the threshold than he made a dash for my back room where I used to smoke and write my letters. Then he bolted bacL 13 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS "Is the door locked?" he asked feverishly, and he fastened the chain with his own hand. "I'm very sorry," he said humbly. "It's a mighty liberty, but you looked the kind of man who would understand. I've had you in my mind all this week when things got troublesome. Say, will you do me a good turn?" "I'll listen to you," I said. "That's all I'll promise." I was getting worried by the antics of this nervous little chap. There was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from which he filled himself a stiff whisky and soda. He drank it off in three gulps, and cracked the glass as he set it down. "Pardon," he said. "I'm a bit rattled to- night You see, I happen at this moment to be dead." I sat down in an armchair and lit my pipe. "What does it feel like?" I asked. I was pretty certain that I had to deal with a mad- man. A smile flickered over his drawn face. "I'm not mad — yet. Say, sir, I've been 14 watching you and I reckon you're a cool customer. I reckon, too, you're an honest man, and not afraid of playing a bold hand. I'm going to confide in you. I need help worse than any man ever needed it, and I want to know if I can count you in." "Get on with your yarn," I said, "and then I'll tell you." He seemed to brace himself for a great eflfort and then started on the queerest rig- marole. I didn't get hold of it at first, and I had to stop and ask him questions. But here is the gist of it: — He was an American, from Kentucky, and after college, being pretty well off, he had started out to see the world. He wrote a bit, and acted as war correspondent for a Chicago paper, and spent a year or two in southeastern Europe. I gathered that he was a fine lin- guist and had got to know pretty well the society in those parts. He spoke familiarly of many names that I remembered to have seen in the newspapers. He had played about with politics, he told 15 THIRTY-NINE STEPS me, at first for the interest of them, and then because he couldn't help himself. I read him as a sharp, restless fellow, who always wanted to get down to the roots of things. He got a little further down than he wanted. I am giving you what he told me as well as I could make it out. Away behind all the governments and the armies there was a big subterranean movement going on, engineered by very dangerous people. He had come on it by accident; it fascinated him; he went further; and then got caught. I gathered that most of the people in it were the sort of educated anarchists that make revolu- tions, but that beside them there were finan- ciers who were playing for money. A clever man can make big profits on a falling mar- ket, and it suited the book of both classes to set Europe by the ears. He told me some queer things that explained a lot that had puzzled me — things that happened in the Balkan War, how one state suddenly came out on top, why alliances were made and broken, why certain men disappeared, and 16 E MAN WHO DIED ^^ ■where the sinews of war came from. The 1 aim of the whole conspiracy was to get Russia and Germany at loggerheads. When I asked why, he said that the anar- I chist lot thought it would give them their 1 chance. Everything would be in the melting- pot, and they looked to see a. new world emerge. The capitalists would rake in the shekels, and make fortunes by buying up , wreckage. I Capital, he said, had no conscience and no fatherland; besides, the Jew was behind it, and the Jew hated Russia worse than hell. "Do you wonder?" he cried. "For three hundred years they have been persecuted, and this is the return match for the pogroms. The \ Jew is everywhere, but you have to go far j down the back stairs to find him. I "Take any big Teutonic business concern, i If you have dealings with it the first man you meet is Prince von Und zu Something, an ele- gant young man who talks. Eton-and-Harrow English. But he cuts no ice» If your business is big, you get behind him and find a progna- 17 I RTY-NINE STEPS thous Westphalian with a retreating brow and the manners of a hog. "He is the German business man that gives your English papers the shakes. But if you're on the biggest kind of job and are bound to get to the real boss, ten to one you are brought up against a little, white-faced Jew in a bath- chair, with an eye like a rattlesnake. Yes, sir, ■he is the man who is ruling the world just now, and he has his knife in the empire of the Tzar because his aunt was outraged and his father flogged in some one-horse location on the Volga." I could not help saying that his Jew-anar- chists seemed to have got left behind a little. "Yes and no," he said. "They won up to a point, but they struck a bigger thing than money, a thing that couldn't be bought, the old elemental fighting instincts of man. If you're going to be killed you invent some kind of flag and country to fight for, and if you sur- vive, you get to love the thing. These foolish devils of soldiers have found something they care for, and that has upset the pretty plan laid i8 THE MAN WHO DIED in Berlin and Vienna. But my friends haven't played their last card by a long sight. They've got the ace up their sleeves, and unless I can keep alive for a month, they are going to play it, and win." "But I thought you were dead," I put in. ^'Mors janua vitce/' he smiled. (I recog- nised the quotation : it was about all the Latin I knew.) "I'm coming to that, but I've got to put you wise about a lot of things first. If you read your newspaper, I guess you know the name of Constantine Karolides?" I sat up at that, for I had been reading about him that very afternoon. "He is the man that has wrecked all their games. He is the one big brain in the whole show, and he happens also to be an honest man. Therefore he has been marked down these twelve months past. I found that out — not that it was difficult, for any fool could guess as much.- But I found out the way they were going to get him, and that knowledge was deadly. That's why I have had to de- cease." ^9 The thirty-nine stei He had another drink and I mixed it for him myself, for I was getting interested in the beggar. "They can't get him in his own land, for he has a bodyguard of Epirotes that would skin their grandmothers. But on the fifteenth day of June he is coming to this city. The British Foreign Office has taken to having interna- tional tea-parties, and the biggest of them is due on that date. Now Karolides is reckoned the principal guest, and if my friends have their way, he will never return to his admiring countrymen." "That's simple enough, anyhow," I said. "You can warn him and keep him at home." "And play their game?" he asked sharply. "If he does not come they win, for he's the only man that can straighten out the tangle. And if his government is warned he won't come, for he does not know how big the stakes will be on June 15th." "What about the British Government?" asked. "They're not going to let their gucS ^•'Man who D] be murdered. Tip them the wink, and they'll] take extra precautions." "No good. They might stuff your city "v plain-clothes detectives and double the police, and Constantine would still be a doomed man. My friends are not playing this game for candy. They want a big occasion for the tak- ing off, with the eyes of all Europe on it. He'll be murdered by an Austrian, and there'll be plenty of evidence to show the connivance of the big folk in Vienna and Berlin. It will all be an infernal lie, of course, but the case will look black enough to the world. I'm not! talking hot air, my friend. I happen to know! every detail of the hellish contrivance, and I ' can tell you it will be the most finished piece of blackguardism since the Borgias. But it's not going to come off if there's a certain man who knows the wheels of the business alive right here in London on the 15th day of June. And that man is going to be your servant, Franklin P. Scudder." I was getting to like the little chap. Hid jaw had shut like a rat-trap and there was tht^ THE THIRTY-NINE STEpt fire of battle in his gimlety eyes. If he was spinning me a yarn, he could act up to it. "Where did you find out this story?" I asked. "I got the first hint in an inn on the Achen- see in Tyrol. That set me inquiring, and I collected my other clues in a fur-shop in the Galician quarter of Buda, in a Strangers' Club in Vienna, and in a little book-shop off the Racknitzstrasse in Leipsic. I completed my evidence ten days ago in Paris. I can't tell you the details now, for it's something of a history. When I was quite sufe in my own mind, I judged it my business to disappear, and I reached this city by a mighty queer circuit. I left Paris a dandified young French- American, and I sailed from Hamburg a Jew diamond merchant. In Norway I was an English student of Ibsen, collecting materials for lectures, but when I left Bergen I was a cinema-man with special ski films. And I came here from Leith with a lot of pulp-wood propositions in my pocket to put before the London newspapers. Till yesterday I THE MAN WHO DIED thought I had muddied my trail some, and was feeling pretty happy. Then . . ." The recollection seemed to upset him, and he gulped down some more whisky. "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 recognised 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 fright on his face, com- pleted my conviction of his honesty. My own voice sharpened a bit as I asked him what he did next. "I realised 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?" 23 s y THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS "I told the man that valets me that I was feeling pretty bad, and I got myself up to look like death. That wasn't difficult, for I'm no slouch at disguises. Then I got a corpse — you can always get a body in London if you know where to go for it. I fetched it back in a trunk on the top of a four-wheeler, and I had to be assisted upstairs to my room. You see, I had to pile up some evidence for the inquest. I went to bed and got my man to mix me a sleeping-draught, and then told him to clear out. He wanted to fetch a doctor, but I swore some and said I couldn't abide leeches. When I was left alone I started in to fake up that corpse. He was my size and I judged had perished from too much alcohol, so I put some spirits handy about the place. The jaw was the weak point in the likeness, so I blew it away with a revolver. I dare say there will be somebody to-morrow to swear to having heard a shot, but there are no neighbours on my floor and I guessed I could risk it. So I left the body in bed dressed up in my jpyjamas with a revolver lying on the bed'^ MAN WHO DIED clothes and a considerable mess around. Theu' I got into a suit of clothes I had kept waiting for emergencies. I didn't dare to shave for fear of leaving tracks, and besides it wasn't any kind of use my trying to get into the streets. I had had you in my mind all day, and there seemed nothing to do but to make an appeal to you. I watched from my window till I saw you come home and then slipped down the stair to meet you. . . . There, sir, I guess you know about as much as me of this business." He sat blinking like an owl, fluttering with nerves and yet desperately determined. By this time I was pretty well convinced that he was going straight with me. It was the wildest sort of narrative, but I had heard in my time many steep tales which had turnei out to be true, and I had made a practice o; judging the man rather than the story. If he had wanted to get a location in my flat and then cut my throat he would have pitched a milder yarn. "Hand me your key," I said, "j THE THIRTY-NINE S' ' a look at the corpse. Excuse my caution, but I'm bound to verify a bit if I can." He shook his head mournfully. "I reck- oned you'd ask for that, but I haven't got it. It's on my chain on the dressing-table. I had to leave It behind, for I couldn't leave any clues to raise suspicions. The gentry who are after me are pretty bright-eyed citizens. You'll have to take me on trust for the night, and to-morrow you'll get proof of the corpse business right enough." I thought for an instant or two. -— - "Right. I'll trust you for the night. I'll lock you into this room and keep the key. Just one word, Mr. Scudder. I believe you're straight, but if so be you are not I should warn you that I'm a handy man with a gun." "Sure," he said, jumping up with some briskness. "I haven't the privilege of your name, sir, but let me tell you that you're a white man. I'll thank you to lend me a razor." I took him into my bedroom and turned him loose. In half an hour's time a figure came out that I scarcely recognised. Only his gim- 26 THE MAN WHO DT lety, hungry eyes were the same. He shaved clean, his hair was parted in the n die, and he had cut his eyebrows. Further, he carried himself as if he had been drilled, and was the very model, even to the brown complexion, of some British officer who had had a long spell in India. He had a monocle, too, which he stuck in his eye, and every trace of the American had gone out of his speech. ' "My hati Mr. Scudder — " I stammered. "Not Mr. Scudder," he corrected, "Captain Theophilus Digby, of the Seventh Gurkhas, presently home on leave. I'll thank you to re- member that, sir." I made him a. bed in my smoking-room and sought my own couch, more cheerful than I had been for the past month. Things did happen occasionally, even in this God-forgot- ten metropolis! I woke next morning to hear my man. Pad- dock, making the deuce of a row at the smok- ing-room door. 27 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS Paddock was a fellow I had done a good turn to out on the Selakwi, and I had in- spanned him as my servant as soon as I got to England. He had about as much gift of the gab as a hippopotamus, and was not a great hand at valeting, but I knew I could count on his loyalty. "Stop that row, Paddock," I said. "There's a friend of mine, Captain — Captain — " (I couldn't remember the name) "dossing down in there. Get breakfast for two and then come and speak to me." I told Paddock a fine story about how my friend was a great swell, with his nerves pretty bad from over-work, who wanted absolute rest and stillness. Nobody had got to know he was here, or he would be besieged by com- munications from the India office and the Prime Minister and his cure would be ruined. I am bound to say Scudder played up splea didly when he came to breakfast. He fLxed Paddock with his eyeglass, juaC like a British officer, asked him about the Boer 28 THE MAN WHO DIED War, and slung out at me a lot of stuff aboai imaginary pals. Paddock couldn't learn to call me "sir," but he "sirred" Scudder as if his life depended on it. I left him with the newspaper and a box o9 cigars, and went down to the city till lunch-fl eon. When I got back the porter had weighty face. "Nawsty business 'ere this morning, sir. Gent in No. 15 been and shot 'isself. They've just took 'im to the mortuary. The police arel up there now." I ascended to No. 15 and found a couple of bobbies and an inspector busy making an ex- amination. I asked a few idiotic questions and they soon kicked me out. Then I found the man that had valeted Scudder, and , pumped him, but I could see he suspected nothing. He was a whining fellow with a church- yard face, and half a crown went far to con- sole him. I attended the inquest next day. A part-j ner of some publishing firm gave evidence 29 h THIRTY-NINE STEPS that the deceased had brought him wood-pi propositions and had been, he believed, agent of an American business. The jury found it a case of suicide while of unsound mind, and the few effects were handed over to the American consul to deal with. I gave Scudder a full account of the affair and it interested him greatly. He said he wished he could have attended the inquest for he reckoned it would be about as spicy as to read one's own obituary notice. The first two days he stayed with me in thi back room he was very peaceful. He read" and smoked a bit, and made a heap of jottings in a note-book, and every night we had a game of chess, at which he beat me hollow. I think he was nursing his nerves back to health, for he had had a pretty trying time. But on the third day I could see he was be- ginning to get restless. He fixed up a list of the days till June r5th and ticked each off with a red pencil, making remarks in shorthand against them. I would find him sunk in a brown study, with his sharp eyes abstracted, 30 a d I ad I THE MAN WHO DIED and after these spells of meditation he was a to be very despondent. Then I could see that he began to get edgy| again. He listened for little noises, and was always asking me if Paddock could be trusted. Once or twice he got very peevish and apolo- gised for it. I didn't blame him. I made every allowance, for he had taken on a fairly stiff job. It was not the safety of his own skin that ' troubled him, but the success of the scheme he had planned. That little man was clean pluck all through, without a soft spot in him. One night he was very solemn. "Say, Hannay," he said, "I judge I should let you a bit deeper into this business. I should hate to go out without leaving somebody else to put up a fight." And he began to tell me in detail what I had only heard from him vaguely. I did not give him very close attention. The I fact is I was more interested in his own ad- ventures than in his high politics. I reckoned that Karolides and his affairs were not mjj 31 THIRTY-NINE business, leaving all that to him. So a lot that he said slipped clean out of my memory. I remember that he was very clear that the danger to Karolides would not begin till he had got to London, and would come from the very highest quarters, where there would be no thought of suspicion. He men- tioned the name of a woman — Julia Czechenyi — as having something to do with the danger. She would be the decoy, I gathered, to get Karolides out of the care of his guards. He talked, too, about a Blaclt Stone and a man that lisped in his speech, and he described very particularly somebody that he never re- ferred to without a shudder— an old man with a young voice who could hood his eyes like a hawk. He spoke a good deal about death, too. He was mortally anxious about winning through with his job, but he didn't care a rush for his life. *'I reckon it's like going to sleep when you are pretty well tired out, and waking to find a summer day with the scent of hay coming 32 THE MAN WHO DIED in at the window. I used to thank God fori such mornings 'way back in the blue-grass country and I guess I'll thank Him when I wake up on the other side of Jordan." Next day he was much more cheerful and read the life of Stonewall Jackson most of the time. I went out to dinner with a mining engineer I had got to see on business, and came back about half past ten in time for our game of chess before turning in. I had a cigar in my mouth, I remember, as I pushed open the smoking-room door. The lights were not lit, which struck me as odd. I wondered if Scudder had turned in already. I snapped the switch, but there was nobody there. Then I saw something in the far corner which made me drop my cigar and fall into a cold Sweat. My guest was lying sprawled on his back.' There was a long knife through his hearty.' which skewered him to the floor. CHAPTER II THE MILKMAN SETS OUT ON HIS TRAVELS \ 1 I SAT down in an armchair and felt very sick. That lasted for maybe five min- utes, and was succeeded by a fit of the horrors. The poor, staring, white face on the floor was more than I could bear, and I managed to get a table-cloth and cover it. Then I staggered to a cupboard, found the brandy and swal- lowed several mouthfuls. I had seen men die violently before; indeed, I had killed a few myself in the Matabele War, but this cold- blooded indoor business was different. Still I managed to pull myself together. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was half past ten. An idea seized me and I went over the flat with a small-tooth comb. There was nobody there, nor any trace of anybody, but I shuttered and bolted all the windows and put the chain on the door. LKMAN TRAVELS By this time my wits were coming back t me and I could think again. It took me about an hour to figure the thing out, and I did not hurry, for, unless the murderer came back, I had till about six o'clock in the morning for my cogitations. I was in the soup — that was pretty clear. Any shadow of a doubt I might have had about the truth of Scudder's tale was now gone. The proof of it was lying under the tablecloth. The men who knew that he knew what he knew had found him, and had taken the best way to make certain of his silence. Yes: but he had been in my rooms four days, and his enemies must have reckoned that he had confided in me. So I would be the next to go. It might be that very night, or_ next day, or the day after, but my number wai up all right. Then suddenly I thought of another proba- bility. Supposing I went out now and called in the police, or went to bed and let Paddock find the body and call them in the morning. What kind of a story was I to tell about Scud 35 THIRTY-NINE STEPS EPS'^^^H t him, and^^^ fishy. If I " der? I had lied to Paddock about the whole thing looked desperately fishy. made a clean breast of it and told the police everything he had told me, they would simply laugh at me. The odds were a thousand to one that I would be charged with the murder, and the circumstantial evidence was strong enough to hang me. Few people knew me in England ; I had no real pal who could come forward and swear to my character. Perhaps that was what those secret enemies were play- ing for. They were clever enough for any- thing, and an English prison was as good a way of getting rid of me till after June 15th as a knife in my chest. Besides, if I told the whole story and by any miracle was believed I would be playing their game. KaroHdes would stay at home, which was what they wanted. Somehow or other the sight of Scudder's dead face had made me a passionate believer in his scheme. He was gone, but he had taken me into his con- fidence, and I was pretty well bound to carry on his work. You may 36 think this ridicu- ' "MILKMAN TRAVEiS Iou3 for a man in danger of his life, but that I was the way I looked at it. I am an ordi- nary sort of fellow, not braver than other I people, but I hate to see a good man downed, and that long knife would not be the end of Scudder if I could play the game in his place. It took me an hour or two to think this out, and by that time I had come to a decision. I must vanish somehow, and keep vanished till the end of the second week of June. Then I must somehow find a way to get in touch with the government people and tell them what Scudder had told me. I wished to Heaven he had told me more, and that I had listened more carefully to the little he had told me. I knew nothing but the barest facts. There was a big risk that, even if I weathered the other dangers, I would not be believed in the end. I must take my chance of that, and hope that something might hap- pen which would confirm my tale in the eyes of the goTernment. My first job was to keep going for th three weeks. It was now the 24th of 37 THIRTY-NINE STEPS and that meant twenty days of hiding before I could venture to approach the powers that be. I reckoned that two sets of people would be looking for me — Scudder's enemies to put me out of existence, and the police, who would want me for Scudder's murder. It was go- ing to be a giddy hunt, and it was queer how the prospect comforted me. I had been slack so long that almost any chance of activity was welcome. When I had to sit alone with that corpse and wait on Fortune I was no better than a crushed worm, but if my neck's safety was to hang on my own wits I was prepared to be cheerful about it. My next thought was whether Scudder had any papers about him to give me a better clue to the business. I drew back the tablecloth and searched his pockets, for I had no longer any shrinking from the body. The face was wonderfully calm for a man who had been struck down in a moment. There was noth- ing in the breast pocket, and only a few loose coins and a cigar-holder in the waist- coat. The trousers held a little pen- 38 THE MILKMAN TRAVELS knife and some silver, and the side-pocket c his jacket contained an old crocodile-skin ci- gar-case. There was no sign of the little black book in which I had seen him making notes. That had, no doubt, been taken by his mur-l derer. But as I looked up from my task I saw that some drawers had been pulled out in the writ- ing-table. Scudder would never have left them in that state, for he was the tidiest of mortals. Some one must have been searching for something — ^perhaps for the pocket-book. I went round the flat and found that every- thing had been ransacked — the inside of books, drawers, cupboards, boxes, even the pockets of the clothes in my wardrobe, and the sideboard in the dining-room. There was no trace of the book. Most likely the enemy had found it, but they had not found it on Scudder's body. Then I got out an atlas and looked at a big map of the British Isles. My notion was to get off to some wild district, where my veld- craft would be of some use to me, for I would -, 39 f THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS be like a trapped rat in a city. I considered that Scotland would be best, for my people were Scotch and I could pass anywhere as an ordinary Scotsman. I had half an idea at first to be a German tourist, for my father had had German partners and I had been brought up to speak the tongue pretty fluently, not to mention having put in three years prospecting for copper in German Damaraland. But I calculated that it would be less ca spicuous to be a Scot, and less in a line witt what the police might know of my past. I fixed on Galloway as the best place to go to. It was the nearest wild part of Scotland, so far as I could figure it out, and from the look of the map was not overthick with population. A search in Bradshaw informed me that a train left St. Pancras at seven-ten, which would land me at a Galloway station in the late afternoon. That was well enough, but a more important matter was how I was to make my way to St. Pancras, for I was pretty certain that Scudder's friends would be watch- ing outside. This puzzled me for a bit ; then, 40 THE MILKMAN TRAVELS had an inspiration, on which I went to b& and slept for two troubled hours. I got up at four and opened my bedrooi shutters. The faint light of a fine summer' morning was flooding the skies, and the spar- rows had begun to chatter. I had a great re- vulsion of feeling, and felt a God-forgottei fool. My inclination was to let things slide, am trust to the British police taking a reasonabli view of my case. But as I viewed the situa- tion I could find no arguments to bring against my decision of the previous night, so with a wry mouth I resolved to go on with my plan. I was not feeling in any particular funk; only_ disinclined to go looking for trouble, if yoi understand me. I hunted out a well-used tweed suit, a pair of strong-nailed boots, and a flannel shirt with a collar. Into my pockets I stuffed a spare shirt, a cloth cap, some handkerchiefs, and a tooth-brush. I had drawn a good sum in gold from the bank two days before, in case Scud- der should want money, and I took fift;- 41 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS pounds of it in sovereigns in a belt which I had brought back from Rhodesia. That was about all I wanted. Then I had a bath, and cut my moustache, which was long and droop- ing, into a short stubbly fringe. Now came the next step. Paddock used to arrive punctually at seven-thirty and let him- self in with a latch-key. But about twenty minutes to seven, as I knew from bitter expe- rience, the milkman turned up with a great clatter of cans, and deposited my share outside my door. I had seen that milkman some- times when I had gone out for an early ride. He was a young man about my own height, with a scrubby moustache, dressed in a white overall. On him I staked all my chances. I went into the darkened smoking-room where the rays of morning light were begin- ning to creep through the shutters. There I breakfasted off a whisky-and-soda and some biscuits from the cupboard. By this time it was getting on to sis o'clock. I put a pipe in my pocket and filled my pouch from the tobacco jar on the table by the fireplace. Aa . 42 .KIVtAN TRAVELS I poked into the tobacco my fingers touched something hard, and I drew cut Scudder's little black pocket-book. That seemed to me a good omen. I lifted the cloth from the body and was amazed at the peace and dignity of the dead face. "Good-bye, old chap," I said; "I am going to do my best for you. Wish me well wherever you are." Then I hung about in the hall waiting for the milkman. That was the worst part of the i business, for I was fairly choking to get out of doors. Six-thirty passed, then six-forty, but still he did not come. The fool had chosen this day of all days to be late. At one minute after the quarter to seven I heard the rattle of the cans outside. I opened the front door, and there was my man, singling out my cans from a bunch he carried and whistling through his teeth. He jumped a bit at the sight of me. "Come in here a moment," I said, "I want a word 1 dining-i I you. 43 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS PS ^^1 I serviced ' *'I reckon you're a bit of a sportsmai said, "and I want you to do me a service. Lend me your cap and overall for ten minutes and here's a sovereign for you." His eyes opened at the sight of the gold, and he grinned broadly. "Wot's the gyme?" he asked. "A bet," I said. "I haven't time to explain, but to win it I've got to be a milkman for the next ten minutes. All you've got to do is to stay here till I come back. You'll be a bit late, but nobody will complain, and you'll have that quid for yourself." "Right-o!" he said cheerily, "I ain't man to spoil a bit of sport. Here's the rigj* guv'nor." I stuck on his flat blue hat and his white overall, picked up the cans, banged my door, and went whistling downstairs. The porter at the foot told me to shut my jaw, which sounded as if my make-up was adequate. At first I thought there was nobody in the street. Then I caught sight of a policeman a hundred yards down, and a loafer shufHinj 44 THE MILKMAN TRAVELS rpast on the other side. Some impulse made me ^ raise my eyes to the house opposite, and there at a first-floor window was a face. As the loafer passed he looked up and I fancied a ' signal was exchanged. I crossed the street, whistling gaily and imi- tating the jaunty swing of the milkman. Then I took the first side street, and turned up a left- hand turning which led past a bit of vacant ground. There was no one in the little street, so I dropped the milk-cans inside the hoard- ing and sent the hat and overall after them. I had only just put on my cloth cap, when a postman came round the corner. I gave him good-morning, and he answered me un- suspiciously. At the moment the clock of a neighbouring church struck the hour of seven. There was not a second to spare. As scoaj as I got to Euston Road I took to myJ heels and ran. The clock at Euston Sta-I tion showed five minutes past the hour. At St. Pancras I had no time to take a ticket, let alone that I had not settled upon my destina- 45 L ■ tiffi THIRTY-NINET? tion. A porter told me the platform, and as I entered it I saw the train already in motion. Two station officials blocked the way, but I dodged them and clambered into the last carriage. Three minutes later, as we were roaring through the northern tunnels, an irate guard interviewed me. He wrote out for me a ticket to Newtown Stewart, a name which had sud- denly come back to my memory, and he con- ducted me from the first-class compartment where I had ensconced myself to a third-class smoker, occupied by a sailor and a stout woman with a child. He went ofif grum- bling, and as I mopped my brow I ob- served to my companions in my broadest Scots that it was a sore job catching trains. I had already entered upon my part. "The impidence o' that guard,'* said the lady bitterly. "He needit a Scotch tongue to pit him in his place. He was complainin' o' this wean no haein' a ticket and her no fewer till August twelvemonth, and he was objectin' to this gentleman spittin'." ^h THE MILKMAN TRAVELS The sailor morosely agreed, and I started my new life in an atmosphere of protest against authority. I reminded myself that a week ago I had been finding the world dull. 47 CHAPTER III THE ADVENTURE OF THE LITERARY INNKEEPER I HAD a solemn time travelling north that day. It was fine May weather, with the hawthorn flowering on every hedge, and I asked myself why, when I was still a free man, I had stayed on in London and not got the good of this heavenly country. I didn't dare face the restaurant car, but I got a luncheon basket at Leeds, and shared it with the fat woman. Also I got the morning's papers, with news about starters for the Derby and the beginning of the cricket season, and some paragraphs about how Balkan affairs were settling down and a British squadron was go- ing to Kiel. When I had done with them I got out Scudder's little black pocket-book and studied it. It was pretty well filled with jot- tings, chiefly figures, though now and then a name was printed in. For example, I found 48 LITEKAIRY INNKJJEEER'S ADVENTUB ■jjilieu'words ;;"HofgaaircI(" .'*£4ioeviIle,'fii, a •j,f'A»6cadloP jpretty fofetdnyiaod-ieepeciiaHyi!! Jr'wbrd'ff'PaviajV, ,;; I M. ,■.(- t,. I, ■ ■,■„!;; ..j,'.- -i.-i > Now I' wasi ceftarn that SeUdder' never ,< .aaiiylhingiwithjbut'a reaSon, aad Ivvas pretty vTsurethal there was a cipher, in all liiis. That is -a subject which, hks always interested me, and I did abiiat itnlyseif once as intelligence- ■^offiCer at iDelagOa Bay .during the Boer War. ^'J'havelahedd for, thingi' like chess and puz- 'zlcs, and I used to reckon myself pretty good ■ at finding out ciphcrsl This one looked like ^e numerical kind Twhece k-ts of figures cor- ■'^t^spond toi the letters of die a'.phabet, but any ''M&My Shrewd man can find the clue to that ^' fibita'fifcr-ari'hou'r or two's work, and I didn't -^WMiik Shidder-i^ould have been content wfith ''■ -ahything so easy. So I faskr.ed en the printed :'WflfdS, for ycfu 'can make a pretty good nu- ^'ttittriCal cipher if youjidvea keyword which gives you the sequence of the letttrs. it tried •'\f&t hnurs, but nond of the wards answered. ' !Theri 1 fell asleep and woke at Dumfries ■■'luatintimettf bundle out andgetlintoitbeslow ^ THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS Galloway train. There was a man on the platform whose looks I didn't like, but he never glanced at me, and when I caught sight of myself in the mirror of an automatic ma- chine, I didn't wonder. With my brown face, my old tweeds and my slouch I was the very model of one of the hill farmers who were crowding into the third-class carriages. I travelled with half a dozen in an atmos- phere of shag and clay pipes. They had come from the weekly market, and their mouths were full of prices. I heard accounts of how the lambing had gone up the Cairn and the Deuch and a dozen other mysterious waters. Above half the men had lunched heavily and were highly flavoured with whisky, but they took no notice of me. We rumbled slow- ly into a land of little wooded glens and then to a great, wide moorland place, gleaming with lochs, with high, blue hills showing northwards. About five o'clock the carriage had emp- tied and I was left alone as I had hoped. I got out at the next station, a little place whose 50 LITERARY INNKEEPER'S ADVENTURE name I scarcely noted, set right in the heart of a bog. It reminded me of one of those for- gotten little stations in the Karroo. An old station-master was digging in his garden, and with his spade over his shoulder saun- tered to the train, took charge of a parcel and went back to his potatoes. A child of ten received my ticket, and I emerged on a white road that straggled over the brown moor. It was a gorgeous spring evening, with every hill showing as clear as a cut amethyst The air had the queer rooty smell of bogs, but it was as fresh as mid-ocean, and it had the strangest effect on my spirits. I actually felt light-hearted. I might have been a boy out for a spring holiday tramp, instead of a man of thirty-seven, very much wanted by the police. I felt just as I used to feel when I was starting for a big trek on a frosty morning on the high veld. If you believe me, I swung along that road whistling. There was no plan of campaign in my head, only just to go on and on in this blessed honest-smelling hill SI ;( ITHIRTY-KINE ' STEPS; I oountliTviforieviery mil&' put mji in bettef mour with ■ myself. • !■ i ■-■' ■ -'■■: ; ' In a roadside planting I cut a wa-Ikiiig' stil of hazeJ, and presently struck off the highway up a by-path which followed the glen of a brawlipg stream. I reckoned that I was still far ahead of any pursuit,, and for that night might please myself. It was some' hours since I had tasted food, and I was getting' very hungry when I came to a herd's cottage set in a nook beside a waterfall. A brown-factd woman was standing by the door, and greeted me with the kindly shyness of moorland places. When I asked for a night's lodging she said I was welcome to the "bed in the loft," and very soon she set before me a hearty meal of hamiand eggs, scones, and thick sweet milk. At the darkening her man came in from the hills, a lean giant whO' in one step covered as much ground as three paces of ordinary mortals. They asked no questibns, for they had the perfect breeding of all dwel- lers in the wilds, but I could see they set me down as some kind of dealer, and I tooksome^ 52 1 INNKEEPER'S ADVE: --trouble! toi confirm .their iview. H spoke'a- lot iuab!OutiC8^tle,:of v/hiich my Host knlewTlitti-e,. and Klipicked up from him a good deal about ilhe 'ulqCal Galloway markets, which I tiJcked away ^inimy memory ior futurte use. At ten I was i:iijpddjfig,in my:chai.r,and the "bed ia th&loft" n'FCpeived a weary man, who never, opened his - .«yes till , five o'clock set the little homestead , a-gojng P^ce more. >:i.J^, -..It ii;. fi, -n, They refused any paywQBt, ai^dt^fpise I huM ebieaj^fa^ted 'Mid was istriding goathwards .^l^aini' My notion was! to rqtum to the railway TJ4QiC,a;si3tioii'Or two;further oo than the place where I had alighted yesterday and to double ..ibacfe. ,1 reckoned that >Yas the safest way, I fox the police would naturally assume tliat I .jjWaS- aJvyajs miking fyrther from London in „the .direction of some western port J thought yX/^ad, still a good bit of a starts for, as I fea- jSg.n^edi/^t would take-.some hours to fix. the ■J^l^XRCOSi nT,e and SQveral.more.to identify: the !■ i^lloyi rwho, got on board the tr&in *t St. 'Pm- I [ : 1 -IfriwMfthe ^arop joliy .cjear spring W(?a»bFr^ ;^3 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS catv^^l and I simply could not contrive to feel cai worn. Indeed, I was in better spirits than I had been for months. Over a long ridge of moorland I took ray road, skirting the side of a high hill which the herd had called Cairns- more of Fleet. Nestling curlews and plovers were crying everywhere and the links of green pasture by the streams were dotted with young lambs. All the slackness of the past months was slipping from my bones and I stepped out like a four-year-old. By and by I came to a swell of moorland which dipped to the vale of a little river, and a mile away in the heather I saw the smoke of a train. The station, when I reached it, proved to be ideal for my purpose. The moor surged up around it and left room only for the single line, the slender siding, a waiting-room, an office, the station-master's cottage, and a tiny yard of gooseberries and sweet-william. There seemed no road to it from anywhere, and to increase the desolation the waves of a tarn lapped on their grey granite beach half a mile away. I waited in the deep heather til^H 54 LITERARY INNKEEPER'S ADVENTURE I saw the smoke of an east-going train on the horizon. Then I approached the tiny booking-office and took a ticket for Dum- fries. The only occupants of the carriage were an old shepherd and his dog — a wall-eyed brute that I mistrusted. The man was asleep and on the cushions beside him was that morning's Scotsman. Eagerly I seized on it, for I fan- cied it would tell me something. There were two columns about the Portland Place murder, as it was called. My man Pad- dock had given the alarm and had the milk- man arrested. Poor devil, it looked as if the latter had earned his sovereign hardly; but for me he had been cheap at the price, for he seemed to have occupied the police the better part of the day. In the stop-press news I found a further installment of the story. The milkman had been released, I read, and the true criminal, about whose identity the police were reticent, was believed to have got away from London by one of the northern lines. There was a short note about me as 55 TIHRTV.KINE 'STEPS ■ ' m the oivmer :of tfao-flat^i .rgueAsed; the-' police'' had stuck that in^ as a clum^ contrivanee to' persuade me that I was unsuspected- There was nothing else in the paper, noth- ing about foreign pblitica or KaroHdes or the things that had interested Sciidder. I laid it down, and found that we were approaching' the station at which I had got out yesterday. The potato- digging station-imaster had been gingered up into some activity, foi^ the west- going train was waiting to let ub pass and from it had descended three men who were asking him questions. I supposed that they were the local police who had been stirred up by Scotland Yard and had traced me as far as this one-horse siding. Sitting well back in the shadow I watched them carefully. One of them had a book and^ took down noteS.' The old potato-digger seemed to have turned^ peevish, but the child who had collected my ticket was talking volubly. AUthe party looked Out across the moor whercthe white ' road departed. I hoped they were going- to ' take op my tracks thete: ' '^ ■ S6 \ ; INNKEEBEIV8 ( AD VENirURB^ "A^-^e tnoVed" awayi i tgki . diat station. '• (ily companion woke up.: He fined me with i«ci WondeYing glance, kicked his dog viciously and inquired where he was. ' Clearly He washj very drunk.' ■ ■' ■ '■;■ : ' i i ,- ,. ..ti , ■ "That's what comee b? beitf- ! a _.teeCotatery i^ he observed in bitter regret. ■ i < :,!., , ' I expressed my surprise that in'him JshouliJljJ have met a blufi-ribbon stalwart ,:ir^'! n furtl "Aye, but I'm:a strong teetotalcfi^'Mi^iSflid pugnaciously, "I took the. pledge last Mar.-'i tinmasa, and I bavenar toQched a drop "^o' Whisky sinsyne. No even: at Hogmanay, , though I was sair tempted." ; - He swung his heels tip f>a the seat andibu^Ts ■ rbwed a frowsy head into the cushions. , ,, ,t;.I "And that's a' I get," he moaned. "A:hej4y better than heUfirb and twae een looki«i''4jf-f ferentwayS for the Sabbath" , "What didit?" I asked. J "A drink they ca' brandy. Bein' a teet& laler, I keepjt off tlie whisky, but I was nip-, nippin' a' day yestereen at this brandyj and I, doubt I'll no be weelfora fortnicht",,.; 57 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS '1 His voice died away into a stutter, and once more laid its heavy hand on him. My plan had been to get out at some station down the line, hut the train suddenly gave me a better chance, for it came to a standstill at the end of a culvert which spanned a brawling porter-coloured river. I looked out and saw that every carriage window was closed and no human figure appeared in the landscape. So I opened the door, and dropped quickly into the tangle of hazels which edged the line. It would have been all right but for that infernal dog. Under the impression that I was decamping with its master's belongings, it Started to bark and all but got me by the trousers. This woke up the Iierd who stood bawling at the carriage door in the belief that I had committed suicide. I crawled through the thicket, reached the edge of the stream, and in cover of the bushes put a hundred yards or so behind me. Then from my shelter I peered back, and saw that the guard and sev- eral passengers gathered round the open car- jiage door and stared in my direction. L UTERARY INNKEEPER'S ADVENTUR could not have made a more public depart- ure if I had left with a bugler and a brasi band. Happily the drunken herd provided a dl version. He and his dog, which was attached by a rope to his waist, suddenly cascaded out of the carriage, landed on their heads on the track, and rolled some way down the bank to- wards the water. In the rescue which fol- lowed, the dog bit somebody, for I could hear the sound of hard swearing. Presently they had forgotten me, and when after a quarter of a mile's crawl I ventured to look back, the train had started again and was vanishing in the cutting. I was in a wide semi-circle of moorland, with the brown river as radius, and the high hills forming the northern circumference. There was not a sign or sound of a human be- ing, only the plashing water and the inter- minable crying of curlews. Yet, oddly enough, for the first time I felt the terror of the hunted on me. It was not the police that I thought of, but the other folk, wh(; 59 ^^^^■'THE THIRTY-J^TNE STEPS 'T^^^ i-Jka^W tJiMiI kpew.Scudder's-.seci-et anfl^dared jvH Iptime Uyi£. J waS.certiain diat they would pursue me with a keenness and vigilarico dn- .ikrjoWP to the British. law, and! that once 'their [) firip closed pn me I should find lio mercy. - T , I Iopke4 b?qk;, but there, was nothing in the landscape. The sunlglinied Qn the metals of the line and the wet, stones in the Stream, and :ypui qould-;?pt. have found a more: peaceful i,Sfgl)t JA thciWorld. Nevertheless,,! started to ^ ;^j^n., liCrpuchingJow in theirunnelSof the-bog, i;.J,^3n .till the (Sweat; blinded my eyes. The mood di.d not Iqave me .till .1 had reached the ,rim of .mpuntain, and fljjitg rayseif ipanting on a ridge high above the young.>watcr8.of;tfae ,,broWn;pV€r. ,; ..]-,-.;r7J.: jl' : i. ^-■'. '■-■■■'■' i" ,1, ,Frpni my vantage .grgundrl/oquld'scaa the whple, moor right awgy tp the railway lihe ^uTid t()||i^e ^outh pf it, where grepo' fields :took the .place of heather. \ have feyes Hkeia h^wk, bwt I CQi^d see nothi,ng moving in the whple ," countryside, Then I looked east beyond tbe ridge anfi saw a new kind of landscape — sh^I' ,lojv'j^reei]| Vj3lley^jVvi|^ plpnttf.iM„firip^a^p(a- RARY, INNTO^EPER'B ADVENT: tions and the faint lines of dust which 'aptikf^l of, highroads. Last of all I looked into th<i"| blue May sky, and there I saw that which set' 1 my pulses racing. Low down in the south a. ftsonoplane was climbing into the heavens. L was as certain as if I had been told that that' aeroplane was looking for me, and that it did! I not belong to the police. ' For an hour or two \ I- watched it from a pit of heather." It fle#'l low along tlic hill-tops and then in 'nai"-'' row circles back over the valley up which I had come. Then it seemed to change mind, rose to a great height and flew away back to the south. I did not like this espionage from the air, and I began to think less well of the country- ■ aide I had chosen for a refuge. These heather hills were no sort of cover if my enemies were i in the sky, and I must find a different kind of j sanctuary. I .looked with more satisfaction J to the green country beyond the ridge^ fori| there I should find Woods and stone houses; About six irl the ev-ening I came oat of the moorland: to a white'ribbon of r'oad wbiGt:i'| 6i THE THIRTY-NINE STEl wound up the narrow vale of a lowland stream. As I followed it, fields gave place to bent, the glen became a plateau, and pres- ently I had reached a kind of pass, where a solitary house smoked in the twilight. The road swung over a bridge and leaning on the parapet was a man. He was smoking a long clay pipe and study- ing the water with spectacled eyes. In his left hand was a small book with a finger marking the place. Slowly he repeated- "As when a Gryphon through the wilderness, With winged step, o'er hill and moory dale Pursues the Arimaspian." 1 He jumped round as my step rung on keystone, and I saw a pleasant, sunburnt, boy- ish face. "Good evening to you," he said gravely. "It's a fine night for the road." The smell of wood smoke and of some sav- oury roast floated to me from the house. "Is that place an inn?" I asked. "At your service," he said politely. "I am the landlord, sir, and I hope you will stay tlu LITERARY INNKEEPER'S ADVENTURE night, for to tell you the truth I have had no company for a week." I pulled myself up on the parapet of the bridge and filled my pipe. I began to detect an ally. "YouVe young to be an innkeeper," I said. "My father died a year ago and left me the business. I live there with my grandmother. It's a slow job for a young man, and it wasn't my choice of profession." "Which was?" He actually blushed. "I want to write books," he said. "And what better chance could you ask?" I cried. "Man, I've often thought that an inn- keeper would make the best story-teller in the world." "Not now," he said eagerly. "Maybe in the old days when you had pilgrims and bal- lad-makers and highwaymen and mail- coaches on the road; but not now. Nothing comes here but motor-cars full of fat women, who stop for lunch, and a fisherman or two 63 MH ]I /.THE. TUffiXa^-NlNE STEPS ^^ [^iint,^'8pHng,,and thb shooting tenant, in Au- gust. There is not mucbmaterial'to be got -i^utioithati, ; I. Want fiqjiis^d lifcj to (ravel the ; A«orId,iatOid write things likdKipIinfg and Con- rad. But the most I've done yet is to geisome [ versc8]priateid iiLCkatnifiers' Journai.'-^ I looked at the inn, standing golden ib the _.i5pn8etiagiainst the. wine-red hills/ : ,1 'i't'vt knocked a bit abdot the wotld and' I ] WQUldti*t despise such a; hermitage. D'jriu think that adventure is found odly in the trop- ics or among gentry in red shirts? 'Maybe ■.jfouf'rC'irubbingl shoulders- With it at'-this 'mo- ment." ■ i' -■ J'i ■'■■■■' ■'■■ 1 '^'That's; what KipHng Say^,** hti siii^;' his eyes lighiCening, and he quoted some' ve^se jdbout ''Romance bringing up the nine-fi'f- teen." ' (!i 5*Hcre's a tfuetale for you then;" I cried, l'^d<a.montli]i4ric«i^(ni{:an-iaake a obvel but ; i Sitting cm the bridge iA the soft May gldam- :ing,' Iipijched him alovely yarn; It was true . lia' essentials, too, though I altered (he mibi .64 LITERARY INNKEEPER'S ADVENTURE « details. I made out that I was a mining mag- nate from Kimberley, who had a lot of trou- ble with I. D. B. and had shown up a gang. They had pursued me across the ocean and had killed my best friend and were now on my tracks. I told the story well, though I say it who shouldn't. I pictured a flight across the Kalahari to German Africa, the crackling, parching days, the wonderful blue-velvet nights. I described an attack on my life on the voyage home, and I made a really horrid affair of the Portland Place murder. "YouVe looking for adventure," I cried. "Well, youVe found it here. The devils are after me, and the police are after them. It's a race that I mean to win." "By God," he whispered, drawing his breath in sharply, "it is all pure Rider Hag- gard and Conan Doyle." "You believe me," I said gratefully. "Of course I do," and he held out his hand. "I believe everything out of the common. The only thing to distrust is the normal." 65 THIRTY-NINE STEl He was very young, but he was the man for my money. "I think they're off my track for the mo- ment, but I must lie close for a couple of days. Can you take me in?" He caught my elbow in his eagerness and drew me towards the house. "You can lie as snug here as if you were in a moss-hole. I'll see that nobody blabs, either. And you'll give me some more material about your adven- tures ?" As I entered the inn porch I heard from far off the beat of an engine. There silhouetted against the dusky west was my friend, the monoplane. He gave me a room at the back of the hoi with a fine outlook over the plateau and he made me free of his own study, which was stacked with cheap editions of his favourite authors. I never saw the grandmother, so I guessed she was bed-ridden. An old woman called Margit brought me my meals, and the innkeeper was around me at all houri 66 u^^l UTERARY INNKEEPER'S ADVENTU I wanted some time to myself, so I invente( a job for him. He had a motor bicycle, and I sent him ofif next morning for the daily paper, which usually arrived with the post in the late afternoon. I told him to keep his eyes skinned, and make note of any strange figures he saw, keeping a special sharp lookout for motors and aeroplanes. Then I sat down in real earnest to Scudder's note-book. ■ He came back at midday with the Scotsmatir' There was nothing in it except some further evidence of Paddock and the milkman, and a repetition of yesterday's statement that the murderer had gone north. But there was a long article, reprinted from the Times, about Karolides and the state of affairs in the Bal- kans, though there was no mention of any visit to England. I got rid of the innkeeper for tb afternoon, for I was getting very warm in m^ search for the cipher. As I told you, it was a numerical ciphcr,i' and by an elaborate system of experiments li had pretty well discovered what were the nulli and stops. The trouble was the key word, am 67 1 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS when I thought of the odd million words he might have used I felt pretty hopeless. But about three o'clock I had si sudden inspira- tion. The name Julia Czechenyi flashed across my memory. Scudder had said it was the key to the Karolides business and it occurred me to try it on his cipher. It worked. The five letters of "Julia" gave me the position of the vowels. A was J, the tenth letter of the alphabet, and so represented by X in the cipher. E was U = XXI and so on. "Czechenyi" gave me the numerals for the principal consonants. I scribbled that scheme on a bit of paper and sat down to read. Scudder's pages. 1 In half an hour I was reading with a whit-.-' ish face and fingers that drummed on the table. I glanced out of the window and saw a big touring-car coming up the glen towards the inn. It drew up at the door and there was the sound of people alighting. There seemed to be two of them, men in acquascutums and tweed caps. 68 LITERARY INNKEEPER'S ADVENTURE Ten minutes later the innkeeper slipped into the room, his eyes bright with excite- ment. "There's two chaps below looking for you," he whispered. "They're in the dining-room having whiskys and sodas. They asked about you and said they had hoped to meet you here. Oh I and they described you jolly well, down to your boots and shirt I told them you had been here last night and had gone off on a motor bicycle this morning, and one of the | chaps swore like a narvy." I made him tell me what they looked like. One was a dark-eyed, thin fellow with bushy eyebrows, the other was always smiling and lisped in his talk. Neither was any kind of foreigner; on this my young friend v/an positive. I took a bit of paper and wrote these wor^ in German as if they were part of a letter: ". . . Black Stone. Scudder had got on to this, but he could not act for a fortnight. I doubt if I can do any good now, especially as Karolidcs is uncertain about his plans. But if Mr. T. advises I will do the best I . 69 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS I manufactured it rather neatly, so that it llooked like a loose page of a private letter. "Take this down and say it was found in my bedroom and ask them to return it to me if they overtake me." Three minutes later I heard the car begin to move, and peeping from behind the curtain, caught sight of the two figures. One was slim, the other was sleek; that was the most I could make of my reconnaissance. The innkeeper appeared in great excite- ment. "Your paper woke them up," he said gleefully. "The dark fellow went as white as death and cursed like blazes, and the fat one whistled and looked ugly. They paid for their drinks with half a sovereign and wouldn't wait for change." "Now I'll tell you what I want you to do," I said. "Get on your bicycle and go off to Newtown Stewart to the chief constable. De- scribe the two men, and say you suspect them of having had something to do with the Lon- don murder. You can invent reasons. The I two will come back, never fear. Not to-night, 70 ■ -ITERARY INNKEEPER'S ADVENTU: for they'll follow rae forty miles along road, but first thing to-morrow morning. Tell the police to be here bright and early. He set off like a docile child, while I worked at Scuddcr's notes. When he came back we dined together and in common de- cency I had to let him pump me. I gave him a lot of stuff about lion hunts and the Matabele War, thinking all the while what tame businesses these were compared to this I was now engaged in. When he went to bed I sat up and finished Scudder. I smoked in chair till daylight, for I could not sleep. About eight next morning I witnessed the arrival of two constables and a sergeant. They put their car in a coach-house under the inn- keeper's instructions and entered the house. Twenty minutes later I saw from my window a second car come across the plateau from the opposite direction. It did not come up to the inn, but stopped two hundred yards off in the shelter of a patch of wood. I noticed that its occupants carefully reversed it before' leaving it. A minute or two later I hean 71 the J reU^H ■ THIRTY-NINE STEPS iheir steps on die gravel outside the window. My plan had been to lie hid in my bed- room, and see what happened. I had a notion that, if I could bring the police and my other more dangerous pursuers together, something might work out of it to my advantage. But now I had a better idea. I scribbled a line of thanks to my host, opened the window and dropped quietly into a gooseberry bush. Un- observed I crossed the dike, crawled down the side of a tributary burn, and won the highroad on the far side of the patch of trees. There stood the car, very spick and span in the morning sunlight, but with the dust on her which told of a long Journey. E started her, jumped into the chauffeur's seat, and stole gently out on to the plateau. Al- most at once the road dipped so that I lost sight of the inn, but the wind seemed to , bring me the sound of angry voices. CHAPTER lY THE ADVENTURE OF THE RADICAL CANDIDATE YOU may picture me driving that forty- horse-power car for all she was worth over the crisp moor roads on that shining May morning ; glancing back at first over my shoul- der and looking anxiously to the next turning; then driving with a vague eye, just wide enough awake to keep on the highway. For I was thinking desperately of what I had found in Scudder's pocket-book. The little man had told me a pack of lies. All his yarns about the Balkans and the Jew- anarchists and the Foreign Office conference were eye-wash, and so was Karolides. And yet not quite, as you shall hear. I had staked everything on my belief in his story and had been let down ; here was his book telling me a different tale, and instead of being oncc-bit- 73 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS twice-shy, I believed it absolutely. Why? I don't know. It rang desperately true, and the first yarn, if you understand me, had been in a queer way true also in spirit. The fifteenth day of June was going to be a day of destiny, a bigger destiny than the killing of a Dago. It was so big that I didn't blame Scudder for keeping me out of the game, and wanting to play a lone hand. That, I was pretty clear, was his inten- tion. He had told me something which sound- ed big enough, but the real thing was so im- mortally big that he, the man who had found it out, wanted it all for himself. I didn't blame him. It was risks after all that he was chiefly greedy about The whole story was in the notes — with gaps, you understand, which he would have filled up from his memory. He stuck down his authorities too, and had an odd trick of giving them all a numerical value and then striking a balance, which stood for the reli- ability of each stage in the yarn. The three names he had printed were authorities, and 74 F J ADV I there ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDIDATE there was a man, Ducrosne, who got five out of a possible five, and another fellow, Ammersfoort, who got three. The bare bones of the tale were all that was in the book — that, and one queer phrase which occurred half a dozen times inside brackets. "Thirty- nine steps" was the phrase, and at its last time of use it ran — -"Thirty-nine steps I counted them; high tide 10:17 P.M." I could make 1 nothing of that. The first thing I learned was that it was no question of preventing a war. That was com- ing, as sure as Christmas, had been arranged, said Scudder, ever since February, 1912. Karolides was going to be the occasion. He was booked all right and was to hand in his checks on June 14th, two weeks and four days from that May morning. I gathered from Scudder's notes that nothing on earth could prevent that. His talk of Epirote guards that would skin their own grand- mother was all billy-o. The second thing was that this war was go- ing to come as a mighty surprise to Briti 75 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS Karolides' death would set the Balkans by the ears, and then Vienna would chip in with an ultimatum. Russia wouldn't like that, and there would be high words. But Berlin would play the peacemaker and pour oil on the waters, till suddenly she would find a good cause for a quarrel, pick it up, and in five hours let fly at us. That was the idea, and a pretty good one too. Honey and fair speeches and then a stroke in the dark. While we were talking about the good will and good intentions of Germany, our coast would be silently ringed with mines, and sub- marines would be waiting for every battleship. But all this depended upon the third thing which was due to happen on June 15th. I would never have grasped this, if I hadn't once happened to meet a French stafi officer, coming back from West Africa, who had told me a lot of things. One was that in spite of all the nonsense talked in Parliament there was a real working alliance between France and Britain, and that the two General Staffs met every now and then and made p' ' ' ' 75 ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDIDATE action in time of war. Well, in June, a very- great swell was coming over from Paris, and he was going to get nothing less than a statement of the disposition of the British home fleet on mobilisation. At least I gath- ered it was something like that; anyhow, it was something uncommonly important. But on the 15th day of June there were to be others in London — others at whom I could only guess. Scudder was content to call them collectively the "Black Stone." They represented not our allies, but our dead- ly foes, and the information, destined for France, was to be diverted to their pockets. And it was to be used, remember — used a week or two later, with great guns and swift tor- pedoes, suddenly in the darkness of a summer night. This was the story I had been deciphering in a back room of a country inn, overlooking a cabbage garden. This was the story that hummed in my brain, as I swung in the big touring-car from glen to glen. My first impulse had been to write a letter »THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS '1 to the Prime Minister, but a little reflect! convinced me that that would be Who would believe my tale? I must show a sign, some token in proof, and Heaven knew what that could be. Above all I must keep going myself, ready to act when things got riper, and that was going to be no light job with the police of the British Isles in full cry after me, and the watchers of the Black Stone running silently and swiftly on my trail. I had no very clear purpose in my journey, but I steered east by the sun, for I remem- bered from the map that if I went north I would come into a region of coal-pits and in- dustrial towns. Presently I was down from the moorlands and traversing the broad haugh of a river. For miles I ran alongside a park wall, and in a break of the trees I saw a great castle. I sv^ng through little old thatched villages, and over peaceful lowland streams, and past gardens blazing with hawthorn and yellow laburnum. The land was so deep in peace that I could scarcely believe that some- where behind me were those who sought mv 78 RE OF RADICAL CANDIDATE life; ay, and that in a month's time, unless I had the almightlest of luck, these round, country faces would be pinched and staring, and men would be lying dead in English fields. About midday I entered a long straggling village, and had a mind to stop and eat. Half- way down was the post-office, and on the steps of it stood the post-mistress and a policeman hard at work conning a telegram. When they saw me they wakened up, and theJ policeman advanced with raised hand and! cried on me to stop. I nearly was fool enough to obey. Then it flashed upon me that the wire had to do with me, that my friends at the inn had come to an- understanding and were united in desiring to^ see more of me, and that it had been easyl . enough for them to wire the description of" me and the car to thirty villages through which I might pass. I released the brakes just in time. As it was the policeman made a J claw at the hood and only dropped off wheijl he got my left in his eye. ■ 79 I wasn't I THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS I saw that main roads were no place me, and turned into the byways. It an easy job without a map, for there was the risk of getting onto a farm road and ending in a duck-pond or a stable-yard, and I couldn't afford that kind of delay. I began to see what an ass I had been to steal the car. The big green brute would be the safest kind of clue to me over the breadth of Scot- land. If I left It and took to my feet, it would be discovered in an hour or two and I would get no start in the race. The immediate thing to do was to get to the loneliest roads. These I soon found when I struck up a tributary of the big river, and got into a glen which climbed over a pass. Here I met nobody, but it was taking me too far north, so I slewed east along a bad track and finally struck a big double-line rail- way. Away below me I saw another broadish valley, and it occurred to me that if I crossed it I might find some remote hostelry to pass the night The evening was now drawing in, and I was furiously hungry, for I had eat) ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDIDATE < nothing since breakfast except a couple of buns I had bought from a baker's cart. Just then I heard a noise in the sky, and lo I and behold there was that infernal aeroplane,/ flying low, about a dozen miles to the southJ and rapidly coming towards me. I had the sense to remember that on a bare J moor I was at the aeroplane's mercy, and thati my only chance was to get to the leafy cover of the valley. Down the hill I went like blue lightning, screwing my head round whenever J I dared, to watch that damned flying machine. { Soon I was on a road between hedges, and ' dipping to the deep-cut glen of a stream. Then came a bit of thick wood, where I slackened speed. Suddenly on my left I heard the hoot of another car and realised to my horror that I was almost upon a couple of gate-posts through which a private road debouched on the highway. My horn gave an agonised roar, but it was too late. I clapped on my brakes, but my impetus was too great, and there before me a car was sliding athwart my THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS course. In a second there would have been the deuce of a wreck. I did the only thing possible, and ran slap into the hedge on the right trusting to find something soft beyond. But there 1 was mistaken. My car slithered through the hedge like butter and then gave a sickening plunge forward. I saw what was coming, leaped on the seat and would have jumped out. But a branch of hawthorn got me in the chest, lifted me up and held me, while a ton or two of expensive metal slipped below me, bucked and pitched, and then dropped with an almighty smash fifty feet the bed of the stream. Slowly that thorn let me go, I subsided first on the hedge, and then very gently on a bower of nettles. As I scrambled to my feet a hand took me by the arm, and a sympathetic and badly scared voice asked me if I were hurt. I found myself looking at a tall young man in goggles and a leather ulster who kept on blessing his soul and whinnying apologies. 82 " ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDlUAi'M For myself, once I got my wind back, I was rather glad than otherwise. This was one wayJ of getting rid of the car. ^ "My blame, sir," I answered him. "It's lucky that I did not add homicide to my fol- lies. That's the end of my Scotch motor tour, j but it might have been the end of my life." I He plucked out a watch and studied it. ~ "You're the right sort of fellow," he said. "I can spare a quarter of an hour, and my house is two minutes off. I'll see you clothed and fed and snug in bed. Where's your kit, by the way? Is it in the burn along with th^ car?" ■ "It's in my pocket," I said, brandishing a tooth-brush. "I'm a colonial and travel light." "A colonial," he cried. "By Gad, you're the very man I've been praying for. Are you by any blessed chance a Free Trader?" J "I am," said I, without the foggiest notioaj of what he meant. M He patted my shoulder and hurried me intoa his car. Three minutes later we drew up be-S 83 1 THIRTY-NINE fore a comfortable-looking shooting-box among pine trees, and he ushered me in-doors. He took me first to a bedroom and flung half a dozen of his suits before me, for my own had been pretty well reduced to rags. I se- lected a loose blue serge, which differed most conspicuously from my own garments, and borrowed a linen collar. Then he haled me to the dining-room, where the remnants of a meal stood on the table, and announced that I had just five minutes to feed. "You can take a snack in your pocket, and we'll have supper when we get back, I've got to be at the Masonic Hall at eight o'clock or my agent will comb my hair." I had a cup of coffee and some cold hi while he yarned away on the hearth-rug. "You find me in the deuce of a mess, Mr. ; by the by you haven't told me your name. Twisden? Any relation of old TommyTwisden of the Sixtieth? No. Well, you see I'm Liberal candidate for this part of the world, and I had a meeting on to-night at Brattleburn — that's my chief town, and my ^1 ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDlDAfE infernal Tory stronghold. I had got the Colonial ex-Premier fellow, Crumpleton, coming to speak for mc to-night, and had the thing tremendously billed and the whole place ground-baited. This afternoon I got a wire from the ruffian saying he has got influenza at Blackpool, and here am I left to do the whole thing myself. I had meant to speak for ten minutes and must now go on for forty, and, though I've been racking my brains for three hours to think of something, I simply cannot last the course. Now you've got to be a good chap and help me. You're a Free Trader and can tell our people what a wash- out Protection is In the Colonies. All you fellows have the gift of the gab — I wish to Heaven I had it. I'll be for evermore ia-i your debt." I had very few notions about free trade c way or the other, but I saw no other chanoi to get what I wanted. My young gentleman^ was far too absorbed in his own difficulties to think how odd it was to ask a stranger who had just missed death by an ace and had lost! THIRTY-NINE §TEf*§ a one-thousand-guinea car to address a i ing for him on the spur of the moment. But my necessities did not allow me to contem- plate oddnesses or to picli and choose my s ports. "All right," I said. "I'm not much good"" as a speaker, but I'll tell them a bit about Australia." At my words the cares-of the ages slipped from his shoulders and he was rapturous in his thanlcs. He lent me a big driving coat — and never troubled to ask why I had started on a motor tour without possessing an ulster — and as we slipped down the dusty roads poured into my ears the simple facts of his history. He was an orphan and his uncle had brought him up — IVe forgotten the uncle's name, but he was in the Cabinet and you can read his speeches in the papers. He had gone round the world after leaving Cambridge, and then, being short of a job, his uncle had advised politics. I gathered that he had no preference in parties. "Good chaps in both," he said cheerfully, "and plenty of blighierSj^ 86 ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDmATE too. I'm Liberal, because my family have al- ways been Whigs." But if he was luliewarm politically he had strong views on other things. He found out I knew a bit about horses, and jawed away about the Derby entries; and he! was full of plans for improving his shooting. ' Altogether, a very clean, decent, callow young man. As we passed through a little town two po- licemen signalled us to stop, and flashed their j lanterns on us. "Beg pardon, Sir Harry," said one. "We've got instructions to look out J for a car and the description's not unlike] yours." "Right-o," said my host, while I thanked Providence for the devious ways I had been brought to safety. After that we spoke no more, for my host's mind began to labour heavily with his coming speech. His lips kept muttering, his eyes wandered, and I began to prepare myself for a second catastrophe. I tried to think of something to say myself, but my mind was dry as a stone. The next thing I knew we had drawn up outside a door in aJ 87 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS Ei^^^^H some noj^^^l ired in n|^H street and were being welcomed by s gentlemen with rosettes. The hall had about five hundred women mostly, a lot of bald heads, and a dozen or two young men. The chairman, a weaselly minister with a reddish nose, lamented Crum- pleton's absence, soliloquised on his influenza, and gave me a certificate as a "trusted leader of Australian thought." There were two po- licemen at the door and I hoped they took note of that testimonial. Then Sir Harry started. I never heard anything like it. He didn't begin to know how to talk. He had about a bushel of notes from which he read, and when he let go of them he fell into one prolonged stutter. Every now and then he remembered a phrase he had learned by heart, straightened his back, and gave it off like Henry Irving, and the next moment he was bent double and crooning over his papers. It was the most appalling rot, too. He talked about the "Ger- man menace," and said it was all a Tory in- vention to cheat the poor of their rights and keep back the great flood of social reform, ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDIDATE but that "organised labour" realised this and laughed the Tories to scom. He was all for reducing our navy as a proof of our good faith, and then sending Germany an ultimatum tell- ing her to do the same or we would knock her into a cocked hat. He said that but for the Tories, Germany and Britain would be fellow workers in peace and reform. I thought of the little black book in my pocketl A giddy lot Scudder's friends cared for peace and reform. u Yet in a queer way I liked the speech. You" could see the niceness of the chap shining out behind the muck with which he had been spoon-fed. Also it took a load off my mind. I mightn't be much of an orator, but I was a thousand per cent better than Sir Harry. I didn't get on so badly when it came to my turn. I simply told them all I could remem- ber about Australia, praying there should be no Australian there — all about its labour party and emigration and universal service, doubt if I remembered to mention i trade, but I said there were no Tories THIRTY-NINE STEP! Australia, only Labour and Liberals. That fetched a cheer, and I woke them up a bit when I started in to tell them the kind of glorious business I thought could be made out of the Empire if we really put our backs into it. Altogether I fancy I was rather a success. The minister didn't like me, though, and when he proposed a vote of thanks spoke of Sir Harry's speech as "statesmanlike," and mine as having "the eloquence of an emigration agent." When we were in the car again my host was in wild spirits at having got his job over. "A ripping speech, Twisden," he said, "Now, you're coming home with me. I'm all alone, and if you'll stop a day or two I'll show you. ^ some very decent fishing." We had a hot supper — and I wanted if: pretty badly — and then drank grog in a big, cheery smoking-room with a crackling wood fire. I tliought the time had come for me to put my cards on the table. I saw by this man's eye that he was the kind you can trust. 90 ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDlDA'l'K "Listen, Sir Harry," I said. "I've some- thing pretty important to say to you. You're a good fellow and I'm going to be frank. Where on earth did you get that poisonous! rubbish you talked to-night?" I His face fell. "Was it as bad as that?" he asked ruefully. "It did sound rather thin. I got most of it out of the Progressive Maga- zine and pamphlets that agent chap of mine keeps sending me. But you surely don't think Germany would ever go to war with ■ usP" ■ "Ask that question in six weeks and it won't need an answer," I said. "If you'll give me your attention for half an hour I am going to tell you a story." I can see yet that bright room with the deers' heads and the old prints on the walls, I Sir Harry standing restlessly on the stone ^ curb of the hearth, and myself lying back in an armchair, speaking. I seemed to be another person, standing aside and listening to my own voice, and judging carefully the reliability of my tale. It was the first time I had ever told j 91 "t1 understodi^H THE THIRTY-NINE STEl any one the exact truth, so far as 1 1 it, and it did me no end of good, for it straightened out the thing in my own mind. I blinked no detail. He heard all about Scudder and the milkman, and the note-book, and my doings in Galloway. Presently he got very excited and walked up and down the hearth-rug. "So you see," I concluded, "you have got here in your house the man that is wanted for the Portland Place murder. Your duty is to send your car for the police and give me up. I don't think I'll get very far. There'll be an accident and I'll have a knife in my ribs an hour or so after arrest. Nevertheless it's your duty, as a law-abiding citizen. Per- haps in a month's time you'll be sorry, but you hare no cause to think of that." He was looking at me with bright, steady eyes. "What was your job in Rhodesia, Mr. Hannay?" he asked. "Mining engineer," I said. "I've made my pile cleanly and I've had a good time in the making of it." 92 DVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDU "Not a profession that weakens the nerves, is it?" I laughed. "Oh, as to that, my nerves arc 1 good enough." I took down a hunting knife J from a stand on the wall, and did the old j Mashona trick of tossing it and catching it in my lips. That wants a pretty steady heart. He watched me with a smile. "I don't want proofs. I may be an ass on a platform, but I can size up a man. You're no murderer and you're no fool, and I believe you are speaking the truth. I'm going to back you up. Now, what can I do?" "First, I want you to write a letter to your \ uncle. I've got to get in touch with the gov- ernment people some time before the r^th of ' June." He pulled his moustache. "That won't help you. This is Foreign Of- fice business and my uncle would have noth- ing to do with it. Besides, you'd never con- vince him. No, I'll go one better. I'll write to the permanent secretary at the Foreiga 93 THE THIRTY-NINE STEI^^ Office. He's my godfather and one of the best going. What do you want?" He sat down at a table and wrote to my dic- tation. The gist of it was that if a man called Twisden (I thought I had better stick to that name) turned up before June 15th he was to treat him kindly. He said Twisden would prove his bona fides by passing the word "Black Stone" and whistling "Annie Laurie." "Good," said Sir Harry. "That's the proper style. By the way you'll find my godfather — his name's Sir Walter Bullivant — down at his country cottage for Whitsun- tide. It's close to Artinswell on the Ken- neL That's done. Now, what's the next thing?" "You're about my height. Lend me the oldest tweed suit you've got. Anything will do, so long as the colour is the opposite of the clothes I destroyed this afternoon. Then show me a map of the neighbourhood and explain to me the lie of the land. Lastly, if the police come asking about me, just show them the car in the glen. If the other lotrj 94 ADVENTURE OF RADICAL CANDIDA! turn up tell them I caught the south expresM after your meeting." He did, or promised to do, all these thing I shaved off the remnants of my moustachej and got inside an ancient suit of what I be- lieve is called heather mixture. The map gave me some notion of my whereabouts and] told me the two things I wanted to know — ' where the main railway to the south could be joined and what were the wildest districts near at hand. At two o'clock he wakened me from mf\ slumbers in the smoking-room armchair and led me blinking into the dark, starry night. An old bicycle was found in a tool-shed and handed over to me. "First turn to the right up by the long fir- wood," he enjoined. "By daybreak you'll be well into the hills. Then I should pitch the machine into a bog and take to the moors on foot. You can put in a week among the shep- herds, and be as safe as if you were in New Guinea." I pedalled diligently up steep roads of hill 95 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS gravel till the skies grew pale with morning. As the mists cleared before the sun I found myself in a wide green world with glens fall- ing on every side and a faraway blue horizon. Here at any rate I could get early news of my enemies. 96 CHAPTER V THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECTACLED ROADMANI I SAT down on the veny crest of the pass! and took stock of my position. Behind me was the road climbing through a long cleft in the hills which was the upper glen of some notable river. In front was a flat space of maybe a mile all pitted with bog- holes and rough with tussocks, and then be- yond it the road fell steeply down another glen to a plain whose blue dimness melted into the distance. To left and right were round-shouldered,^ green hills as smooth as pancakes, but to the ' south — that is the left hand — there was glimpse of high heathery mountains which I remembered from the map as the big knotl of hill which I had chosen for my sanctuary.* I was on the central boss of a huge upland country, and could see everything moving for 97 TfflRTY-NINE STEPS ^ miles. In the meadows below the road, half a mile back, a cottage smoked, but it was the only sign of human life. Otherwise there was only the calling of plovers and the tink- ling of little streams. It was now about seven o'clock, and as I waited I heard once again the ominous beat in the air. Then I realised that my vantage ground might be in reality a trap. There was no cover for a tomtit in those bald green places. I sat quite still and hopeless while the beat grew louder. Then I saw an aeroplane com- ing up from the east. It was flying high, but as I looked it dropped several hundred feet and began to circle round the knot of hill in narrowing circles, just as a hawk wheels be- fore it pounces. Now it was flying very low, and now the observer on board caught sight of me. I could see one of the two occupants examining me through glasses. Suddenly it began to rise in swift whorls, and the next I knew it was speeding eastward again till 5 became a speck in the blue morning. ^^^^^^T :nture of the roadj That made me do some savage thinking. My enemies had located me, and the next thing would be a cordon round me. I didn't know what force they could command, but I was certain it would be sufficient. The aero- plane had seen my bicycle, and would con- clude that I would try to escape by the road. In that case there might be a chance on the moors to the right or left. I wheeled the machine a hundred yards from the highway, and plunged it into a moss-hole where it sank among pond-weed and water-buttercups. Then I climbed to a knoll which gave me a . view of the two valleys. Nothing was stirring) on the long white ribbon that threaded them. I have said there was not cover in the whole place to hide a rat. As the day advanced it was flooded with soft fresh light till it had the fragrant sunniness of the South African veld. At other times I should have liked the place, but now it seemed to suffocate me. The free moorlands were prison-walls, and the . keen hill-air was the breath of a dungeon. I tossed a coin — heads right, tails left — and 99 IHE THIRTY-NINE STEl IB idee which ' it fell heads, so I turned to the north, little I came to the brow of the ridge which was the containing wall of the pass. I saw the highroad for maybe ten miles, and far down it something that was moving and that I took to be a motor-car. Beyond the ridge I looked on a rolling green moor, which fell away into wooded glens. Now my life on the veld has given me the eyes of a kite, and I can see things for which most men need a telescope. Away down the slope, a couple of miles away, several men were advancing like a row of beaters at a shoot. I dropped out of sight behind the skyline. [That way was shut to me, and I must try the bigger hills to the south beyond the high- way. The car I had noticed was getting near- er, but it was still a long road off with some very steep gradients before it. I ran hard, crouching low except in the hollows, and as I ran I kept scanning the brow of hill before me. Was it imagination, or did I see figures — one, two, perhaps more — moving in a glen beyond the stream? lOO Tf ,m„ o :nture of the road\ If you are hemmed in on all sides in a patch of land — there is only one chance of escape. You must stay in the patch, and let your ene- mies search it and not find you. That was good sense, but how on earth was I to escape notice in that tablecloth of a place? I would have buried myself to the neck 'uL mud or lain below water or climbed the tall-' est tree. But there was not a stick of wood, the bog-holes were little puddles, the stream was a slender trickle. There was nothing but short heather and bare hill bent and the white , highway. Then in a tiny bight of road, beside a heap of stones, I found the Roadman. He had just arrived^ and was wearily fling- ing down his hammer. He looked at me with a fishy eye and yawned. "Confoond the day I ever left the herdin'I" he said as if to the world at large. "There 1 was my ain maister. Now I'm a slave to thd government, tethered to the roadside, wi' saiffl een, and a back like a suckle." He took up the hammer, struck a stonej lOI THIRTY-NINE STEPS 1 and pilf^^l e! My dropped the implement with an oath, ani both hands to his ears. "Mercy on me! heid's burstin'I" he cried. He was a wild figure, about my own size, but much bent, with a week's beard on his chin and a pair of big horn spectacles. "I canna dae't," he cried again. "The sur- veyor maun just report me. I'm for my bed." I asked him what was the trouble, though indeed that was clear enough. "The trouble is that I'm no sober. Last nicht my dochter, Merran, was waddit, and they danced till fower in the byre. Me and some ither chiels sat down to the drinkin' and here I am. Peety that I ever lookit the wine when it was red I'* I agreed with him about bed. "It's easy speakin','' he moaned. "But got a post-caird yestereen sayin' that the new road surveyor would be round the day. He'll come and he'll no find me, or else he'll find me fou, and either way I'm a done man. I'll awa back to my bed and say I'l ADVENTURE OF THE ROADMAN I doot that'll no help me, for they ken i kind o' no-weelness." Then I had an inspiration. "Does the nei surveyor know you?" I asked. "No him. He's just been a week at die jobi He rins about in a wee motor-car, and wad speir the inside oot o' a whelk." "Where's your house?" I asked, and waS* directed by a wavering finger to the cottage by the stream. "Well, back to your bed," I said, "and sleep I in peace. I'll take on your job for a bit andi see the surveyor." He stared at me blankly ; then, as the notion J dawned on his fuddled brain, his face broke into the vacant drunkard's smile. "You're the billy," he cried. "It'll be easy eneuch managed. I've finished that bing o' stanes, so you needna chap ony mair this fore- noon. Just take the barry, and wheel eneuch metal frae yon quarry doon the road to make anither bing the morn. "My name's Alexander Turnbull, and I'v« been seeven year at this trade, and twen^ 103 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS lafore that herdin' on Leithen Water. My lireends ca' me Ecky, and whiles Specky, for 1 1 wear glasses, bein' weak i' the sicht. Just iyou speak the surveyor fair and ca' him sir, land he'll be fell pleased. I'll be back or midday." I borrowed his spectacles and filthy old hat ; Stripped off coat, waistcoat and collar and gave him them to carry home; borrowed, too, the foul stump of a clay pipe as an extra property. He indicated my simple tasks, and jpithout more ado set off at an amble bedvvards. Bed may have been his chief object, but I think there was also something left in the foot of a bottle. I prayed that he might be safe under cover before my friends arrived on the scene. Then I set to work to dress for the part. I opened the collar of my shirt— it was a vulgar blue-and-white check such as plowmen svear — and revealed a neck as brown as any tinker's. I rolled up my sleeves and there was a forearm which might have been a black- smith's, sunburnt and rough with old scars. ' I got my boots and trouser-legs all white from 104 ADVENTURE OF THE ROADMAN the dust of the road, and hitched up my trous- ers, tying them with string below the knee. Then I set to work on my face. With a handful of dust I made a water-mark round my neck, the place where Mr. TurnbuU's Sunday ablutions might be expected to stop. I rubbed a good deal of dirt also into the sun- burn of my cheeks. A roadman's eyes would, no doubt, be a little inflamed, so I contrived to get some dust in both of mine, and by dint of vigorous rubbing produced a bleary effect. The sandwiches Sir Harry had given me had gone off with my coat, but the roadman's lunch, tied up in a red handkerchief, was at my disposal. I ate with great relish several of the thick slabs of scone and cheese and drank a little of the cold tea. In the hand- kerchief was a local paper tied with string and addressed to Mr. Turnbull — obviously meant to solace his midday leisure. I did up the bundle again, and put the paper conspicuously beside it. My boots did not satisfy me, but by dint i kicking among the stones I reduced them 1 »0S THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS the granite-like surface which marks a road- man's foot-gear. Then I bit and scraped my finger-nails till the edges were all cracked and uneven. The men I was matched against would miss no detail. I broke one of die boot- laces and retied it in a clumsy knot and loosed the other so that my thick grey socks bulged over the uppers. Still no sign of anything oa. the road. The motor I had observed half hour ago must have gone home. My toilet complete, I took up the barrow and began my journeys to and from the quarry a hundred yards off. I remembered an old scout in Rhodesia, who had done many queer things in his day, once telling me that the se- cret of playing a part was to think yourself into it. You could never keep it up, he said, unless you could manage to convince yourself that you were it. So I shut off all other thoughts and switched them on the roadmend- ing. I thought of the little white cottage as my home, I recalled the years I had spent herding on Leithen Water, I made my mind dwell lovingly on sleep in a box-bed and at 106 OF THE ROADMAN bottle of cheap whisky. Still nothing peared on that long white road. Now and then a sheep wandered off heather to stare at me. A heron flopped down to a pool in the stream and started to fish, tak- ing no more notice of me than if I had been a mile-stone. On I went trundling my loads of stone, with the heavy step of the profes- sional. Soon I grew warm and the dust on my face changed into solid and abiding grit. I was already counting the hours till evening should put a limit to Mr. Turnbull's monoto- nous toil. Suddenly a crisp voice spoke from the roat and looking up I saw a little Ford two-seater, and a round-faced young man in a bowler hat. "Are you Alexander Turnbull?" he askei "I am the new county road surveyor, live at Blackhopefoot, and have charge ol the section from Laidlawbyres to the Ri Good ! A fair bit of road, Turnbull, and not badly engineered. A little soft about a mile off, and the edges want cleaning. S( 107 1 look after that. Good morning. You'll ii me the next time you see me." Clearly my get-up was good enough : the dreaded surveyor. I went on with m~ work, and as the morning grew towards noon I was cheered by a little traffic. A baker's van breasted tiie hill, and sold me a bag of gin- ger biscuits which I stowed in my trouser- pockets against emergencies. Then a herd passed with sheep, and disturbed me some- what by asking loudly, "What had become | Specky?" "In bed wi' the colic," I replied, and i herd passed on. Just about midday a big car stole down th? hill, glided past and drew up a hundred yards beyond. Its three occupants descended as i to stretch their legs, and sauntered towaS me. Two of the men I had seen before from the window of the Galloway inn — one lean, sharp and dark, the other comfortable and smiling. The third had the look of a coun- tryman — a vet, perhaps, or a small farm^ io8 TURE OF THE ROAD\ He was dressed in ill-cut knickerbockers, and the eye in his head was as bright and wary * as a hen's. '"Morning," said the last. "That's a fine^ easy job o' yours." I had not looked up on their approach, and now, when accosted, I slowly and painfully straightened my back, after the manner of roadmen; spat vigorously, after the manner of the low Scot; and regarded them steadily before replying. I confronted three pairs ofJ eyes that missed nothing. "There's waur jobs and there's better," I said sententiously. "I wad rather hae yours, sittin' a' day on your hinderlands on thae cushions. It's you and your muckle cawrs that wreck my roads! If we a' had oor richts, you sud be made to mend what yed break!" The bright-eyed man was looking at thd newspaper lying beside TurnbuU's bundle. "I see you get your papers in good time,"3 he said. jianced at it casually. "Aye, lOQ THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS rime. Seein' that that paper cam out last Sat- terday, I'm just fower days late." He picked it up, glanced at the superscri tion and laid it down again. One of the others had been looking at my boots, and a word in German called the speaker's attention to them. "You've a fine taste in boots," he salg "These were never made by a country shd maker." "They were not," I said readily. "They were made in London. I got them frae the gentleman that was here last year for the shootin*. What was his name now?" And I scratched a forgetful head. Again the sleek one spoke in German. "Let us get on," he said. "This fellow right." They asked one last question : "Did you see any one pass early this morn- ing? He might be on a bicycle or he might be on foot." I very nearly fell into the trap and told a story of a bicyclist hurrying past in the gn ADVENTURE OF THE ROADMAN dawn. But I had the sense to see my danger.1 I pretended to consider very deeply. "I wasna up very early,'* I said. "Ye se^ my dochter was mcrrit last nicht, and wff keepit it up late. I opened the house-door about seeven — and there was naebody on the road then. Since I cam up here there has been just the baker and the Ruchill herd, be- sides you gentlemen." One of them gave me a cigar, which I smelled gingerly and stuck in TurnbuU's bundle. They got into their car and were out of sight in three minutes. My heart leaped with an enormous relief, but I went on wheeling my stones. It was as well, for ten minutes later the car returned, one of the occupants waving a hand to me. These gentry left nothing to chance. I finished TurnbuU's bread and cheese, and[ pretty soon I had finished the stones. The* next step was what puzzled me. I could not keep up this road-making business for long. A merciful Providence had kept Mr, Turn- bull indoors, but if he appeared on the scene_ III THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS there would be trouble. I had a notion that the cordon was still tight round the glen, and that if I walked in any direction I should meet with questioners. But get out I must. No man's nerve coulj stand more than a day of being spied on, I stayed at my post till about five o'clock. By that time I had resolved to go down to Turnbull's cottage at nightfall and take my chance of getting over the hills in the dark- ness. But suddenly a new car came up the road, and slowed down a yard or two from me. A fresh wind had risen, and the occu- pant wanted to light a cigarette. It was a touring-car, with the tonneau full of an assortment of baggage. One man sat in it, and by an amazing chance I knew him. His name was Marmaduke Jopley, and he was an offence to creation. He was a sort of blood stockbroker, who did his business by toadying eldest sons and rich young peers and foolish old ladies. "Marmie" was a familiar figure, I under- stood, at balls and polo-weeks and country. 112 ADVENTURE OF THE ROADMAN houses. He was an adroit scandalmonger^ and would crawl a mile on his belly to any- thing that had a title or a million. I had a business introduction to his firm when I came to London, and he was good enough to ask \ me to dinner at his club. There he showed off at a great rate, and pattered about his duchesses till the snobbery of the creature turned me sick. I asked a man afterwards why nobody kicked him, and was told that Englishmen reverenced the weaker ' sex. Anyhow there he was now, nattily dressed, in a fine new car, obviously on his way to visit some of his fine friends. A sudden daftness took me, and in a second I had jumped into J the tonneau and had him by the shoulder. "Hello, Jopley," I sang out. "Well met^J my lad!" He got a horrid fright. His chin dropped " as he stared at me. "Who the devil are you?" he gasped. "My name's Hannay," I said, "from Rho-J desia, you remember?" "3 THE THIRTY-NINE STEP*- "Good God, the murdererl" he choked. "Just so. And there'll be a second murder, my dear, if you don't do as I tell you. Give me that coat of yours. That cap, too." He did as he was bid, for he was blind with terror. Over my dirty trousers and vul- gar shirt I put on his smart driving-coat, which buttoned high at the top and thereby hid the deficiencies of my collar. I stuck the cap on my head, and added his gloves to my get-up. The dusty roadman in a minute was transformed into one of the neatest motorists in Scotland. On Mr. Jopley's head I clapped TumbuU's unspeakable hat, and told him to keep it there. Then with some difficulty I turned the car. My plan was to go back the road he had come, for the watchers, having seen it before, would probably let it pass unremarked, and Mar- 3 figun ■e was m no way like mine. "No , my child," I said, "sit quite still aad be a good boy. I mean you no harm. I'm*- only borrowing your car for an hour or two. But if you play me any tricks, and above all 114 ADVENTURE OF THE ROAD] if you open your mouth, as sure as there's i God above me, I'll wring your neclc. Savez?" I enjoyed that evening's ride. We ran eight miles down the valley, through a village or two, and I could not help noticing several strange-looking folk lounging by the road- side. These were the watchers who would have had much to say to me if I had come in other garb or company. As it was, they looked incuriously on. One touched his cap in salute, and I responded graciously. As the dark fell I turned up a side glen ■ which, as I remembered from the map, led into an unfrequented corner of the hills. Soon the villages were left behind, then the farms, and then even the wayside cottages. Present- ly we came to a lonely moor where the night was blackening the sunset gleam in the bog- pools. Here we stopped, and I obligingly reversed the car and restored to Mr. Joplev his belongings. "A thousand thanks," I said. "There's more use in you than I thought. Now be oQ and find the police." THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS As I sat on the hillside, watching the tail- light dwindle, I reflected on the various kinds of crime I had now sampled. Contrary to general belief I was not a murderer, but I had become an unholy liar, a shameless im- postor, and a highwayman with a marked taste for expensive motor-cars. ii6 THE ADVENTURE OF THE BALD ARCH^OLOGIS^ I SPENT the night on a shelf of the hill- side, in the lee of a boulder where the heather grew long and soft It was a cold business, for I had neither coat nor waistcoat Those were in Mr, TurnbuU's keep, as was Scudder's little book, my watch and — worst of all — my pipe and tobacco pouch. Only my money accompanied me in my belt, and about half a pound of ginger biscuits in my trousers pocket. I supped off half those biscuits, and h^ worming myself deep into the heather got some kind of warmth. My spirits had risen, and I was beginning to enjoy this crazy game of hide-and-seek. So far I had been miracu- lously lucky. The milkman, the literary inn- keeper, Sir Harry, the roadman, and the idi- otic Marmie, were all pieces of undeserved 117 THE THIRTY- good fortune. Somehow the first success gave me a feeling that I should pull through. My chief trouble was that I was desperately hun- gry. When a Jew shoots himself in the City and there is an inquest, the newspapers usually report that the deceased was "well nourished." I remember thinking that they would not call me well-nourished if I broke my neck in a bog-hole. I lay and tortured myself — for the ginger biscuits merely emphasised the aching void — ^with the memory of all the good food I had thought so little of in London. There were Paddock's crisp sausages and fra- grant shavings of bacon, and shapely poached eggs — how often I had turned up my nose at them! There were the cutlets they did at the club, and a particular ham that stood on the cold table, for which my soul lusted. My thoughts hovered over all the varieties of mor- tal edible, and finally settled on a porter- house steak and a quart of bitter with a Welsh rabbit to follow. In longing hopelessly for these dainties I fell asleep. I woke very cold and ii8 ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCTLEOLOGIS' after dawn. It took me a little while to re- ^ member where I was, for I had been very weary and had slept heavily. I saw first the pale blue sky through a net of heather, then a hig shoulder of hill, and then my own boots placed neatly in a blackberry-bush. I raised myself on my arms and looked down into the valley, and that one look set me lacing up my boots in mad haste. For there were men be- low, not more than a quarter of a mile off, spaced out on the hillside like a fan, and beat- ing the heather. Marmie had not been slow in looking for his revenge. I crawled out of my shelf into the cover! of a boulder, and from it gained a shallow ' trench which slanted up the mountain face. This led me presently into the narrow gully of a burn, by way of which I scrambled to the top of the ridge. From there I looked back, and saw that I was still undiscovered. ^ My pursuers were patiently quartering thej hillside and moving upwards. Keeping behind the skyline, I ran for may-i be half a mile till I judged I was above th* 119 THE THIRTY-NINE ST] uppermost end of the glen. Then I showen myself, and was instantly noted by one of the flankers who passed the word to the others. I heard cries coming up from below, and saw that the line of search had changed its direction. I pretended to retreat over the sky- line, but instead went back the way I had come, and in twenty minutes was behind the ridge overlooking my sleeping place. From that viewpoint I had the satisfaction of seeing the pursuit streaming up the hill at the top of the glen on a hopelessly false scent. I had be- fore me a choice of routes, and I chose a ridge which made an angle with the one I was on, and so would soon put a deep glen between me and my enemies. The exercise had warmed my blood, and I was beginning to enjoy myself amazingly. As I went I breakfasted on the dusty remnants of the gin- ger biscuits. I knew very little about the country, and ] hadn't a notion what I was going to do. I trusted to the strength of my legs, but I was well aware that those behind me would be i 120 ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCILEOLOGIST familiar with the lie of the land, and that \ my ignorance would be a heavy handicap. < I saw in front of me a sea of hills, rising I very high towards the south, but northwards | breaking down into broad ridges which sepa- | rated wide and shallow dales. The ridge I had chosen seemed to sink after a mile or two to a moor which lay like a pocket in the uplands. That seemed as good a direction to j take as any other. My stratagem had given me a fair start — call it twenty minutes — and I had the width of a glen behind me before I saw the first J heads of the pursuers. The police had evi- I dently called in local herds or gamekeepers. They hallooed at the sight of me, and I waved my hand. Two dived into the glen and be- gan to climb my ridge, while the others kept their own side of the hill. I felt as if I were taking part in a schoolboy game of hare and ] hounds. But very soon it began to seem less of a game. Those fellows behind were hefty men on their native heath. Looking back I saw THE THIRTY-NINE STE^^ that only three were following direct and 1 guessed that the others had fetched a circuit to cut me off. My lack of local knowledge might very well be my undoing, and I re- solved to get out of this tangle of glens to the pocket of moor I had seen from the tops. I must so increase my distance as to get clear away from them and I believed I could do this if I could find the right ground for it. If there had been cover I would have tried a bit of stalking, but on these bare slopes you could see a fly a mile off. My hope must be in the length of my legs and the soundness of my wind, but I needed easier ground for that, for I was not bred a mountaineer. How I longed for a good Afrikander pony ! I put on a great spurt and got off my ridge and down into the moor before any figures appeared on the skyline behind me. I crossed a burn, and came out on a highroad which made a pass between two glens. All in front of me was a big field of heather sloping up to a crest which was crowned with an odd feath- r er of trees. In the dike by the roadside w^H ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCH^OLOGISt a gate, from which a grass-grown track '. over the first wave of the moor. I jumped the dike and followed it, and after a few hun- dred yards — as soon as it was out of sight of the highway — the grass stopped and it became a very respectable road which was evidently kept with some care. Clearly it ran to a house, and I began to think of doing the same. Hitherto my luck had held, and it might be that my best chance would be found in this remote dwelling. Anyhow there were treeaJ there — and that meant cover. I did not follow the road, but the burn- side which flanked it on the right, where the bracken grew deep and the high banks made a tolerable screen. It was well I did so, for no sooner had I gained the hollow than, look- ing back, I saw the pursuit topping the ridge from which I had descended. After that I did not look back; I had noj time. I ran up the burnside, crawling over" the open places, and for a large part wading in the shallow stream. I found a deserted cottage with a row of phantom peat-stacks a 123 P THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS fan overgrown garden. Then I was among young hay, and very soon had come to the edge of a plantation of windblown firs. From there I saw the chimneys of the house smoking a few hundred yards to my left. I forsook the burnside, crossed another dike, and almost before I knew was on a rough lawn. A glance back told me that I was well out of sight of the pursuit, which had not yet passed the first lift of the moor. ■ The lawn was a very rough place, cut with Fa scythe instead of a mower, and planted with beds of scrubby rhododendrons. A brace of blackgame, which are not usually garden birds, rose at my approach. The house be- fore me was the ordinary moorland farm, with a more pretentious white-washed wing added. Attached to this wing was a glass verandah, and through the glass I saw the face of an elderly gentleman meekly watching me. I stalked over the border of coarse hill gravel and entered the verandah door. Within was a pleasant room, glass on one aide, and on the other a mass of books. Mq 124 ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCH^OLOGIST books showed in an inner room. On the floor, instead of tables, stood cases such as you see in a museum, filled with coins and queer stone implements. There was a knee-hole desk in the middle, and seated at it, with some papers and open volumes before him, was the benevo- lent old gentleman. His face was round and shiny, like Mr Pickwick's, big glasses were stuck on the end of his nose, and the top of his head was as bright and bare as a glass bottle. He never moved when I entered, but raised his placid eyebrows and waited on me to speak. It was not an easy job, with about five min- utes to spare, to tell a stranger who I was and what I wanted, and to win his aid. I did not attempt it. There was something about the eye of the man before me, something so keen and knowledgeable, that I could not find a word. I simply stared at him and stut- tered. "You seem in a hurry, my friend," he said J slowly. I nodded towards the window. It gave a 1 1 25 THE THIRTY-NINE S' f prospect across the moor through a gap in the I plantation, and revealed certain figures half a mile off straggling through the heather. "Ah, I see," he said, and took up a pair of field glasses, through which he patiently scrutinised the figures. "A fugitive from justice, eh? Well, we'll go into the matter at our leisure. Meantime, I object to my privacy being broken in upon by the clumsy rural policeman. Go into my study and you will see two doors facing you. Take the one to the left and close It behind you. You will be perfectly safe." And this extraordinary man took up his pen again, I did as I was bid, and found myself in a little dark chamber which smelled of chem- b icals and was lit only by a tiny window high I up in the wall. The door had swung behind Ime with a click like the door of a safe. Once I again I had found an unexpected sanctuary. All the same I was not comfortable. There [ was something about the old gentleman which Ipuzzled and rather terrified 126 OF BALD ARCH^OLOGIST ' been too easy and ready, almost as if he had expected me. And his eyes had been horribly 1 intelligent. No sound came to me in that dark place. For all I knew the police might be search- ing the house, and if they did they would , want to know what was behind this door. II tried to possess my soul in patience and to ' forget how hungry I was. Then I took a more cheerful view. The old gentleman could scarcely refuse me a meal, and I fell to re- constructing my breakfast. Bacon and egg3< would content me, but I wanted the better part of a flitch of bacon and half a hundred eggs. And then, while my mouth was water- ing in anticipation, there was a click and the | door stood open. I emerged into the sunlight to find the mas- ter of the house sitting in a deep armchair in J the room he called his study, and regardingj me with curious eyes. "Have they gone?" I asked. "They have gone. I convinced them that! you had crossed the hill. I do not choose thati 127 'THE THIRTY-NINE S' the police should come between me and whom I am delighted to honour. This is a lucky morning for you, Mr. Richard Han- nay." As he spoke his eyelids seemed to tremble and to fall a little over his keen grey eyes. In a flash the phrase of Scudder's came back to me, when he had described the man he most dreaded in the world. He had said that he "could hood his eyes like a hawk.'* Then I saw that I had walked straight into the my's headquarters. My first impulse was to throttle the old fian and make for the open air. He seemed to anticipate my intention, for he smiled gently and nodded to the door behind me. I turned and saw two Kien-servants who had me covered with pistols. He knew my name, but he had never me before. And as the reflection darted across my mind, I saw a slender chance. "I don't know what you mean," I roughly. "And who are you calling Ricl Hannay? My name's Ainslie." 128 en I I m rui- I ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCHAEOLOGIST "So?" he said, still smiling. "Bui; of course you have others. We won't quarrel about a i name." I was pulling myself together now and I reflected that my garb, lacking coat and waist- coat and collar, would, at any rate, not b&-« tray me. I put on my surliest face anq shrugged my shoulders. "I suppose you're going to give me up afted all, and I call it a damned dirty trick. My! God, I wish I had never seen that cursed motor-carl Here's the money and be damnedl to you," and I flung four sovereigns on thd table. He opened his eyes a little. "Oh, no, I shall ' not give you up. My friends and I will have a little private settlement with you, that is all. You know a little too much, Mr. Hannay. You are a clever actor, but not quite clever enough." He spoke with assurance, but I could see the dawning of a doubt in his mind. "O, for God's sake stop jawing," I cried.1 "Everything's against me. I haven't had ag 129 THE THIRTY-NINE STE: bit of luck since I came on shore at Leith. What's the harm in a poor devil with an empty stomach picking up some money he finds in a bust-up motor-car? That's all I done, and for that I've been chivvied for two days by those blasted bobbies over those blasted hills. I tell you I'm fair sick of it. You can do what you like, old boy! Ned AinsHe's got no fight left in him." I could see that the doubt was gaining. "Will you oblige me with the story of your recent doings?" he asked. "I can't, guv'nor," I said in a real beggar's whine. "I've not had a bite to eat for two days. Give me a mouthful of food, and then you'll hear God's truth." I must have showed my hunger in my face, for he signalled to one of the men in the door- way. A bit of cold pie was brought and a glass of beer, and I wolfed them down like a pig — or rather like Ned Ainslie, for I was keeping up my character. In the middle of my meal he spoke suddenly to me in Germ^^ 130 ■! ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCHJiOLOGIST I a stone ^^H :id come ^^H but I turned on him a face as blank as wall. Then I told him my story — how I hai off an Archangel ship at Leith a week ago, and was making my way overland to my brother at Wigton. I had run short of cash — I hinted vaguely at a spree — -and I was pret- ty well on my uppers when I had come on a hole in a hedge, and, looking through, had seen a big motor-car lying in a burn. I had poked about to see what had happened, and had found three sovereigns lying on the seat and one on the floor. There was m body there or any sign of an owner, so had pocketed the cash. But somehow t law had got after me. When I had tried to change a sovereign in a baker's shop the woman had cried on the police, and a little later, when I was washing my face in a burn, I had been nearly gripped, and had only got away by leaving my coat and waistcoat behind me. I "They can have the money back," I criedj "for a fat lot of good it's done me. Tho8< 131 perishers are all down on a poor man. Now if it had been you, guv'nor, that had found the quids, nobody would have troubled you." "You're a good liar, Hannay," he said. I flew into a rage. "Stop fooling, damn you! I tell you my name's Ainslie, and I never heard of any one called Hannay in my born days. I'd sooner have the police than I you with your Hannays and your monkey- I faced pistol tricks. No, guv'nor, I don't mean that. I'm much obliged to you for the grub. I'll thank you to let me go now the coast's I clear." It was obvious that he was badly puzzled. You see he had never seen me, and my appear- ance must have altered considerably from my photographs — if he had got one of them, was pretty smart and well dressed in Lon^ and now I was a regular Iramp. *'I do not propose to let you go. If you arc > what you say you are, you will soon have a chance of clearing yourself. If you are what I believe you are, I do not think you will see light much longer." 132 mm J ADVENT f He rani ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCH^OLOGIS'M He rang a bell and a third servant appeared! from the verandah. I "I want the Lanchester in five minutes," he I said. "There will be three to luncheon." I Then he looked steadily at me, and that was I the hardest ordeal of all. There was some- thing weird and devilish in those eyes, cold, malignant, unearthly, and most hellishly clever. They fascinated me like the bright eyes of a snake. I had a strong impulse to throw myself on his mercy and offer to join 1 his side, and if you consider the way I felt I about the whole thing, you will see that that 1 impulse must have been purely physical, the I weakness of a brain mesmerised and mastered by a stronger spirit. But I managed to stick it out and even to grin. "You'll know me next time, guv'nor," I said. I "Karl," he said in German to one of the men in the doorway. "You will put this fel- low in the store-room till I return, and you will be answerable to me for his keeping." I was marched out of the room with a pistol at each ear. ^H 133 I THE THIRTY-NINE STEl The store-room was a damp chamber in what had been the old farmhouse. There was no carpet on the uneven floor and nothing to sit down on but a school form. It was black as pitch, for the windows were heavily shut- tered. I made out by groping that the walls were lined with boxes and barrels and sacks of some heavy stuff. The whole place smelled of mould and disuse. My jailers turned the key in the door, and I could hear them shift- ing their feet as they stood on guard outside. I sat down in the chilly darkness in a very miserable frame of mind. The old boy had gone off in a motor to collect the two ruffians who had interviewed me yesterday. Now, they had seen me as the roadman, and they would remember me, for I was in the same rig. What was a roadman doing twenty miles from his beat, pursued by the police? A question or two would put them on the track. ■Probably they had seen Mr. Tumbull, prob- ably Marmie too; most likely they could link me up with Sir Harry, and then the whole ; would 1 thing ^ crystal cl 134 ^^\DVENTURE OF BALD ARCH^OLOGIST I had I in this moorland house with three des- I peradoes and their armed servants? I began [ to think wistfully of the police, now plodding over the hills after my wraith. They at any rate were fellow countrymen and honest men, and their tender mercies would be kinder than these ghoulish aliens. But they wouldn't have I listened to me. That old devil with the eye- lids had not taken long to get rid of them. I thought he probably had some kind of graft with the constabulary. Most likely he had letters from Cabinet Ministers saying he was to be given every facility for plotting against Britain. That's the sort of owlish way we run our politics in the Old Country. The three would be back for lunch, so I hadn't more than a couple of hours to wait. It was simply waiting on destruction, for I could see no way out of this mess. I wished that I had Scudder's courage, for I am free to confess I didn't feel any great fortitude. The only thing that kept me going was that I was pretty furious. It made me boil with rage to think of those three spies getting th( THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS pull on me like this. I hoped that at rate I might be able to twist one of their m before they downed me. The more I thought of it the angrier T grew, and I had to get up and move about the room. I tried the shutters, but they were the kind that lock with a key and I couldn't move them. From the outside came the faint clucking of hens in the warm sun. Then I groped among the sacks and boxes. I couldn't open the latter and the sacks seemed to be full of things like dog-biscuits that smelled of cin- namon. But, as I circumnavigated the room, I found a handle in the wall which seemed worth investigating. It was the door of a wall cupboard — wl they call a "press" in Scotland — and it locked. I shook it and it seemed rather flimsy. For want of something better to do I put out my strength on that door, getting some pur- chase on the handle by looping my braces round it. Presently the thing gave with a crash which I thought would bring in my warders to inquire. I waited for a bit ai .36 med ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCILEOLOGIST then started to explore the cupboard shelves. There was a multitude of queer things there. I found an odd vesta or two in my trouser pockets and struck a light. It went out in a second, but it showed me one thing. There was a little stock of electric torches on one shelf. I picked up one and found it was in working order. With the torch to help me I investigated further. There were bottles and cases of queer smelling stuffs, chemicals no doubt for experiments, and there were coils of fine cop- per wire and yanks and yanks of a thin oiled silk. There was a box of detonators, and a lot of cord for fuses. Then away at the back of a shelf I found a stout brown cardboard box, and inside it a wooden case. I man- aged to wrench it open, and within lay half a dozen little grey bricks, each a couple of inches square. I took up one and found that it crumbled^ easily in my hand. Then I smelled it and put my tongue to it. After that I sat down to think. I hadn't been a mining engineer i 137 nothing, and I knew lentonite when I saw t With one of these bricks I could blow the house to smithereens. I had used the stuff in Rhodesia and knew its power. But the trou- ble was that my knowledge wasn't exact. I had forgotten the proper charge and the right way of preparing it, and I wasn't sure about the timing. I had only a vague notion, too, as to its power, for though I had used it I had not handled it with my own fingers. But it was a chance, the only possible chance. It was a mighty risk, but against it was an absolute black certainty. If I used it the odds were, as I reckoned, about five to one in favour of my blowing myself into the tree- tops; but if I didn't I should very likely be occupying a six-foot hole in the garden by the evening. That was the way I had to look at it. The prospect was pretty dark either ■way, but anyhow there was a chance, both f myself and for my country. The remembrance of little Scudder decid- ed me. It was about the beastliest moment of my life, for I'm no good at these cold-blood Adventure of bald arch^oL( resolutions. Still I managed to rake up the pluck to set my teeth and choke back the hor- rid doubts that flooded in on me. I simply shut off my mind and pretended I was doing an experiment as simple as Guy Fawfces fire- works. I got a detonator, and fixed it to a couple of feet of fuse. Then I took a quarter of a lento- nite brick, and buried it near the door, below one of the sacks in a crack of the floor, fixing the detonator in it. For all I knew half those boxes might be dynamite. If the cupboard held such deadly explosives, why not the boxes? In that case there would be a glorious skyward journey for me and the German ser- vants and about an acre of the surrounding country. There was also the risk that the de- tonation might set off the other bricks in the cupboard, for I had forgotten most that I knew about lentonite. But it didn't do to be- gin thinking about the possibilities. The odds were horrible, but I had to take them. I ensconced myself just below the sill ofl the window and lit the fuse. Then I waitedf ^39 k THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS for a moment or two. There was dead silei — only a shuffle of heavy boots in the passage, and the peaceful cluck of hens from the warm out-of-doors. I commended my soul to my Maker, and wondered where I would be in five seconds. A great wave of heat seemed to surge upwards from the floor, and hang for a blistering instant in the air. Then the wall opposite me flashed into a golden yellow and dissolved with a rending thunder that ham- mered my brain into a pulp. Something dropped on me, catching the point of my left shoulder. And then I became unconscious. My stupor can scarcely have lasted be- yond a few seconds. I felt myself being choked by thick yellow fumes, and struggled out of the debris to my feet. Somewhere be- hind me I felt fresh air. The jambs of the window had fallen, and through the ragged rent the smoke was pouring out to the sum- mer noon. I stepped over the broken Hntel, and found myself standing in a yard in a dense 140 ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCILEOLOGIST and acrid fog. I felt very sick and ill, but I | could move my limbs, and I staggered blindly forward away from the house. A small mill lade ran in a wooden aqueduct | at the other side of the yard, and into this I i fell. The cool water revived me, and I had just enough wits left to think of escape. I squirmed up the lade among the slippery green slime tJU I reached the mill-wheel. Then I wriggled through the axle hole into the old mill and tumbled onto a bed of chaff. A nail caught the seat of my trousers, and I left a wisp of heather-mixture behind me. The mill had been long out of use. The ladders were rotten with age, and in the loft the rats had gnawed great holes in the floor. Nausea shook me, and a wheel in my head kept turning, while my left shoulder and arm seemed to be stricken with the palsy. I looked out of the window and saw a fog . still hanging over the house and smoke es- caping from an upper window. Please God I had set the place on fire, for I could hear con- fused cries coming from the other side. But 141 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS I had no time to linger, since this mill was obviously a bad hiding-place. Any one look- ing for me would naturally follow the lade, and I made certain the search would begin as soon as they found that my body was not in the store-room. From another window I saw that on the far side of the mill stood an old stone dovecot. If I could get there without leaving tracks I might find a hiding-place, for I argued that my enemies, if they thought I could move, would conclude I had made for open country, and would go seeking me on the moor. I crawled down the broken ladder, scattei ing chaff behind me to cover my footsteps, did the same on the mill floor, and on the threshold where the door hung on broken hinges. Peeping out I saw that between me and the dovecot was a piece of bare cobbled ground, where no footmarks would show. Also it was mercifully hid by the mill build- ings from any view from the house. I slipped across the space, got to the back of the dove- cot and prospected a way of ascent. 142 le ^^K)V] IVENTURE OF BALD ARCH^OLOGIST ' That was one of the hardest jobs I ever took on. My shoulder and arm ached like hell, J and I was so sick and giddy that I was always I on the verge of falling. But I managed it somehow. By the use of outjutting stones and gaps in the masonry and a tough ivy root I got to the top in the end. There was a little parapet behind which I found space to lie down. Then I proceeded to go into an old- i fashioned swoon. I I woke with a burning head and the sun I glaring in my face. For a long time I lay! motionless, for those horrible fumes seemed to have loosened my joints and dulled my brain. Sounds came to me from the house — men ■ speaking throatily and the throbbing of a j stationary car. There was a little gap in the I parapet to which I wriggled, and from whichJ I had some sort of prospect of the yard. Il saw figures come out — a servant with his head bound up, and then a younger man in knickerbockers. They were looking for some- thing, and moved towards the mill. Then one of them caught sight of the wisp of cloth on , H3 I THIRTY-NINE the nail, and cried out to the other. They both went back to the house, and brought two more to look at it. I saw the rotund figure of my late captor, and I thought I made out the man with the lisp. I noticed that all had pistols. For half an hour they ransacked the mill. I could hear them kicking over the barrels and pulling up the rotten planking. Then they came outside, and stood just below the dovecot, arguing fiercely. The servant with the bandage was being soundly rated. I heard them fiddling with the door of the dovecot, and for one horrid moment I thought they were coming up. Then they thought better of it, and went back to the house- All that long blistering afternoon I lay baking on the roof-top. Thirst was my chief torment. My tongue was like a stick, and to make it worse, I could hear the cool drip of water from the mill-lade. I watched the course of the little stream as it came in from the moor, and my fancy followed it to the top of the glen, where it must issue from an icy 144 ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCH^OLOGIST fountain fringed with cool ferns and mosses. I would have given a thousand pounds to plunge my face into that. I had a fine prospect of the whole ring of moorland. I saw the car speed away with two occupants, and a man on a hill pony rid- ing east. I judged they were looking for me, and I wished them joy of their quest. But I saw something else more interesting. The house stood almost on the summit of -a swell of moorland which crowned a sort of plateau, and there was no higher point nearer than the big hills six miles of?. The actual summit, as I have mentioned, was a biggish clump of trees — firs mostly, with a few ashes and beeches. On the dovecot I was almost on a level with the tree-tops, and could see what lay beyond. The wood was not solid, but only a ring, and inside was an oval of green turf, for all the world like a big cricket- field. I didn't take long to guess what it was. It was an aerodrome, and a secret one. The place had been most cunningly chosen. For suppose any one were watching an aero- H5 ■ THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS ' plane descending here, he would think it had gone over the hill beyond the trees. As the place was on the top of a rise in the midst of a big amphitheatre any observer from any di- rection would conclude it had passed out of view behind the hill. Only a man very close at hand would realise that the aeroplane had not gone over but had descended in the midst I of the wood. An observer with a telescope ' on one of the higher hills might have discov- ered the truth, but only herds went there, and herds do not carry spy-glasses. When I looked from the dovecot I could see far away a blue line which I knew was the sea, and I ' grew furious to think that our enemies had this secret conning-tower to rake our water- ways. Then I reflected that if that aeroplane came back the chances were ten to one that I would be discovered. So through the afternoon I lay and prayed for the coming of darkness, and glad I was when the sun went down over the big western hills and the twilight haze crept ever the moor. The aeroplane was late. "Sk^ ADVENTURE OF BALD ARCHAEOLOGIST gloaming was far advanced when I heard the beat of wings, and saw it volplaning down- ward to its home in the wood. Lights twinkled for a bit and there was much coming and go- ing from the house. Then the dark fell and silence. Thank God it was a black night. The moon was well on in its last quarter and would not rise till late. My thirst was too great to allow me to tarry, so about nine o'clock, so far as I could judge, I started to descend. It wasn't easy, and half-way down I heard the back door of the house open, and saw the gleam of a lantern against the mill wall. For some agonising minutes I hung by the ivy and prayed that whoever it was would not come round by the dovecot. Then the light disappeared, and I dropped as softly as I could onto the hard soil of the yard. I crawled on my belly in the lee of a stone dike till I reached the fringe of trees which surrounded the house. If I had known how to do it I would have tried to put that aero- plane out of action, but I realised that any 147 THE THIRTY-NINE STE] attempt would probably be futile. I was pfl ty certain that there would be some kind of defence round the house, so I went through the wood on hands and knees, feeling care- fully every inch before me. It was as well, for presently I came on a wire about two feet from the ground. If I had tripped over that, it would doubtless have rung some bell in the house and I would have been captured. A hundred yards further on I found another wire cunningly placed on the edge of a small stream. Beyond that lay the moor, and in five minutes I was deep in bracken and heather. Soon I was round the shoulder of the rise, in the little glen from which the miU-Iade flowed. Ten minutes later my face was deep in the spring, and I was soaking down pints of the blessed water. But I did not stop till I had put half a dozen miles between me and that accursed dwelling. 148 CHAPTER VII THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN I SAT down on a hill-top and took stock of my position. I wasn't feeling very hap- py, for my natural thankfulness at my escape was clouded by my severe bodily discomfort. Those lentonite fumes had fairly poisoned me, and the baking hours on the dovecot hadn't helped matters. I had a crushing head- ache, and felt as sick as a cat. Also my shoul- der was in a bad way. At first I thought it I was only a bruise, but it seemed to be swelling I and I had no use of my left arm. My plan was to seek Mr. Turnbull's cot-1 tage, recover my garments and especially! Scudder's note-book, and then make for the main line and get back to the south. It seemed to me that the sooner I got in touch with the Foreign Office man, Sir Walter Bul- livant, the better. I didn't see how I could _ 149 THE THIRTY-NINE STE] get more proof than I had got aire* He must just take or leave my story, and anyway with him I would be in better hands than those devilish Germans. I had begun to feel quite kindly towards the British police. It was a wonderful starry night and I had not much difficulty about the road. Sir Har- ry's map had given me the lie of the land, and all I had to do was to steer a point or two west of southwest to come to the stream where I had met the roadman. In all these travels I never knew the names of the places, but I believe this stream was no less than the upper waters of the river Tweed. I calculated I must be about eighteen miles distant, and that meant I could not get there before morning. So I must lie up a day somewhere, for I was too outrageous a figure to be seen in the sunlight. I had neither coat, waistcoat, collar nor hat, my trousers were badly torn, and my face and hands were black with the explosion. T dare say I had other beauties, for my eyes felt as if they were furiously bloodsha ISO THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN Altogether I was no spectacle for God-fear- ing citizens to see on a highroad. Very soon after daybreak I made an at- tempt to clean myself in a hill burn, and then approached a herd's cottage, for I was feel- ing the need of food. The herd was away from home, and his wife was alone, with no neighbour for five miles. She was a decent old body, and a plucky one, for though she got a fright when she saw me, she had an ax handy, and would have used it on any evil- doer. I told her that I had had a fall — I didn't say how — and she saw by my looks that I was pretty sick. Like a true Samaritan s|ir asked no questions, but gave me a bowl of milk with a dash of whisky in it, and let me sit for a little by her kitchen fire. She would have bathed my shoulder, but it ached so bad- ly that I would not let her touch it. I don't know what she took me for — a repentant burg- laf , perhaps ; for when I wanted to pay her for the milk and tendered a sovereign, which was the smallest coin I had, she shook her head and said something about "giving it to them f THE THIRTY-NINE STEJ that had a right to it." At this I protested! strongly that I think she believed me honest^ for she took the money and gave me a warm new plaid for it and an old hat of her man's. She showed me how to wrap the plaid round my shoulders and when I left that cot- tage I was the living image of the kind of Scotsman you see in the illustrations to Burns's poems. But at any rate I was more or la clad. It was as well, for the weather changed be- fore midday to a thick drizzle of rain. I found shelter below an overhanging rock in the crook of a burn, where a drift of dead brackens made a tolerable bed. There I man- aged to sleep till nightfall, waking very cramped and wretched with my shoulder gnawing like a toothache. I ate the oat-cake and cheese the old wife had given me, and set out again just before the darkening. I pass over the miseries of that night among the wet hills. There were no stars to steer by, and I had to do the best I could from my memory of the map. Twice I lost my waj 152 and I had some nasty falls into peat-bogs. 1 1 had only about ten miles to go as the crow J flies, but my mistakes made it nearer twenty. 1 The last bit was completed with set teeth and a very light and dizzy head. But I managed it, and in the early dawn I was knocking at Mr. TurnbuU's door. The mist lay close and thick, and from the cottage I could not see the highroad. Mr. TurnbuU himself opened to me— sober J and something more than sober. He was I primly dressed in an ancient but well-tended' suit of black; he had been shaved not later than the night before; he wore a linen collar; and in his left hand he carried a pocket Bible. At first he did not recognise me. "Whae are ye that comes stravaigin' here 1 on the Sabbath mornin'?" he asked. I had lost all count of the days. So the | Sabbath was the reason for his strange de- ] corum. My head was swimming so wildly that I could not frame a coherent answer. But he recognised me and he saw that I was ill. I S3 lTY-NINE ST] "Hae ye got ray specs?" he asked. I fetched them out of my trousers pocket and gave him them. "Ye'U hae come for your jacket and west- coat," he said. "Come in, bye. Losh, man, ye're terrible dune i' the legs. Haud up till I get ye to a chair." I perceived I was in for a bout of malaria. I had a good deal of fever in my bones, and the wet night had brought it out, while my shoulder and the effects of the fumes com- bined to make me feel pretty bad. Before I knew, Mr. Turnbull was helping me off with my clothes, and putting me to bed in one of the two cupboards that lined the kitchen walls. He was a true friend In need, that old road- man. His wife was dead years ago, and since his daughter's marriage he lived alone. For the better part of ten days he did all the rough nursing I needed. I simply wanted to be left in peace while the fever took its course, and when my skin was cool again I found that the bout had more or less cured my shoulder. But it was a baddish go, and though ] THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN ^ bed in five days, it took, me some time to getl my legs again. I He went out each morning, leaving me" milk for the day, and locking the door behind him; and came in in the evening to sit silent in the chimney corner. Not a soul came near J the place. When I was getting better hc-fl never bothered me with a question. Several times he fetched me a iwo-days-old Scotsman, and I noticed that the interest in the Portland Place murder seemed to have died down. There was no mention of it, and I could find very little about anything except a thing called the General Assembly — some ecclesias- tical spree, I gathered. J One day he produced my belt from a lock- I fast drawer. "There's a terrible heap o' siller 1 in't," he said. "Ye'd better count it to see it's ' a' there." He never even inquired my name. I asked him if anybody had been around making in- quiries subsequent to my spell at the road-J making. I "Aye, there was a man in a motor-cawr. He« 155 J THE TfflRTY-NTNE STEPS speired whae had ta'en my place that day, I let on I thocht him daft. But he keepit on at me, and syne I said he maun be thinkin' o' my gude-brither f rae the Cleuch that whiles lent me a haun'. He was a wersh-Iookin' soul, and I couldna understand the half o' English tongue." I was getting pretty restless those last da; and as soon as I felt myself fit I decided to be off. That was not till the twelfth day of June, and as luck would have it, a drover went past that morning taking some cattle to Moffat. He was a man named Hislop, a friend of Tumbull's, and he came in to his break- fast with us and offered to take me him. I made Turnbull accept five pounds for lodging, and a hard job I had of it. There never was a more independent being. He grew positively rude when I pressed him, and shy and red, and took the money at last with- out a thank you. When I told him how mi I owed him, he grunted something about guid turn deservin' anither." You would hi 156 dn' _ 9 be ine, >ast Fat. of reak- . w THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN thought from our leavetaking that we had| parted in disgust. Hislop was a cheery soul, who chattered all \ the way over the pass and down the sunny vale of Annan. I talked of Galloway markets and sheep prices, and he made up his mind I was a "pack-shepherd" from those parts — whatever that may be. My plaid and my old hat, as I have said, gave me a fine theatrical Scots look. But driving cattle is a mortally slow job, and we took the better part of the day to cover a dozen miles. If I had not had such an anxious heart I would have enjoyed that time. It was shining blue weather, with a constantly changing prospect of brown hills and far, green meadows, and a continual spund of larks and curlews and falling streams. But I had no mind for the summer, and little for Hislop's conversation, for as the fateful 15th of June grew near I was over- weighted with the hopeless difficulties of my enterprise. I got some dinner in a humble MofTat pub- I lie-house, and walked the two miles to the | 157 llEifi' THIRTY-NINE STEI^ junction on the main line. The night express for the south was not due till near midnight, and to fill up the time I went up on the hill- side and fell asleep, for the walk had tired me. I all but slept too long, and had to run to the station and catch the train with two minutes to spare. The feel of the hard third- class cushions and the smell of stale tobacco cheered me up wonderfully. At any rate I felt now that I was getting to grips with my job. I was decanted at Crewe in the small hoJ and had to wait till six to get a train for Bir- mingham. In the afternoon I got to Reading and changed into a local train which jour- neyed into the deeps of Berkshire. Presently I was in a land of lush water-meadows and sIq; reedy streams. About eight o'clock in ' evening, a weary and travel-stained being^ cross between a farm-labourer and a vet — with a checked black-and-white plaid over his arm (for I did not dare to wear it south of the bor- der) — descended at the little station of Ars- tinswell. There were several people on 1 .58 THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN r platform, and I thought I had better wait to | ask my way till I was clear of the place. The road led through a wood of great I beeches and then into a shallow valley with | the green backs of downs peeping over the^ distant trees. After Scotland the air smelled heavy and flat, but infinitely sweet, for the limes and chestnuts and lilac-bushes were domes of blossom. Presently I came to a bridge, below which a clear, slow stream flowed between snowy beds of water-butter- cups. A little above it was a mill ; and the lasher made a pleasant cool sound in the scent- ed dusk. Somehow the place soothed me and put me at my ease. I fell to whistling as I looked into the green depths, and the tune which came to my lips was "Annie Laurie." A fisherman came up from the waterside, and as he neared me he, too, began to whistle. The tune was infectious, for he followed myJ suit. He was a huge man in untidy old flan-'^ nels and a wide-brimmed hat, with a canvas bag slung on his shoulder. He nodded to me, and I thought I had never seen a shrewdei 159 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS or better- tempered face. He leaned his dd cate ten-foot split cane rod against the bridl and looked with me at the water. "Clear, isn't it?" he said pleasantly. "I back our Kennet any day against the Test. Look at that big fellow! Four pounds, if he's an ounce! But the evening rise is over and you can't tempt 'em." "I don't see him," said I. "Look! There! A yard from the reeJ just above that stickle." "I've got him now. You might swear | was a black stone." "So," he said, and whistled another bar | "Annie Laurie." "Twisden's the name, isn't it?" he said olj his shoulder, his eyes still fixed on the streafl! "No," I said. "I mean to say yes." I had forgotten all about my alias. "It's a wise conspirator that knows his own name," he observed, grinning broadly at a moor-hen that emerged from the bridge's shadow. I stood up and looked at him, at his square i6o THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN cleft jaw and broad, lined brow and the firm folds of cheek, and began to think that here at last was an ally worth having- His whim- sical blue eyes seemed to go very deep. Suddenly he frowned. "I call it disgrace- ful," he said, raising his voice. "Disgraceful that an able-bodied man like you should dare to beg. You can get a meal from my kitchen, but you'll get no money from me," A dog-cart was passing, driven by a young man who raised his whip to salute the fisher- man. When he had gone, he picked up his rod. "That's my house," he said, pointing to a white gate a hundred yards on. "Wait five minutes and then go round to the back door." And with that he left me. I did as I was bidden. I found a pretty cottage with a lawn running down to the stream, and a perfect jungle of guelder-rose and lilac flanking the path. The back door stood open and a grave butler was awaiting me. "Come this way, sir," he said, and he led i6i [THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS me along a passage and up a back staircase to a pleasant bedroom looking towards the river. There I found a complete outfit laid out for me, dress clothes with all the fixings, a brown flannel suit, shirts, collars, ties, shaving things and hair-brushes, even a pair of patent shoes. "Sir Walter thought as how Mr. Reg- gie's things would fit you, sir," said the butler. *'He keeps some clothes 'ere, for he comes regular on the week-ends. There's a bath- room next door, and I've prepared a 'ot bath. Dinner in 'alf an hour, sir. You'll 'ear the gong." The grave being withdrew, and I sat down in a chintz-covered easy chair and gaped. It was like a pantomime to come suddenly out of beggardom into this orderly comfort. Obviously Sir Walter believed in me, though why he did I could not guess. I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw a wild, hag- gard brown fellow with a fortnight's ragged beard and dust in ears and eyes, collarless, vulgarly shirted, with shapeless old tweed clothes and boots that had not been cleaned 162 THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN for the better part of a month. I made a ■ fine tramp and a fair drover; and here I was ushered by a prim butler into this temple of gracious ease. And the best of it was that| they did not even know my name. I resolved not to puzzle my head, but toj take the gifts the gods had provided. Il shaved and bathed luxuriously, and got into the dress clothes and clean, crackling shirt, which fitted me not so badly. By the time , I had finished the looking-glass showed a nDt| unpersonable young man. Sir Walter awaited me in a dusky dining- room, where a little round table was lit with silver candles. The sight of him — so respect- able and established and secure, the embodi- ment of law and government and all the con- ventions — took me aback and made me feel an interloper. He couldn't know the truth about . me, or he wouldn't treat me like this. I f simply could not accept his hospitality on I false pretenses. "I am more obliged to you than I can say^ but I'm bound to make things clear," I said, j ,63 "I'm an innocent man, but I'm wanted I police. I've got to tell you this, and I won't be surprised if you kick me out." He smiled. "That's all right. Don't let that interfere with your appetite. We can talk about these things after dinner," I never ate a meal with greater relish, for I had had nothing all day but railway sand- wiches. Sir Walter did me proud, for we drank a good champagne and had some un- common fine port afterwards. It made me al- most hysterical to be sitting there, waited on by a footman and a sleek butler, and remem- ber that I had been living for three weeks like a brigand, with every man's hand against me. I told Sir Walter about tiger-fish in the Zam- besi that bite off your fingers if you give them a chance, and we discussed sport up and down the globe, for he had hunted a bit in his day. We went to his study for coffee, a jolly room full of books and trophies and untidi- ness and comfort. I made up my mind that if ever I got rid of this business and had a house of my own, I would create just such a ro 164 DRY-FLY nSHERMAN ' Then when the coffee-cups were cleared away, and we had got our cigars alight, my host | swung his long legs over the side of his chair and bade me get started with my yam. "I've obeyed Harry's instructions," he said, "and the bribe he offered me was that you i would tell me something to wake me up. I'm ready, Mr. Hannay." I noticed with a ] start that he called me by my proper name. I began at the very beginning. I told of ' my boredom in London, and the night I had come back to find Scudder gibbering on my door-step. I told him all Scudder had told me about Karolides and the Foreign Office conference, and that made him purse his lips and grin. Then I got to the murder, and he grew solemn again. He heard all about the milkman and my time in Galloway, and my i deciphering Scudder's notes at the inn. "You've got them here?" he asked sharply, and drew a long breath when I whipped the little book from my pocket. I said nothing of the contents. Then I 1 described my meeting with Sir Harry, and ^ i6s THE THIRTY-NINE STEP the speeches at the hall. At that he laugi uproariously. "Harry talked dashed nonsense, did he? ] quite believe it. He's as good a chap as ev breathed, but his idiot of an uncle has stuffed his head with maggots. Go on, Mr. Hai nay." My day as roadman excited him a bit. made me describe the two fellows in the car very closely, and seemed to be raking back in his memory. He grew merry again whifl he heard of the fate of that ass, Jopley. But the old man in the moorland houi solemnised him. Again I had to describe every detail of his appearance. "Bland and bald-headed and hooded his eyes like a bird. . . . He sounds a sinister wild fowl! And you dynamited his hen age, after he had saved you from the ( Spirited piece of work, that!" Presently I reached the end of my ^ derings. He got up slowly and looked c at me from the hearth-rug. "You may dismiss the police from ; i66 THE DRY-FLY HSHERMAN mind," he said. "You're in no danger from the law of this land." "Great Scott!" I cried. "Have they got the murderer?" "No. But for the last fortnight they have dropped you from the list of possibles." "Why?" I asked in amazement. "Principally because I received a letter 1 from Scudder. I knew something of the man, and he did several jobs for me. He was half j crank, half genius, but he was wholly honest. The trouble about him was his partiality for playing a lone hand. That made him pretty well useless in any secret service — a pity, for he had uncommon gifts. I think he was the bravest man in the world, for he was always shivering with fright, and yet nothing would choke him off. I had a letter from him on the 31st of May." "But he had been dead a week by then." "The letter was written and posted on the j 23rd. He evidently did not anticipate aa j immediate decease. His communications usu- ally took a week to reach me, for they were I 167 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS sent under cover to Spain and then to Nfl castle. He had a mania, you know, for ( cealing his tracks." "What did he say?" I stammered. "Nothing. Merely that he was in danger, but had found shelter with a good friend, and that I would hear from him before the 15th of June. He gave me no address, but said he was living near Portland Place. I think his object was to clear you if anything happened. When I got it I went to Scotland Yard, went over the details of the inquest, and concluded that you were the friend. We made inquiries about you, Mr. Hannay, and found you were respectable. I thought I knew the motives for your disappearance — - not only the police, the other one too — and when I got Harry's scrawl I guessed at the rest. I have been expecting you any time this past week." You can imagine what a load this took off my mind. I felt a free man once more, for I was now up against my country's enemies only, and not my country's law. 168 THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN "Now let us have the little note-boot," said Sir Walter. It took us a good hour to work through it ' I explained the cypher, and he was jolly quick at picking it up. He amended my reading of it on several points, but I had been fairly cor- rect, on the whole. His face was very grave before he had finished, and he sat silent for a while. "I don't know what to make of it," he said at last. "He is right about one thing — what is going to happen the day after to-morrow. How the devil can it have got known? That is ugly enough in itself. But all this about war and the Black Stone— it reads like some wild melodrama. If only I had more confi- dence in Scudder's judgment. The trouble about him was that he was too romantic. He had the artistic temperament, and wanted a story to be better than God meant it to be. He had a lot of odd biases, too, Jews, for ex- ample, made him see red. Jews and the ] finance." "The Black Stone," he repeated. " 169 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS Schwarze stein. It's like a penny novelet And all this stuff about Karolides. That the weak part of the tale, for I happen know that the virtuous Karolides is li to outlast us both. There is no state in rope that wants him gone. Besides, he has just been playing up to Berlin and Vienna and giving my chief some uneasy moments. No! Scudder has gone off the track there. Frankly, Hannay, I don't believe that part of his story. There's some nasty business afoot, and he found out too much and lost his life over it. But I am ready to take my oath that it is Ordinary spy work. A certain great European power makes a hobby of her spy system and her methods are not too particular. Since she pays by piece-work her blackguards are not likely to stick at a murder or two. They want our naval dispositions for their col- lection at the Marinamt; but they will be pigeon-holed — nothing more." Just then the butler entered the room. "There's a trunk-call from London, Sir t7o at IS I n t^^ THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN Walter. It's Mr. 'Eath, and he wants to speak to you personally." My host went oflf to the telephone. He returned in five minutes with a whitish face. "I apologise to the shade of Scudder," he said. "Karolides was shot dead this even- ing at a few minutes after seven I" -i*. 171 CHAPTER VIII THE COMING OF THE BLACK STONE I CAME down to breakfast next morning after eight hours of blessed dreamless sleep, to find Sir Walter decoding a telegram in the midst of muffins and marmalade. His fresh rosiness of yesterday seemed a thought tarnished. "I had a busy hour on the telephone afl you went to bed," he said. "I got my chief to~ speak to the First Lord and the Secretary for War, and they are bringing Royer over a day sooner. This wire clinches it. He will be ia London at five. Odd that the code word fq a Sous-chef d'Etat Major General should I 'Porker'." He directed me to the hot dishes and wd "Not that I think it will do much good, your friends were clever enough to find out COMING OF THE BLACK STONft^' the first arrangement they are clever enough < to discover the change. I would give my head to know where the leak is. We believed there were only five men in England who knew about Royer's visit, and you may be , certain there were fewer in France, for thejTi manage these things better there." While I ate he continued to talk, making^ me to my surprise a present of his full confi- I dence. "Can the dispositions not be changed?" '. asked. "They could," he said. "But we want to avoid that if possible. They are the result of immense thought, and no alteration would be as good. Besides, on one or two points change is simply impossible. Still, something could be done, if it were absolutely necessary. But you see the difficulty, Hannay. Our enemies are not going to be such fools as to pick Roy- er's pocket or any childish game like that. They know that would mean a row and put us on our guard. Their aim is to get the details without any of us knowing, so that, 173 THE THIRTY-NINE' STEPS V Royer will go back to Paris in the belief thnl the whole business is still deadly secret. If they can't do that they fail, for once we sus- pect they know that the whole thing must be altered." "Then we must stick by the Frenchman's aide till he is home again," I said. "If they thought they could get the information in Paris they would try there. It means that , they have some deep scheme on foot in Lon- idon which they reckon is going to win out." "Royer dines with my chief, and then comes to my house where four people will see him — Whittaker from the Admiralty, myself, Sir Arthur Drew, and General Winstanley. The First Lord is ill, and has gone to Sheringham, At my house he will get a certain document from Whittaker, and after that he will be motored to Portsmouth where a destroyer will take him to Havre. His journey is too im- portant for the ordinary boat-train. He will never be left .unattended for a moment till he is safe on French soil. The same with Whittaker till he meets Royer. Thai 174 n COMING OF THE BLACK STONE best we can do and it's hard to see how then can be any miscarriage. But I don't mind'' admitting that I'm horribly nervous. This murder of Karolides will play the deuce in the chancellories of Europe." After breakfast he asked me if I could drivq a car. "Well, you'll be my chauffeur to-day and wear Hudson's rig. You're about his size. ' You have a hand in this business and we are taking no risks. There are desperate men. against us, who will not respect the countn retreat of an over-worked official." When I first came to London I had bought a car and amused myself with running about the south of England, so I knew something of the geography. I took Sir Walter to town by the Bath Road and made good going. It was a soft breathless June morning, with a promise of sultriness later, but it was delicious enough swinging through the little towns with their freshly watered streets, and past the summer gardens of the Thames valley. I landed Sir Walter at his house in Queea ^75 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS Anne's Gate punctually by half-past elev*^ The butler was coming up by train with th^ The first thing he did was to take me round- to Scotland Yard. There we saw a prim gei tleman, with a clean-shaven lawyer's face. "I've brought you the Portland Place mur- derer," was Sir Walter's introduction. The reply was a wry smile. "It would have been a welcome present, Bullivant This, I presume, is Mr. Richard Hannay, who for some days greatly interested my department." "Mr. Hannay will interest it again. He has much to tell you, but not to-day. For certain grave reasons his tale must wait for twenty- four hours. Then, I can promise you, yo^ will be entertained and possibly edified, want you to assure Mr. Hannay that he will suffer no further inconvenience." This assurance was promptly given. "You can take up your life where you left off," I was told. "Your flat, which probably you no longer wish to occupy, is waiting for you, and your man is still there. As you were 176 COMING OF THE BLACK STONE never publicly accused, we considered that I there was no need of a public exculpation. But on that, of course, you must please your- self." "We may want your assistance later on, MacGillivray," Sir Walter said as we left. Then he turned me loose. "Come and see me to-morrow, Hannay. I ' needn't tell you to keep deadly quiet. If I ] were you I would go to bed, for you must I have considerable arrears of sleep to overtake. You had better lie low, for if one of your I Black Stone friends saw you there might be J trouble." I felt curiously at a loose end. At first it was very pleasant to be a free man, able to go where I wanted without fearing anything, I had only been a month under the ban of the law and it was quite enough for me. I went to the Savoy and ordered very carefully a very good luncheon, and then smoked the best cigar the house could provide. But I was still feeling nervous. When I saw any- body look at me in the lounge, I grew shy, and 177 ►the thirty-nine steps 1 wondered if they were thinking about murder. After that I took a taxi and drove miles away up into North London. I walked back through the fields and lines of villas and ter- races and then slums and mean streets, and it took me pretty nearly two hours. All the while my restlessness was growing worse. I felt that great things, tremendous things, were happening or about to happen, and I, who was the cog-wheel of the whole business, was out of it. Royer would be landing at Dover, Sir Walter would be making plans with the few people in England who were in the se- cret, and somewhere in the darkness the Black Stone would be working. I felt the sense of danger and impending calamity, and I had the curious feeling, too, that I alone could avert it, alone could grapple with it. But I was out of the game now. How could it be otherwise? It was not likely that Cabinet Ministers and Admiralty Lords and Generals would admit me to their councils. I actually began to wish that I could run .78 r COMING OF THE BLACK STONE ■ against one of my three enemies. That wouldn lead to developments. I felt that I wanted enormously to have a vulgar scrap with those gentry, where I could hit out and flatten some- thing. I was rapidly getting into a very bad temper. , I didn't feel like going back to my flaLJ That had to be faced sometime, but as I still ] had sufficient money, I thought I would put it ofif till next morning and go to a hotel for the night. J My irritation lasted through dinner, which 1 I had at a restaurant in Jermyn Street. I was no longer hungry, and let several courses pass untastcd. I drank the best part of a bottle of Burgundy, but it did nothing to cheer me. 'An abominable restlessness had taken posses- sion of me. Here was I, a very ordinary fel-J low with no particular brains, and yet I wa»l convinced that somehow I was needed to help I this business through — that without me it! would all go to blazes. I told myself it was sheer, silly conceit, that four or five of the cleverest people living, with all the might of , 179 I THIRTY-NINE STEPS the British Empire at their back, had the job in hand. Yet I couldn't be convinced. It seemed as if a voice kept speaking in my ear, telling me to be up and doing or I would never sleep again. The upshot was that about half-past nine I made up my mind to go to Queen Anne's Gate. Very likely I would not be admitted, but it would ease my conscience to try. I walked down Jermyn Street and at the corner of Duke Street passed a group of young men. They were in evening dress, had been dining somewhere, and were going on to ■ music-hall. One of them was Mr. Marmitrl duke Jopley. He saw me and stopped short. "By God, the murdererl" he cried. "Here, you fellows, hold him! That's Han- ■ nay, the man who did the Portland Place mur- der!" He gripped me by the arm and ] others crowded around. I wasn't looking for any trouble, but myl temper made me play the fool. A policeman came up, and I should have told him 1 80 COMING OF THE BLACK STONE truth and, if he didn't believe it, demanded! to be taken to Scotland Yard or, for that mat-j ter, to the nearest police station. But a de lay at that moment seemed to me unendur- able, and the sight of Marmie's imbecile face was more than I could bear. I let out with my left, and had the satisfaction of seeing him measure his length in the gutter. Then began an unholy row. They were allJ on me at once, and the policeman took me iaj the rear. I got in one or two good blows, for I think with fair play I could have licked^ the lot of them, but the policeman pinned me behind, and one of them got his fingers on my throat. Through a black cloud of rage I heard thca officer of the law asking what was the mat- ter, and Marmie, between his broken teeth, declaring that I was Hannay, the murderer. "Oh, damn it all," I cried, "make the fel- low shut up. I advise you to leave me alone, constable. Scotland Yard knows all about me, and you'll get a proper wigging if you interfere with me." i8i E THIRTY-NINE STEPS ^1 3U Strike i *'YouVe got to come along of me, man," said the policeman. "I saw you s that gentleman crool 'ard. You began ft, too, for he wasn't doing nothing. I seen you. Best go quietly or I'll have to fix you up." Exasperation and an overwhelming sense that at no cost must I delay gave me the strength of a bull elephant. I fairly wrenched the constable off his feet, floored the man who was gripping my collar, and set off at my best pace down Duke Street. I heard a whistle being blown, and the rush of men be- hind me. I have a very fair turn of speed and that night I had wings. In a jiffy I was in Pall Mall and had turned down towards St. James' Park. I dodged the policeman at the Palace Gates, dived through a press of carriages at the entrance to the Mall, and was making for the bridge before my pursuers had crossed the roadway. In the open ways of the park I put on a spurt. Happily there were few people about and no one tried to stop me. I was staking all on getting to Queen Anne's G;^U 182 F: COMING OF THE BLACK STON When I entered that quiet thoroughfare i seemed deserted. Sir Walter's house was i the narrow part and outside it three or foui motor-cars were drawn up. I slackened speed some yards off and walked briskly up to the door. If the butler refused me admission, if he even delayed to open the door, I wai done. He didn't delay. I had scarcely rung be- fore the door opened. "I must see Sir Walter," I panted. "Mf| business is desperately important." That butler was a great man. Without" moving a muscle he held the door open, and then shut it behind me. "Sir Walter is i gaged, sir, and I have orders to admit no ont^ Perhaps you will wait." The house was of the old-fashioned kind, '.with a wide hall and rooms on both sides of it. At the far end was an alcove with a tele- phone and a couple of chairs, and there the butler offered me a seat. "See here," I whispered. "There's trouble about and I'm in it. But Sir Walter knowsi 183 THE THIRTY-NINE and I'm working for him. If any one cod and asks if I am here, tell him a lie." He nodded, and presently there was a noise of voices in the street and a furious ringing at the bell. I never admired a man more than that butler. He opened the door and with a face like a graven image waited I be questioned. Then he gave it them. He told them whose house it was and what his orders were and simply froze them off the doorstep. I could see it all from my alcove, and it was better than any play. I hadn't waited long till there came i other ring at the bell. The butler madej bones about admitting this new visitor. While he was taking off his coat I saw ^ it was. You couldn't open a newspaper or a magazine without seeing that face — the grey beard cut like a spade, the firm fighting mouth, the blunt square nose, and the keen blue eyes. I recognised the First Sea Lord, the man, they say, that made the new British Navy. 184 COMING OF THE BLACK STOH He passed my alcove and was ushered into^ a room at the back of the hall. As the door opened I could hear the sound of low voices. It shut, and I was left alone again. For twenty minutes I sat there, wondering what I was to do next. I was still perfectly ■ convinced that I was wanted, but when or how I had no notion. I kept looking at my watch, and as the time crept on to half-past ten I be-j gan to think that the conference must soon! end. In a quarter of an hour Royer should be! speeding along the road to Portsmouth. Then I heard a bell ring and the butler appeared. The door of the back room opened, and the First Sea Lord came out. He walked past me, and in passing he glanced in my di- rection, and for a second we looked each other , in the face. Only for a second, but it was enough to^ make my heart jump. I had never seen the great man before, and he had never seen me. But in that fraction of time something sprang into his eyes, and that something was recog- nition. You can't mistake it. It is a flicker,, .85 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS ^ a spark of light, a minute shade of difference, which means one thing and one thing only. Itcame involuntarily, for in a moment it died, and he passed on. In a maze of wild fancies I heard the street door close behind him. I picked up the telephone-book and looked up the number of his house. We were con- nected at once and I heard a servant's voice. "Is his lordship at home?" I asked. h "His lordship returned half an hour ago^J said the voice, "and has gone to bed. He is not very well to-night. Will you leave a mes- sage, sir?" I rang oflf and sat down numbly in a chair. My part in this business was not yet ended. It had been a close shave, but I had been in time. Not a moment could be lost, so I marched boldly to the door of that back room and en- tered without knocking. Five surprised faces looked up from a round table. There was Sir Walter, and Drew, the war minister, whom I knew from his photographs. There was a slim, elderly man, who was probabi COMING OF THE BLACK STONE Whittaker, the Admiralty official, and there! was General Winstanley, conspicuous froinl the long scar on his forehead. Lastly therej was a short stout man with an iron-grey mous-1 tache and bushy eyebrows, who had been ar-l rested in the middle of a sentence. Sir Walter's face showed surprise and an-] noyance. "This is Mr. Hannay, of whom I have spok- en to you," he said apologetically to the com- pany. "I'm afraid, Hannay, this visit is ill- timed." I was getting back my coolness. "That re- mains to be seen, sir," I said, "but I think it may be in the nick of time. For God's sake, gentlemen, tell me who went out a minute ago?" "Lord Alloa," Sir Walter said, reddening with anger. "It was not," I cried. "It was his living image, but it was not Lord Alloa. It was some one who recognised me, some one I have seen in the last month. He had scarcely left the doorstep when I rang up Lord Alloa's . 187 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS house and was told he had come in half an hour before and had gone to bed." "Who — ^who " some one stammered. "The Black Stone," I cried, and I sat down in the chair so recently vacated and looked round at five badly scared gentlemen. i88 CHAPTER rX THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS NONSENSE!" said the official from J the Admiralty. Sir Walter got up and left the room, while we looked blankly at the table. He came back in ten minutes with a long face. "I have spoken to Alloa," he said. "Had him out of bed — very grumpy. He went straight home after Mulross's dinner." "But it's madness," broke in General Win- stanley. "Do you mean to tell me that that man came here and sat beside me for the best part of half an hour, and that I didn't detect the imposture? Alloa must be out of his mind." "Don't you see the cleverness of it?" T I said. "You were too interested in other things to have the use of your eyes. You took Lord Alloa for granted. If it had been anybody THE THIRTY-NINE else you might have looked more closely, but it was natural for him to be here, and that put you all to sleep." Then the Frenchman spoke, very slowly and in good English. "The young man is right. His psychology is good. Our enemies have not been foolish 1'* "But I don't see," went on Winstanley. "Their object was to get these dispositions without our knowing it. Now it only re- quired one of us to mention to Alloa our meet- ing to-night for the whole fraud to be ex- posed." Sir Walter laughed drily. "The selection of Alloa shows their acumen. Which of us was likely to speak to him about to-night? Or was he likely to open the subject?" I remembered the First Sea Lord's reputation for taciturnity and shortness of temper. "The one thing that puzzles me," said the General, "is what good his visit here would do that spy fellow? He could not carry away several pages of figures and strange names in his head." 190 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS "That is not difficult," the Frenchman re- plied. "A good spy is trained to have a photo- graphic memory. Like your own Macaulay. You noticed he said nothing, but went through these papers again and again. I think we may assume that he has every detail stamped on his mind. When I was younger I could do the same trick." "Well, I suppose there is nothing for iti but to change the plans," said Sir Walter rue-< fully. Whittaker was looking very glum. "Did ■ you tell Lord Alloa what had happened?" he asked. "No! I can't speak with absolute assurance, but I'm nearly certain we can'Ej make any serious change unless we alter thel geography of England." "Another thing must be said," it was Royer who spoke. "I talked freely when that man was here. I told something of the military plans of my Government. I was permitted to say so much. But that information would be worth many millions to our enemies. No, my friends, I see no other way. The man whaj THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS came here and his confederates must be tal and taken at once." "Good God," I cried, "and we have nol rag of a clue." "Besides," said Whittaker, "there is post. By this time the news will be on way." "No," said the Frenchman. "You do m understand the habits of the spy. He receives personally his reward, and he delivers per- sonally his intelligence. We in France know something of the breed. There is still a chance, mes amis. These men must cross the sea, and there are ships to be searched and ports to be watched. Believe me, need is desperate for both France Britain." Royer's grave good sense seemed to pull us together. He was the man of action among fumblers. But I saw no hope in any face, and I felt none. Where among the fifty millions of these islands and within a dozen hours were we to lay hands on the three cleverest rogues in Europe? 192 hed THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS Then suddenly I had an inspiration. "Where is Scudder's book?" I asked Sir 1 Walter. "Quick, man, I remember some- | thing in it." He unlocked the drawer of a bureau and I gave it to me. I found the place. "Thirty-nine steps" I j read, and again "Thirty-nine steps — / counted I them — Hi/jk tide lO.iy p.m." The Admiralty man was looking at me as | if he thought I had gone mad. "Don't you see it's a clue," I cried. "Scud- der knew where these fellows laired — he knewf where they were going to leave the country;' though he kept the name to himself. To-mor- row was the day, and it was some place where high tide was at 10.17." "They may have gone to-night," some one said. "Not them. They have their own snug I secret way, and they won't be hurried. I know I Germans, and they are mad about working to I a plan. Where the devil can I get a book of J Tide Tables?" 193 THIRTY-NINE STE] Whittaker brightened up. "It's a ( he said. "Let's go over to the Admiralty." We got into two of the waiting motor-c — all but Sir Walter, "who went off to 5 Yard — to "mobilise MacGillivray," so he said. We marched through empty corridors and big bare chambers where the charwomen were busy, till we reached a little room lined with books and maps. A resident clerk was unearthed, who presently fetched from the li- brary the Admiralty Tide Tables. I sat at the desk and the others stood round, for somehow or other I had got charge of this outfit. It was no good. There were hundreds of entries, and as far as I could see 10.17 ^^& cover fifty places. We had to find some \ of narrowing the possibilities. I took my head in my hands and though;, There must be some way of reading this riddle. What did Scudder mean by steps'? I thought of dock steps, but if he had meant that I didn't think he would have mentioned 194 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS number. It must be some place where theri were several staircases and one marked out from the others by having thirty-nine steps. Then I had a sudden thought and hunted up all the steamer sailings. There was no boat which left for the Continent at io.i7 Why was high tide important? If it wa^ a harbour it must be some little place where the tide mattered, or else it was a heavy- draught boat. But there was no regular steamer sailing at that hour, and somehow I didn't think they would travel by a big boat from a regular harbour. So it must be some little harbour where the tide was important, or perhaps no harbour at all. But if it was a little port I couldn't see what the steps signified. There were no sets of staircases at any harbour that I had ever seen. Itmust be some place which a particular stair- case identified, and where the tide was full at 10.17. ^^ *^^ whole it seemed to me that the place must be a bit of open coast. But the staircases kept puzzling me. 19s THE THIRTY-NINE StEPS"' Then I went back to wider considerations. Whereabouts would a man be likely to leave for Germany, a man in a hurry who wanted a speedy and a secret passage? Not from any of the big harbours. And not from the Channel or the west coast or the north or Scotland, for, remember, he was starting from London. I measured the distance on the map, and tried to put myself in the enemy's shoes. I should try for Ostend or Antwerp or Rotterdam and I should sail from somewhere on the east coast* between Cromer and Dover. All this was very loose guessing and I don't pretend it was ingenious or scientific. I wasn't any kind of Sherlock Holmes. But I have always fancied I had a kind of in- stinct about questions like this. I don't know if I can explain myself, but I usa to use my brains as far as they and after they came to a blank wall I guessed, and I usually found my guesses pretty right So I set out all my conclusions on a bit o^ Admiralty paper. They ran like this: 196 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS FAIRLY CERTAIN. (i) Place where there are several sets of stairs: that matters distinguished by having thirty-nine steps. (2) Full tide at 10.17 p.m. Leaving shore only 5 sible at full tide. (3) Steps not dock-steps and so place probably i harbour. (4) No regular night steamer at 10.17. Means ( transport must be tramp (unlikely), yacht or fishing-boa| There my reasoning stopped. I made anjj other list, which I headed "Guessed," but ] was just as sure of the one as the other. GUESSED. (i) Place not harbour but open coast. (3) Boat small — trawler, yacht or launch. {3) Place somewhere on east coast between Crom and Dover. It Struck me as odd that I should be siq ting at that desk with a Cabinet Minister, Field Marshal, two high Government officials, and a French General watching me, while from the scribble of a dead man I was trying to drag a secret which meant life or death for us. 197 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS Sir Walter had joined us, and presend MacGillivray arrived. He had sent out i structions to watch the ports and railway stal tions for the three gentlemen whom I had de- scribed to Sir Walter. Not that he or any- body else thought that that would do mud good. "Here's the most I can make of it," I saidP "We have got to find a place where there are several staircases down to the beach, one of_ which has thirty-nine steps. I think it's ; piece of open coast with biggish cliffs somd where between the Wash and the Channel. Also it's a place where full tide is at 10.17 to- morrow night." Then an idea struck me. "Is there no I^ spector of Coastguards or some fellow lifc^ that who knows the east coast?" Whittaker said there was and that he lived in Clapham. He went off in a car to fetch him, and the rest of us sat about the little room and talked of anything that came into our heads. I lit a pipe and went over the whole thing again till my brain grew wear]^ THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS I About one in the morning the coastguan man arrived. He was a fine old fellow with the look of a naval ofBcer, and was desperate- ly respectful to the company. I left the Wai Minister to cross-examine him, for I felt hi Would think it cheek in me to talk. "We want you to tell us the places yoi know on the east coast where there are cliff^ and where several sets of steps run do' to the beach." He thought for a bit. "What kind of steps do you mean, sir? There are plenty of places with roads cut down through the cliffs, and most roads have a step or two in them. Or do you mean regular staircases — all step to speak?" Sir Arthur looked towards me. "We meai regular staircases," I said, He reflected a minute or two. "I don'i know that I can think of any. Wait a second. There's a place in Norfolk — Brattlesham — beside a golf course, where there are a couple of staircases to let the gentlemen get a lost lU )r I 199 THE THIRTY-NINE STEP "That's not it," I said. "Then there a,re plenty of Marine Parades, if that's what you mean. Every seaside re- sort has them." I shook my head. "It's got to be more retired than that,"l said. "Well, gentlemen, I can't think of where else. Of course, there's the RuflF— "What's that?" I asked. "The big chalk headland in Kent, close i Bradgate. It's got a lot of villas on the top and some of the houses have staircases down* to a private beach. It's a very high-toned sort of place, and the residents there lit keep by themselves." I tore open the "Tide Tables" and fou: Bradgate. High tide there was at 10.27 ^M en the 15th of June. "We're on the scent at lastl" I cried excit- edly. "How can I find out what is the tide at the Ruff?" "I can tell you that, sir," said the cod guard man. "I once was lent a house tha THE THIRTY-NINE S'l'llK} V in this very month, and I used to go out at I night to the deep-sea fishing. The tide's ten j minutes before Bradgate." I closed the book and looked round at the j company. ] "If one of those staircases has thirty-nine I steps we have solved the mystery, gentlemen,'* I said. "I want the loan of your car, Sir Wal- I ter, and a map of the roads. If Mr. MacGil- I livray will spare me ten minutes I think we I can prepare something for to-morrow." I It was ridiculous in me to take charge of I the business like this, but they didn't seem | to mind, and after all I had been in the I show from the start. Besides, I was used to J rough jobs, and these eminent gentlemen were 1 too clever not to see it. I It was General Royer who gave me my \ commission. I "I for one," he said, "am content to leave I the matter in Mr. Hannay's hands." I By half-past three I was tearing past the! moonlit hedgerows of Kent with MacGilli- 1 vray's best man on the seat beside me. J 201 I CHAPTER X VARIOUS PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE A PINK and blue June morning founi me at Bradgate looking from the Griffin Hotel over a smooth sea to the light- ship on the Cock sands which seemed the size of a bell-buoy. A couple of miles further south and much nearer the shore a small de- stroyer was anchored. Scaife, MacGillivray's man, who had been in the navy, knew the boat and told me her name and her commander's, so I sent ofif a wire to Sir Walter. After breakfast Scaife got from a hi agent a key for the gates of the staircases' the RufY. I walked with him along the sands, and sat down in a nook of the cliffs while he investigated the half dozen of them. I didn't want to be seen, but the place at this hour was quite deserted, and all the time I was on that beach I saw nothing but the sea-gulls. 202 de r's, , esTB^ PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEAH It took him more than an hour to do the job, and when I saw him coming towards me, conning a bit of paper, I can tell you my heart was in my mouth. Everything depend- ed, you see, on my guess proving right. He read aloud the number of steps in the different stairs. "Thirty-four, thirty-five, thir- ty-nine, forty-two, forty-seven, and t\venty- one," where the cliffs grew lower. I almost got up and shouted. We hurried back to the town and sent a wire to MacGillivray. I wanted half a dozen men and I directed them to divide themselves among different specified hotels. Then Scaife set out to prospect the house at the head of the thirty-nine steps. He came back with news that both puzzled and reassured me. The house was called Trafalgar Lodge, and belonged to an old gen- tleman called Appleton— a retired stock- broker, the house-agent said. Mr. Appleton was there a good deal in the summer time, and was in residence now — had been for the better part of a week. Scaife could pick up 203 very little information about him, except that he was a decent old fellow, who paid his bills regularly and was always good for a fiver for a local charity. Then Scaife seems to have penetrated to the back door of the house, pre- tending he was an agent for sewing machines. Only three servants were kept, a cook, a parlour-maid, and a housemaid, and they were just the sort that you would find in a respect- able middle-class household. The cook was not the gossiping kind, and had pretty soon shut the door in his face, but Scaife said he was positive she knew nothing. Next door there was a new house building which would give good cover for observation, and the villa on the other side was to let, and its garden was rough and shrubby, I borrowed Scaife's telescope, and before lunch went for a walk along the Ruff. I kept well behind the rows of villas, and found a good observation point on the edge of the golf course. There I had a view of the line of turf along the cliff top, with seats placed at intervals and the little square plots, 204 PARTIES CONVERGESIG in and planted with bushes, whence the stair- cases descended to the beach. I saw Trafalgar Lodge very plainly, a red-brick villa with a verandah, a tennis lawn behind, and in front the ordinary seaside flower-garden full of marguerites and scraggy geraniums. There was a flagstaff from which an enormous union jack hung limply in the still air. Presently I observed some one leave the house and saunter along the cliff. When I got my glasses on him I saw it was an old man, wearing white flannel trousers, a blue serge jacket and a straw hat. He carried field- glasses and a newspaper, and sat down on one of the iron seats and began to read. Some- times he would lay down the paper and turn his glasses on the sea. He looked for a long time at the destroyer. I watched him for half an hour, till he got up and went back to the house for his luncheon, when I returned to the hotel for mine. I wasn't feeling very confident. This de- cent commonplace dwelling was not what I had expected. The man might be the bald 205 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS archEEologist of that horrible moorland farm, or he might not. He was exactly the kind of satisfied old bird you will find in every suburb and every holiday place. If you wanted a type of the perfectly harmless person you would probably pitch on that. But after lunch as I sat in the hotel porch I perked up, for I saw the thing I had hoped for and dreaded to miss. A yacht came up from the south and dropped anchor pretty well opposite the Ruff. She seemed about a hundred and fifty tons and I saw she belonged to the Squadron from the white ensign. So Scaife and I went down to the harbour and hired a boatman for an afternoon's fish- ing. I spent a warm and peaceful afternoon. We caught between us about twenty pounds of cod and lythe, and out in that dancing blue sea I took a cheerier view of things. Above the white cliffs of the Ruff I saw the green and red of the villas, and especially the great flagstaff of Trafalgar Lodge. About four o'clock when we had fished enough I 206 made the boatman row us round the yacht, which lay like a delicate white bird, ready at a moment to flee. Scaife said she must be a fast boat from her build, and that she was pretty heavily engined. Her name was the Ariadne, as I discovered from the cap of one of the men who was polishing brass-work. I spoke to him and got an answer in the soft dialect of Essex. Another hand that came along passed me the time of day in an unmistakable English tongue. Our boatman had an argument with one of them about the weather, and for a few minutes we lay on our oars close to the star- board bow. Then the men suddenly disregarded us and bent their heads to their work as an of- ficer came along the deck. He was a pleasant, clean-looking young fellow, and he put a ques- tion to us about our fishing in very good Eng- lish. But there could be no doubt about him. His close-cropped head and the cut of his collar and tie never came out of England. That did something to reassure me, but as 207 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS we rowed back to Bradgate my obstinate doubts would not be dismissed. The thing that worried me was the reflection that my enemies knew that I had got my knowledge from Scudder, and it was Scudder who had given me the clue to this place. If they knew that Scudder had this clue would they not be certain to change their plans? Too much de- pended on their success for them to take any risks. The whole question was how much they understood about Scudder's knowledge. I had talked confidently last night about Ger- mans always sticking to a scheme, but If they had any suspicions that I was on their track they would be fools not to cover it I won- dered if the man last night had seen that I recognised him. Somehow I did not think he had, and to that I clung. But the whole business had never seemed so difficult as that afternoon when by all calculations I should have been rejoicing in assured success. In the hotel I met the commander of the destroyer, to whom Scaife introduced me and with whom I had a few words. Thei 208 PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA^ thought I would put in an hour or two watch- ing Trafalgar Lodge. I found a place further up the hill in the , garden of an empty house. From there I j had a full view of the court, on which two ] figures were having a game of tennis. One was the old man, whom I had already seen ; the other was a younger fellow, wearing some club colours in the scarf round his mid- dle. They played with tremendous zest, like two city gents who wanted hard exercise to i open their pores. You couldn't conceive a ' more innocent spectacle. They shouted and laughed and stopped for drinks, when a maid brought out two tankards on a salver. I rubbed my eyes and asked myself if I was not the most immortal fool on earth. Mystery and darkness had hung about the men who hunted me over the Scotch moors in aeroplane and motor-car, and notably about that in- i fernal antiquarian. It was easy enough to J connect these folk with the knife that pinned j Scudder to the floor, and with fell designs I on the world's peace. But here were two 1 209 THIRTY-NINE ST] guileless citizens, taking their innocuous exer- cise, and soon about to go indoors to a hum- drum dinner, where they would talk of mar- ket prices and the last cricket scores and the gossip of their native Surbiton. I had been making a net to catch vultures and falcons, and lo and behold 1 two plump thrushes had blundered into it. Presently a third figure arrived, a young man on a bicycle, with a bag of golf-clubs slung on his bacL He strolled round to the tennis lawn and was welcomed riotously by the players. Evidently they were chaffing him, and their chafT sounded horribly Eng- lish. Then the plump man, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief, announced that he must have a tub. I heard his very words — "I've got into a proper lather," he said. "This will bring down my weight and my handicap, Bob. I'll take you on to-morrow and give you a stroke a hole." You couldn't find any- thing much more English than that. They all went into the house, and left mc feeling a precious idiot. I had been bark 2IO PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA up the wrong tree this time. These men might be acting; but if they were where was their audience? They didn't know I was sitting thirty yards off In a rhododendron. It was simply impossible to believe that these three hearty fellows were anything but what they seemed — three ordinary, game-playing, sub- urban Englishmen, wearisome, if you likCj but sordidly innocent. And yet there were three of them; and on« was old, and one was plump, and one was leai and dark; and their house chimed in witf Scudder's notes; and half a mile off was ly- ing a steam yacht with at least one German officer. I thought of Karolides lying dead and all Europe trembling on the edge of an earthquake, and the men I had left behind me in London, who were waiting anxiously on the events of the next hours. There was n<\ doubt that hell was afoot somewhere. Tb Black Stone had won, and if it survived t June night would bank its winnings. There seemed only one thing to do — go f ad no doubts, and if I was go THIRTY-NINE STEP! to make a fool of myself to do it handsomely. Never in my life have I faced a job with greater disinclination. I would rather in my then mind have walked into a den of anar- chists, each with his Browning handy, or faced a charging lion with a popgun, than enter the happy home of three cheerful Englishmen and tell them that their game was up. How they would laugh at me! But suddenly I remembered a thing I once heard in Rhodesia from old Peter Pienaar. I have quoted Peter already in this narrative. He was the best scout I ever knew, and be- fore he had turned respectable he had been pretty often on the windy side of the law, when he had been wanted badly by the au- thorities. Peter once discussed with me the question of disguises, and he had a theory which struck me at the time. He said, bar- ring absolute certainties like finger-prints, mere physical traits were very little use for identification if the fugitive really knew his business. He laughed at things like dyed hair and false beards and such childish f PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA The only thing that mattered was what Peter called "atmosphere." If a man couL get into perfectly different surroundings froi those in which he had been first observed, aa — this is the important part — really play u] to these surroundings and behave as if he had never been out of them, he would puzzle the cleverest detectives on earth. And he used to tell a story of how he once borrowed a black coat and went to church and shared the same hymn-book with the man that was looking for him. If that man had seen him in decent company before he would have recognised him; but he had only seen him snuffing the lights in a public-house with a revolver. The recollection of Peter's talk gave me tl first real comfort I had had that day. had been a wise old bird, and these fellows I was after were about the pick of the aviary. What if they were playing Peter's game? A fool tries to look diflferent; a clever man looks the same and is difTerent. Again, there was that other maxim of Pi ter's, which had helped me when I had beei 213 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS a roadman. "If you are playing a part, will never keep It up unless you convince yourself that you are it." That would explain the game of tennis. Those chaps didn't need to act, they just turned a handle and passed into another life, which came as naturally to them as the first. It sounds a platitude, but Peter used to say that it was the big secrel of all the famous criminals. It was now getting on for eight o'clock, I went back and saw Scaife to give him instructions. I arranged with him how place his men, and then I went for a walk, for I didn't feel up to any dinner. I went round the deserted golf-course, and then to a point on the clifTs further north, beyond the line of the villas. On the little, trim, newly made roads I met people in flannels coming back from tennis and the beach, and a coastguard from the wireless station, and donkeys and pierrots padding homewards. Out at sea in the blue dusk I saw lights appear on the Ari- adne and on the destroyer away to the south, and beyond the Cock sands the bigger 214 but 1 igger ligfaj^^H PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA of steamers making for the Thames. The whole scene was so peaceful and ordinary that I got more dashed in spirits every second. It took all my resolution to stroll towards Traf- algar Lodge about half-past nine. On the way I got a piece of solid comfort from the sight of a greyhound that was swing- ing along at a nursemaid's heels. He remind- ed me of a dog I used to have in Rhodesia, and of the time when I took him hunting with me in the Pali hills. We were after rhebok, the dun kind, and I recollected how we had followed one beast, and both he and I had clean lost it A greyhound works by sight, and my eyes are good enough, but that buck simply leaked out of the landscape. After- wards I found out how it managed it. Against the grey rock of the kopjes it showed no more than a crow against a thundercloud. It didn't need to run away; all it had to do was to stand Still and melt into the background. Suddenly as these memories chased across my brain I thought of my present case and applied the moral. The Black Stone didn't need to bolt 215 THE THIRTY-NINE S' They were quietly absorbed into the land- scape. I was on the right track, and I jammed that down in my mind and vowed never to for- get it. The last word was with Peter Plenaar. Scaife's men would be posted now, but there was no sign of a soul. The house stood as open as a market-place for anybody to ob- serve. A three-foot railing separated it from the cliff road ; the low sound of voices revealed where the occupants were finishing dinner. Everything was as public and above-board as a charity bazaar. Feeling the greatest fool on earth, I opened the gate and rang the bell. A man of my sort, who has travelled about the world in rough places, gets on perfectly well with two classes, what you may call the^ upper and the lower. He understands them and they understand him. I was at home with herds and tramps and roadmen, and I was sufficiently at my ease with people like Sir Walter and the men I had met the night be- fore. I can't explain why, but it is a fact. But what fellows like me don't understand is 1 216 RTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA I great comfortable, satisfied middle-class world, the folk that live in villas and suburbs. [ He doesn't know how they look at things, j he doesn't understand their conventions, and [ he is as shy of them as of a black mamba. When a trim parlour-maid opened the door, ( I could hardly find my voice. j I asked for Mr. Appleton and was ushered in. My plan had been to walk straight into the dining-room and by a sudden appearance wake in the men that start of recognition which would confirm my theory. But when I found myself in that neat hall the place mas- tered me. There were the golf-clubs and ten- nis-rackets, the straw hats and caps, the rows of gloves, the sheaf of walking-sticks which you will find in ten thousand British homes. A stack of neatly folded coats and waterproofs covered the top of an old oak chest; there was a grandfather clock ticking; and some pol- ished brass warming-pans on the walls, and a barometer, and a print of Chiltern winning the St. Leger. The place was as orthodox as an Anglican Church. When the maid asked me 217 THE THIRTY-NINE for my name I gave it automatically, and i shown into the smoking-room on the right side of the hall. That room was even worse. I hadn't time to examine it, but I could see some framed group photographs above the mantel- piece and I could have sworn they were Eng- lish public-school or college. I had only one glance, for I managed to pull myself together, and go after the maid. But I was too late. She had already entered the dining-room and given my name to her master, and I had missed the chance of seeing how the three took it. When I walked into the room the old man at the head of the table had risen and turned round to meet me. He was in evening dress —a short coat and black tie, as was the other whom I called in my own mind the plump one. The third, the dark fellow, wore a blue serge suit and a soft white collar and the col- ours of some club or school. The old man's manner was perfect. "Mr. Hannay?" he said, hesitatingly. "Did you wish to sec me? One moment, you ;' PARTIES CONVERGING o!^ raESEsI and I'll rejoin you. We had better go to the I smoking-room." I Though I hadn't an ounce of confidence in 1 me I forced myself to play the game. I I pulled up a chair and sat down on it. "I think we have met before," I said, "and! I guess you know my business." The light in the room was dim, but so far as I could see their faces they played the part of mystification very well. "Maybe, maybe," said the old man. "I 1 haven't a very good memory, but I'm afraid 1 you must tell me your errand, for I really don't know it." | "Well, then," I said, and all the time I seemed to myself to be talking pure foolish- ness — "I have come to tell you that the game's up. I have here a warrant for the arrest of I you three gentlemen." "Arrest," said the old man, and he looked j really shocked. "ArrestI Good God, what j for?" "For the murder of Franklin Scudder, in, I London,, on the 23d day of last month." j 219 I THIRTY-NINE ST "I never heard the name before," said the old man in a dazed voice. One of the others spoke up. "That v Portland Place murder. I read about Good Heavens, you must be mad, sir! Where do you come from?" "Scotland Yard," I said. 'After that, for a minute there was uttei3 lence. The old man was staring at his plate and fumbling with a nut, the very mode l of innocent bewilderment. Then the plump one spoke up. He mered a little, like a man picking words. "Don't get flustered, uncle," he said. "] all a ridiculous mistake, but these things hap- pen sometimes, and we can easily set it right. It won't be hard to prove our innocence. I can show that I was out of the country on the 23d of May, and Bob was in a nursing-home. You were in London, but you can explain what you were doing." "Right, Percy 1 Of course that's enough. The 23d! That was the day i 220 LTEES CONVERGING ON THE Agatha's wedding. Let me see. What was I doing? I came up in the morning from Woking, and lunched at the club with Charlie Symons. Then- Oh, yes, I dined with the Fishmongers. I remember, for the punch didn't agree with me, and I was seedy next morning. Hang it all, there's the cigar-box I brought back from tlie dinner." He pointed to an object on the table, and laughed nervously. "I think, sir," said the young man, address- ing me respectfully, "you will see you are mis- taken. We want to assist the law like all Englishmen, and we don't want Scotland Yard to be making fools of themselves. That's so, uncle?" "Certainly, Bob." The old fellow seemed to be recovering his voice. "Certainly, we'll do anything in our power to assist the authori- ties. But^ — but this is a bit too much. I can't get over it." "How Nellie will chuckle," said the plump man. "She always said that you would die of boredom because nothing ever happened to 221 you. And now you've got it thick ani and he began to laugh very pleasantly. "By Jove, yes. Just think of iti What a story to tell at the club. Really, Mr. Hannay, I suppose I should be angry, to show my inno- cence, but it's too funny! I almost forgive you the fright you gave me! You looked so glum I thought I might have been walkim in my sleep and killing people, It couldn't be acting, it was too confi ediy genuine. My heart went into my boots, and my first impulse was to apologise and clear out. But I told myself I must see it through, even though I was to be the laugh- ing-stock of Britain. The light from the dinner-table candlesticks was not very good, and to cover my confusion I got up, walked to the door and switched on the electric light The sudden glare made them blink, and I stood scanning the three faces. Well, I made nothing of it. One was old and bald, one was stout, one was dark and thin. There was nothing in their appearance to prevent them being the three who had hi 222 PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA ed me in Scotland, but there was nothing to identify them. I simply can't explain why I, who, as a roadman, had looked into two pairs of eyes, and as Ned Ainslie into another pair, why I, who have a good memory and reason- able powers of observation, could find no sat- isfaction. They seemed exactly what they professed to be, and I could not have sworn to one of them. There in that pleasant dining- room, with etchings on the walls, and a pic- ture of an old lady in a bib above the mantel- piece, I could see nothing to connect them with the moorland desperadoes. There was a silver cigarette-box beside me and I saw that it had been won by Percival Appleton, Esq., of the St. Bede's Club, in a golf tournament. r. I had to keep firm hold of Peter Pienaar to prevent myself bolting out of that house. "Well," said the old man politely, "are you reassured by your scrutiny, sir? I hope you'll find it consistent with your duty to drop this ridiculous business. I make no com- plaint, but you see how annoying it must be to respectable people." 223 THE THIRTY-! I shook my head. "Oh, Lord," said the young man, "this | bit too thick!" "Do you propose to march us off to the po- lice station?" asked the plump one. "That might be the best way out of it, but I suppose you won't be content with the local branch. I have the right to ask to see your warrant, but I don't wish to cast any aspersions upon you. You are only doing your duty. But you'll admit it's horribly awkward. What do 3 propose to do?" There was nothing to do except to call in my men and have them arrested or to confess my blunder and clear out. I felt mesmerised by the whole place, by the air of obvious in- nocence — not innocence merely, but frai honest bewilderment and concern in the t faces. "Oh, Peter Pienaar," I groaned inwardly, and for a moment I was very near damning myself for a fool and asking their pardon. "Meantime I vote we have a game of bridge," said the plump one. "It will ; 224 PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE Mr. Hannay time to think over things, and 1 you know we have been wanting a fourth ] player. Do you play, sir?" I accepted as if it had been an ordinary in- vitation at the club. The whole business had mesmerised me. We went into the smoking- room, where a card-table was set out, and I was offered things to smoke and drink. I took my place at the table in a kind of dream. The window was open and the moon was . flooding the cliffs and sea with a great tide of yellow light There was moonshine, too, in my head. The three had recovered their composure, and were talking easily — just the kind of slangy talk you will hear in any golf club-house. I must have cut a rum figure, sitting there knitting my brows with my eyes wandering. My partner was the young, dark one. I ' play a fair hand at bridge but I must hare been rank bad that night. They saw that they had got me puzzled, and that put them more than ever at their ease. I kept looking at their faces, but they conveyed nothing to me. 225 THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS ■^ It was not that they looked different; they •were different. I clung desperately to the words of Peter Pienaar. Then something awoke me. The old man laid down his hand to light a cigar. He didn't pick it up at once, but sat back for a moment in his chair, with his fingers tapping on his knees. It was the movement I remembered when I had stood before him in the moorland farm with the pistols of his servants behind me. A little thing, lasting only a second, and the odds were a thousand to one that I might have had ray eyes on my cards at the time and missed it. But I didn't and, in a flash, the air seemed to clear. Some shadow lifted from my brain and I was looking at the three men with full and absolute recognition. The clock on the mantelpiece struck ten o'clock. The three faces seemed to change before my eyes and reveal their secrets. The young oa 226 PUT I PARTIES CO CONVERGING ON THE was the murderer. Now I saw cruelty and ruthlessness where before I had only seen good-humour. His knife I made certain had skewered Scudder to the floor. His kind had put the bullet in KaroHdes. The plump man's features seemed to dislimn and form again, as I looked at them. He hadn't a face, only a hundred masks that he could assume when he pleased. That chap must have been a superb actor. Perhaps he had been Lord Alloa of the night before; perhaps not; it didn't mat- ter. I wondered if he was the fellow who had first tracked Scudder and left his card on him. Scudder had said he lisped, and I could im- agine how the adoption of a lisp might add terror. But the old man was the pick of the lot. He was sheer brain, icy, cool, calculating, as ruthless as a steam hammer. Now that my eyes were opened I wondered where I had seen the benevolence. His jaw was like chilled steel, and his eyes had the inhuman luminosity of a bird's. I went on playing, and every second a greater hate welled up in 227 I THE THIRTY-NINE my heart. It almost choked me, and I couldn't answer when my partner spoke. Only a litd longer could I endure their company. "Whew I Bob! Look at the time," sai3 the old man. "You'd better think about catch- ing your train. Bob's got to go to town to- night," he added, turning to me. The voice rang now as false as hell. I looked at the clock and it was nearly half- past ten. "I am afraid you must put off your jo«|j ney," I said. "O damn I" said the young man. thought you had dropped that rot. I've sim- ply got to go. You can have my address aq I'll give any security you like." "No," I said, "you must stay." At that I think they must have realised that the game was desperate. Their only chance had been to convince me that I was playing the fool, and that had failed. But the old man spoke again. "I'll go bail for my nephew. That ought to content you, Mr. Hannay." Was it fai 228 PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA or did I detect some halt in the smoothness of that voice. There must have been, for, as I glanced at him, his eyelids fell in that hawk-like hood which fear had stamped on my memory. I blew my whistle. In an instant the lights were out. A pair of strong arms gripped me round the waist, covering the pockets in which a man might be expected to carry a pistol. ^^Schnell, Franz/' cried a voice, ^^der hott, der bottr As it spoke I saw two of my fel- lows emerge on the moonlit lawn. The young dark man leaped for the win- dow, was through it, and over the low fence before a hand could touch him. I grappled the old chap, and the room seemed to fill with figures. I saw the plump one collared, but my eyes were all for the out-of-doors, where Franz sped on over the road towards the railed entrance to the beach stairs. One man followed him but he had no chance. The gate locked behind the fugitive, and I stood star- 229 E THIRTY-NINE STEPS at, f<^^| ing, with my hands on the old boy's throat, such a time as a man might take to descend those steps to the sea. Suddenly my prisoner broke from me and flung himself on the wall. There was a click as if a lever had been pulled. Then came a low rumbling far, far below the ground, and through the window I saw a cloud of chalky dust pouring out of the shaft of the stairwi Some one switched on the light. The old man was looking at me with blaz- ing eyes. "He is safe!" he cried. "You cannot fol- low him in time. He is gone. He has tri- umphed I Der Schiaarzestein ist in der Sie- geskrone." There was more in those eyes than any coni^ mon triumph. They had been hooded like a bird of prey, and now they flamed with a hawk's pride. A white fanatic heat burned in them, and I realised for the first time the ter- rible thing I had been up against. This man was more than a spy; in hia foul way he had been a patriot. 230 PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA As the handcuffs clinked on his wrists I said my last word to him. "I hope Franz will bear his triumph well. I ought to tell you that the Ariadne for the last hour has been in our hands.'* Three weeks later, as all the world knows, we went to war. I joined the New Army the first week, and owing to my Matabele expe- rience got a captain's commission straight oflf. But I had done my best service, I think, be- fore I put on khaki. THE END 23T lit. N » .1 1.'" m THE NOVELS OF MARY ROBERTS RINEHART Mo Iw bid writnnr book* in iDfiL Jbk for finitut k Ounlap't UtL "K." niuatrated. K. LeMoyne, famoua surgeon, drops out of the world that haa known him, and goes to live m a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. She is in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their young love are told with that keen and aympathetio appredation which haa , made the author fauoua. THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. niuatrated by Howard Chandler Chiisty. An absorbing detective story woven around the mysteri- ous death of the "Man in Lower Ten." The strongest elements of Mrs. Kinehart's success are found in this boolc WHEN A MAN MARRIES. Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced himj finds that his aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family income and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and most entertainingly told. THE CIRCULAR STAIRCj^E. lUua. by Lester Ralph. The summer occupants of "Sunnyaide" find the dead body of Arnold Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the ci> cular Bt^case. Following the murder a bank failure is a&> nounoed. Around these two events is woven a plcrt at absorbing interest. THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.) Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great vio- linist, suddenly realizes that her money is ahnost gone. She meets a young ambitious doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with world-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and slender means. GSOSSET & PPKLAP, PUBLISHERS, NeW YoRK JACK_LO^N DON'S NOVELS Miy ba had whoransr bwAt an uid. ttk fot 6n»ut A Dmitp's (IsL JOHN BARLEYCORN. Illustrated by H. T. Dimn. This remarkable book is a record of the author's own amazing experiences. This big, brawny world rover, who 1ms been ac- quainted ivith alcohol liorn boyuood, comes out boldly against John Barleycorn. It is a string of eidting adventures, yet it forcefully conveys an uuforgetable idea and makes a typical Jack London hooi. THE VALLEY OF THE MOON. FrontiapiecebyGeorgeHatper. The story opens in the city sluras where Billy Roberts, teamster and es-priie fighter, and Saion Brown, laundry worker, meet and love and many. They tramp from one end of California to tho other, and in the Valley of the Moon find the farm paiadisa that is to tie their salvation. BURNING DAYLIGHT. Four Ulnstraaoos. The story ol an adventarer who went to Alaska and laid tlio firandations of his fortune before the gold hunters arrived. Bringing his fortunes to the States he is cheatodiiatof it bya crowd oi mocey Idngs, and recovers it only at the muzzle of his gira. He then starts onl as a merciless exploiter on his own accoimt. Finally he lakes to drinking and becomes a picture of degeneration. About this time be falls in iove with his stenographer and wins her heart but not . tier hand and then — but read the story! ASONOFTHESUN .inustratedbyA.O.FischeraodC-'W.Agliley. Darid Grief was once a light-haired, blue-eyed youth who came fCom England to Che South Seas in searcii of adventure. Tanned like 3 native and as htha as a tiger, he became a real son of the sun. The lite appealed to him and he remained and became very wealthy. THE CALL OF THE WILD. Illnstrations by Philip R. Goodwin and CharlEiS Livingston Bull. Decorations by Charles E. Hooper. A booTc ol dog adventures as exciting as any man's explnts could be. Here is excitement to stir the blood and here is pictur- esque color to transport the reader to primitive scenes.J THE JEA WOLF. Illustrated by W.J. Aylward. Told by a man whom Fate suddenly swings from his fsstidiotu Hfe into the power of the brutal captain of a sealing schooner. A novel of adventure warmed by a beautiful love episode that every wader will hail with delight. WHtTE FANG. lUnstrated by Charles Livingston BulL White Pang" is part dog, part wolt and all brute, llvine In th» frozen north ; he gradually comes under the speli of man^s com- panionship, and surrenders ell at the last in a fight with a bull do^ Thereafter he Is man's loving slave. Grosset & DuNLAP, Publishers, New York ZaNE GREY'S NOVELS huprisin; cUmax brines the blory lo 2 ddufLtlul THE RAINBOW TRAIL Th8 BtPTT describes tha iTomt bptmLdb alone the bi 01 the Buld vhlch twn prQapci:IorA had^wiUud. to Iha RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE A DictLirb^UE romance of Utah ol Borue fDttiry«aTB affo 1 tmtd. The proKciition of Jane WitberGteen ia tbe UiemeLof THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN wouderfut cooDtry oi dtp anooitnd goal pId« THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT A lovelr ftirl, who has been reared amour Harmons, EnElander. Thu Mormon rrliEian, however, deniaivU the ancond inle r4 one of Ihs Mocmooi-WeU, Ihat's the THE SHORT STOP The youaz hero, tirinr of hb factor/ G^nd. starts ant to ft tltin BPOTti nan s h> p, couiasrc and boue&ty Do^ht La win. BETTY ZANE I This 3toiTfel]fi of the bravery fend hertilam of Betty, the' THE LONE STAR RANGER Joan Randle, b a >plrit of anger, sent run Clevc out to a lawlera Western nidi oBip. to proverb metile. TbeS wAhiiniiial she loved hun-sh. followed him oi "iK? 'ss Jim, in the throes of dk,. guo ptay carry you along hi THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS, By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey Tbo lite story of Colonel WiUUni F. Cody. " Bnffilo Bill," a* told by hli ibttt ud Zine Grey. II bulna nith his borluwd in Iowa and his Gret cDcomter with ka In- dian. We sea " Bill " as a pony eipresa ridei, then aur Fon Sumler u Ouef oi the Scouts, and later eBEaEed in the most dangerous Indian caapaiKiu. The™*" tUoaveiTiDierestlnsBCCDiialoflhetravSsof "The Wild Weil" Show. No ^b^ GROSSET & DUNLAP, POBLISHEHS, NeW YorK B. M. BOWER'S NOVELS L CHIP OF TPE FLYING U. Wherein the love aftaira of Chip and Ddia Whiimaa are charmingly and huraoroualy toU. THE HAPPV FAMIIV. A lively and amusing atoiy, dealing wltll the adventures of eigtiteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboyd g ER PRAIRIE l^NiGHT. DeacribioE a gay carty of EaPtemeil who eifhange a cottage at Newport for a Montana laActi-hoiMe. THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited acUon. a range feud be- two familiei, and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright. jolty atory. THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS. A vivid portrayal of the BJipeiience of an Eastern author among the cowboys. J HE LONESOME TRAIL. A little branch of sage brush and tlw recollection of a pair oi large brown eyes upaet "Weary" David- THE LONG SHADOW. A vigorous Weetem atory, sparkUng witb tile free outdoor life of a mountain ranch. It is a fine love etary, GOOD INDIAN. A stirring romance of 'ife on an Idaho ranch, gLVING U RANCH. Another delightful story about Chip and his paU. THE FLYING U'S LAST STAND. An anuBing account of CI^P and the other boys opposing a party of school teachert THE UPHILL CLIMB. A stoiy of a mouotaia ranch and)! man's hard fight on the uphill road to manliness. THE PHANTOM HERD. Tlie title of a movlng-pictur* itagfldjl New Mexico by the "Klying U " boys. i ^HE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX. The"FlyingU" boytgtagt a fake bank robbery for film purpoics which precedes a real b(m for lust of gold, THE GRINGOS. A atoiy of love ar«I adventure on a Caliloraia. STARR OF THE DESERT. A New Mexico ranch sloty of a tery and adventure. ^HE LOOKOtrr MAN. A Northern Calliomia ttory full of ai Geosset & DuNLAP, Publishers, New Yobk TARKINGTON' NOVELS i«t bOBli* iro «o[|]. Ask .loc Gnnst ft Dnnrap'i ll(L Illiiatrated by Artlmr William Brown. No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young people of this story. Ita humor is irre- eiatible and reminiscent of the time when the reader Y Seventeen. PENROD. IUustrat«d by Gordon Grant. Thia 18 a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, L^.^ morons, tragic things which are locked secrets to most oldtir folks. It is a finished, exqaiBite work. FENROD AND 9A _ M. Illuatrated by Worth Erehm, like" Penrod" and "Seventeen," thia book cont^na Bome remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile pranldshness that have ever beea written. THE TURMOIL. . Illustrated byC. E. Chambera. Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who rt- volts against his father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. A story of love and politics, — ^more especially a picture ot a country editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love interest. THE FLIRT. lUustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. lies I I! L The " Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one gjrl's I engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder I of another, leads another to lose bis fortune, aod in the end ■ marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really H worthy one to marry her sister. I = Aik /c Complete c till of C S D. Popalar Cofiyrtghltd Fldbm GbOSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER Mw li« tiMi ttbufni bonK« an Mid. *»li Iw BumiM * Dunlip't IM. MICHAEL Q-HALLORAN. IlJustrated by Frances Rogera. Michael is a quick-witted little Irish newsboy, living in Nprthem Indiana. He adoptB a deserted little girl, i tumes the responsibility of leading tbe entir trard and onward. ' LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. This is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. The Btory is told by Little Sister, the youngest member of a large family, but it is concerned not so much with childish doings ae with the love affairs of older members of the family. Chief ampng them is tbat at Laddie and the Princess, an English girl nho has come to hve in the neighborhood and about whose family there hangs a myatecr. THE HARVESTER. Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs. " The Haiveater, " is a man of the woods and fields, and if th» [ book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would be nota.bIe. But when the Girl comes to his " Medicine Woods," there begins a romance of the rarest idyllic quality. FRECKLES . lUustrated. Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the nay In which be takes hold of hfe ; the nature friendships he forms in the great Limberlost Swamp ; the manner in which everyone who meet! bim succumbs to the charm of his engaging petsonahty ; and hla love-story with " The Angel " are full of ri A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. Illustrated. The story of a girl of the Michigan woods type of the seif-reliatit American. Her philosoi kindness cowards all tiutigs ; her hope is ne' the sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her' buoyant, ToveabH is one of love and dimmed. And by ision. she wins fr<7n) barren and unpromising surroundioga those rewards of high couraE*> ' ftT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. IQustraUons in colora. The scrne of this charming love story is laid in Central Indiai4. The story Is one of devot^ friendship, and tender self-BBcriScing love. The novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos and tender sendment will endear it I TO E SONG OF THE CARDINAL. Profusely fliuatrated. GrOSSET & DUNLAP, i RALPH CONNOR^S STORIES OF THE NO RTHWEST MMi b* had whtraisi tnaii i ira Mi. kit, ^c i Grattit 4 Onnlip'i lltl THE SICY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND The clean -hearted, Btrong-limbed man of the West leaw hia hills and forests to fi^t the battle lor freedom id the old world. BLACK ROCK A story of atrong men m the mountains of the Weat. THE SKY PILOT A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freaheat humor, tiie truest teaderness and the finest courage. THE PROSPECTOR A tale of the foothills and of tiie man who came to them to lend a hand to the lonely men and women who needed B protector. THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY This narrative brinp us into contact with elemental and volcanic human nature and with a hero whose power breothei from every word. GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph ConDor hw found human nature in the rough. THE DOCTOR The atory of a "preacher-doctor" whom big mm | reckless men loved for his imselfiah life among them. THE FOREIGNER A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a "foreigner" . made a brave and winning fight for manhood an4 Iots. [ CORPORAL CAMF.RON Thia splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man a which Ralph Connor buUds all bia stories, appears a this boolc. GrOSSET & DUNLAP, PUBHSHERS, 'I THE BORROWER WrLL BE CHARGED AN OVERDUE FEE IF THIS BOOK IS NOT RETURNED TO THE LIBRARY ON OR BEFORE THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. NON-RECEIPT OF OVERDUE NOTICES DOES NOT EXEMPT THE BORROWER FROM OVERDUE FEES.