THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS

by

JOHN BUCHAN

TO

THOMAS ARTHUR NELSON

(LOTHIAN AND BORDER HORSE)

My Dear Tommy, You and I have long cherished an affection for that elemental type oftale which Americans call the 'dime novel' and which we know as the'shocker'--the romance where the incidents defy the probabilities, andmarch just inside the borders of the possible. During an illness lastwinter I exhausted my store of those aids to cheerfulness, and wasdriven to write one for myself. This little volume is the result, andI should like to put your name on it in memory of our long friendship, in the days when the wildest fictions are so much less improbable thanthe facts. 

J. B. 

CONTENTS

 1. The Man Who Died 2. The Milkman Sets Out on his Travels 3. The Adventure of the Literary Innkeeper 4. The Adventure of the Radical Candidate 5. The Adventure of the Spectacled Roadman 6. The Adventure of the Bald Archaeologist 7. The Dry-Fly Fisherman 8. The Coming of the Black Stone 9. The Thirty-Nine Steps 10. Various Parties Converging on the Sea

CHAPTER ONE

The Man Who Died

I returned from the City about three o'clock on that May afternoonpretty well disgusted with life. I had been three months in the OldCountry, and was fed up with it. If anyone had told me a year ago thatI would have been feeling like that I should have laughed at him; butthere was the fact. The weather made me liverish, the talk of theordinary Englishman made me sick, I couldn't get enough exercise, andthe amusements of London seemed as flat as soda-water that has beenstanding in the sun. 'Richard Hannay, ' I kept telling myself, 'youhave got into the wrong ditch, my friend, and you had better climb out. '

It made me bite my lips to think of the plans I had been building upthose last years in Bulawayo. I had got my pile--not one of the bigones, but good enough for me; and I had figured out all kinds of waysof enjoying myself. My father had brought me out from Scotland at theage of six, and I had never been home since; so England was a sort ofArabian Nights to me, and I counted on stopping there for the rest ofmy days. 

But from the first I was disappointed with it. In about a week I wastired of seeing sights, and in less than a month I had had enough ofrestaurants and theatres and race-meetings. I had no real pal to goabout with, which probably explains things. Plenty of people invitedme to their houses, but they didn't seem much interested in me. Theywould fling me a question or two about South Africa, and then get ontheir own affairs. A lot of Imperialist ladies asked me to tea to meetschoolmasters from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that wasthe dismalest business of all. Here was I, thirty-seven years old, sound in wind and limb, with enough money to have a good time, yawningmy head off all day. I had just about settled to clear out and getback 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 givemy mind something to work on, and on my way home I turned into myclub--rather a pot-house, which took in Colonial members. I had a longdrink, and read the evening papers. They were full of the row in theNear East, and there was an article about Karolides, the Greek Premier. I rather fancied the chap. From all accounts he seemed the one big manin the show; and he played a straight game too, which was more thancould be said for most of them. I gathered that they hated him prettyblackly in Berlin and Vienna, but that we were going to stick by him, and one paper said that he was the only barrier between Europe andArmageddon. I remember wondering if I could get a job in those parts. It struck me that Albania was the sort of place that might keep a manfrom yawning. 

About six o'clock I went home, dressed, dined at the Cafe Royal, andturned into a music-hall. It was a silly show, all capering women andmonkey-faced men, and I did not stay long. The night was fine andclear as I walked back to the flat I had hired near Portland Place. The crowd surged past me on the pavements, busy and chattering, and Ienvied the people for having something to do. These shop-girls andclerks and dandies and policemen had some interest in life that keptthem going. I gave half-a-crown to a beggar because I saw him yawn; hewas a fellow-sufferer. At Oxford Circus I looked up into the springsky and I made a vow. I would give the Old Country another day to fitme into something; if nothing happened, I would take the next boat forthe Cape. 

My flat was the first floor in a new block behind Langham Place. Therewas a common staircase, with a porter and a liftman at the entrance, but there was no restaurant or anything of that sort, and each flat wasquite shut off from the others. I hate servants on the premises, so Ihad a fellow to look after me who came in by the day. He arrivedbefore eight o'clock every morning and used to depart at seven, for Inever dined at home. 

I was just fitting my key into the door when I noticed a man at myelbow. I had not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance made mestart. He was a slim man, with a short brown beard and small, gimletyblue eyes. I recognized him as the occupant of a flat on the topfloor, 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 wassteadying 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 thethreshold than he made a dash for my back room, where I used to smokeand write my letters. Then he bolted back. 

'Is the door locked?' he asked feverishly, and he fastened the chainwith his own hand. 

'I'm very sorry, ' he said humbly. 'It's a mighty liberty, but youlooked the kind of man who would understand. I've had you in my mindall this week when things got troublesome. Say, will you do me a goodturn?'

'I'll listen to you, ' I said. 'That's all I'll promise. ' I wasgetting worried by the antics of this nervous little chap. 

There was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from which he filledhimself a stiff whisky-and-soda. He drank it off in three gulps, andcracked the glass as he set it down. 

'Pardon, ' he said, 'I'm a bit rattled tonight. You see, I happen atthis 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 todeal with a madman. 

A smile flickered over his drawn face. 'I'm not mad--yet. Say, Sir, I've been 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'mgoing to confide in you. I need help worse than any man ever neededit, and I want to know if I can count you in. '

'Get on with your yarn, ' I said, 'and I'll tell you. '

He seemed to brace himself for a great effort, and then started on thequeerest rigmarole. I didn't get hold of it at first, and I had tostop and ask him questions. But here is the gist of it:

He was an American, from Kentucky, and after college, being pretty welloff, he had started out to see the world. He wrote a bit, and acted aswar correspondent for a Chicago paper, and spent a year or two inSouth-Eastern Europe. I gathered that he was a fine linguist, and hadgot to know pretty well the society in those parts. He spokefamiliarly of many names that I remembered to have seen in thenewspapers. 

He had played about with politics, he told me, at first for theinterest of them, and then because he couldn't help himself. I readhim as a sharp, restless fellow, who always wanted to get down to theroots 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. Awaybehind all the Governments and the armies there was a big subterraneanmovement going on, engineered by very dangerous people. He had come onit by accident; it fascinated him; he went further, and then he gotcaught. I gathered that most of the people in it were the sort ofeducated anarchists that make revolutions, but that beside them therewere financiers who were playing for money. A clever man can make bigprofits on a falling market, and it suited the book of both classes toset Europe by the ears. 

He told me some queer things that explained a lot that had puzzledme--things that happened in the Balkan War, how one state suddenly cameout on top, why alliances were made and broken, why certain mendisappeared, and where the sinews of war came from. The aim of thewhole conspiracy was to get Russia and Germany at loggerheads. 

When I asked why, he said that the anarchist lot thought it would givethem their chance. Everything would be in the melting-pot, and theylooked to see a new world emerge. The capitalists would rake in theshekels, and make fortunes by buying up wreckage. 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 beenpersecuted, and this is the return match for the pogroms. The Jew iseverywhere, but you have to go far down the backstairs to find him. Take any big Teutonic business concern. If you have dealings with itthe first man you meet is Prince von und Zu Something, an elegant youngman who talks Eton-and-Harrow English. But he cuts no ice. If yourbusiness is big, you get behind him and find a prognathous Westphalianwith a retreating brow and the manners of a hog. He is the Germanbusiness man that gives your English papers the shakes. But if you'reon the biggest kind of job and are bound to get to the real boss, tento one you are brought up against a little white-faced Jew in abath-chair with an eye like a rattlesnake. Yes, Sir, he is the man whois ruling the world just now, and he has his knife in the Empire of theTzar, because his aunt was outraged and his father flogged in someone-horse location on the Volga. '

I could not help saying that his Jew-anarchists seemed to have got leftbehind a little. 

'Yes and no, ' he said. 'They won up to a point, but they struck abigger thing than money, a thing that couldn't be bought, the oldelemental fighting instincts of man. If you're going to be killed youinvent some kind of flag and country to fight for, and if you surviveyou get to love the thing. Those foolish devils of soldiers have foundsomething they care for, and that has upset the pretty plan laid inBerlin and Vienna. But my friends haven't played their last card by along sight. They've gotten the ace up their sleeves, and unless I cankeep alive for a month they are going to play it and win. '

'But I thought you were dead, ' I put in. 

'MORS JANUA VITAE, ' he smiled. (I recognized the quotation: it wasabout all the Latin I knew. ) 'I'm coming to that, but I've got to putyou wise about a lot of things first. If you read your newspaper, Iguess 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 bigbrain in the whole show, and he happens also to be an honest man. Therefore he has been marked down these twelve months past. I foundthat 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 knowledgewas deadly. That's why I have had to decease. '

He had another drink, and I mixed it for him myself, for I was gettinginterested in the beggar. 

'They can't get him in his own land, for he has a bodyguard of Epirotesthat would skin their grandmothers. But on the 15th day of June he iscoming to this city. The British Foreign Office has taken to havingInternational tea-parties, and the biggest of them is due on that date. Now Karolides is reckoned the principal guest, and if my friends havetheir way he will never return to his admiring countrymen. '

'That's simple enough, anyhow, ' I said. 'You can warn him and keep himat home. '

'And play their game?' he asked sharply. 'If he does not come theywin, for he's the only man that can straighten out the tangle. And ifhis Government are warned he won't come, for he does not know how bigthe stakes will be on June the 15th. '

'What about the British Government?' I said. 'They're not going to lettheir guests be murdered. Tip them the wink, and they'll take extraprecautions. '

'No good. They might stuff your city with plain-clothes detectives anddouble the police and Constantine would still be a doomed man. Myfriends are not playing this game for candy. They want a big occasionfor the taking off, with the eyes of all Europe on it. He'll bemurdered by an Austrian, and there'll be plenty of evidence to show theconnivance of the big folk in Vienna and Berlin. It will all be aninfernal lie, of course, but the case will look black enough to theworld. I'm not talking hot air, my friend. I happen to know everydetail of the hellish contrivance, and I can tell you it will be themost finished piece of blackguardism since the Borgias. But it's notgoing to come off if there's a certain man who knows the wheels of thebusiness alive right here in London on the 15th day of June. And thatman is going to be your servant, Franklin P. Scudder. '

I was getting to like the little chap. His jaw had shut like arat-trap, and there was the fire of battle in his gimlety eyes. If hewas 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 Achensee in Tyrol. That set meinquiring, and I collected my other clues in a fur-shop in the Galicianquarter of Buda, in a Strangers' Club in Vienna, and in a littlebookshop off the Racknitzstrasse in Leipsic. I completed my evidenceten days ago in Paris. I can't tell you the details now, for it'ssomething of a history. When I was quite sure in my own mind I judgedit my business to disappear, and I reached this city by a mighty queercircuit. I left Paris a dandified young French-American, and I sailedfrom Hamburg a Jew diamond merchant. In Norway I was an Englishstudent of Ibsen collecting materials for lectures, but when I leftBergen I was a cinema-man with special ski films. And I came here fromLeith with a lot of pulp-wood propositions in my pocket to put beforethe London newspapers. Till yesterday I thought I had muddied my trailsome, and was feeling pretty happy. Then ... '

The recollection seemed to upset him, and he gulped down some morewhisky. 

'Then I saw a man standing in the street outside this block. I used tostay close in my room all day, and only slip out after dark for an houror two. I watched him for a bit from my window, and I thought Irecognized him ... He came in and spoke to the porter ... When I cameback from my walk last night I found a card in my letter-box. It borethe name of the man I want least to meet on God's earth. '

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

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

'How did you manage it?'

'I told the man that valets me that I was feeling pretty bad, and I gotmyself up to look like death. That wasn't difficult, for I'm no slouchat disguises. Then I got a corpse--you can always get a body in Londonif you know where to go for it. I fetched it back in a trunk on thetop 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 bedand got my man to mix me a sleeping-draught, and then told him to clearout. He wanted to fetch a doctor, but I swore some and said I couldn'tabide leeches. When I was left alone I started in to fake up thatcorpse. He was my size, and I judged had perished from too muchalcohol, so I put some spirits handy about the place. The jaw was theweak point in the likeness, so I blew it away with a revolver. Idaresay there will be somebody tomorrow to swear to having heard ashot, but there are no neighbours on my floor, and I guessed I couldrisk it. So I left the body in bed dressed up in my pyjamas, with arevolver lying on the bed-clothes and a considerable mess around. ThenI got into a suit of clothes I had kept waiting for emergencies. Ididn't dare to shave for fear of leaving tracks, and besides, it wasn'tany kind of use my trying to get into the streets. I had had you in mymind all day, and there seemed nothing to do but to make an appeal toyou. I watched from my window till I saw you come home, and thenslipped down the stair to meet you ... There, Sir, I guess you knowabout as much as me of this business. '

He sat blinking like an owl, fluttering with nerves and yet desperatelydetermined. By this time I was pretty well convinced that he was goingstraight with me. It was the wildest sort of narrative, but I hadheard in my time many steep tales which had turned out to be true, andI had made a practice of judging the man rather than the story. If hehad wanted to get a location in my flat, and then cut my throat, hewould have pitched a milder yarn. 

'Hand me your key, ' I said, 'and I'll take 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 reckoned you'd ask for that, but Ihaven't got it. It's on my chain on the dressing-table. I had toleave it behind, for I couldn't leave any clues to breed suspicions. The gentry who are after me are pretty bright-eyed citizens. You'llhave to take me on trust for the night, and tomorrow you'll get proofof the corpse business right enough. '

I thought for an instant or two. 'Right. I'll trust you for thenight. 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 Ishould warn you that I'm a handy man with a gun. '

'Sure, ' he said, jumping up with some briskness. 'I haven't theprivilege of your name, Sir, but let me tell you that you're a whiteman. I'll thank you to lend me a razor. '

I took him into my bedroom and turned him loose. In half an hour'stime a figure came out that I scarcely recognized. Only his gimlety, hungry eyes were the same. He was shaved clean, his hair was parted inthe middle, and he had cut his eyebrows. Further, he carried himselfas if he had been drilled, and was the very model, even to the browncomplexion, 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 ofthe American had gone out of his speech. 

'My hat! Mr Scudder--' I stammered. 

'Not Mr Scudder, ' he corrected; 'Captain Theophilus Digby, of the 40thGurkhas, presently home on leave. I'll thank you to remember that, Sir. '

I made him up a bed in my smoking-room and sought my own couch, morecheerful than I had been for the past month. Things did happenoccasionally, even in this God-forgotten metropolis. 

I woke next morning to hear my man, Paddock, making the deuce of a rowat the smoking-room door. Paddock was a fellow I had done a good turnto out on the Selakwe, and I had inspanned him as my servant as soon asI got to England. He had about as much gift of the gab as ahippopotamus, and was not a great hand at valeting, but I knew I couldcount 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 inthere. 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, withhis nerves pretty bad from overwork, who wanted absolute rest andstillness. Nobody had got to know he was here, or he would be besiegedby communications from the India Office and the Prime Minister and hiscure would be ruined. I am bound to say Scudder played up splendidlywhen he came to breakfast. He fixed Paddock with his eyeglass, justlike a British officer, asked him about the Boer War, and slung out atme a lot of stuff about imaginary pals. Paddock couldn't learn to callme 'Sir', but he 'sirred' Scudder as if his life depended on it. 

I left him with the newspaper and a box of cigars, and went down to theCity till luncheon. When I got back the lift-man had an important face. 

'Nawsty business 'ere this morning, Sir. Gent in No. 15 been and shot'isself. They've just took 'im to the mortiary. The police are upthere now. '

I ascended to No. 15, and found a couple of bobbies and an inspectorbusy making an examination. I asked a few idiotic questions, and theysoon kicked me out. Then I found the man that had valeted Scudder, andpumped him, but I could see he suspected nothing. He was a whiningfellow with a churchyard face, and half-a-crown went far to console him. 

I attended the inquest next day. A partner of some publishing firmgave evidence that the deceased had brought him wood-pulp propositions, and had been, he believed, an agent of an American business. The juryfound it a case of suicide while of unsound mind, and the few effectswere handed over to the American Consul to deal with. I gave Scudder afull account of the affair, and it interested him greatly. He said hewished he could have attended the inquest, for he reckoned it would beabout as spicy as to read one's own obituary notice. 

The first two days he stayed with me in that back room he was verypeaceful. He read and smoked a bit, and made a heap of jottings in anote-book, and every night we had a game of chess, at which he beat mehollow. I think he was nursing his nerves back to health, for he hadhad a pretty trying time. But on the third day I could see he wasbeginning to get restless. He fixed up a list of the days till June15th, and ticked each off with a red pencil, making remarks inshorthand against them. I would find him sunk in a brown study, withhis sharp eyes abstracted, and after those spells of meditation he wasapt to be very despondent. 

Then I could see that he began to get edgy again. He listened forlittle noises, and was always asking me if Paddock could be trusted. Once or twice he got very peevish, and apologized for it. I didn'tblame him. I made every allowance, for he had taken on a fairly stiffjob. 

It was not the safety of his own skin that troubled him, but thesuccess of the scheme he had planned. That little man was clean gritall 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 intothis business. I should hate to go out without leaving somebody elseto put up a fight. ' And he began to tell me in detail what I had onlyheard from him vaguely. 

I did not give him very close attention. The fact is, I was moreinterested in his own adventures than in his high politics. I reckonedthat Karolides and his affairs were not my business, leaving all thatto him. So a lot that he said slipped clean out of my memory. Iremember that he was very clear that the danger to Karolides would notbegin till he had got to London, and would come from the very highestquarters, where there would be no thought of suspicion. He mentionedthe name of a woman--Julia Czechenyi--as having something to do withthe danger. She would be the decoy, I gathered, to get Karolides outof the care of his guards. He talked, too, about a Black Stone and aman that lisped in his speech, and he described very particularlysomebody that he never referred to without a shudder--an old man with ayoung voice who could hood his eyes like a hawk. 

He spoke a good deal about death, too. He was mortally anxious aboutwinning 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 in at thewindow. I used to thank God for such mornings way back in theBlue-Grass country, and I guess I'll thank Him when I wake up on theother side of Jordan. '

Next day he was much more cheerful, and read the life of StonewallJackson much of the time. I went out to dinner with a mining engineerI had got to see on business, and came back about half-past ten in timefor our game of chess before turning in. 

I had a cigar in my mouth, I remember, as I pushed open thesmoking-room door. The lights were not lit, which struck me as odd. Iwondered if Scudder had turned in already. 

I snapped the switch, but there was nobody there. Then I saw somethingin the far corner which made me drop my cigar and fall into a coldsweat. 

My guest was lying sprawled on his back. There was a long knifethrough his heart which skewered him to the floor. 

CHAPTER TWO

The Milkman Sets Out on his Travels

I sat down in an armchair and felt very sick. That lasted for maybefive minutes, and was succeeded by a fit of the horrors. The poorstaring white face on the floor was more than I could bear, and Imanaged to get a table-cloth and cover it. Then I staggered to acupboard, found the brandy and swallowed several mouthfuls. I had seenmen die violently before; indeed I had killed a few myself in theMatabele War; but this cold-blooded indoor business was different. Still I managed to pull myself together. I looked at my watch, and sawthat 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 andbolted all the windows and put the chain on the door. By this time mywits were coming back to me, and I could think again. It took me aboutan hour to figure the thing out, and I did not hurry, for, unless themurderer came back, I had till about six o'clock in the morning for mycogitations. 

I was in the soup--that was pretty clear. Any shadow of a doubt Imight have had about the truth of Scudder's tale was now gone. Theproof of it was lying under the table-cloth. The men who knew that heknew what he knew had found him, and had taken the best way to makecertain 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 Iwould be the next to go. It might be that very night, or next day, orthe day after, but my number was up all right. 

Then suddenly I thought of another probability. Supposing I went outnow and called in the police, or went to bed and let Paddock find thebody and call them in the morning. What kind of a story was I to tellabout Scudder? I had lied to Paddock about him, and the whole thinglooked desperately fishy. If I made a clean breast of it and told thepolice everything he had told me, they would simply laugh at me. Theodds were a thousand to one that I would be charged with the murder, and the circumstantial evidence was strong enough to hang me. Fewpeople knew me in England; I had no real pal who could come forward andswear to my character. Perhaps that was what those secret enemies wereplaying for. They were clever enough for anything, and an Englishprison was as good a way of getting rid of me till after June 15th as aknife in my chest. 

Besides, if I told the whole story, and by any miracle was believed, Iwould be playing their game. Karolides would stay at home, which waswhat they wanted. Somehow or other the sight of Scudder's dead facehad made me a passionate believer in his scheme. He was gone, but hehad taken me into his confidence, and I was pretty well bound to carryon his work. 

You may think this ridiculous for a man in danger of his life, but thatwas the way I looked at it. I am an ordinary sort of fellow, notbraver than other people, but I hate to see a good man downed, and thatlong knife would not be the end of Scudder if I could play the game inhis place. 

It took me an hour or two to think this out, and by that time I hadcome to a decision. I must vanish somehow, and keep vanished till theend of the second week in June. Then I must somehow find a way to getin touch with the Government people and tell them what Scudder had toldme. I wished to Heaven he had told me more, and that I had listenedmore carefully to the little he had told me. I knew nothing but thebarest facts. There was a big risk that, even if I weathered the otherdangers, I would not be believed in the end. I must take my chance ofthat, and hope that something might happen which would confirm my talein the eyes of the Government. 

My first job was to keep going for the next three weeks. It was nowthe 24th day of May, and that meant twenty days of hiding before Icould venture to approach the powers that be. I reckoned that two setsof people would be looking for me--Scudder's enemies to put me out ofexistence, and the police, who would want me for Scudder's murder. Itwas going to be a giddy hunt, and it was queer how the prospectcomforted me. I had been slack so long that almost any chance ofactivity was welcome. When I had to sit alone with that corpse andwait on Fortune I was no better than a crushed worm, but if my neck'ssafety was to hang on my own wits I was prepared to be cheerful aboutit. 

My next thought was whether Scudder had any papers about him to give mea better clue to the business. I drew back the table-cloth andsearched 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 amoment. There was nothing in the breast-pocket, and only a few loosecoins and a cigar-holder in the waistcoat. The trousers held a littlepenknife and some silver, and the side pocket of his jacket containedan old crocodile-skin cigar-case. There was no sign of the littleblack book in which I had seen him making notes. That had no doubtbeen taken by his murderer. 

But as I looked up from my task I saw that some drawers had been pulledout in the writing-table. Scudder would never have left them in thatstate, for he was the tidiest of mortals. Someone must have beensearching for something--perhaps for the pocket-book. 

I went round the flat and found that everything had been ransacked--theinside of books, drawers, cupboards, boxes, even the pockets of theclothes in my wardrobe, and the sideboard in the dining-room. Therewas no trace of the book. Most likely the enemy had found it, but theyhad 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 veldcraftwould be of some use to me, for I would be like a trapped rat in acity. I considered that Scotland would be best, for my people wereScotch and I could pass anywhere as an ordinary Scotsman. I had halfan idea at first to be a German tourist, for my father had had Germanpartners, and I had been brought up to speak the tongue prettyfluently, not to mention having put in three years prospecting forcopper in German Damaraland. But I calculated that it would be lessconspicuous to be a Scot, and less in a line with what the police mightknow of my past. I fixed on Galloway as the best place to go. It wasthe nearest wild part of Scotland, so far as I could figure it out, andfrom the look of the map was not over thick with population. 

A search in Bradshaw informed me that a train left St Pancras at 7. 10, which would land me at any Galloway station in the late afternoon. That was well enough, but a more important matter was how I was to makemy way to St Pancras, for I was pretty certain that Scudder's friendswould be watching outside. This puzzled me for a bit; then I had aninspiration, on which I went to bed and slept for two troubled hours. 

I got up at four and opened my bedroom shutters. The faint light of afine summer morning was flooding the skies, and the sparrows had begunto chatter. I had a great revulsion of feeling, and felt aGod-forgotten fool. My inclination was to let things slide, and trustto the British police taking a reasonable view of my case. But as Ireviewed the situation I could find no arguments to bring against mydecision of the previous night, so with a wry mouth I resolved to go onwith my plan. I was not feeling in any particular funk; onlydisinclined to go looking for trouble, if you understand me. 

I hunted out a well-used tweed suit, a pair of strong nailed boots, anda flannel shirt with a collar. Into my pockets I stuffed a spareshirt, a cloth cap, some handkerchiefs, and a tooth-brush. I had drawna good sum in gold from the bank two days before, in case Scuddershould want money, and I took fifty pounds of it in sovereigns in abelt which I had brought back from Rhodesia. That was about all Iwanted. Then I had a bath, and cut my moustache, which was long anddrooping, into a short stubbly fringe. 

Now came the next step. Paddock used to arrive punctually at 7. 30 andlet himself in with a latch-key. But about twenty minutes to seven, asI knew from bitter experience, the milkman turned up with a greatclatter of cans, and deposited my share outside my door. I had seenthat milkman sometimes when I had gone out for an early ride. He was ayoung man about my own height, with an ill-nourished moustache, and hewore a white overall. On him I staked all my chances. 

I went into the darkened smoking-room where the rays of morning lightwere beginning to creep through the shutters. There I breakfasted offa whisky-and-soda and some biscuits from the cupboard. By this time itwas getting on for six o'clock. I put a pipe in My Pocket and filledmy pouch from the tobacco jar on the table by the fireplace. 

As I poked into the tobacco my fingers touched something hard, and Idrew out Scudder's little black pocket-book ... 

That seemed to me a good omen. I lifted the cloth from the body andwas amazed at the peace and dignity of the dead face. 'Goodbye, oldchap, ' 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 theworst part of the business, for I was fairly choking to get out ofdoors. 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 cansoutside. I opened the front door, and there was my man, singling outmy cans from a bunch he carried and whistling through his teeth. Hejumped a bit at the sight of me. 

'Come in here a moment, ' I said. 'I want a word with you. ' And I ledhim into the dining-room. 

'I reckon you're a bit of a sportsman, ' I said, 'and I want you to dome a service. Lend me your cap and overall for ten minutes, and here'sa 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 tobe a milkman for the next ten minutes. All you've got to do is to stayhere 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 the man to spoil a bit of sport. 'Ere's the rig, 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 foottold 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 sightof a policeman a hundred yards down, and a loafer shuffling past on theother 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 helooked up, and I fancied a signal was exchanged. 

I crossed the street, whistling gaily and imitating the jaunty swing ofthe milkman. Then I took the first side street, and went up aleft-hand turning which led past a bit of vacant ground. There was noone in the little street, so I dropped the milk-cans inside thehoarding and sent the cap and overall after them. I had only just puton my cloth cap when a postman came round the corner. I gave him goodmorning and he answered me unsuspiciously. At the moment the clock ofa neighbouring church struck the hour of seven. 

There was not a second to spare. As soon as I got to Euston Road Itook to my heels and ran. The clock at Euston Station showed fiveminutes past the hour. At St Pancras I had no time to take a ticket, let alone that I had not settled upon my destination. A porter told methe platform, and as I entered it I saw the train already in motion. Two station officials blocked the way, but I dodged them and clamberedinto 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 toNewton-Stewart, a name which had suddenly come back to my memory, andhe conducted me from the first-class compartment where I had ensconcedmyself to a third-class smoker, occupied by a sailor and a stout womanwith a child. He went off grumbling, and as I mopped my brow Iobserved to my companions in my broadest Scots that it was a sore jobcatching trains. I had already entered upon my part. 

'The impidence o' that gyaird!' said the lady bitterly. 'He needit aScotch tongue to pit him in his place. He was complainin' o' this weanno haein' a ticket and her no fower till August twalmonth, and he wasobjectin' to this gentleman spittin'. '

The sailor morosely agreed, and I started my new life in an atmosphereof protest against authority. I reminded myself that a week ago I hadbeen finding the world dull. 

CHAPTER THREE

The Adventure of the Literary Innkeeper

I had a solemn time travelling north that day. It was fine Mayweather, with the hawthorn flowering on every hedge, and I asked myselfwhy, when I was still a free man, I had stayed on in London and not gotthe good of this heavenly country. I didn't dare face the restaurantcar, but I got a luncheon-basket at Leeds and shared it with the fatwoman. Also I got the morning's papers, with news about starters forthe Derby and the beginning of the cricket season, and some paragraphsabout how Balkan affairs were settling down and a British squadron wasgoing to Kiel. 

When I had done with them I got out Scudder's little black pocket-bookand studied it. It was pretty well filled with jottings, chieflyfigures, though now and then a name was printed in. For example, Ifound the words 'Hofgaard', 'Luneville', and 'Avocado' pretty often, and especially the word 'Pavia'. 

Now I was certain that Scudder never did anything without a reason, andI was pretty sure that there was a cypher in all this. That is asubject which has always interested me, and I did a bit at it myselfonce as intelligence officer at Delagoa Bay during the Boer War. Ihave a head for things like chess and puzzles, and I used to reckonmyself pretty good at finding out cyphers. This one looked like thenumerical kind where sets of figures correspond to the letters of thealphabet, but any fairly shrewd man can find the clue to that sortafter an hour or two's work, and I didn't think Scudder would have beencontent with anything so easy. So I fastened on the printed words, foryou can make a pretty good numerical cypher if you have a key wordwhich gives you the sequence of the letters. 

I tried for hours, but none of the words answered. Then I fell asleepand woke at Dumfries just in time to bundle out and get into the slowGalloway train. There was a man on the platform whose looks I didn'tlike, but he never glanced at me, and when I caught sight of myself inthe mirror of an automatic machine I didn't wonder. With my brownface, my old tweeds, and my slouch, I was the very model of one of thehill farmers who were crowding into the third-class carriages. 

I travelled with half a dozen in an atmosphere of shag and clay pipes. They had come from the weekly market, and their mouths were full ofprices. I heard accounts of how the lambing had gone up the Cairn andthe Deuch and a dozen other mysterious waters. Above half the men hadlunched heavily and were highly flavoured with whisky, but they took nonotice of me. We rumbled slowly into a land of little wooded glens andthen to a great wide moorland place, gleaming with lochs, with highblue hills showing northwards. 

About five o'clock the carriage had emptied, and I was left alone as Ihad hoped. I got out at the next station, a little place whose name Iscarcely noted, set right in the heart of a bog. It reminded me of oneof those forgotten little stations in the Karroo. An oldstation-master was digging in his garden, and with his spade over hisshoulder sauntered to the train, took charge of a parcel, and went backto his potatoes. A child of ten received my ticket, and I emerged on awhite road that straggled over the brown moor. 

It was a gorgeous spring evening, with every hill showing as clear as acut amethyst. The air had the queer, rooty smell of bogs, but it wasas 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 aspring holiday tramp, instead of a man of thirty-seven very much wantedby the police. I felt just as I used to feel when I was starting for abig trek on a frosty morning on the high veld. If you believe me, Iswung along that road whistling. There was no plan of campaign in myhead, only just to go on and on in this blessed, honest-smelling hillcountry, for every mile put me in better humour with myself. 

In a roadside planting I cut a walking-stick of hazel, and presentlystruck off the highway up a bypath which followed the glen of abrawling 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 hadtasted food, and I was getting very hungry when I came to a herd'scottage set in a nook beside a waterfall. A brown-faced woman wasstanding by the door, and greeted me with the kindly shyness ofmoorland places. When I asked for a night's lodging she said I waswelcome to the 'bed in the loft', and very soon she set before me ahearty meal of ham and eggs, scones, and thick sweet milk. 

At the darkening her man came in from the hills, a lean giant, who inone step covered as much ground as three paces of ordinary mortals. They asked me no questions, for they had the perfect breeding of alldwellers in the wilds, but I could see they set me down as a kind ofdealer, and I took some trouble to confirm their view. I spoke a lotabout cattle, of which my host knew little, and I picked up from him agood deal about the local Galloway markets, which I tucked away in mymemory for future use. At ten I was nodding in my chair, and the 'bedin the loft' received a weary man who never opened his eyes till fiveo'clock set the little homestead a-going once more. 

They refused any payment, and by six I had breakfasted and was stridingsouthwards again. My notion was to return to the railway line astation or two farther on than the place where I had alighted yesterdayand to double back. I reckoned that that was the safest way, for thepolice would naturally assume that I was always making farther fromLondon in the direction of some western port. I thought I had still agood bit of a start, for, as I reasoned, it would take some hours tofix the blame on me, and several more to identify the fellow who got onboard the train at St Pancras. 

It was the same jolly, clear spring weather, and I simply could notcontrive to feel careworn. Indeed I was in better spirits than I hadbeen for months. Over a long ridge of moorland I took my road, skirting the side of a high hill which the herd had called Cairnsmoreof Fleet. Nesting curlews and plovers were crying everywhere, and thelinks of green pasture by the streams were dotted with young lambs. All the slackness of the past months was slipping from my bones, and Istepped out like a four-year-old. By-and-by I came to a swell ofmoorland which dipped to the vale of a little river, and a mile away inthe heather I saw the smoke of a train. 

The station, when I reached it, proved to be ideal for my purpose. Themoor surged up around it and left room only for the single line, theslender siding, a waiting-room, an office, the station-master'scottage, and a tiny yard of gooseberries and sweet-william. Thereseemed no road to it from anywhere, and to increase the desolation thewaves of a tarn lapped on their grey granite beach half a mile away. Iwaited in the deep heather till I saw the smoke of an east-going trainon the horizon. Then I approached the tiny booking-office and took aticket for Dumfries. 

The only occupants of the carriage were an old shepherd and his dog--awall-eyed brute that I mistrusted. The man was asleep, and on thecushions beside him was that morning's SCOTSMAN. Eagerly I seized onit, for I fancied it would tell me something. 

There were two columns about the Portland Place Murder, as it wascalled. My man Paddock had given the alarm and had the milkmanarrested. Poor devil, it looked as if the latter had earned hissovereign hardly; but for me he had been cheap at the price, for heseemed to have occupied the police for the better part of the day. Inthe latest news I found a further instalment of the story. The milkmanhad been released, I read, and the true criminal, about whose identitythe police were reticent, was believed to have got away from London byone of the northern lines. There was a short note about me as theowner of the flat. I guessed the police had stuck that in, as a clumsycontrivance to persuade me that I was unsuspected. 

There was nothing else in the paper, nothing about foreign politics orKarolides, or the things that had interested Scudder. I laid it down, and found that we were approaching the station at which I had got outyesterday. The potato-digging station-master had been gingered up intosome activity, for the west-going train was waiting to let us pass, andfrom it had descended three men who were asking him questions. Isupposed that they were the local police, who had been stirred up byScotland Yard, and had traced me as far as this one-horse siding. Sitting well back in the shadow I watched them carefully. One of themhad a book, and took down notes. The old potato-digger seemed to haveturned peevish, but the child who had collected my ticket was talkingvolubly. All the party looked out across the moor where the white roaddeparted. I hoped they were going to take up my tracks there. 

As we moved away from that station my companion woke up. He fixed mewith a wandering glance, kicked his dog viciously, and inquired wherehe was. Clearly he was very drunk. 

'That's what comes o' bein' a teetotaller, ' he observed in bitterregret. 

I expressed my surprise that in him I should have met a blue-ribbonstalwart. 

'Ay, but I'm a strong teetotaller, ' he said pugnaciously. 'I took thepledge last Martinmas, and I havena touched a drop o' whisky sinsyne. Not even at Hogmanay, though I was sair temptit. '

He swung his heels up on the seat, and burrowed a frowsy head into thecushions. 

'And that's a' I get, ' he moaned. 'A heid better than hell fire, andtwae een lookin' different ways for the Sabbath. '

'What did it?' I asked. 

'A drink they ca' brandy. Bein' a teetotaller I keepit off the whisky, but I was nip-nippin' a' day at this brandy, and I doubt I'll no beweel for a fortnicht. ' His voice died away into a splutter, and sleeponce more laid its heavy hand on him. 

My plan had been to get out at some station down the line, but thetrain suddenly gave me a better chance, for it came to a standstill atthe end of a culvert which spanned a brawling porter-coloured river. Ilooked out and saw that every carriage window was closed and no humanfigure appeared in the landscape. So I opened the door, and droppedquickly into the tangle of hazels which edged the line. 

it would have been all right but for that infernal dog. Under theimpression that I was decamping with its master's belongings, itstarted to bark, and all but got me by the trousers. This woke up theherd, who stood bawling at the carriage door in the belief that I hadcommitted suicide. I crawled through the thicket, reached the edge ofthe stream, and in cover of the bushes put a hundred yards or so behindme. Then from my shelter I peered back, and saw the guard and severalpassengers gathered round the open carriage door and staring in mydirection. I could not have made a more public departure if I had leftwith a bugler and a brass band. 

Happily the drunken herd provided a diversion. He and his dog, whichwas attached by a rope to his waist, suddenly cascaded out of thecarriage, landed on their heads on the track, and rolled some way downthe bank towards the water. In the rescue which followed the dog bitsomebody, for I could hear the sound of hard swearing. Presently theyhad forgotten me, and when after a quarter of a mile's crawl I venturedto look back, the train had started again and was vanishing in thecutting. 

I was in a wide semicircle of moorland, with the brown river as radius, and the high hills forming the northern circumference. There was not asign or sound of a human being, only the plashing water and theinterminable crying of curlews. Yet, oddly enough, for the first timeI felt the terror of the hunted on me. It was not the police that Ithought of, but the other folk, who knew that I knew Scudder's secretand dared not let me live. I was certain that they would pursue mewith a keenness and vigilance unknown to the British law, and that oncetheir grip closed on me I should find no mercy. 

I looked back, but there was nothing in the landscape. The sun glintedon the metals of the line and the wet stones in the stream, and youcould not have found a more peaceful sight in the world. NeverthelessI started to run. Crouching low in the runnels of the bog, I ran tillthe sweat blinded my eyes. The mood did not leave me till I hadreached the rim of mountain and flung myself panting on a ridge highabove the young waters of the brown river. 

From my vantage-ground I could scan the whole moor right away to therailway line and to the south of it where green fields took the placeof heather. I have eyes like a hawk, but I could see nothing moving inthe whole countryside. Then I looked east beyond the ridge and saw anew kind of landscape--shallow green valleys with plentiful firplantations and the faint lines of dust which spoke of highroads. Lastof all I looked into the blue May sky, and there I saw that which setmy pulses racing ... 

Low down in the south a monoplane was climbing into the heavens. I wasas certain as if I had been told that that aeroplane was looking forme, and that it did not belong to the police. For an hour or two Iwatched it from a pit of heather. It flew low along the hill-tops, andthen in narrow circles over the valley up which I had come' Then itseemed to change its mind, rose to a great height, and flew away backto the south. 

I did not like this espionage from the air, and I began to think lesswell of the countryside I had chosen for a refuge. These heather hillswere no sort of cover if my enemies were in the sky, and I must find adifferent kind of sanctuary. I looked with more satisfaction to thegreen country beyond the ridge, for there I should find woods and stonehouses. 

About six in the evening I came out of the moorland to a white ribbonof road which wound up the narrow vale of a lowland stream. As Ifollowed it, fields gave place to bent, the glen became a plateau, andpresently I had reached a kind of pass where a solitary house smoked inthe twilight. The road swung over a bridge, and leaning on the parapetwas a young man. 

He was smoking a long clay pipe and studying the water with spectacledeyes. In his left hand was a small book with a finger marking theplace. Slowly he repeated--

 As when a Gryphon through the wilderness With winged step, o'er hill and moory dale Pursues the Arimaspian. 

He jumped round as my step rung on the keystone, and I saw a pleasantsunburnt boyish face. 

'Good evening to you, ' he said gravely. 'It's a fine night for theroad. '

The smell of peat smoke and of some savoury roast floated to me fromthe house. 

'Is that place an inn?' I asked. 

'At your service, ' he said politely. 'I am the landlord, Sir, and Ihope you will stay the night, for to tell you the truth I have had nocompany for a week. '

I pulled myself up on the parapet of the bridge and filled my pipe. Ibegan to detect an ally. 

'You're young to be an innkeeper, ' I said. 

'My father died a year ago and left me the business. I live there withmy grandmother. It's a slow job for a young man, and it wasn't mychoice 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 oftenthought that an innkeeper would make the best story-teller in theworld. '

'Not now, ' he said eagerly. 'Maybe in the old days when you hadpilgrims and ballad-makers and highwaymen and mail-coaches on the road. But not now. Nothing comes here but motor-cars full of fat women, whostop for lunch, and a fisherman or two in the spring, and the shootingtenants in August. There is not much material to be got out of that. I want to see life, to travel the world, and write things like Kiplingand Conrad. But the most I've done yet is to get some verses printedin CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL. ' I looked at the inn standing golden in thesunset against the brown hills. 

'I've knocked a bit about the world, and I wouldn't despise such ahermitage. D'you think that adventure is found only in the tropics oramong gentry in red shirts? Maybe you're rubbing shoulders with it atthis moment. '

'That's what Kipling says, ' he said, his eyes brightening, and hequoted some verse about 'Romance bringing up the 9. 15'. 

'Here's a true tale for you then, ' I cried, 'and a month from now youcan make a novel out of it. '

Sitting on the bridge in the soft May gloaming I pitched him a lovelyyarn. It was true in essentials, too, though I altered the minordetails. I made out that I was a mining magnate from Kimberley, whohad had a lot of trouble with I. D. B. And had shown up a gang. Theyhad pursued me across the ocean, and had killed my best friend, andwere now on my tracks. 

I told the story well, though I say it who shouldn't. I pictured aflight across the Kalahari to German Africa, the crackling, parchingdays, the wonderful blue-velvet nights. I described an attack on mylife on the voyage home, and I made a really horrid affair of thePortland Place murder. 'You're looking for adventure, ' I cried; 'well, you've found it here. The devils are after me, and the police areafter them. It's a race that I mean to win. '

'By God!' he whispered, drawing his breath in sharply, 'it is all pureRider Haggard and Conan Doyle. '

'You believe me, ' I said gratefully. 

'Of course I do, ' and he held out his hand. 'I believe everything outof the common. The only thing to distrust is the normal. '

He was very young, but he was the man for my money. 

'I think they're off my track for the moment, but I must lie close fora 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 thatnobody blabs, either. And you'll give me some more material about youradventures?'

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 house, with a fine outlook overthe plateau, and he made me free of his own study, which was stackedwith cheap editions of his favourite authors. I never saw thegrandmother, so I guessed she was bedridden. An old woman calledMargit brought me my meals, and the innkeeper was around me at allhours. I wanted some time to myself, so I invented a job for him. Hehad a motor-bicycle, and I sent him off next morning for the dailypaper, which usually arrived with the post in the late afternoon. Itold him to keep his eyes skinned, and make note of any strange figureshe saw, keeping a special sharp look-out for motors and aeroplanes. Then I sat down in real earnest to Scudder's note-book. 

He came back at midday with the SCOTSMAN. There was nothing in it, except some further evidence of Paddock and the milkman, and arepetition of yesterday's statement that the murderer had gone North. But there was a long article, reprinted from THE TIMES, about Karolidesand the state of affairs in the Balkans, though there was no mention ofany visit to England. I got rid of the innkeeper for the afternoon, for I was getting very warm in my search for the cypher. 

As I told you, it was a numerical cypher, and by an elaborate system ofexperiments I had pretty well discovered what were the nulls and stops. The trouble was the key word, and when I thought of the odd millionwords he might have used I felt pretty hopeless. But about threeo'clock I had a sudden inspiration. 

The name Julia Czechenyi flashed across my memory. Scudder had said itwas the key to the Karolides business, and it occurred to me to try iton his cypher. 

It worked. The five letters of 'Julia' gave me the position of thevowels. A was J, the tenth letter of the alphabet, and so representedby X in the cypher. E was XXI, and so on. 'Czechenyi' gave me thenumerals for the principal consonants. I scribbled that scheme on abit of paper and sat down to read Scudder's pages. 

In half an hour I was reading with a whitish face and fingers thatdrummed on the table. 

I glanced out of the window and saw a big touring-car coming up theglen towards the inn. It drew up at the door, and there was the soundof people alighting. There seemed to be two of them, men inaquascutums and tweed caps. 

Ten minutes later the innkeeper slipped into the room, his eyes brightwith excitement. 

'There's two chaps below looking for you, ' he whispered. 'They're inthe dining-room having whiskies-and-sodas. They asked about you andsaid they had hoped to meet you here. Oh! and they described you jollywell, down to your boots and shirt. I told them you had been here lastnight and had gone off on a motor bicycle this morning, and one of thechaps swore like a navvy. '

I made him tell me what they looked like. One was a dark-eyed thinfellow with bushy eyebrows, the other was always smiling and lisped inhis talk. Neither was any kind of foreigner; on this my young friendwas positive. 

I took a bit of paper and wrote these words in German as if they werepart 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 Karolides is uncertain about his plans. But if Mr T. Advises I will do the best I ... '

I manufactured it rather neatly, so that it looked like a loose page ofa private letter. 

'Take this down and say it was found in my bedroom, and ask them toreturn it to me if they overtake me. '

Three minutes later I heard the car begin to move, and peeping frombehind the curtain caught sight of the two figures. One was slim, theother was sleek; that was the most I could make of my reconnaissance. 

The innkeeper appeared in great excitement. 'Your paper woke them up, 'he said gleefully. 'The dark fellow went as white as death and cursedlike blazes, and the fat one whistled and looked ugly. They paid fortheir 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 yourbicycle and go off to Newton-Stewart to the Chief Constable. Describethe two men, and say you suspect them of having had something to dowith the London murder. You can invent reasons. The two will comeback, never fear. Not tonight, for they'll follow me forty miles alongthe road, but first thing tomorrow morning. Tell the police to be herebright and early. '

He set off like a docile child, while I worked at Scudder's notes. When he came back we dined together, and in common decency I had to lethim pump me. I gave him a lot of stuff about lion hunts and theMatabele War, thinking all the while what tame businesses these werecompared to this I was now engaged in! When he went to bed I sat upand finished Scudder. I smoked in a chair till daylight, for I couldnot sleep. 

About eight next morning I witnessed the arrival of two constables anda sergeant. They put their car in a coach-house under the innkeeper'sinstructions, and entered the house. Twenty minutes later I saw frommy window a second car come across the plateau from the oppositedirection. It did not come up to the inn, but stopped two hundredyards off in the shelter of a patch of wood. I noticed that itsoccupants carefully reversed it before leaving it. A minute or twolater I heard their steps on the gravel outside the window. 

My plan had been to lie hid in my bedroom, and see what happened. Ihad a notion that, if I could bring the police and my other moredangerous pursuers together, something might work out of it to myadvantage. But now I had a better idea. I scribbled a line of thanksto my host, opened the window, and dropped quietly into a gooseberrybush. Unobserved I crossed the dyke, crawled down the side of atributary burn, and won the highroad on the far side of the patch oftrees. There stood the car, very spick and span in the morningsunlight, but with the dust on her which told of a long journey. Istarted her, jumped into the chauffeur's seat, and stole gently out onto the plateau. 

Almost at once the road dipped so that I lost sight of the inn, but thewind seemed to bring me the sound of angry voices. 

CHAPTER FOUR

The Adventure of the Radical Candidate

You may picture me driving that 40 h. P. Car for all she was worth overthe crisp moor roads on that shining May morning; glancing back atfirst over my shoulder, and looking anxiously to the next turning; thendriving with a vague eye, just wide enough awake to keep on thehighway. For I was thinking desperately of what I had found inScudder's pocket-book. 

The little man had told me a pack of lies. All his yarns about theBalkans and the Jew-Anarchists and the Foreign Office Conference wereeyewash, 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 letdown; here was his book telling me a different tale, and instead ofbeing once-bitten-twice-shy, I believed it absolutely. 

Why, I don't know. It rang desperately true, and the first yarn, ifyou understand me, had been in a queer way true also in spirit. Thefifteenth day of June was going to be a day of destiny, a biggerdestiny than the killing of a Dago. It was so big that I didn't blameScudder for keeping me out of the game and wanting to play a lone hand. That, I was pretty clear, was his intention. He had told me somethingwhich sounded big enough, but the real thing was so immortally big thathe, the man who had found it out, wanted it all for himself. I didn'tblame him. It was risks after all that he was chiefly greedy about. 

The whole story was in the notes--with gaps, you understand, which hewould 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 thenstriking a balance, which stood for the reliability of each stage inthe yarn. The four names he had printed were authorities, and therewas a man, Ducrosne, who got five out of a possible five; and anotherfellow, Ammersfoort, who got three. The bare bones of the tale wereall that was in the book--these, and one queer phrase which occurredhalf a dozen times inside brackets. '(Thirty-nine steps)' was thephrase; and at its last time of use it ran--'(Thirty-nine steps, Icounted them--high tide 10. 17 p. M. )'. I could make nothing of that. 

The first thing I learned was that it was no question of preventing awar. That was coming, as sure as Christmas: had been arranged, saidScudder, ever since February 1912. Karolides was going to be theoccasion. He was booked all right, and was to hand in his checks onJune 14th, two weeks and four days from that May morning. I gatheredfrom Scudder's notes that nothing on earth could prevent that. Histalk of Epirote guards that would skin their own grandmothers was allbilly-o. 

The second thing was that this war was going to come as a mightysurprise to Britain. Karolides' death would set the Balkans by theears, and then Vienna would chip in with an ultimatum. Russia wouldn'tlike that, and there would be high words. But Berlin would play thepeacemaker, and pour oil on the waters, till suddenly she would find agood 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 thegoodwill and good intentions of Germany our coast would be silentlyringed with mines, and submarines would be waiting for every battleship. 

But all this depended upon the third thing, which was due to happen onJune 15th. I would never have grasped this if I hadn't once happenedto meet a French staff officer, coming back from West Africa, who hadtold me a lot of things. One was that, in spite of all the nonsensetalked in Parliament, there was a real working alliance between Franceand Britain, and that the two General Staffs met every now and then, and made plans for joint action in case of war. Well, in June a verygreat swell was coming over from Paris, and he was going to get nothingless than a statement of the disposition of the British Home Fleet onmobilization. At least I gathered 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 themcollectively the 'Black Stone'. They represented not our Allies, butour deadly foes; and the information, destined for France, was to bediverted to their pockets. And it was to be used, remember--used aweek or two later, with great guns and swift torpedoes, suddenly in thedarkness of a summer night. 

This was the story I had been deciphering in a back room of a countryinn, overlooking a cabbage garden. This was the story that hummed inmy brain as I swung in the big touring-car from glen to glen. 

My first impulse had been to write a letter to the Prime Minister, buta little reflection convinced me that that would be useless. Who wouldbelieve my tale? I must show a sign, some token in proof, and Heavenknew what that could be. Above all, I must keep going myself, ready toact when things got riper, and that was going to be no light job withthe police of the British Isles in full cry after me and the watchersof the Black Stone running silently and swiftly on my trail. 

I had no very clear purpose in my journey, but I steered east by thesun, for I remembered from the map that if I went north I would comeinto a region of coalpits and industrial towns. Presently I was downfrom the moorlands and traversing the broad haugh of a river. Formiles I ran alongside a park wall, and in a break of the trees I saw agreat castle. I swung through little old thatched villages, and overpeaceful lowland streams, and past gardens blazing with hawthorn andyellow laburnum. The land was so deep in peace that I could scarcelybelieve that somewhere behind me were those who sought my life; ay, andthat in a month's time, unless I had the almightiest of luck, theseround country faces would be pinched and staring, and men would belying dead in English fields. 

About mid-day I entered a long straggling village, and had a mind tostop and eat. Half-way down was the Post Office, and on the steps ofit stood the postmistress and a policeman hard at work conning atelegram. When they saw me they wakened up, and the policeman advancedwith raised hand, and cried on me to stop. 

I nearly was fool enough to obey. Then it flashed upon me that thewire had to do with me; that my friends at the inn had come to anunderstanding, and were united in desiring to see more of me, and thatit had been easy enough for them to wire the description of me and thecar to thirty villages through which I might pass. I released thebrakes just in time. As it was, the policeman made a claw at the hood, and only dropped off when he got my left in his eye. 

I saw that main roads were no place for me, and turned into the byways. It wasn't an easy job without a map, for there was the risk of gettingon to a farm road and ending in a duck-pond or a stable-yard, and Icouldn't afford that kind of delay. I began to see what an ass I hadbeen to steal the car. The big green brute would be the safest kind ofclue to me over the breadth of Scotland. If I left it and took to myfeet, it would be discovered in an hour or two and I would get no startin the race. 

The immediate thing to do was to get to the loneliest roads. These Isoon found when I struck up a tributary of the big river, and got intoa glen with steep hills all about me, and a corkscrew road at the endwhich climbed over a pass. Here I met nobody, but it was taking me toofar north, so I slewed east along a bad track and finally struck a bigdouble-line railway. Away below me I saw another broadish valley, andit occurred to me that if I crossed it I might find some remote inn topass the night. The evening was now drawing in, and I was furiouslyhungry, for I had eaten nothing since breakfast except a couple of bunsI had bought from a baker's cart. Just then I heard a noise in thesky, and lo and behold there was that infernal aeroplane, flying low, about a dozen miles to the south and rapidly coming towards me. 

I had the sense to remember that on a bare moor I was at theaeroplane's mercy, and that my only chance was to get to the leafycover of the valley. Down the hill I went like blue lightning, screwing my head round, whenever I dared, to watch that damned flyingmachine. Soon I was on a road between hedges, and dipping to thedeep-cut glen of a stream. Then came a bit of thick wood where Islackened speed. 

Suddenly on my left I heard the hoot of another car, and realized to myhorror that I was almost up on a couple of gate-posts through which aprivate road debouched on the highway. My horn gave an agonized roar, but it was too late. I clapped on my brakes, but my impetus was toogreat, and there before me a car was sliding athwart my course. In asecond there would have been the deuce of a wreck. I did the onlything possible, and ran slap into the hedge on the right, trusting tofind something soft beyond. 

But there I was mistaken. My car slithered through the hedge likebutter, and then gave a sickening plunge forward. I saw what wascoming, leapt on the seat and would have jumped out. But a branch ofhawthorn got me in the chest, lifted me up and held me, while a ton ortwo of expensive metal slipped below me, bucked and pitched, and thendropped with an almighty smash fifty feet to the bed of the stream. 

Slowly that thorn let me go. I subsided first on the hedge, and thenvery gently on a bower of nettles. As I scrambled to my feet a handtook me by the arm, and a sympathetic and badly scared voice asked meif I were hurt. 

I found myself looking at a tall young man in goggles and a leatherulster, who kept on blessing his soul and whinnying apologies. Formyself, once I got my wind back, I was rather glad than otherwise. This was one way of getting rid of the car. 

'My blame, Sir, ' I answered him. 'It's lucky that I did not addhomicide to my follies. That's the end of my Scotch motor tour, but itmight have been the end of my life. '

He plucked out a watch and studied it. 'You're the right sort offellow, ' he said. 'I can spare a quarter of an hour, and my house istwo 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 the car?'

'It's in my pocket, ' I said, brandishing a toothbrush. 'I'm a Colonialand travel light. '

'A Colonial, ' he cried. 'By Gad, you're the very man I've been prayingfor. Are you by any blessed chance a Free Trader?'

'I am, ' said I, without the foggiest notion of what he meant. 

He patted my shoulder and hurried me into his car. Three minutes laterwe drew up before a comfortable-looking shooting box set amongpine-trees, and he ushered me indoors. He took me first to a bedroomand flung half a dozen of his suits before me, for my own had beenpretty well reduced to rags. I selected a loose blue serge, whichdiffered most conspicuously from my former garments, and borrowed alinen collar. Then he haled me to the dining-room, where the remnantsof a meal stood on the table, and announced that I had just fiveminutes to feed. 'You can take a snack in your pocket, and we'll havesupper when we get back. I've got to be at the Masonic Hall at eighto'clock, or my agent will comb my hair. '

I had a cup of coffee and some cold ham, while he yarned away on thehearth-rug. 

'You find me in the deuce of a mess, Mr--by-the-by, you haven't told meyour name. Twisdon? Any relation of old Tommy Twisdon of theSixtieth? No? Well, you see I'm Liberal Candidate for this part ofthe world, and I had a meeting on tonight at Brattleburn--that's mychief town, and an infernal Tory stronghold. I had got the Colonialex-Premier fellow, Crumpleton, coming to speak for me tonight, and hadthe thing tremendously billed and the whole place ground-baited. Thisafternoon I had a wire from the ruffian saying he had got influenza atBlackpool, and here am I left to do the whole thing myself. I hadmeant 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 ofsomething, I simply cannot last the course. Now you've got to be agood chap and help me. You're a Free Trader and can tell our peoplewhat a wash-out Protection is in the Colonies. All you fellows havethe gift of the gab--I wish to Heaven I had it. I'll be for evermorein your debt. '

I had very few notions about Free Trade one way or the other, but I sawno other chance to get what I wanted. My young gentleman was far tooabsorbed in his own difficulties to think how odd it was to ask astranger who had just missed death by an ace and had lost a1, 000-guinea car to address a meeting for him on the spur of themoment. But my necessities did not allow me to contemplate oddnessesor to pick and choose my supports. 

'All right, ' I said. 'I'm not much good as a speaker, but I'll tellthem a bit about Australia. '

At my words the cares of the ages slipped from his shoulders, and hewas rapturous in his thanks. He lent me a big driving coat--and nevertroubled to ask why I had started on a motor tour without possessing anulster--and, as we slipped down the dusty roads, poured into my earsthe simple facts of his history. He was an orphan, and his uncle hadbrought him up--I've forgotten the uncle's name, but he was in theCabinet, and you can read his speeches in the papers. He had goneround the world after leaving Cambridge, and then, being short of ajob, his uncle had advised politics. I gathered that he had nopreference in parties. 'Good chaps in both, ' he said cheerfully, 'andplenty of blighters, too. I'm Liberal, because my family have alwaysbeen Whigs. ' But if he was lukewarm politically he had strong views onother things. He found out I knew a bit about horses, and jawed awayabout the Derby entries; and he was full of plans for improving hisshooting. Altogether, a very clean, decent, callow young man. 

As we passed through a little town two policemen signalled us to stop, and flashed their lanterns on us. 

'Beg pardon, Sir Harry, ' said one. 'We've got instructions to look outfor a car, and the description's no unlike yours. '

'Right-o, ' said my host, while I thanked Providence for the deviousways I had been brought to safety. After that he spoke no more, forhis mind began to labour heavily with his coming speech. His lips keptmuttering, his eye wandered, and I began to prepare myself for a secondcatastrophe. I tried to think of something to say myself, but my mindwas dry as a stone. The next thing I knew we had drawn up outside adoor in a street, and were being welcomed by some noisy gentlemen withrosettes. The hall had about five hundred in it, women mostly, a lotof bald heads, and a dozen or two young men. The chairman, a weasellyminister with a reddish nose, lamented Crumpleton's absence, soliloquized on his influenza, and gave me a certificate as a 'trustedleader of Australian thought'. There were two policemen 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 goof them he fell into one prolonged stutter. Every now and then heremembered a phrase he had learned by heart, straightened his back, andgave it off like Henry Irving, and the next moment he was bent doubleand crooning over his papers. It was the most appalling rot, too. Hetalked about the 'German menace', and said it was all a Tory inventionto cheat the poor of their rights and keep back the great flood ofsocial reform, but that 'organized labour' realized this and laughedthe Tories to scorn. He was all for reducing our Navy as a proof ofour good faith, and then sending Germany an ultimatum telling her to dothe same or we would knock her into a cocked hat. He said that, butfor the Tories, Germany and Britain would be fellow-workers in peaceand reform. I thought of the little black book in my pocket! A giddylot Scudder's friends cared for peace and reform. 

Yet in a queer way I liked the speech. You could see the niceness ofthe 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, butI 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 themall I could remember about Australia, praying there should be noAustralian there--all about its labour party and emigration anduniversal service. I doubt if I remembered to mention Free Trade, butI said there were no Tories in Australia, only Labour and Liberals. That fetched a cheer, and I woke them up a bit when I started in totell them the kind of glorious business I thought could be made out ofthe Empire if we really put our backs into it. 

Altogether I fancy I was rather a success. The minister didn't likeme, though, and when he proposed a vote of thanks, spoke of Sir Harry'sspeech as 'statesmanlike' and mine as having 'the eloquence of anemigration agent'. 

When we were in the car again my host was in wild spirits at having gothis job over. 'A ripping speech, Twisdon, ' he said. 'Now, you'recoming home with me. I'm all alone, and if you'll stop a day or twoI'll show you some very decent fishing. '

We had a hot supper--and I wanted it pretty badly--and then drank grogin a big cheery smoking-room with a crackling wood fire. I thought thetime had come for me to put my cards on the table. I saw by this man'seye that he was the kind you can trust. 

'Listen, Sir Harry, ' I said. 'I've something pretty important to sayto you. You're a good fellow, and I'm going to be frank. Where onearth did you get that poisonous rubbish you talked tonight?'

His face fell. 'Was it as bad as that?' he asked ruefully. 'It didsound rather thin. I got most of it out of the PROGRESSIVE MAGAZINEand pamphlets that agent chap of mine keeps sending me. But you surelydon't think Germany would ever go to war with us?'

'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 tellyou a story. '

I can see yet that bright room with the deers' heads and the old printson the walls, Sir Harry standing restlessly on the stone curb of thehearth, and myself lying back in an armchair, speaking. I seemed to beanother person, standing aside and listening to my own voice, andjudging carefully the reliability of my tale. It was the first time Ihad ever told anyone the exact truth, so far as I understood it, and itdid me no end of good, for it straightened out the thing in my ownmind. I blinked no detail. He heard all about Scudder, and themilkman, and the note-book, and my doings in Galloway. Presently hegot very excited and walked up and down the hearth-rug. 

'So you see, ' I concluded, 'you have got here in your house the manthat is wanted for the Portland Place murder. Your duty is to sendyour car for the police and give me up. I don't think I'll get veryfar. There'll be an accident, and I'll have a knife in my ribs an houror so after arrest. Nevertheless, it's your duty, as a law-abidingcitizen. Perhaps in a month's time you'll be sorry, but you have nocause to think of that. '

He was looking at me with bright steady eyes. 'What was your job inRhodesia, Mr Hannay?' he asked. 

'Mining engineer, ' I said. 'I've made my pile cleanly and I've had agood time in the making of it. '

'Not a profession that weakens the nerves, is it?'

I laughed. 'Oh, as to that, my nerves are good enough. ' I took down ahunting-knife from a stand on the wall, and did the old Mashona trickof tossing it and catching it in my lips. That wants a pretty steadyheart. 

He watched me with a smile. 'I don't want proof. I may be an ass onthe platform, but I can size up a man. You're no murderer and you'reno fool, and I believe you are speaking the truth. I'm going to backyou up. Now, what can I do?'

'First, I want you to write a letter to your uncle. I've got to get intouch with the Government people sometime before the 15th of June. '

He pulled his moustache. 'That won't help you. This is Foreign Officebusiness, and my uncle would have nothing to do with it. Besides, you'd never convince him. No, I'll go one better. I'll write to thePermanent Secretary at the Foreign Office. He's my godfather, and oneof the best going. What do you want?'

He sat down at a table and wrote to my dictation. The gist of it wasthat if a man called Twisdon (I thought I had better stick to thatname) turned up before June 15th he was to entreat him kindly. He saidTwisdon 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'llfind my godfather--his name's Sir Walter Bullivant--down at his countrycottage for Whitsuntide. It's close to Artinswell on the Kenner. 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 clothesI destroyed this afternoon. Then show me a map of the neighbourhoodand explain to me the lie of the land. Lastly, if the police comeseeking me, just show them the car in the glen. If the other lot turnup, tell them I caught the south express after your meeting. '

He did, or promised to do, all these things. I shaved off the remnantsof my moustache, and got inside an ancient suit of what I believe iscalled 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 tothe south could be joined and what were the wildest districts near athand. At two o'clock he wakened me from my slumbers in thesmoking-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. 'Bydaybreak you'll be well into the hills. Then I should pitch themachine into a bog and take to the moors on foot. You can put in aweek among the shepherds, and be as safe as if you were in New Guinea. '

I pedalled diligently up steep roads of hill gravel till the skies grewpale with morning. As the mists cleared before the sun, I found myselfin a wide green world with glens falling on every side and a far-awayblue horizon. Here, at any rate, I could get early news of my enemies. 

CHAPTER FIVE

The Adventure of the Spectacled Roadman

I sat down on the very 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 flatspace of maybe a mile, all pitted with bog-holes and rough withtussocks, and then beyond it the road fell steeply down another glen toa plain whose blue dimness melted into the distance. To left and rightwere round-shouldered green hills as smooth as pancakes, but to thesouth--that is, the left hand--there was a glimpse of high heatherymountains, which I remembered from the map as the big knot of hillwhich I had chosen for my sanctuary. I was on the central boss of ahuge upland country, and could see everything moving for miles. In themeadows below the road half a mile back a cottage smoked, but it wasthe only sign of human life. Otherwise there was only the calling ofplovers and the tinkling of little streams. 

It was now about seven o'clock, and as I waited I heard once again thatominous beat in the air. Then I realized that my vantage-ground mightbe in reality a trap. There was no cover for a tomtit in those baldgreen places. 

I sat quite still and hopeless while the beat grew louder. Then I sawan aeroplane coming up from the east. It was flying high, but as Ilooked it dropped several hundred feet and began to circle round theknot of hill in narrowing circles, just as a hawk wheels before itpounces. Now it was flying very low, and now the observer on boardcaught sight of me. I could see one of the two occupants examining methrough glasses. 

Suddenly it began to rise in swift whorls, and the next I knew it wasspeeding eastward again till it became a speck in the blue morning. 

That made me do some savage thinking. My enemies had located me, andthe next thing would be a cordon round me. I didn't know what forcethey could command, but I was certain it would be sufficient. Theaeroplane had seen my bicycle, and would conclude that I would try toescape by the road. In that case there might be a chance on the moorsto the right or left. I wheeled the machine a hundred yards from thehighway, and plunged it into a moss-hole, where it sank among pond-weedand water-buttercups. Then I climbed to a knoll which gave me a viewof the two valleys. Nothing was stirring on the long white ribbon thatthreaded them. 

I have said there was not cover in the whole place to hide a rat. Asthe day advanced it was flooded with soft fresh light till it had thefragrant sunniness of the South African veld. At other times I wouldhave liked the place, but now it seemed to suffocate me. The freemoorlands were prison walls, and the keen hill air was the breath of adungeon. 

I tossed a coin--heads right, tails left--and it fell heads, so Iturned to the north. In a little I came to the brow of the ridge whichwas the containing wall of the pass. I saw the highroad for maybe tenmiles, and far down it something that was moving, and that I took to bea motor-car. Beyond the ridge I looked on a rolling green moor, whichfell away into wooded glens. 

Now my life on the veld has given me the eyes of a kite, and I can seethings for which most men need a telescope ... Away down the slope, acouple of miles away, several men were advancing, like a row ofbeaters at a shoot ... 

I dropped out of sight behind the sky-line. That way was shut to me, and I must try the bigger hills to the south beyond the highway. Thecar I had noticed was getting nearer, but it was still a long way offwith some very steep gradients before it. I ran hard, crouching lowexcept in the hollows, and as I ran I kept scanning the brow of thehill before me. Was it imagination, or did I see figures--one, two, perhaps more--moving in a glen beyond the stream?

If you are hemmed in on all sides in a patch of land there is only onechance of escape. You must stay in the patch, and let your enemiessearch it and not find you. That was good sense, but how on earth wasI to escape notice in that table-cloth of a place? I would have buriedmyself to the neck in mud or lain below water or climbed the tallesttree. But there was not a stick of wood, the bog-holes were littlepuddles, the stream was a slender trickle. There was nothing but shortheather, and bare hill bent, and the white highway. 

Then in a tiny bight of road, beside a heap of stones, I found theroadman. 

He had just arrived, and was wearily flinging down his hammer. Helooked at me with a fishy eye and yawned. 

'Confoond the day I ever left the herdin'!' he said, as if to the worldat large. 'There I was my ain maister. Now I'm a slave to theGoavernment, tethered to the roadside, wi' sair een, and a back like asuckle. '

He took up the hammer, struck a stone, dropped the implement with anoath, and put both hands to his ears. 'Mercy on me! My heid'sburstin'!' he cried. 

He was a wild figure, about my own size but much bent, with a week'sbeard on his chin, and a pair of big horn spectacles. 

'I canna dae't, ' he cried again. 'The Surveyor 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 waswaddit, and they danced till fower in the byre. Me and some itherchiels sat down to the drinkin', and here I am. Peety that I everlookit on the wine when it was red!'

I agreed with him about bed. 'It's easy speakin', ' he moaned. 'But Igot a postcard yestreen sayin' that the new Road Surveyor would beround the day. He'll come and he'll no find me, or else he'll find mefou, and either way I'm a done man. I'll awa' back to my bed and sayI'm no weel, but I doot that'll no help me, for they ken my kind o'no-weel-ness. '

Then I had an inspiration. 'Does the new Surveyor know you?' I asked. 

'No him. He's just been a week at the job. He rins about in a weemotor-cawr, and wad speir the inside oot o' a whelk. '

'Where's your house?' I asked, and was directed by a wavering finger tothe cottage by the stream. 

'Well, back to your bed, ' I said, 'and sleep in peace. I'll take onyour job for a bit and see the Surveyor. '

He stared at me blankly; then, as the notion dawned on his fuddledbrain, his face broke into the vacant drunkard's smile. 

'You're the billy, ' he cried. 'It'll be easy eneuch managed. I'vefinished that bing o' stanes, so you needna chap ony mair thisforenoon. Just take the barry, and wheel eneuch metal frae yon quarrydoon the road to mak anither bing the morn. My name's AlexanderTurnbull, and I've been seeven year at the trade, and twenty afore thatherdin' on Leithen Water. My freens ca' me Ecky, and whiles Specky, for I wear glesses, being waik i' the sicht. Just you speak theSurveyor fair, and ca' him Sir, and he'll be fell pleased. I'll beback or mid-day. '

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 mysimple tasks, and without more ado set off at an amble bedwards. Bedmay have been his chief object, but I think there was also somethingleft in the foot of a bottle. I prayed that he might be safe undercover before my friends arrived on the scene. 

Then I set to work to dress for the part. I opened the collar of myshirt--it was a vulgar blue-and-white check such as ploughmen wear--andrevealed a neck as brown as any tinker's. I rolled up my sleeves, andthere was a forearm which might have been a blacksmith's, sunburnt andrough with old scars. I got my boots and trouser-legs all white fromthe dust of the road, and hitched up my trousers, tying them withstring below the knee. Then I set to work on my face. With a handfulof dust I made a water-mark round my neck, the place where MrTurnbull's Sunday ablutions might be expected to stop. I rubbed a gooddeal of dirt also into the sunburn of my cheeks. A roadman's eyeswould no doubt be a little inflamed, so I contrived to get some dust inboth 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, butthe 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 cheeseand drank a little of the cold tea. In the handkerchief was a localpaper tied with string and addressed to Mr Turnbull--obviously meant tosolace his mid-day leisure. I did up the bundle again, and put thepaper conspicuously beside it. 

My boots did not satisfy me, but by dint of kicking among the stones Ireduced them to the granite-like surface which marks a roadman'sfoot-gear. Then I bit and scraped my finger-nails till the edges wereall cracked and uneven. The men I was matched against would miss nodetail. I broke one of the bootlaces and retied it in a clumsy knot, and loosed the other so that my thick grey socks bulged over theuppers. Still no sign of anything on the road. The motor I hadobserved half an hour ago must have gone home. 

My toilet complete, I took up the barrow and began my journeys to andfrom the quarry a hundred yards off. 

I remember an old scout in Rhodesia, who had done many queer things inhis day, once telling me that the secret of playing a part was to thinkyourself into it. You could never keep it up, he said, unless youcould manage to convince yourself that you were it. So I shut off allother thoughts and switched them on to the road-mending. I thought ofthe little white cottage as my home, I recalled the years I had spentherding on Leithen Water, I made my mind dwell lovingly on sleep in abox-bed and a bottle of cheap whisky. Still nothing appeared on thatlong white road. 

Now and then a sheep wandered off the heather to stare at me. A heronflopped down to a pool in the stream and started to fish, taking nomore notice of me than if I had been a milestone. On I went, trundlingmy loads of stone, with the heavy step of the professional. Soon Igrew 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 MrTurnbull's monotonous toil. Suddenly a crisp voice spoke from theroad, and looking up I saw a little Ford two-seater, and a round-facedyoung man in a bowler hat. 

'Are you Alexander Turnbull?' he asked. 'I am the new County RoadSurveyor. You live at Blackhopefoot, and have charge of the sectionfrom Laidlawbyres to the Riggs? Good! A fair bit of road, Turnbull, and not badly engineered. A little soft about a mile off, and theedges want cleaning. See you look after that. Good morning. You'llknow me the next time you see me. '

Clearly my get-up was good enough for the dreaded Surveyor. I went onwith my work, and as the morning grew towards noon I was cheered by alittle traffic. A baker's van breasted the hill, and sold me a bag ofginger biscuits which I stowed in my trouser-pockets againstemergencies. Then a herd passed with sheep, and disturbed me somewhatby asking loudly, 'What had become o' Specky?'

'In bed wi' the colic, ' I replied, and the herd passed on ... Justabout mid-day a big car stole down the hill, glided past and drew up ahundred yards beyond. Its three occupants descended as if to stretchtheir legs, and sauntered towards me. 

Two of the men I had seen before from the window of the Gallowayinn--one lean, sharp, and dark, the other comfortable and smiling. Thethird had the look of a countryman--a vet, perhaps, or a small farmer. He was dressed in ill-cut knickerbockers, and the eye in his head wasas 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 slowlyand painfully straightened my back, after the manner of roadmen; spatvigorously, after the manner of the low Scot; and regarded themsteadily before replying. I confronted three pairs of eyes that missednothing. 

'There's waur jobs and there's better, ' I said sententiously. 'I wadrather 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 oorrichts, ye sud be made to mend what ye break. '

The bright-eyed man was looking at the newspaper lying besideTurnbull's bundle. 

'I see you get your papers in good time, ' he said. 

I glanced at it casually. 'Aye, in gude time. Seein' that that papercam' out last Setterday I'm just Sax days late. '

He picked it up, glanced at the superscription, and laid it down again. One of the others had been looking at my boots, and a word in Germancalled the speaker's attention to them. 

'You've a fine taste in boots, ' he said. 'These were never made by acountry shoemaker. '

'They were not, ' I said readily. 'They were made in London. I gotthem frae the gentleman that was here last year for the shootin'. Whatwas his name now?' And I scratched a forgetful head. Again the sleekone spoke in German. 'Let us get on, ' he said. 'This fellow is allright. '

They asked one last question. 

'Did you see anyone pass early this morning? He might be on a bicycleor he might be on foot. '

I very nearly fell into the trap and told a story of a bicyclisthurrying past in the grey dawn. But I had the sense to see my danger. I pretended to consider very deeply. 

'I wasna up very early, ' I said. 'Ye see, my dochter was merrit lastnicht, and we keepit it up late. I opened the house door about seevenand there was naebody on the road then. Since I cam' up here there hasjust been the baker and the Ruchill herd, besides you gentlemen. '

One of them gave me a cigar, which I smelt gingerly and stuck inTurnbull's bundle. They got into their car and were out of sight inthree minutes. 

My heart leaped with an enormous relief, but I went on wheeling mystones. It was as well, for ten minutes later the car returned, one ofthe occupants waving a hand to me. Those gentry left nothing to chance. 

I finished Turnbull's bread and cheese, and pretty soon I had finishedthe stones. The next step was what puzzled me. I could not keep upthis roadmaking business for long. A merciful Providence had kept MrTurnbull indoors, but if he appeared on the scene there would betrouble. I had a notion that the cordon was still tight round theglen, and that if I walked in any direction I should meet withquestioners. But get out I must. No man's nerve could stand more thana day of being spied on. 

I stayed at my post till five o'clock. By that time I had resolved togo down to Turnbull's cottage at nightfall and take my chance ofgetting over the hills in the darkness. But suddenly a new car came upthe road, and slowed down a yard or two from me. A fresh wind hadrisen, and the occupant wanted to light a cigarette. It was a touringcar, with the tonneau full of an assortment of baggage. One man sat init, and by an amazing chance I knew him. His name was MarmadukeJopley, and he was an offence to creation. He was a sort of bloodstockbroker, who did his business by toadying eldest sons and richyoung peers and foolish old ladies. 'Marmie' was a familiar figure, Iunderstood, at balls and polo-weeks and country houses. He was anadroit scandal-monger, and would crawl a mile on his belly to anythingthat had a title or a million. I had a business introduction to hisfirm when I came to London, and he was good enough to ask me to dinnerat his club. There he showed off at a great rate, and pattered abouthis duchesses till the snobbery of the creature turned me sick. Iasked a man afterwards why nobody kicked him, and was told thatEnglishmen reverenced the weaker sex. 

Anyhow there he was now, nattily dressed, in a fine new car, obviouslyon his way to visit some of his smart friends. A sudden daftness tookme, and in a second I had jumped into the tonneau and had him by theshoulder. 

'Hullo, Jopley, ' I sang out. 'Well met, my lad!' He got a horridfright. His chin dropped as he stared at me. 'Who the devil are YOU?'he gasped. 

'My name's Hannay, ' I said. 'From Rhodesia, you remember. '

'Good God, the murderer!' he choked. 

'Just so. And there'll be a second murder, my dear, if you don't do asI tell you. Give me that coat of yours. That cap, too. '

He did as bid, for he was blind with terror. Over my dirty trousersand vulgar shirt I put on his smart driving-coat, which buttoned highat the top and thereby hid the deficiencies of my collar. I stuck thecap on my head, and added his gloves to my get-up. The dusty roadmanin a minute was transformed into one of the neatest motorists inScotland. On Mr Jopley's head I clapped Turnbull's unspeakable hat, and told him to keep it there. 

Then with some difficulty I turned the car. My plan was to go back theroad he had come, for the watchers, having seen it before, wouldprobably let it pass unremarked, and Marmie's figure was in no way likemine. 

'Now, my child, ' I said, 'sit quite still and be a good boy. I meanyou no harm. I'm only borrowing your car for an hour or two. But ifyou play me any tricks, and above all if you open your mouth, as sureas there's a God above me I'll wring your neck. 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 severalstrange-looking folk lounging by the roadside. These were the watcherswho would have had much to say to me if I had come in other garb orcompany. As it was, they looked incuriously on. One touched his capin salute, and I responded graciously. 

As the dark fell I turned up a side glen which, as I remember from themap, led into an unfrequented corner of the hills. Soon the villageswere left behind, then the farms, and then even the wayside cottage. Presently we came to a lonely moor where the night was blackening thesunset gleam in the bog pools. Here we stopped, and I obliginglyreversed the car and restored to Mr Jopley his belongings. 

'A thousand thanks, ' I said. 'There's more use in you than I thought. Now be off and find the police. '

As I sat on the hillside, watching the tail-light dwindle, I reflectedon the various kinds of crime I had now sampled. Contrary to generalbelief, I was not a murderer, but I had become an unholy liar, ashameless impostor, and a highwayman with a marked taste for expensivemotor-cars. 

CHAPTER SIX

The Adventure of the Bald Archaeologist

I spent the night on a shelf of the hillside, in the lee of a boulderwhere the heather grew long and soft. It was a cold business, for Ihad neither coat nor waistcoat. These were in Mr Turnbull's keeping, as was Scudder's little book, my watch and--worst of all--my pipe andtobacco pouch. Only my money accompanied me in my belt, and about halfa pound of ginger biscuits in my trousers pocket. 

I supped off half those biscuits, and by worming myself deep into theheather got some kind of warmth. My spirits had risen, and I wasbeginning to enjoy this crazy game of hide-and-seek. So far I had beenmiraculously lucky. The milkman, the literary innkeeper, Sir Harry, the roadman, and the idiotic Marmie, were all pieces of undeserved goodfortune. Somehow the first success gave me a feeling that I was goingto pull the thing through. 

My chief trouble was that I was desperately hungry. When a Jew shootshimself in the City and there is an inquest, the newspapers usuallyreport that the deceased was 'well-nourished'. I remember thinkingthat they would not call me well-nourished if I broke my neck in abog-hole. I lay and tortured myself--for the ginger biscuits merelyemphasized the aching void--with the memory of all the good food I hadthought so little of in London. There were Paddock's crisp sausagesand fragrant shavings of bacon, and shapely poached eggs--how often Ihad turned up my nose at them! There were the cutlets they did at theclub, and a particular ham that stood on the cold table, for which mysoul lusted. My thoughts hovered over all varieties of mortal edible, and finally settled on a porterhouse steak and a quart of bitter with awelsh rabbit to follow. In longing hopelessly for these dainties Ifell asleep. 

I woke very cold and stiff about an hour after dawn. It took me alittle while to remember where I was, for I had been very weary and hadslept heavily. I saw first the pale blue sky through a net of heather, then a big shoulder of hill, and then my own boots placed neatly in ablaeberry bush. I raised myself on my arms and looked down into thevalley, and that one look set me lacing up my boots in mad haste. 

For there were men below, not more than a quarter of a mile off, spacedout on the hillside like a fan, and beating the heather. Marmie hadnot been slow in looking for his revenge. 

I crawled out of my shelf into the cover of a boulder, and from itgained a shallow trench which slanted up the mountain face. This ledme presently into the narrow gully of a burn, by way of which Iscrambled to the top of the ridge. From there I looked back, and sawthat I was still undiscovered. My pursuers were patiently quarteringthe hillside and moving upwards. 

Keeping behind the skyline I ran for maybe half a mile, till I judged Iwas above the uppermost end of the glen. Then I showed myself, and wasinstantly noted by one of the flankers, who passed the word to theothers. I heard cries coming up from below, and saw that the line ofsearch had changed its direction. I pretended to retreat over theskyline, but instead went back the way I had come, and in twentyminutes was behind the ridge overlooking my sleeping place. From thatviewpoint I had the satisfaction of seeing the pursuit streaming up thehill at the top of the glen on a hopelessly false scent. 

I had before me a choice of routes, and I chose a ridge which made anangle with the one I was on, and so would soon put a deep glen betweenme and my enemies. The exercise had warmed my blood, and I wasbeginning to enjoy myself amazingly. As I went I breakfasted on thedusty remnants of the ginger biscuits. 

I knew very little about the country, and I hadn't a notion what I wasgoing to do. I trusted to the strength of my legs, but I was wellaware that those behind me would be familiar with the lie of the land, and that my ignorance would be a heavy handicap. I saw in front of mea sea of hills, rising very high towards the south, but northwardsbreaking down into broad ridges which separated wide and shallow dales. The ridge I had chosen seemed to sink after a mile or two to a moorwhich lay like a pocket in the uplands. That seemed as good adirection to take as any other. 

My stratagem had given me a fair start--call it twenty minutes--and Ihad the width of a glen behind me before I saw the first heads of thepursuers. The police had evidently called in local talent to theiraid, and the men I could see had the appearance of herds orgamekeepers. They hallooed at the sight of me, and I waved my hand. Two dived into the glen and began to climb my ridge, while the otherskept their own side of the hill. I felt as if I were taking part in aschoolboy game of hare and hounds. 

But very soon it began to seem less of a game. Those fellows behindwere hefty men on their native heath. Looking back I saw that onlythree were following direct, and I guessed that the others had fetcheda circuit to cut me off. My lack of local knowledge might very well bemy undoing, and I resolved to get out of this tangle of glens to thepocket of moor I had seen from the tops. I must so increase mydistance as to get clear away from them, and I believed I could do thisif I could find the right ground for it. If there had been cover Iwould have tried a bit of stalking, but on these bare slopes you couldsee a fly a mile off. My hope must be in the length of my legs and thesoundness of my wind, but I needed easier ground for that, for I wasnot 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 moorbefore any figures appeared on the skyline behind me. I crossed aburn, 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 crestwhich was crowned with an odd feather of trees. In the dyke by theroadside was a gate, from which a grass-grown track led over the firstwave of the moor. 

I jumped the dyke and followed it, and after a few hundred yards--assoon as it was out of sight of the highway--the grass stopped and itbecame a very respectable road, which was evidently kept with somecare. Clearly it ran to a house, and I began to think of doing thesame. Hitherto my luck had held, and it might be that my best chancewould be found in this remote dwelling. Anyhow there were trees there, and that meant cover. 

I did not follow the road, but the burnside which flanked it on theright, where the bracken grew deep and the high banks made a tolerablescreen. It was well I did so, for no sooner had I gained the hollowthan, looking back, I saw the pursuit topping the ridge from which Ihad descended. 

After that I did not look back; I had no time. I ran up the burnside, crawling over the open places, and for a large part wading in theshallow stream. I found a deserted cottage with a row of phantompeat-stacks and an overgrown garden. Then I was among young hay, andvery soon had come to the edge of a plantation of wind-blown firs. From there I saw the chimneys of the house smoking a few hundred yardsto my left. I forsook the burnside, crossed another dyke, and almostbefore I knew was on a rough lawn. A glance back told me that I waswell out of sight of the pursuit, which had not yet passed the firstlift of the moor. 

The lawn was a very rough place, cut with a scythe instead of a mower, and planted with beds of scrubby rhododendrons. A brace of black-game, which are not usually garden birds, rose at my approach. The housebefore me was the ordinary moorland farm, with a more pretentiouswhitewashed wing added. Attached to this wing was a glass veranda, andthrough the glass I saw the face of an elderly gentleman meeklywatching me. 

I stalked over the border of coarse hill gravel and entered the openveranda door. Within was a pleasant room, glass on one side, and onthe other a mass of books. More books showed in an inner room. On thefloor, 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 somepapers and open volumes before him, was the benevolent old gentleman. His face was round and shiny, like Mr Pickwick's, big glasses werestuck on the end of his nose, and the top of his head was as bright andbare as a glass bottle. He never moved when I entered, but raised hisplacid eyebrows and waited on me to speak. 

It was not an easy job, with about five minutes to spare, to tell astranger who I was and what I wanted, and to win his aid. I did notattempt it. There was something about the eye of the man before me, something so keen and knowledgeable, that I could not find a word. Isimply stared at him and stuttered. 

'You seem in a hurry, my friend, 'he said slowly. 

I nodded towards the window. It gave a prospect across the moorthrough a gap in the plantation, and revealed certain figures half amile off straggling through the heather. 

'Ah, I see, ' he said, and took up a pair of field-glasses through whichhe patiently scrutinized the figures. 

'A fugitive from justice, eh? Well, we'll go into the matter at ourleisure. Meantime I object to my privacy being broken in upon by theclumsy rural policeman. Go into my study, and you will see two doorsfacing you. Take the one on the left and close it behind you. Youwill 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 whichsmelt of chemicals, and was lit only by a tiny window high up in thewall. The door had swung behind me with a click like the door of asafe. Once again I had found an unexpected sanctuary. 

All the same I was not comfortable. There was something about the oldgentleman which puzzled and rather terrified me. He had been too easyand ready, almost as if he had expected me. And his eyes had beenhorribly intelligent. 

No sound came to me in that dark place. For all I knew the policemight be searching the house, and if they did they would want to knowwhat was behind this door. I tried to possess my soul in patience, andto forget how hungry I was. 

Then I took a more cheerful view. The old gentleman could scarcelyrefuse me a meal, and I fell to reconstructing my breakfast. Bacon andeggs would content me, but I wanted the better part of a flitch ofbacon and half a hundred eggs. And then, while my mouth was wateringin anticipation, there was a click and the door stood open. 

I emerged into the sunlight to find the master of the house sitting ina deep armchair in the room he called his study, and regarding me withcurious eyes. 

'Have they gone?' I asked. 

'They have gone. I convinced them that you had crossed the hill. I donot choose that the police should come between me and one whom I amdelighted to honour. This is a lucky morning for you, Mr RichardHannay. '

As he spoke his eyelids seemed to tremble and to fall a little over hiskeen 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 hadsaid that he 'could hood his eyes like a hawk'. Then I saw that I hadwalked straight into the enemy's headquarters. 

My first impulse was to throttle the old ruffian and make for the openair. He seemed to anticipate my intention, for he smiled gently, andnodded to the door behind me. 

I turned, and saw two men-servants who had me covered with pistols. 

He knew my name, but he had never seen me before. And as thereflection darted across my mind I saw a slender chance. 

'I don't know what you mean, ' I said roughly. 'And who are you callingRichard Hannay? My name's Ainslie. '

'So?' he said, still smiling. 'But of course you have others. Wewon't quarrel about a name. '

I was pulling myself together now, and I reflected that my garb, lacking coat and waistcoat and collar, would at any rate not betray me. I put on my surliest face and shrugged my shoulders. 

'I suppose you're going to give me up after all, and I call it a damneddirty trick. My God, I wish I had never seen that cursed motor-car!Here's the money and be damned to you, ' and I flung four sovereigns onthe table. 

He opened his eyes a little. 'Oh no, I shall not give you up. Myfriends and I will have a little private settlement with you, that isall. 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 hismind. 

'Oh, for God's sake stop jawing, ' I cried. 'Everything's against me. I haven't had a bit of luck since I came on shore at Leith. What's theharm in a poor devil with an empty stomach picking up some money hefinds in a bust-up motor-car? That's all I done, and for that I'vebeen chivvied for two days by those blasted bobbies over those blastedhills. I tell you I'm fair sick of it. You can do what you like, oldboy! Ned Ainslie'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. 'Ican't, guv'nor, ' I said in a real beggar's whine. 'I've not had a biteto eat for two days. Give me a mouthful of food, and then you'll hearGod's truth. '

I must have showed my hunger in my face, for he signalled to one of themen in the doorway. 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 Iwas keeping up my character. In the middle of my meal he spokesuddenly to me in German, but I turned on him a face as blank as astone wall. 

Then I told him my story--how I had come off an Archangel ship at Leitha week ago, and was making my way overland to my brother at Wigtown. Ihad run short of cash--I hinted vaguely at a spree--and I was prettywell on my uppers when I had come on a hole in a hedge, and, lookingthrough, had seen a big motor-car lying in the burn. I had poked aboutto see what had happened, and had found three sovereigns lying on theseat and one on the floor. There was nobody there or any sign of anowner, so I had pocketed the cash. But somehow the law had got afterme. When I had tried to change a sovereign in a baker's shop, thewoman had cried on the police, and a little later, when I was washingmy face in a burn, I had been nearly gripped, and had only got away byleaving my coat and waistcoat behind me. 

'They can have the money back, ' I cried, 'for a fat lot of good it'sdone me. Those perishers are all down on a poor man. Now, if it hadbeen you, guv'nor, that had found the quids, nobody would have troubledyou. '

'You're a good liar, Hannay, ' he said. 

I flew into a rage. 'Stop fooling, damn you! I tell you my name'sAinslie, and I never heard of anyone called Hannay in my born days. I'd sooner have the police than you with your Hannays and yourmonkey-faced pistol tricks ... No, guv'nor, I beg pardon, I don't meanthat. I'm much obliged to you for the grub, and I'll thank you to letme go now the coast's clear. '

It was obvious that he was badly puzzled. You see he had never seenme, and my appearance must have altered considerably from myphotographs, if he had got one of them. I was pretty smart and welldressed in London, and now I was a regular tramp. 

'I do not propose to let you go. If you are what you say you are, youwill soon have a chance of clearing yourself. If you are what Ibelieve you are, I do not think you will see the light much longer. '

He rang a bell, and a third servant appeared from the veranda. 

'I want the Lanchester in five minutes, ' he said. 'There will be threeto luncheon. '

Then he looked steadily at me, and that was the hardest ordeal of all. 

There was something weird and devilish in those eyes, cold, malignant, unearthly, and most hellishly clever. They fascinated me like thebright eyes of a snake. I had a strong impulse to throw myself on hismercy and offer to join his side, and if you consider the way I feltabout the whole thing you will see that that impulse must have beenpurely physical, the weakness of a brain mesmerized and mastered by astronger spirit. But I managed to stick it out and even to grin. 

'You'll know me next time, guv'nor, ' I said. 

'Karl, ' he spoke in German to one of the men in the doorway, 'you willput this fellow in the storeroom till I return, and you will beanswerable to me for his keeping. '

I was marched out of the room with a pistol at each ear. 

The storeroom 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 buta school form. It was black as pitch, for the windows were heavilyshuttered. I made out by groping that the walls were lined with boxesand barrels and sacks of some heavy stuff. The whole place smelt ofmould and disuse. My gaolers turned the key in the door, and I couldhear them shifting their feet as they stood on guard outside. 

I sat down in that chilly darkness in a very miserable frame of mind. The old boy had gone off in a motor to collect the two ruffians who hadinterviewed me yesterday. Now, they had seen me as the roadman, andthey would remember me, for I was in the same rig. What was a roadmandoing twenty miles from his beat, pursued by the police? A question ortwo would put them on the track. Probably they had seen Mr Turnbull, probably Marmie too; most likely they could link me up with Sir Harry, and then the whole thing would be crystal clear. What chance had I inthis moorland house with three desperadoes and their armed servants?

I began to think wistfully of the police, now plodding over the hillsafter my wraith. They at any rate were fellow-countrymen and honestmen, and their tender mercies would be kinder than these ghoulishaliens. But they wouldn't have listened to me. That old devil withthe eyelids had not taken long to get rid of them. I thought heprobably had some kind of graft with the constabulary. Most likely hehad letters from Cabinet Ministers saying he was to be given everyfacility for plotting against Britain. That's the sort of owlish waywe run our politics in the Old Country. 

The three would be back for lunch, so I hadn't more than a couple ofhours to wait. It was simply waiting on destruction, for I could seeno way out of this mess. I wished that I had Scudder's courage, for Iam free to confess I didn't feel any great fortitude. The only thingthat kept me going was that I was pretty furious. It made me boil withrage to think of those three spies getting the pull on me like this. Ihoped that at any rate I might be able to twist one of their necksbefore they downed me. 

The more I thought of it the angrier I grew, and I had to get up andmove about the room. I tried the shutters, but they were the kind thatlock with a key, and I couldn't move them. From the outside came thefaint clucking of hens in the warm sun. Then I groped among the sacksand boxes. I couldn't open the latter, and the sacks seemed to be fullof things like dog-biscuits that smelt of cinnamon. But, as Icircumnavigated the room, I found a handle in the wall which seemedworth investigating. 

It was the door of a wall cupboard--what they call a 'press' inScotland--and it was 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 purchase on the handle by looping my braces round it. Presently the thing gave with a crash which I thought would bring in mywarders to inquire. I waited for a bit, and then started to explorethe cupboard shelves. 

There was a multitude of queer things there. I found an odd vesta ortwo in my trouser pockets and struck a light. It was out in a second, but it showed me one thing. There was a little stock of electrictorches on one shelf. I picked up one, and found it was in workingorder. 

With the torch to help me I investigated further. There were bottlesand cases of queer-smelling stuffs, chemicals no doubt for experiments, and there were coils of fine copper wire and yanks and yanks of thinoiled silk. There was a box of detonators, and a lot of cord forfuses. Then away at the back of the shelf I found a stout browncardboard box, and inside it a wooden case. I managed to wrench itopen, and within lay half a dozen little grey bricks, each a couple ofinches square. 

I took up one, and found that it crumbled easily in my hand. Then Ismelt it and put my tongue to it. After that I sat down to think. Ihadn't been a mining engineer for nothing, and I knew lentonite when Isaw it. 

With one of these bricks I could blow the house to smithereens. I hadused the stuff in Rhodesia and knew its power. But the trouble wasthat my knowledge wasn't exact. I had forgotten the proper charge andthe right way of preparing it, and I wasn't sure about the timing. Ihad only a vague notion, too, as to its power, for though I had used itI 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 oddswere, as I reckoned, about five to one in favour of my blowing myselfinto the tree-tops; but if I didn't I should very likely be occupying asix-foot hole in the garden by the evening. That was the way I had tolook at it. The prospect was pretty dark either way, but anyhow therewas a chance, both for myself and for my country. 

The remembrance of little Scudder decided me. It was about thebeastliest moment of my life, for I'm no good at these cold-bloodedresolutions. Still I managed to rake up the pluck to set my teeth andchoke back the horrid doubts that flooded in on me. I simply shut offmy mind and pretended I was doing an experiment as simple as Guy Fawkesfireworks. 

I got a detonator, and fixed it to a couple of feet of fuse. Then Itook a quarter of a lentonite brick, and buried it near the door belowone 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 cupboardheld such deadly explosives, why not the boxes? In that case therewould be a glorious skyward journey for me and the German servants andabout an acre of surrounding country. There was also the risk that thedetonation might set off the other bricks in the cupboard, for I hadforgotten most that I knew about lentonite. But it didn't do to beginthinking about the possibilities. The odds were horrible, but I had totake them. 

I ensconced myself just below the sill of the window, and lit the fuse. Then I waited for a moment or two. There was dead silence--only ashuffle of heavy boots in the passage, and the peaceful cluck of hensfrom the warm out-of-doors. I commended my soul to my Maker, andwondered where I would be in five seconds ... 

A great wave of heat seemed to surge upwards from the floor, and hangfor a blistering instant in the air. Then the wall opposite me flashedinto a golden yellow and dissolved with a rending thunder that hammeredmy brain into a pulp. Something dropped on me, catching the point ofmy left shoulder. 

And then I think I became unconscious. 

My stupor can scarcely have lasted beyond a few seconds. I felt myselfbeing choked by thick yellow fumes, and struggled out of the debris tomy feet. Somewhere behind me I felt fresh air. The jambs of thewindow had fallen, and through the ragged rent the smoke was pouringout to the summer noon. I stepped over the broken lintel, and foundmyself standing in a yard in a dense and acrid fog. I felt very sickand ill, but I could move my limbs, and I staggered blindly forwardaway from the house. 

A small mill-lade ran in a wooden aqueduct at the other side of theyard, and into this I fell. The cool water revived me, and I had justenough wits left to think of escape. I squirmed up the lade among theslippery green slime till I reached the mill-wheel. Then I wriggledthrough the axle hole into the old mill and tumbled on to a bed ofchaff. A nail caught the seat of my trousers, and I left a wisp ofheather-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. Nauseashook me, and a wheel in my head kept turning, while my left shoulderand arm seemed to be stricken with the palsy. I looked out of thewindow and saw a fog still hanging over the house and smoke escapingfrom an upper window. Please God I had set the place on fire, for Icould hear confused cries coming from the other side. 

But I had no time to linger, since this mill was obviously a badhiding-place. Anyone looking for me would naturally follow the lade, and I made certain the search would begin as soon as they found that mybody was not in the storeroom. From another window I saw that on thefar side of the mill stood an old stone dovecot. If I could get therewithout leaving tracks I might find a hiding-place, for I argued thatmy enemies, if they thought I could move, would conclude I had made foropen country, and would go seeking me on the moor. 

I crawled down the broken ladder, scattering chaff behind me to covermy footsteps. I did the same on the mill floor, and on the thresholdwhere the door hung on broken hinges. Peeping out, I saw that betweenme and the dovecot was a piece of bare cobbled ground, where nofootmarks would show. Also it was mercifully hid by the mill buildingsfrom any view from the house. I slipped across the space, got to theback of the dovecot and prospected a way of ascent. 

That was one of the hardest jobs I ever took on. My shoulder and armached like hell, and I was so sick and giddy that I was always on theverge of falling. But I managed it somehow. By the use of out-juttingstones and gaps in the masonry and a tough ivy root I got to the top inthe end. There was a little parapet behind which I found space to liedown. Then I proceeded to go off into an old-fashioned swoon. 

I woke with a burning head and the sun glaring in my face. For a longtime I lay motionless, for those horrible fumes seemed to have loosenedmy joints and dulled my brain. Sounds came to me from the house--menspeaking throatily and the throbbing of a stationary car. There was alittle gap in the parapet to which I wriggled, and from which I hadsome sort of prospect of the yard. I saw figures come out--a servantwith his head bound up, and then a younger man in knickerbockers. Theywere looking for something, and moved towards the mill. Then one ofthem caught sight of the wisp of cloth on the nail, and cried out tothe other. They both went back to the house, and brought two more tolook at it. I saw the rotund figure of my late captor, and I thought Imade out the man with the lisp. I noticed that all had pistols. 

For half an hour they ransacked the mill. I could hear them kickingover the barrels and pulling up the rotten planking. Then they cameoutside, and stood just below the dovecot arguing fiercely. Theservant with the bandage was being soundly rated. I heard themfiddling with the door of the dovecote and for one horrid moment Ifancied they were coming up. Then they thought better of it, and wentback to the house. 

All that long blistering afternoon I lay baking on the rooftop. Thirstwas my chief torment. My tongue was like a stick, and to make it worseI could hear the cool drip of water from the mill-lade. I watched thecourse of the little stream as it came in from the moor, and my fancyfollowed it to the top of the glen, where it must issue from an icyfountain fringed with cool ferns and mosses. I would have given athousand pounds to plunge my face into that. 

I had a fine prospect of the whole ring of moorland. I saw the carspeed away with two occupants, and a man on a hill pony riding east. Ijudged they were looking for me, and I wished them joy of their quest. 

But I saw something else more interesting. The house stood almost onthe summit of a swell of moorland which crowned a sort of plateau, andthere was no higher point nearer than the big hills six miles off. Theactual summit, as I have mentioned, was a biggish clump of trees--firsmostly, with a few ashes and beeches. On the dovecot I was almost on alevel with the tree-tops, and could see what lay beyond. The wood wasnot solid, but only a ring, and inside was an oval of green turf, forall the world like a big cricket-field. 

I didn't take long to guess what it was. It was an aerodrome, and asecret one. The place had been most cunningly chosen. For supposeanyone were watching an aeroplane descending here, he would think ithad gone over the hill beyond the trees. As the place was on the topof a rise in the midst of a big amphitheatre, any observer from anydirection would conclude it had passed out of view behind the hill. Only a man very close at hand would realize that the aeroplane had notgone over but had descended in the midst of the wood. An observer witha telescope on one of the higher hills might have discovered the truth, but only herds went there, and herds do not carry spy-glasses. When Ilooked from the dovecot I could see far away a blue line which I knewwas the sea, and I grew furious to think that our enemies had thissecret conning-tower to rake our waterways. 

Then I reflected that if that aeroplane came back the chances were tento one that I would be discovered. So through the afternoon I lay andprayed for the coming of darkness, and glad I was when the sun wentdown over the big western hills and the twilight haze crept over themoor. The aeroplane was late. The gloaming was far advanced when Iheard the beat of wings and saw it volplaning downward to its home inthe wood. Lights twinkled for a bit and there was much coming andgoing from the house. Then the dark fell, and silence. 

Thank God it was a black night. The moon was well on its last quarterand would not rise till late. My thirst was too great to allow me totarry, so about nine o'clock, so far as I could judge, I started todescend. It wasn't easy, and half-way down I heard the back door ofthe house open, and saw the gleam of a lantern against the mill wall. For some agonizing minutes I hung by the ivy and prayed that whoever itwas would not come round by the dovecot. Then the light disappeared, and I dropped as softly as I could on to the hard soil of the yard. 

I crawled on my belly in the lee of a stone dyke till I reached thefringe of trees which surrounded the house. If I had known how to doit I would have tried to put that aeroplane out of action, but Irealized that any attempt would probably be futile. I was prettycertain that there would be some kind of defence round the house, so Iwent through the wood on hands and knees, feeling carefully every inchbefore me. It was as well, for presently I came on a wire about twofeet from the ground. If I had tripped over that, it would doubtlesshave rung some bell in the house and I would have been captured. 

A hundred yards farther on I found another wire cunningly placed on theedge of a small stream. Beyond that lay the moor, and in five minutesI was deep in bracken and heather. Soon I was round the shoulder ofthe rise, in the little glen from which the mill-lade flowed. Tenminutes later my face was in the spring, and I was soaking down pintsof the blessed water. 

But I did not stop till I had put half a dozen miles between me andthat accursed dwelling. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Dry-Fly Fisherman

I sat down on a hill-top and took stock of my position. I wasn'tfeeling very happy, for my natural thankfulness at my escape wasclouded by my severe bodily discomfort. Those lentonite fumes hadfairly poisoned me, and the baking hours on the dovecot hadn't helpedmatters. I had a crushing headache, and felt as sick as a cat. Alsomy shoulder was in a bad way. At first I thought it was only a bruise, but it seemed to be swelling, and I had no use of my left arm. 

My plan was to seek Mr Turnbull's cottage, recover my garments, andespecially Scudder's note-book, and then make for the main line and getback to the south. It seemed to me that the sooner I got in touch withthe Foreign Office man, Sir Walter Bullivant, the better. I didn't seehow I could get more proof than I had got already. He must just takeor leave my story, and anyway, with him I would be in better hands thanthose devilish Germans. I had begun to feel quite kindly towards theBritish police. 

It was a wonderful starry night, and I had not much difficulty aboutthe road. Sir Harry's map had given me the lie of the land, and all Ihad to do was to steer a point or two west of south-west to come to thestream where I had met the roadman. In all these travels I never knewthe names of the places, but I believe this stream was no less than theupper waters of the river Tweed. I calculated I must be about eighteenmiles distant, and that meant I could not get there before morning. SoI must lie up a day somewhere, for I was too outrageous a figure to beseen in the sunlight. I had neither coat, waistcoat, collar, nor hat, my trousers were badly torn, and my face and hands were black with theexplosion. I daresay I had other beauties, for my eyes felt as if theywere furiously bloodshot. Altogether I was no spectacle forGod-fearing citizens to see on a highroad. 

Very soon after daybreak I made an attempt to clean myself in a hillburn, and then approached a herd's cottage, for I was feeling the needof food. The herd was away from home, and his wife was alone, with noneighbour 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 axe handy, andwould have used it on any evil-doer. I told her that I had had afall--I didn't say how--and she saw by my looks that I was pretty sick. Like a true Samaritan she asked no questions, but gave me a bowl ofmilk with a dash of whisky in it, and let me sit for a little by herkitchen fire. She would have bathed my shoulder, but it ached so badlythat I would not let her touch it. 

I don't know what she took me for--a repentant burglar, perhaps; forwhen I wanted to pay her for the milk and tendered a sovereign whichwas the smallest coin I had, she shook her head and said somethingabout 'giving it to them that had a right to it'. At this I protestedso strongly that I think she believed me honest, for she took the moneyand gave me a warm new plaid for it, and an old hat of her man's. Sheshowed me how to wrap the plaid around my shoulders, and when I leftthat cottage I was the living image of the kind of Scotsman you see inthe illustrations to Burns's poems. But at any rate I was more or lessclad. 

It was as well, for the weather changed before midday to a thickdrizzle of rain. I found shelter below an overhanging rock in thecrook of a burn, where a drift of dead brackens made a tolerable bed. There I managed to sleep till nightfall, waking very cramped andwretched, with my shoulder gnawing like a toothache. I ate the oatcakeand cheese the old wife had given me and set out again just before thedarkening. 

I pass over the miseries of that night among the wet hills. There wereno stars to steer by, and I had to do the best I could from my memoryof the map. Twice I lost my way, and I had some nasty falls intopeat-bogs. I had only about ten miles to go as the crow flies, but mymistakes made it nearer twenty. The last bit was completed with setteeth and a very light and dizzy head. But I managed it, and in theearly dawn I was knocking at Mr Turnbull's door. The mist lay closeand thick, and from the cottage I could not see the highroad. 

Mr Turnbull himself opened to me--sober and something more than sober. He was primly dressed in an ancient but well-tended suit of black; hehad been shaved not later than the night before; he wore a linencollar; and in his left hand he carried a pocket Bible. At first hedid not recognize me. 

'Whae are ye that comes stravaigin' here on the Sabbath mornin'?' heasked. 

I had lost all count of the days. So the Sabbath was the reason forthis strange decorum. 

My head was swimming so wildly that I could not frame a coherentanswer. But he recognized me, and he saw that I was ill. 

'Hae ye got my specs?' he asked. 

I fetched them out of my trouser pocket and gave him them. 

'Ye'll hae come for your jaicket and westcoat, ' he said. 'Come in-bye. Losh, man, ye're terrible dune i' the legs. Haud up till I get ye to achair. '

I perceived I was in for a bout of malaria. I had a good deal of feverin my bones, and the wet night had brought it out, while my shoulderand the effects of the fumes combined to make me feel pretty bad. Before I knew, Mr Turnbull was helping me off with my clothes, andputting me to bed in one of the two cupboards that lined the kitchenwalls. 

He was a true friend in need, that old roadman. His wife was deadyears 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 lesscured my shoulder. But it was a baddish go, and though I was out ofbed in five days, it took me some time to get my legs again. 

He went out each morning, leaving me milk for the day, and locking thedoor behind him; and came in in the evening to sit silent in thechimney corner. Not a soul came near the place. When I was gettingbetter, he never bothered me with a question. Several times he fetchedme a two days' old SCOTSMAN, and I noticed that the interest in thePortland Place murder seemed to have died down. There was no mentionof it, and I could find very little about anything except a thingcalled the General Assembly--some ecclesiastical spree, I gathered. 

One day he produced my belt from a lockfast drawer. 'There's aterrible heap o' siller in't, ' he said. 'Ye'd better coont it to seeit's a' there. '

He never even sought my name. I asked him if anybody had been aroundmaking inquiries subsequent to my spell at the road-making. 

'Ay, there was a man in a motor-cawr. He speired whae had ta'en myplace that day, and I let on I thocht him daft. But he keepit on atme, and syne I said he maun be thinkin' o' my gude-brither frae theCleuch that whiles lent me a haun'. He was a wersh-lookin' sowl, and Icouldna understand the half o' his English tongue. '

I was getting restless those last days, and as soon as I felt myselffit 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 somecattle to Moffat. He was a man named Hislop, a friend of Turnbull's, and he came in to his breakfast with us and offered to take me with him. 

I made Turnbull accept five pounds for my lodging, and a hard job I hadof it. There never was a more independent being. He grew positivelyrude when I pressed him, and shy and red, and took the money at lastwithout a thank you. When I told him how much I owed him, he gruntedsomething about 'ae guid turn deservin' anither'. You would havethought from our leave-taking that we had parted in disgust. 

Hislop was a cheery soul, who chattered all the way over the pass anddown the sunny vale of Annan. I talked of Galloway markets and sheepprices, and he made up his mind I was a 'pack-shepherd' from thoseparts--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 mortallyslow 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 ofbrown hills and far green meadows, and a continual sound of larks andcurlews and falling streams. But I had no mind for the summer, andlittle for Hislop's conversation, for as the fateful fifteenth of Junedrew near I was overweighed with the hopeless difficulties of myenterprise. 

I got some dinner in a humble Moffat public-house, and walked the twomiles to the junction on the main line. The night express for thesouth was not due till near midnight, and to fill up the time I went upon the hillside and fell asleep, for the walk had tired me. I all butslept too long, and had to run to the station and catch the train withtwo minutes to spare. The feel of the hard third-class cushions andthe smell of stale tobacco cheered me up wonderfully. At any rate, Ifelt now that I was getting to grips with my job. 

I was decanted at Crewe in the small hours and had to wait till six toget a train for Birmingham. In the afternoon I got to Reading, andchanged into a local train which journeyed into the deeps of Berkshire. Presently I was in a land of lush water-meadows and slow reedy streams. About eight o'clock in the evening, a weary and travel-stained being--across between a farm-labourer and a vet--with a checked black-and-whiteplaid over his arm (for I did not dare to wear it south of the Border), descended at the little station of Artinswell. There were severalpeople on the platform, and I thought I had better wait to ask my waytill I was clear of the place. 

The road led through a wood of great beeches and then into a shallowvalley, with the green backs of downs peeping over the distant trees. After Scotland the air smelt heavy and flat, but infinitely sweet, forthe limes and chestnuts and lilac bushes were domes of blossom. Presently I came to a bridge, below which a clear slow stream flowedbetween snowy beds of water-buttercups. A little above it was a mill;and the lasher made a pleasant cool sound in the scented dusk. Somehowthe place soothed me and put me at my ease. I fell to whistling as Ilooked 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 toobegan to whistle. The tune was infectious, for he followed my suit. He was a huge man in untidy old flannels and a wide-brimmed hat, with acanvas bag slung on his shoulder. He nodded to me, and I thought I hadnever seen a shrewder or better-tempered face. He leaned his delicateten-foot split-cane rod against the bridge, and looked with me at thewater. 

'Clear, isn't it?' he said pleasantly. 'I back our Kenner any dayagainst the Test. Look at that big fellow. Four pounds if he's anounce. 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 reeds just above that stickle. '

'I've got him now. You might swear he was a black stone. '

'So, ' he said, and whistled another bar of 'Annie Laurie'. 

'Twisdon's the name, isn't it?' he said over his shoulder, his eyesstill fixed on the stream. 

'No, ' I said. 'I mean to say, Yes. ' I had forgotten all about myalias. 

'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 the square, cleft jaw and broad, linedbrow and the firm folds of cheek, and began to think that here at lastwas an ally worth having. His whimsical blue eyes seemed to go verydeep. 

Suddenly he frowned. 'I call it disgraceful, ' he said, raising hisvoice. 'Disgraceful that an able-bodied man like you should dare tobeg. You can get a meal from my kitchen, but you'll get no money fromme. '

A dog-cart was passing, driven by a young man who raised his whip tosalute the fisherman. When he had gone, he picked up his rod. 

'That's my house, ' he said, pointing to a white gate a hundred yardson. 'Wait five minutes and then go round to the back door. ' And withthat he left me. 

I did as I was bidden. I found a pretty cottage with a lawn runningdown to the stream, and a perfect jungle of guelder-rose and lilacflanking the path. The back door stood open, and a grave butler wasawaiting me. 

'Come this way, Sir, ' he said, and he led me along a passage and up aback staircase to a pleasant bedroom looking towards the river. ThereI found a complete outfit laid out for me--dress clothes with all thefixings, a brown flannel suit, shirts, collars, ties, shaving thingsand hair-brushes, even a pair of patent shoes. 'Sir Walter thought ashow Mr Reggie's things would fit you, Sir, ' said the butler. 'He keepssome clothes 'ere, for he comes regular on the week-ends. There's abathroom next door, and I've prepared a 'ot bath. Dinner in 'alf anhour, Sir. You'll 'ear the gong. '

The grave being withdrew, and I sat down in a chintz-covered easy-chairand gaped. It was like a pantomime, to come suddenly out of beggardominto this orderly comfort. Obviously Sir Walter believed in me, thoughwhy he did I could not guess. I looked at myself in the mirror and sawa wild, haggard brown fellow, with a fortnight's ragged beard, and dustin ears and eyes, collarless, vulgarly shirted, with shapeless oldtweed clothes and boots that had not been cleaned for the better partof a month. I made a fine tramp and a fair drover; and here I wasushered by a prim butler into this temple of gracious ease. And thebest of it was that they did not even know my name. 

I resolved not to puzzle my head but to take the gifts the gods hadprovided. I shaved and bathed luxuriously, and got into the dressclothes and clean crackling shirt, which fitted me not so badly. Bythe time I had finished the looking-glass showed a not unpersonableyoung man. 

Sir Walter awaited me in a dusky dining-room where a little round tablewas lit with silver candles. The sight of him--so respectable andestablished and secure, the embodiment of law and government and allthe conventions--took me aback and made me feel an interloper. Hecouldn't know the truth about me, or he wouldn't treat me like this. Isimply could not accept his hospitality on false pretences. 

'I'm more obliged to you than I can say, but I'm bound to make thingsclear, ' I said. 'I'm an innocent man, but I'm wanted by the 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 yourappetite. We can talk about these things after dinner. ' I never ate ameal with greater relish, for I had had nothing all day but railwaysandwiches. Sir Walter did me proud, for we drank a good champagne andhad some uncommon fine port afterwards. It made me almost hystericalto be sitting there, waited on by a footman and a sleek butler, andremember that I had been living for three weeks like a brigand, withevery man's hand against me. I told Sir Walter about tiger-fish in theZambesi that bite off your fingers if you give them a chance, and wediscussed sport up and down the globe, for he had hunted a bit in hisday. 

We went to his study for coffee, a jolly room full of books andtrophies and untidiness and comfort. I made up my mind that if ever Igot rid of this business and had a house of my own, I would create justsuch a room. Then when the coffee-cups were cleared away, and we hadgot our cigars alight, my host swung his long legs over the side of hischair and bade me get started with my yarn. 

'I've obeyed Harry's instructions, ' he said, 'and the bribe he offeredme was that you would tell me something to wake me up. I'm ready, MrHannay. '

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 thenight I had come back to find Scudder gibbering on my doorstep. I toldhim all Scudder had told me about Karolides and the Foreign Officeconference, and that made him purse his lips and grin. 

Then I got to the murder, and he grew solemn again. He heard all aboutthe milkman and my time in Galloway, and my deciphering Scudder's notesat the inn. 

'You've got them here?' he asked sharply, and drew a long breath when Iwhipped the little book from my pocket. 

I said nothing of the contents. Then I described my meeting with SirHarry, and the speeches at the hall. At that he laughed uproariously. 

'Harry talked dashed nonsense, did he? I quite believe it. He's asgood a chap as ever breathed, but his idiot of an uncle has stuffed hishead with maggots. Go on, Mr Hannay. '

My day as roadman excited him a bit. He made me describe the twofellows in the car very closely, and seemed to be raking back in hismemory. He grew merry again when he heard of the fate of that assJopley. 

But the old man in the moorland house solemnized him. Again I had todescribe every detail of his appearance. 

'Bland and bald-headed and hooded his eyes like a bird ... He sounds asinister wild-fowl! And you dynamited his hermitage, after he hadsaved you from the police. Spirited piece of work, that!' Presently Ireached the end of my wanderings. He got up slowly, and looked down atme from the hearth-rug. 

'You may dismiss the police from your mind, ' he said. 'You're in nodanger from the law of this land. '

'Great Scot!' I cried. 'Have they got the murderer?'

'No. But for the last fortnight they have dropped you from the list ofpossibles. '

'Why?' I asked in amazement. 

'Principally because I received a letter from Scudder. I knewsomething of the man, and he did several jobs for me. He was halfcrank, half genius, but he was wholly honest. The trouble about himwas his partiality for playing a lone hand. That made him pretty welluseless in any Secret Service--a pity, for he had uncommon gifts. Ithink he was the bravest man in the world, for he was always shiveringwith fright, and yet nothing would choke him off. I had a letter fromhim on the 31st of May. '

'But he had been dead a week by then. '

'The letter was written and posted on the 23rd. He evidently did notanticipate an immediate decease. His communications usually took aweek to reach me, for they were sent under cover to Spain and then toNewcastle. He had a mania, you know, for concealing his tracks. '

'What did he say?' I stammered. 

'Nothing. Merely that he was in danger, but had found shelter with agood 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. Ithink his object was to clear you if anything happened. When I got itI went to Scotland Yard, went over the details of the inquest, andconcluded that you were the friend. We made inquiries about you, MrHannay, and found you were respectable. I thought I knew the motivesfor your disappearance--not only the police, the other one too--andwhen I got Harry's scrawl I guessed at the rest. I have been expectingyou any time this past week. ' You can imagine what a load this took offmy mind. I felt a free man once more, for I was now up against mycountry's enemies only, and not my country's law. 

'Now let us have the little note-book, ' said Sir Walter. 

It took us a good hour to work through it. I explained the cypher, andhe was jolly quick at picking it up. He emended my reading of it onseveral points, but I had been fairly correct, on the whole. His facewas 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 aboutone thing--what is going to happen the day after tomorrow. How thedevil can it have got known? That is ugly enough in itself. But allthis about war and the Black Stone--it reads like some wild melodrama. If only I had more confidence in Scudder's judgement. The troubleabout him was that he was too romantic. He had the artistictemperament, and wanted a story to be better than God meant it to be. He had a lot of odd biases, too. Jews, for example, made him see red. Jews and the high finance. 

'The Black Stone, ' he repeated. 'DER SCHWARZE STEIN. It's like apenny novelette. And all this stuff about Karolides. That is the weakpart of the tale, for I happen to know that the virtuous Karolides islikely to outlast us both. There is no State in Europe that wants himgone. Besides, he has just been playing up to Berlin and Vienna andgiving my Chief some uneasy moments. No! Scudder has gone off thetrack 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 losthis life over it. But I am ready to take my oath that it is ordinaryspy work. A certain great European Power makes a hobby of her spysystem, and her methods are not too particular. Since she pays bypiecework her blackguards are not likely to stick at a murder or two. They want our naval dispositions for their collection at the Marineamt;but they will be pigeon-holed--nothing more. '

Just then the butler entered the room. 

'There's a trunk-call from London, Sir Walter. It's Mr 'Eath, and hewants to speak to you personally. '

My host went off to the telephone. 

He returned in five minutes with a whitish face. 'I apologize to theshade of Scudder, ' he said. 'Karolides was shot dead this evening at afew minutes after seven. '

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Coming of the Black Stone

I came down to breakfast next morning, after eight hours of blesseddreamless sleep, to find Sir Walter decoding a telegram in the midst ofmuffins and marmalade. His fresh rosiness of yesterday seemed athought tarnished. 

'I had a busy hour on the telephone after 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 in London at five. Odd that the code word for a SOUS-CHEFD/ETAT MAJOR-GENERAL should be "Porker". '

He directed me to the hot dishes and went on. 

'Not that I think it will do much good. If your friends were cleverenough to find out the first arrangement they are clever enough todiscover 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'svisit, and you may be certain there were fewer in France, for theymanage these things better there. '

While I ate he continued to talk, making me to my surprise a present ofhis full confidence. 

'Can the dispositions not be changed?' I asked. 

'They could, ' he said. 'But we want to avoid that if possible. Theyare 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, I suppose, if it were absolutely necessary. But you see the difficulty, Hannay. Our enemies are not going to besuch fools as to pick Royer's pocket or any childish game like that. They know that would mean a row and put us on our guard. Their aim isto get the details without any one of us knowing, so that Royer will goback to Paris in the belief that the whole business is still deadlysecret. If they can't do that they fail, for, once we suspect, theyknow that the whole thing must be altered. '

'Then we must stick by the Frenchman's side till he is home again, ' Isaid. 'If they thought they could get the information in Paris theywould try there. It means that they have some deep scheme on foot inLondon which they reckon is going to win out. '

'Royer dines with my Chief, and then comes to my house where fourpeople will see him--Whittaker from the Admiralty, myself, Sir ArthurDrew, and General Winstanley. The First Lord is ill, and has gone toSheringham. At my house he will get a certain document from Whittaker, and after that he will be motored to Portsmouth where a destroyer willtake him to Havre. His journey is too important for the ordinaryboat-train. He will never be left unattended for a moment till he issafe on French soil. The same with Whittaker till he meets Royer. That is the best we can do, and it's hard to see how there can be anymiscarriage. But I don't mind admitting that I'm horribly nervous. This murder of Karolides will play the deuce in the chancelleries ofEurope. '

After breakfast he asked me if I could drive a car. 'Well, you'll bemy chauffeur today and wear Hudson's rig. You're about his size. Youhave a hand in this business and we are taking no risks. There aredesperate men against us, who will not respect the country retreat ofan overworked official. '

When I first came to London I had bought a car and amused myself withrunning about the south of England, so I knew something of thegeography. I took Sir Walter to town by the Bath Road and made goodgoing. It was a soft breathless June morning, with a promise ofsultriness later, but it was delicious enough swinging through thelittle towns with their freshly watered streets, and past the summergardens of the Thames valley. I landed Sir Walter at his house inQueen Anne's Gate punctually by half-past eleven. The butler wascoming up by train with the luggage. 

The first thing he did was to take me round to Scotland Yard. There wesaw a prim gentleman, with a clean-shaven, lawyer's face. 

'I've brought you the Portland Place murderer, ' was Sir Walter'sintroduction. 

The reply was a wry smile. 'It would have been a welcome present, Bullivant. This, I presume, is Mr Richard Hannay, who for some daysgreatly interested my department. '

'Mr Hannay will interest it again. He has much to tell you, but nottoday. For certain grave reasons his tale must wait for four hours. Then, I can promise you, you will be entertained and possibly edified. I want you to assure Mr Hannay that he will suffer no furtherinconvenience. '

This assurance was promptly given. 'You can take up your life whereyou left off, ' I was told. 'Your flat, which probably you no longerwish to occupy, is waiting for you, and your man is still there. Asyou were never publicly accused, we considered that there was no needof a public exculpation. But on that, of course, you must pleaseyourself. '

'We may want your assistance later on, MacGillivray, ' Sir Walter saidas we left. 

Then he turned me loose. 

'Come and see me tomorrow, Hannay. I needn't tell you to keep deadlyquiet. If I were you I would go to bed, for you must have considerablearrears of sleep to overtake. You had better lie low, for if one ofyour Black Stone friends saw you there might be trouble. '

I felt curiously at a loose end. At first it was very pleasant to be afree man, able to go where I wanted without fearing anything. I hadonly been a month under the ban of the law, and it was quite enough forme. I went to the Savoy and ordered very carefully a very goodluncheon, and then smoked the best cigar the house could provide. ButI was still feeling nervous. When I saw anybody look at me in thelounge, I grew shy, and wondered if they were thinking about the murder. 

After that I took a taxi and drove miles away up into North London. Iwalked back through fields and lines of villas and terraces and thenslums and mean streets, and it took me pretty nearly two hours. Allthe while my restlessness was growing worse. I felt that great things, tremendous things, were happening or about to happen, and I, who wasthe cog-wheel of the whole business, was out of it. Royer would belanding at Dover, Sir Walter would be making plans with the few peoplein England who were in the secret, and somewhere in the darkness theBlack Stone would be working. I felt the sense of danger and impendingcalamity, and I had the curious feeling, too, that I alone could avertit, alone could grapple with it. But I was out of the game now. Howcould it be otherwise? It was not likely that Cabinet Ministers andAdmiralty Lords and Generals would admit me to their councils. 

I actually began to wish that I could run up against one of my threeenemies. That would lead to developments. I felt that I wantedenormously to have a vulgar scrap with those gentry, where I could hitout and flatten something. I was rapidly getting into a very badtemper. 

I didn't feel like going back to my flat. That had to be faced sometime, but as I still had sufficient money I thought I would put it offtill next morning, and go to a hotel for the night. 

My irritation lasted through dinner, which I had at a restaurant inJermyn Street. I was no longer hungry, and let several courses passuntasted. I drank the best part of a bottle of Burgundy, but it didnothing to cheer me. An abominable restlessness had taken possessionof me. Here was I, a very ordinary fellow, with no particular brains, and yet I was convinced that somehow I was needed to help this businessthrough--that without me it would all go to blazes. I told myself itwas sheer silly conceit, that four or five of the cleverest peopleliving, with all the might of the British Empire at their back, had thejob in hand. Yet I couldn't be convinced. It seemed as if a voicekept speaking in my ear, telling me to be up and doing, or I wouldnever sleep again. 

The upshot was that about half-past nine I made up my mind to go toQueen Anne's Gate. Very likely I would not be admitted, but it wouldease my conscience to try. 

I walked down Jermyn Street, and at the corner of Duke Street passed agroup of young men. They were in evening dress, had been diningsomewhere, and were going on to a music-hall. One of them was MrMarmaduke Jopley. 

He saw me and stopped short. 

'By God, the murderer!' he cried. 'Here, you fellows, hold him!That's Hannay, the man who did the Portland Place murder!' He grippedme by the arm, and the others crowded round. I wasn't looking for anytrouble, but my ill-temper made me play the fool. A policeman came up, and I should have told him the truth, and, if he didn't believe it, demanded to be taken to Scotland Yard, or for that matter to thenearest police station. But a delay at that moment seemed to meunendurable, and the sight of Marmie's imbecile face was more than Icould bear. I let out with my left, and had the satisfaction of seeinghim measure his length in the gutter. 

Then began an unholy row. They were all on me at once, and thepoliceman took me in the rear. I got in one or two good blows, for Ithink, with fair play, I could have licked the lot of them, but thepoliceman pinned me behind, and one of them got his fingers on mythroat. 

Through a black cloud of rage I heard the officer of the law askingwhat was the matter, and Marmie, between his broken teeth, declaringthat I was Hannay the murderer. 

'Oh, damn it all, ' I cried, 'make the fellow shut up. I advise you toleave me alone, constable. Scotland Yard knows all about me, andyou'll get a proper wigging if you interfere with me. '

'You've got to come along of me, young man, ' said the policeman. 'Isaw you strike that gentleman crool 'ard. You began it too, for hewasn't doing nothing. I seen you. Best go quietly or I'll have to fixyou up. '

Exasperation and an overwhelming sense that at no cost must I delaygave me the strength of a bull elephant. I fairly wrenched theconstable off his feet, floored the man who was gripping my collar, andset off at my best pace down Duke Street. I heard a whistle beingblown, and the rush of men behind me. 

I have a very fair turn of speed, and that night I had wings. In ajiffy I was in Pall Mall and had turned down towards St James's Park. I dodged the policeman at the Palace gates, dived through a press ofcarriages at the entrance to the Mall, and was making for the bridgebefore my pursuers had crossed the roadway. In the open ways of thePark I put on a spurt. Happily there were few people about and no onetried to stop me. I was staking all on getting to Queen Anne's Gate. 

When I entered that quiet thoroughfare it seemed deserted. SirWalter's house was in the narrow part, and outside it three or fourmotor-cars were drawn up. I slackened speed some yards off and walkedbriskly up to the door. If the butler refused me admission, or if heeven delayed to open the door, I was done. 

He didn't delay. I had scarcely rung before the door opened. 

'I must see Sir Walter, ' I panted. 'My business is desperatelyimportant. '

That butler was a great man. Without moving a muscle he held the dooropen, and then shut it behind me. 'Sir Walter is engaged, Sir, and Ihave orders to admit no one. Perhaps you will wait. '

The house was of the old-fashioned kind, with a wide hall and rooms onboth sides of it. At the far end was an alcove with a telephone and acouple of chairs, and there the butler offered me a seat. 

'See here, ' I whispered. 'There's trouble about and I'm in it. ButSir Walter knows, and I'm working for him. If anyone comes and asks ifI am here, tell him a lie. '

He nodded, and presently there was a noise of voices in the street, anda furious ringing at the bell. I never admired a man more than thatbutler. He opened the door, and with a face like a graven image waitedto be questioned. Then he gave them it. He told them whose house itwas, 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 another ring at the bell. Thebutler made no bones about admitting this new visitor. 

While he was taking off his coat I saw who it was. You couldn't open anewspaper or a magazine without seeing that face--the grey beard cutlike a spade, the firm fighting mouth, the blunt square nose, and thekeen blue eyes. I recognized the First Sea Lord, the man, they say, that made the new British Navy. 

He passed my alcove and was ushered into a room at the back of thehall. As the door opened I could hear the sound of low voices. Itshut, and I was left alone again. 

For twenty minutes I sat there, wondering what I was to do next. I wasstill perfectly convinced that I was wanted, but when or how I had nonotion. I kept looking at my watch, and as the time crept on tohalf-past ten I began to think that the conference must soon end. In aquarter of an hour Royer should be speeding along the road toPortsmouth ... 

Then I heard a bell ring, and the butler appeared. The door of theback room opened, and the First Sea Lord came out. He walked past me, and in passing he glanced in my direction, and for a second we lookedeach other in the face. 

Only for a second, but it was enough to make my heart jump. I hadnever seen the great man before, and he had never seen me. But in thatfraction of time something sprang into his eyes, and that something wasrecognition. You can't mistake it. It is a flicker, a spark of light, a minute shade of difference which means one thing and one thing only. It came involuntarily, for in a moment it died, and he passed on. In amaze 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 connected at once, and I heard a servant's voice. 

'Is his Lordship at home?' I asked. 

'His Lordship returned half an hour ago, ' said the voice, 'and has goneto bed. He is not very well tonight. Will you leave a message, Sir?'

I rang off and almost tumbled into a chair. My part in this businesswas 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 thatback room and entered without knocking. 

Five surprised faces looked up from a round table. There was SirWalter, and Drew the War Minister, whom I knew from his photographs. There was a slim elderly man, who was probably Whittaker, the Admiraltyofficial, and there was General Winstanley, conspicuous from the longscar on his forehead. Lastly, there was a short stout man with aniron-grey moustache and bushy eyebrows, who had been arrested in themiddle of a sentence. 

Sir Walter's face showed surprise and annoyance. 

'This is Mr Hannay, of whom I have spoken to you, ' he saidapologetically to the company. 'I'm afraid, Hannay, this visit isill-timed. '

I was getting back my coolness. 'That remains to be seen, Sir, ' Isaid; '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, ' Icried; 'it was his living image, but it was not Lord Alloa. It wassomeone who recognized me, someone I have seen in the last month. Hehad scarcely left the doorstep when I rang up Lord Alloa's house andwas told he had come in half an hour before and had gone to bed. '

'Who--who--' someone stammered. 

'The Black Stone, ' I cried, and I sat down in the chair so recentlyvacated and looked round at five badly scared gentlemen. 

CHAPTER NINE

The Thirty-Nine Steps

'Nonsense!' said the official from the Admiralty. 

Sir Walter got up and left the room while we looked blankly at thetable. He came back in ten minutes with a long face. 'I have spokento Alloa, ' he said. 'Had him out of bed--very grumpy. He wentstraight home after Mulross's dinner. '

'But it's madness, ' broke in General Winstanley. 'Do you mean to tellme that that man came here and sat beside me for the best part of halfan hour and that I didn't detect the imposture? Alloa must be out ofhis mind. '

'Don't you see the cleverness of it?' I said. 'You were too interestedin other things to have any eyes. You took Lord Alloa for granted. Ifit had been anybody else you might have looked more closely, but it wasnatural 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 notbeen foolish!'

He bent his wise brows on the assembly. 

'I will tell you a tale, ' he said. 'It happened many years ago inSenegal. I was quartered in a remote station, and to pass the timeused to go fishing for big barbel in the river. A little Arab mareused to carry my luncheon basket--one of the salted dun breed you gotat Timbuctoo in the old days. Well, one morning I had good sport, andthe mare was unaccountably restless. I could hear her whinnying andsquealing and stamping her feet, and I kept soothing her with my voicewhile my mind was intent on fish. I could see her all the time, as Ithought, out of a corner of my eye, tethered to a tree twenty yardsaway. After a couple of hours I began to think of food. I collectedmy fish in a tarpaulin bag, and moved down the stream towards the mare, trolling my line. When I got up to her I flung the tarpaulin on herback--'

He paused and looked round. 

'It was the smell that gave me warning. I turned my head and foundmyself looking at a lion three feet off ... An old man-eater, that wasthe terror of the village ... What was left of the mare, a mass ofblood and bones and hide, was behind him. '

'What happened?' I asked. I was enough of a hunter to know a true yarnwhen I heard it. 

'I stuffed my fishing-rod into his jaws, and I had a pistol. Also myservants came presently with rifles. But he left his mark on me. ' Heheld up a hand which lacked three fingers. 

'Consider, ' he said. 'The mare had been dead more than an hour, andthe brute had been patiently watching me ever since. I never saw thekill, for I was accustomed to the mare's fretting, and I never markedher absence, for my consciousness of her was only of something tawny, and the lion filled that part. If I could blunder thus, gentlemen, ina land where men's senses are keen, why should we busy preoccupiedurban folk not err also?'

Sir Walter nodded. No one was ready to gainsay him. 

'But I don't see, ' went on Winstanley. 'Their object was to get thesedispositions without our knowing it. Now it only required one of us tomention to Alloa our meeting tonight for the whole fraud to be exposed. '

Sir Walter laughed dryly. 'The selection of Alloa shows their acumen. Which of us was likely to speak to him about tonight? Or was he likelyto open the subject?'

I remembered the First Sea Lord's reputation for taciturnity andshortness of temper. 

'The one thing that puzzles me, ' said the General, 'is what good hisvisit here would do that spy fellow? He could not carry away severalpages of figures and strange names in his head. '

'That is not difficult, ' the Frenchman replied. 'A good spy is trainedto have a photographic memory. Like your own Macaulay. You noticed hesaid nothing, but went through these papers again and again. I thinkwe may assume that he has every detail stamped on his mind. When I wasyounger I could do the same trick. '

'Well, I suppose there is nothing for it but to change the plans, ' saidSir Walter ruefully. 

Whittaker was looking very glum. 'Did you tell Lord Alloa what hashappened?' he asked. 'No? Well, I can't speak with absoluteassurance, but I'm nearly certain we can't make any serious changeunless we alter the geography of England. '

'Another thing must be said, ' it was Royer who spoke. 'I talked freelywhen that man was here. I told something of the military plans of myGovernment. I was permitted to say so much. But that informationwould be worth many millions to our enemies. No, my friends, I see noother way. The man who came here and his confederates must be taken, and taken at once. '

'Good God, ' I cried, 'and we have not a rag of a clue. '

'Besides, ' said Whittaker, 'there is the post. By this time the newswill be on its way. '

'No, ' said the Frenchman. 'You do not understand the habits of thespy. He receives personally his reward, and he delivers personally hisintelligence. We in France know something of the breed. There isstill a chance, MES AMIS. These men must cross the sea, and there areships to be searched and ports to be watched. Believe me, the need isdesperate for both France and Britain. '

Royer's grave good sense seemed to pull us together. He was the man ofaction 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 dozenhours were we to lay hands on the three cleverest rogues in Europe?

Then suddenly I had an inspiration. 

'Where is Scudder's book?' I cried to Sir Walter. 'Quick, man, Iremember something in it. '

He unlocked the door of a bureau and gave it to me. 

I found the place. THIRTY-NINE STEPS, I read, and again, THIRTY-NINESTEPS--I COUNTED THEM--HIGH TIDE 10. 17 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 shouted. 'Scudder knew where thesefellows laired--he knew where they were going to leave the country, though he kept the name to himself. Tomorrow was the day, and it wassome place where high tide was at 10. 17. '

'They may have gone tonight, ' someone said. 

'Not they. They have their own snug secret way, and they won't behurried. I know Germans, and they are mad about working to a plan. Where the devil can I get a book of Tide Tables?'

Whittaker brightened up. 'It's a chance, ' he said. 'Let's go over tothe Admiralty. '

We got into two of the waiting motor-cars--all but Sir Walter, who wentoff to Scotland Yard--to 'mobilize MacGillivray', so he said. Wemarched through empty corridors and big bare chambers where thecharwomen were busy, till we reached a little room lined with books andmaps. A resident clerk was unearthed, who presently fetched from thelibrary the Admiralty Tide Tables. I sat at the desk and the othersstood round, for somehow or other I had got charge of this expedition. 

It was no good. There were hundreds of entries, and so far as I couldsee 10. 17 might cover fifty places. We had to find some way ofnarrowing the possibilities. 

I took my head in my hands and thought. There must be some way ofreading this riddle. What did Scudder mean by steps? I thought ofdock steps, but if he had meant that I didn't think he would havementioned the number. It must be some place where there were severalstaircases, and one marked out from the others by having thirty-ninesteps. 

Then I had a sudden thought, and hunted up all the steamer sailings. There was no boat which left for the Continent at 10. 17 p. M. 

Why was high tide so important? If it was a harbour it must be somelittle place where the tide mattered, or else it was a heavy-draughtboat. But there was no regular steamer sailing at that hour, andsomehow I didn't think they would travel by a big boat from a regularharbour. So it must be some little harbour where the tide wasimportant, 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 on any harbour that I had ever seen. It must be some place which a particular staircase identified, andwhere the tide was full at 10. 17. On the whole it seemed to me thatthe place must be a bit of open coast. But the staircases keptpuzzling me. 

Then I went back to wider considerations. Whereabouts would a man belikely to leave for Germany, a man in a hurry, who wanted a speedy anda secret passage? Not from any of the big harbours. And not from theChannel or the West Coast or Scotland, for, remember, he was startingfrom London. I measured the distance on the map, and tried to putmyself in the enemy's shoes. I should try for Ostend or Antwerp orRotterdam, and I should sail from somewhere on the East Coast betweenCromer and Dover. 

All this was very loose guessing, and I don't pretend it was ingeniousor scientific. I wasn't any kind of Sherlock Holmes. But I havealways fancied I had a kind of instinct about questions like this. Idon't know if I can explain myself, but I used to use my brains as faras they went, and after they came to a blank wall I guessed, and Iusually found my guesses pretty right. 

So I set out all my conclusions on a bit of Admiralty paper. They ranlike this:

 FAIRLY CERTAIN

 (1) Place where there are several sets of stairs; one that matters distinguished by having thirty-nine steps. 

 (2) Full tide at 10. 17 p. M. Leaving shore only possible at full tide. 

 (3) Steps not dock steps, and so place probably not harbour. 

 (4) No regular night steamer at 10. 17. Means of transport must be tramp (unlikely), yacht, or fishing-boat. 

There my reasoning stopped. I made another list, which I headed'Guessed', but I was just as sure of the one as the other. 

 GUESSED

 (1) Place not harbour but open coast. 

 (2) Boat small--trawler, yacht, or launch. 

 (3) Place somewhere on East Coast between Cromer and Dover. 

It struck me as odd that I should be sitting at that desk with aCabinet Minister, a Field-Marshal, two high Government officials, and aFrench General watching me, while from the scribble of a dead man I wastrying to drag a secret which meant life or death for us. 

Sir Walter had joined us, and presently MacGillivray arrived. He hadsent out instructions to watch the ports and railway stations for thethree men whom I had described to Sir Walter. Not that he or anybodyelse thought that that would do much good. 

'Here's the most I can make of it, ' I said. 'We have got to find aplace where there are several staircases down to the beach, one ofwhich has thirty-nine steps. I think it's a piece of open coast withbiggish cliffs, somewhere between the Wash and the Channel. Also it'sa place where full tide is at 10. 17 tomorrow night. '

Then an idea struck me. 'Is there no Inspector of Coastguards or somefellow like that who knows the East Coast?'

Whittaker said there was, and that he lived in Clapham. He went off ina car to fetch him, and the rest of us sat about the little room andtalked of anything that came into our heads. I lit a pipe and wentover the whole thing again till my brain grew weary. 

About one in the morning the coastguard man arrived. He was a fine oldfellow, with the look of a naval officer, and was desperatelyrespectful to the company. I left the War Minister to cross-examinehim, for I felt he would think it cheek in me to talk. 

'We want you to tell us the places you know on the East Coast wherethere are cliffs, and where several sets of steps run down to thebeach. '

He thought for a bit. 'What kind of steps do you mean, Sir? There areplenty of places with roads cut down through the cliffs, and most roadshave a step or two in them. Or do you mean regular staircases--allsteps, so to speak?'

Sir Arthur looked towards me. 'We mean regular staircases, ' I said. 

He reflected a minute or two. 'I don't know that I can think of any. Wait a second. There's a place in Norfolk--Brattlesham--beside agolf-course, where there are a couple of staircases, to let thegentlemen get a lost ball. '

'That's not it, ' I said. 

'Then there are plenty of Marine Parades, if that's what you mean. Every seaside resort has them. '

I shook my head. 'It's got to be more retired than that, ' I said. 

'Well, gentlemen, I can't think of anywhere else. Of course, there'sthe Ruff--'

'What's that?' I asked. 

'The big chalk headland in Kent, close to Bradgate. It's got a lot ofvillas on the top, and some of the houses have staircases down to aprivate beach. It's a very high-toned sort of place, and the residentsthere like to keep by themselves. '

I tore open the Tide Tables and found Bradgate. High tide there was at10. 17 P. M. On the 15th of June. 

'We're on the scent at last, ' I cried excitedly. 'How can I find outwhat is the tide at the Ruff?'

'I can tell you that, Sir, ' said the coastguard man. 'I once was lenta house there in this very month, and I used to go out at night to thedeep-sea fishing. The tide's ten minutes before Bradgate. '

I closed the book and looked round at the company. 

'If one of those staircases has thirty-nine steps we have solved themystery, gentlemen, ' I said. 'I want the loan of your car, Sir Walter, and a map of the roads. If Mr MacGillivray will spare me ten minutes, I think we can prepare something for tomorrow. '

It was ridiculous in me to take charge of the business like this, butthey didn't seem to mind, and after all I had been in the show from thestart. Besides, I was used to rough jobs, and these eminent gentlemenwere too clever not to see it. It was General Royer who gave me mycommission. 'I for one, ' he said, 'am content to leave the matter inMr Hannay's hands. '

By half-past three I was tearing past the moonlit hedgerows of Kent, with MacGillivray's best man on the seat beside me. 

CHAPTER TEN

Various Parties Converging on the Sea

A pink and blue June morning found me at Bradgate looking from theGriffin Hotel over a smooth sea to the lightship on the Cock sandswhich seemed the size of a bell-buoy. A couple of miles farther southand much nearer the shore a small destroyer was anchored. Scaife, MacGillivray's man, who had been in the Navy, knew the boat, and toldme her name and her commander's, so I sent off a wire to Sir Walter. 

After breakfast Scaife got from a house-agent a key for the gates ofthe staircases on the Ruff. I walked with him along the sands, and satdown in a nook of the cliffs while he investigated the half-dozen ofthem. I didn't want to be seen, but the place at this hour was quitedeserted, and all the time I was on that beach I saw nothing but thesea-gulls. 

It took him more than an hour to do the job, and when I saw him comingtowards me, conning a bit of paper, I can tell you my heart was in mymouth. Everything depended, you see, on my guess proving right. 

He read aloud the number of steps in the different stairs. 'Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-nine, forty-two, forty-seven, ' and'twenty-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 wantedhalf a dozen men, and I directed them to divide themselves amongdifferent specified hotels. Then Scaife set out to prospect the houseat the head of the thirty-nine steps. 

He came back with news that both puzzled and reassured me. The housewas called Trafalgar Lodge, and belonged to an old gentleman calledAppleton--a retired stockbroker, the house-agent said. Mr Appleton wasthere a good deal in the summer time, and was in residence now--hadbeen for the better part of a week. Scaife could pick up very littleinformation about him, except that he was a decent old fellow, who paidhis bills regularly, and was always good for a fiver for a localcharity. Then Scaife seemed to have penetrated to the back door of thehouse, pretending he was an agent for sewing-machines. Only threeservants were kept, a cook, a parlour-maid, and a housemaid, and theywere just the sort that you would find in a respectable middle-classhousehold. The cook was not the gossiping kind, and had pretty soonshut the door in his face, but Scaife said he was positive she knewnothing. Next door there was a new house building which would givegood 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 alongthe Ruff. I kept well behind the rows of villas, and found a goodobservation point on the edge of the golf-course. There I had a viewof the line of turf along the cliff top, with seats placed atintervals, and the little square plots, railed in and planted withbushes, whence the staircases descended to the beach. I saw TrafalgarLodge very plainly, a red-brick villa with a veranda, a tennis lawnbehind, and in front the ordinary seaside flower-garden full ofmarguerites and scraggy geraniums. There was a flagstaff from which anenormous Union Jack hung limply in the still air. 

Presently I observed someone leave the house and saunter along thecliff. When I got my glasses on him I saw it was an old man, wearingwhite flannel trousers, a blue serge jacket, and a straw hat. Hecarried field-glasses and a newspaper, and sat down on one of the ironseats and began to read. Sometimes he would lay down the paper andturn his glasses on the sea. He looked for a long time at thedestroyer. I watched him for half an hour, till he got up and wentback to the house for his luncheon, when I returned to the hotel formine. 

I wasn't feeling very confident. This decent common-place dwelling wasnot what I had expected. The man might be the bald archaeologist ofthat horrible moorland farm, or he might not. He was exactly the kindof satisfied old bird you will find in every suburb and every holidayplace. If you wanted a type of the perfectly harmless person you wouldprobably pitch on that. 

But after lunch, as I sat in the hotel porch, I perked up, for I sawthe thing I had hoped for and had dreaded to miss. A yacht came upfrom the south and dropped anchor pretty well opposite the Ruff. Sheseemed about a hundred and fifty tons, and I saw she belonged to theSquadron from the white ensign. So Scaife and I went down to theharbour and hired a boatman for an afternoon's fishing. 

I spent a warm and peaceful afternoon. We caught between us abouttwenty pounds of cod and lythe, and out in that dancing blue sea I tooka cheerier view of things. Above the white cliffs of the Ruff I sawthe green and red of the villas, and especially the great flagstaff ofTrafalgar Lodge. About four o'clock, when we had fished enough, I madethe boatman row us round the yacht, which lay like a delicate whitebird, ready at a moment to flee. Scaife said she must be a fast boatfor her build, and that she was pretty heavily engined. 

Her name was the ARIADNE, as I discovered from the cap of one of themen who was polishing brasswork. I spoke to him, and got an answer inthe soft dialect of Essex. Another hand that came along passed me thetime of day in an unmistakable English tongue. Our boatman had anargument with one of them about the weather, and for a few minutes welay on our oars close to the starboard bow. 

Then the men suddenly disregarded us and bent their heads to their workas an officer came along the deck. He was a pleasant, clean-lookingyoung fellow, and he put a question to us about our fishing in verygood English. But there could be no doubt about him. Hisclose-cropped head and the cut of his collar and tie never came out ofEngland. 

That did something to reassure me, but as we rowed back to Bradgate myobstinate doubts would not be dismissed. The thing that worried me wasthe reflection that my enemies knew that I had got my knowledge fromScudder, 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 tochange their plans? Too much depended on their success for them totake any risks. The whole question was how much they understood aboutScudder's knowledge. I had talked confidently last night about Germansalways sticking to a scheme, but if they had any suspicions that I wason their track they would be fools not to cover it. I wondered if theman last night had seen that I recognized him. Somehow I did not thinkhe had, and to that I had clung. But the whole business had neverseemed so difficult as that afternoon when by all calculations I shouldhave been rejoicing in assured success. 

In the hotel I met the commander of the destroyer, to whom Scaifeintroduced me, and with whom I had a few words. Then I thought I wouldput in an hour or two watching Trafalgar Lodge. 

I found a place farther up the hill, in the garden of an empty house. From there I had a full view of the court, on which two figures werehaving 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 scarfround his middle. They played with tremendous zest, like two citygents who wanted hard exercise to open their pores. You couldn'tconceive a more innocent spectacle. They shouted and laughed andstopped 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 foolon earth. Mystery and darkness had hung about the men who hunted meover the Scotch moor in aeroplane and motor-car, and notably about thatinfernal antiquarian. It was easy enough to connect those folk withthe knife that pinned Scudder to the floor, and with fell designs onthe world's peace. But here were two guileless citizens taking theirinnocuous exercise, and soon about to go indoors to a humdrum dinner, where they would talk of market prices and the last cricket scores andthe gossip of their native Surbiton. I had been making a net to catchvultures and falcons, and lo and behold! two plump thrushes hadblundered into it. 

Presently a third figure arrived, a young man on a bicycle, with a bagof golf-clubs slung on his back. He strolled round to the tennis lawnand was welcomed riotously by the players. Evidently they werechaffing him, and their chaff sounded horribly English. Then the plumpman, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief, announced that he musthave 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'lltake you on tomorrow and give you a stroke a hole. ' You couldn't findanything much more English than that. 

They all went into the house, and left me feeling a precious idiot. Ihad been barking up the wrong tree this time. These men might beacting; but if they were, where was their audience? They didn't know Iwas sitting thirty yards off in a rhododendron. It was simplyimpossible to believe that these three hearty fellows were anything butwhat they seemed--three ordinary, game-playing, suburban Englishmen, wearisome, if you like, but sordidly innocent. 

And yet there were three of them; and one was old, and one was plump, and one was lean and dark; and their house chimed in with Scudder'snotes; and half a mile off was lying a steam yacht with at least oneGerman officer. I thought of Karolides lying dead and all Europetrembling on the edge of earthquake, and the men I had left behind mein London who were waiting anxiously for the events of the next hours. There was no doubt that hell was afoot somewhere. The Black Stone hadwon, and if it survived this June night would bank its winnings. 

There seemed only one thing to do--go forward as if I had no doubts, and if I was going to make a fool of myself to do it handsomely. Neverin my life have I faced a job with greater disinclination. I wouldrather in my then mind have walked into a den of anarchists, each withhis Browning handy, or faced a charging lion with a popgun, than enterthat happy home of three cheerful Englishmen and tell them that theirgame was up. How they would laugh at me!

But suddenly I remembered a thing I once heard in Rhodesia from oldPeter Pienaar. I have quoted Peter already in this narrative. He wasthe best scout I ever knew, and before he had turned respectable he hadbeen pretty often on the windy side of the law, when he had been wantedbadly by the authorities. Peter once discussed with me the question ofdisguises, and he had a theory which struck me at the time. He said, barring absolute certainties like fingerprints, mere physical traitswere very little use for identification if the fugitive really knew hisbusiness. He laughed at things like dyed hair and false beards andsuch childish follies. The only thing that mattered was what Petercalled 'atmosphere'. 

If a man could get into perfectly different surroundings from those inwhich he had been first observed, and--this is the importantpart--really play up to these surroundings and behave as if he hadnever been out of them, he would puzzle the cleverest detectives onearth. And he used to tell a story of how he once borrowed a blackcoat and went to church and shared the same hymn-book with the man thatwas looking for him. If that man had seen him in decent company beforehe would have recognized him; but he had only seen him snuffing thelights in a public-house with a revolver. 

The recollection of Peter's talk gave me the first real comfort that Ihad had that day. Peter had been a wise old bird, and these fellows Iwas after were about the pick of the aviary. What if they were playingPeter's game? A fool tries to look different: a clever man looks thesame and is different. 

Again, there was that other maxim of Peter's which had helped me when Ihad been a roadman. 'If you are playing a part, you will never keep itup unless you convince yourself that you are it. ' That would explainthe game of tennis. Those chaps didn't need to act, they just turned ahandle and passed into another life, which came as naturally to them asthe first. It sounds a platitude, but Peter used to say that it wasthe big secret of all the famous criminals. 

It was now getting on for eight o'clock, and I went back and saw Scaifeto give him his instructions. I arranged with him how to place hismen, and then I went for a walk, for I didn't feel up to any dinner. Iwent round the deserted golf-course, and then to a point on the cliffsfarther north beyond the line of the villas. 

On the little trim newly-made roads I met people in flannels comingback from tennis and the beach, and a coastguard from the wirelessstation, and donkeys and pierrots padding homewards. Out at sea in theblue dusk I saw lights appear on the ARIADNE and on the destroyer awayto the south, and beyond the Cock sands the bigger lights of steamersmaking for the Thames. The whole scene was so peaceful and ordinarythat I got more dashed in spirits every second. It took all myresolution to stroll towards Trafalgar Lodge about half-past nine. 

On the way I got a piece of solid comfort from the sight of a greyhoundthat was swinging along at a nursemaid's heels. He reminded me of adog I used to have in Rhodesia, and of the time when I took him huntingwith me in the Pali hills. We were after rhebok, the dun kind, and Irecollected how we had followed one beast, and both he and I had cleanlost it. A greyhound works by sight, and my eyes are good enough, butthat buck simply leaked out of the landscape. Afterwards I found outhow it managed it. Against the grey rock of the kopjes it showed nomore 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 mypresent case and applied the moral. The Black Stone didn't need tobolt. They were quietly absorbed into the landscape. I was on theright track, and I jammed that down in my mind and vowed never toforget it. The last word was with Peter Pienaar. 

Scaife's men would be posted now, but there was no sign of a soul. Thehouse stood as open as a market-place for anybody to observe. Athree-foot railing separated it from the cliff road; the windows on theground-floor were all open, and shaded lights and the low sound ofvoices revealed where the occupants were finishing dinner. Everythingwas as public and above-board as a charity bazaar. Feeling thegreatest 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 upperand the lower. He understands them and they understand him. I was athome with herds and tramps and roadmen, and I was sufficiently at myease with people like Sir Walter and the men I had met the nightbefore. I can't explain why, but it is a fact. But what fellows likeme don't understand is the great comfortable, satisfied middle-classworld, the folk that live in villas and suburbs. He doesn't know howthey look at things, he doesn't understand their conventions, and he isas shy of them as of a black mamba. When a trim parlour-maid openedthe door, I could hardly find my voice. 

I asked for Mr Appleton, and was ushered in. My plan had been to walkstraight into the dining-room, and by a sudden appearance wake in themen that start of recognition which would confirm my theory. But whenI found myself in that neat hall the place mastered me. There were thegolf-clubs and tennis-rackets, the straw hats and caps, the rows ofgloves, the sheaf of walking-sticks, which you will find in tenthousand British homes. A stack of neatly folded coats and waterproofscovered the top of an old oak chest; there was a grandfather clockticking; and some polished brass warming-pans on the walls, and abarometer, and a print of Chiltern winning the St Leger. The place wasas orthodox as an Anglican church. When the maid asked me for my nameI gave it automatically, and was shown into the smoking-room, on theright side of the hall. 

That room was even worse. I hadn't time to examine it, but I could seesome framed group photographs above the mantelpiece, and I could havesworn they were English public school or college. I had only oneglance, 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 givenmy name to her master, and I had missed the chance of seeing how thethree took it. 

When I walked into the room the old man at the head of the table hadrisen and turned round to meet me. He was in evening dress--a shortcoat and black tie, as was the other, whom I called in my own mind theplump one. The third, the dark fellow, wore a blue serge suit and asoft white collar, and the colours of some club or school. 

The old man's manner was perfect. 'Mr Hannay?' he said hesitatingly. 'Did you wish to see me? One moment, you fellows, and I'll rejoin you. We had better go to the smoking-room. '

Though I hadn't an ounce of confidence in me, I forced myself to playthe game. I pulled up a chair and sat down on it. 

'I think we have met before, ' I said, 'and I guess you know mybusiness. '

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 haven't a very good memory, butI'm afraid you must tell me your errand, Sir, for I really don't knowit. '

'Well, then, ' I said, and all the time I seemed to myself to be talkingpure foolishness--'I have come to tell you that the game's up. I havea warrant for the arrest of you three gentlemen. '

'Arrest, ' said the old man, and he looked really shocked. 'Arrest!Good God, what for?'

'For the murder of Franklin Scudder in London on the 23rd day of lastmonth. '

'I never heard the name before, ' said the old man in a dazed voice. 

One of the others spoke up. 'That was the Portland Place murder. Iread about it. Good heavens, you must be mad, Sir! Where do you comefrom?'

'Scotland Yard, ' I said. 

After that for a minute there was utter silence. The old man wasstaring at his plate and fumbling with a nut, the very model ofinnocent bewilderment. 

Then the plump one spoke up. He stammered a little, like a man pickinghis words. 

'Don't get flustered, uncle, ' he said. 'It is all a ridiculousmistake; but these things happen sometimes, and we can easily set itright. It won't be hard to prove our innocence. I can show that I wasout of the country on the 23rd of May, and Bob was in a nursing home. You were in London, but you can explain what you were doing. '

'Right, Percy! Of course that's easy enough. The 23rd! That was theday after Agatha's wedding. Let me see. What was I doing? I came upin the morning from Woking, and lunched at the club with CharlieSymons. Then--oh yes, I dined with the Fishmongers. I remember, forthe punch didn't agree with me, and I was seedy next morning. Hang itall, there's the cigar-box I brought back from the dinner. ' He pointedto an object on the table, and laughed nervously. 

'I think, Sir, ' said the young man, addressing me respectfully, 'youwill see you are mistaken. We want to assist the law like allEnglishmen, and we don't want Scotland Yard to be making fools ofthemselves. 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 authorities. 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 thatyou would die of boredom because nothing ever happened to you. And nowyou've got it thick and strong, ' and he began to laugh very pleasantly. 

'By Jove, yes. Just think of it! What a story to tell at the club. Really, Mr Hannay, I suppose I should be angry, to show my innocence, but it's too funny! I almost forgive you the fright you gave me! Youlooked so glum, I thought I might have been walking in my sleep andkilling people. '

It couldn't be acting, it was too confoundedly genuine. My heart wentinto my boots, and my first impulse was to apologize and clear out. But I told myself I must see it through, even though I was to be thelaughing-stock of Britain. The light from the dinner-tablecandlesticks was not very good, and to cover my confusion I got up, walked to the door and switched on the electric light. The suddenglare made them blink, and I stood scanning the three faces. 

Well, I made nothing of it. One was old and bald, one was stout, onewas dark and thin. There was nothing in their appearance to preventthem being the three who had hunted me in Scotland, but there wasnothing to identify them. I simply can't explain why I who, as aroadman, had looked into two pairs of eyes, and as Ned Ainslie intoanother pair, why I, who have a good memory and reasonable powers ofobservation, could find no satisfaction. They seemed exactly what theyprofessed to be, and I could not have sworn to one of them. 

There in that pleasant dining-room, with etchings on the walls, and apicture of an old lady in a bib above the mantelpiece, I could seenothing to connect them with the moorland desperadoes. There was asilver cigarette-box beside me, and I saw that it had been won byPercival Appleton, Esq. , of the St Bede's Club, in a golf tournament. I had to keep a firm hold of Peter Pienaar to prevent myself boltingout of that house. 

'Well, ' said the old man politely, 'are you reassured by your scrutiny, Sir?'

I couldn't find a word. 

'I hope you'll find it consistent with your duty to drop thisridiculous business. I make no complaint, but you'll see how annoyingit must be to respectable people. '

I shook my head. 

'O Lord, ' said the young man. 'This is a bit too thick!'

'Do you propose to march us off to the police station?' asked the plumpone. 'That might be the best way out of it, but I suppose you won't becontent with the local branch. I have the right to ask to see yourwarrant, but I don't wish to cast any aspersions upon you. You areonly doing your duty. But you'll admit it's horribly awkward. What doyou propose to do?'

There was nothing to do except to call in my men and have themarrested, or to confess my blunder and clear out. I felt mesmerized bythe whole place, by the air of obvious innocence--not innocence merely, but frank honest bewilderment and concern in the three faces. 

'Oh, Peter Pienaar, ' I groaned inwardly, and for a moment I was verynear damning myself for a fool and asking their pardon. 

'Meantime I vote we have a game of bridge, ' said the plump one. 'Itwill give Mr Hannay time to think over things, and you know we havebeen wanting a fourth player. Do you play, Sir?'

I accepted as if it had been an ordinary invitation at the club. Thewhole business had mesmerized me. We went into the smoking-room wherea 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 openand the moon was flooding the cliffs and sea with a great tide ofyellow light. There was moonshine, too, in my head. The three hadrecovered their composure, and were talking easily--just the kind ofslangy talk you will hear in any golf club-house. I must have cut arum 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 Imust have been rank bad that night. They saw that they had got mepuzzled, and that put them more than ever at their ease. I keptlooking at their faces, but they conveyed nothing to me. It was notthat they looked different; they were different. I clung desperatelyto 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 upat once, but sat back for a moment in his chair, with his fingerstapping on his knees. 

It was the movement I remembered when I had stood before him in themoorland farm, with the pistols of his servants behind me. 

A little thing, lasting only a second, and the odds were a thousand toone that I might have had my eyes on my cards at the time and missedit. But I didn't, and, in a flash, the air seemed to clear. Someshadow lifted from my brain, and I was looking at the three men withfull and absolute recognition. 

The clock on the mantelpiece struck ten o'clock. 

The three faces seemed to change before my eyes and reveal theirsecrets. The young one was the murderer. Now I saw cruelty andruthlessness, where before I had only seen good-humour. His knife, Imade certain, had skewered Scudder to the floor. His kind had put thebullet in Karolides. 

The plump man's features seemed to dislimn, and form again, as I lookedat them. He hadn't a face, only a hundred masks that he could assumewhen he pleased. That chap must have been a superb actor. Perhaps hehad been Lord Alloa of the night before; perhaps not; it didn't matter. I wondered if he was the fellow who had first tracked Scudder, and lefthis card on him. Scudder had said he lisped, and I could imagine howthe 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 eyeswere opened I wondered where I had seen the benevolence. His jaw waslike chilled steel, and his eyes had the inhuman luminosity of abird's. I went on playing, and every second a greater hate welled upin my heart. It almost choked me, and I couldn't answer when mypartner spoke. Only a little longer could I endure their company. 

'Whew! Bob! Look at the time, ' said the old man. 'You'd better thinkabout catching your train. Bob's got to go to town tonight, ' he added, turning to me. The voice rang now as false as hell. I looked at theclock, and it was nearly half-past ten. 

'I am afraid he must put off his journey, ' I said. 

'Oh, damn, ' said the young man. 'I thought you had dropped that rot. I've simply got to go. You can have my address, and I'll give anysecurity you like. '

'No, ' I said, 'you must stay. '

At that I think they must have realized 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 fancy, 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 thathawk-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 meround the waist, covering the pockets in which a man might be expectedto carry a pistol. 

'SCHNELL, FRANZ, ' cried a voice, 'DAS BOOT, DAS BOOT!' As it spoke Isaw two of my fellows emerge on the moonlit lawn. 

The young dark man leapt for the window, was through it, and over thelow fence before a hand could touch him. I grappled the old chap, andthe 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 theroad towards the railed entrance to the beach stairs. One man followedhim, but he had no chance. The gate of the stairs locked behind thefugitive, and I stood staring, with my hands on the old boy's throat, for 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 lowrumbling far, far below the ground, and through the window I saw acloud of chalky dust pouring out of the shaft of the stairway. 

Someone switched on the light. 

The old man was looking at me with blazing eyes. 

'He is safe, ' he cried. 'You cannot follow in time ... He is gone ... He has triumphed ... DER SCHWARZE STEIN IST IN DER SIEGESKRONE. '

There was more in those eyes than any common triumph. They had beenhooded like a bird of prey, and now they flamed with a hawk's pride. Awhite fanatic heat burned in them, and I realized for the first timethe terrible thing I had been up against. This man was more than aspy; in his foul way he had been a patriot. 

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 theARIADNE for the last hour has been in our hands. '

Three weeks later, as all the world knows, we went to war. I joinedthe New Army the first week, and owing to my Matabele experience got acaptain's commission straight off. But I had done my best service, Ithink, before I put on khaki.