THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS

Wairarapa Times-Age, 8 June 1939, Page 12

THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS

(PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.) (COPYRIGHT.)

By

JOHN BUCHAN

(Lord Tweedsmuir, Governor-General of Canada.)

CHAPTER 111. (Continued). “I see you get your papers in good time,” he said. I glanced at it casually. '’Aye, in gude time. Seein’ that that paper cam’ out last Setterday I’m just sax days later.” 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 German called the speakers attention to them. “You’ve a fine taste in boots,” he said. “These were never made by a country shoemaker.” “They were not,” I said readily. “They were made in London. I got them frae the gentleman that was here last year for the shootin’. What was his name now?” And I scatched a forgetful head. Again the sleek one spoke in German. “Let us get on,” he said. “This .fellow is all right.” They asked one last question. “Did you see anyone pass early this morning He might be on a bicycle or he might be on foot.” I very nearly fell into the trap and told a story of a bicyclist hurrying past in the 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 last nicht, and we keepit it up late. I opened the house door about seeven and there was naebody on the road then. Since I cam’ up here there has just been the baker and the Ruchill herd, besides you gentlemen.” One of them gave me a cigar, which I smelt gingerly and stuck in Turnbull’s bundle. They got into their 1 car and were out of sight in three minutes. My heart leapt with an enormous relief, but I went on wheeling my stones. It was as well, for ten minutes later the car return, one of the occupants waving a hand to me. Those gentry left nothing to chance. I finished Turnbull’s bread and cheese, and pretty soon I had finished the stone. The next step was what puzzled me. I could not keep up this road-making business, for long. A merciful providence had kept Mr Turnbull indoors, but if he appeared on the scepe there would be trouble. I had a notion that the cordon was >still tight round the glen, and that if I walked in any direction I should meet with questioners. But get out I must. No man’s nerve could stand more than a day of being spied on. I stayed at my post till about five o’clock. By that time I had resolved to. go down to Turnbull’s cottage at nightfall and take my chance of getting over the hills in the darkness, but suddenly a new car came up the road, a'nd slowed down a yard or two from me. A fresh ? wind had risen, and the occupant wanted .to light a cigarette. ■ "

It was a touring car, with the tonneau full of an assortment of baggage. One man sat in it, and by an amazing chance I knew him. His name was Marmaduke Jopley,.and he was an offence to creation. He was a sort of blood stockbroker, who did his business by toadying eldest sons and rich young peers and foolish old ladies. “Marmie,” was a familiar figure, I understood, at balls and poloweeks and country houses. He was an adroit scandalmonger, and would crawl a mile on his belly to anything that had a title or a million. I had a business introduction to his firm when I came to London, and he was good enough to ask me to dinner at his club. There he showed off at a great rate, and pattered about his duchesses till the snobbery of the creature turned me sick. I asked a man afterwards why nobody kicked him, and was told that Englishmen reverenced the weaker sex. Anyhow, there he was now, nattily dressed, in a fine new car, obviously on his way to visit some of his smart friends. A sudden daftness took me, and in a second I had jumped into'the tonneau and had him by the shoulder. “Hullo, Jopley,” I sang out. “Well met, my lad!” He got a horrid fright. His chin dropped as he stared at me. "Who the devil are you?” he gasped. “My name’s Hannay,” I said. “From 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 as I tell you. Give me that coat of yours. That cap, too. He did as he was bid, for he was blind with terror. Over my dirty trousers and vulgar shirt, I put on jtis smart driving-coat, which buttoned right at the top and thereby hid the deficiencies of my collar. I stuck the cap on my head, and added his gloves to my get up. The dusty roadman in a minute was transformed into one of the neatest motorists in Scotland. On Mr Jopley’s head I clapped 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 the road he had come, for the watchers, having seen it before, would probably let it pass unremarked, and Marmie's figure was in no way like mine. "Now, rfiy child,” I said, “sit quite still and be a good boy. I mean you no harm. I’rn only borrowing your car for an hour or two. But if you play me any tricks, and above all if you open youi’ mouth, as sure as there's a God above you, I’ll wring your neck. Savez?” I dnjoyed that evening's ride. We ran eight miles down the valley, through a village or two, and I could not help noticing several strangelooking folk lounging by the road-' side. There were the watchers who would have had much to say to me if I had come in other garb or company. As it was, they looked incuriously on. One touched his cap in salute, and I responded graciously. As the dark fell I turned up a side glen, which, as I remembered from the map. led into an unfrequented corner o£ the hills. Soon the villages were left behind, then the farms, and then even the wayside cottages. Presently we came to a lonely moor where the night was blackening the sunset gleam in the bog pools. Here we stopped, and I obligingly reversed the car and restored to Mi' Jopley his belongings. “A thousand thanks," 1 said. “There’s more use in you than I thought. Now

(To be Continued.)

be off and find the police.” As I sat on the hillside, watching the tail light dwindle, I reflected on the various kinds of crime I had now sampled. Contrary to general belief, 1 was not a murderer, but I had become an unholy liar, a shameless impostor. and a highwayman with a marked taste for expensive motorcars. 1 spent the night on a shelf of the hillside, in the lee of a boulder where the heather glew long and soft. It was a cold business, for I had neither coat nor waistcoat. 'These were in the roadmender, Mr Turnbull’s keeping, as was Scudder’s little book, my watch and —worst of all —by pipe and tobacco pouch. Only my money accompanied me in my belt, and about half a pound of ginger biscuits in my trousers pocket. I supped off half those biscuits and. by worming myself deep into the heather, got some kind of warmth. My chief trouble was that I was desperately hungry. When a Jew shoots himself in the City, and there is an inquest, the newspapers usually report that the deceased was “well nourished.” I remember thinking that they would not call me well nourished if I broke my neck in a bog-hole. My thoughts hovered over all varieties of mortal edible, and finally settled oh a porter-house steak and a quart of bitter with a Welsh rabbit to follow. In longing hopelessly for these dainties I fell asleep. I woke very cold and stiff about an hour after dawn. It took me a little while to remember where I was, for I had been very weary and had slept heavily. I saw first the pale blue sky through a net of heather, then a big shoulder of hill, and then my own boots placed neatly in a blaeberry bush. I raised myself on my arms and looked down into the valley, and that one look set me lacing up my boots in mad haste. For there were men below, not more than a quarter of a mile off, spaced out on the hillside like a fan, and beating the heather. Marmie had not been slow in looking for his revenge. I crawled out of my shelf into the cover of a boulder, and from it gained a shallow trench which slanted up the mountain face. This led me presently into the narrow gully of a burn, by way of which I scrambled to the top of the ridge. From there I looked back and saw that I was still undiscovered. My pursuers were patiently quartering the hillside and moving upwards. Keeping behind the skyline I ran for maybe half a mile, till I judged I was above the uppermost end of the glen. Then I showed myself, and was instantly noted by one of the flankers, who passed the word to the others. I heard cries coming up from below, and saw that the line of search had changed in direction. I pretended to retreat over the skyline, but instead went back the way I had come, and in twenty minutes was behind the ridge overlooking my sleeping place. From that view-point I had the satisfaction of seeing the pursuit streaming up the hill at the top of the glen on a hopelessly false scent. I had before me a choice of routes, and I chose a ridge which made an angle with the one- I was on. and so would soon put a deep glen between me and my enemies. I knew very little about the country, and I hadn’t a notion what I was going to do. I trusted to the strength of my legs, but I was well aware that those behind me would be familiar with the lie of the land, and that my ignorance would be a heavy handicap. I saw in front of me a sea of hills, rising very high towards the south, but northwards breaking 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 moor which lay in a pocket in the uplands. That seemed as good a direction to take as any other. My stratagem had given 'me a fair start—call it twenty minutes—and I had the width of a glen behind me before I saw the first heads of the pursuers. The police had evidently called in local talent to their aid, and the men I could see had the appearance of herds or gamekeepers. 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 others kept their own side of the hill, I felt as if I were taking part in a schoolboy game of hare and hounds. But very soon it began to seem less of a game. Those fellows ■ behind were hefty men on their native heath. Looking back I saw that only three were following direct, and I guessed that the others had fetched a circuit to cut me off. My lack of local knowledge might very well be my undoing, and I resolved to get out of this tangle of glens to the pocket of moor I had seen from the tops. I must so increase my distance as to get clear away from them, and I believed I could do this if I could find the right ground for it. If there had been cover I would have tried a bit of stalking. but on these bare slopes you could see a fly a mile off. My hope must be in the length of my legs and the soundness of my wind, but I needed easier ground for that, for I was not bred a mountaineer. I put on a great spurt and got off my ridge and down into the moor before any figures appeared on the skyline behind me. I crossed a burn, and came out on a high road which made a pass between two glens. All in front of me was a big field of heather sloping up to a crest which was crowned with an odd feather of trees. In the dyke by the roadside was a gate, from which a grass-grown track led over the first wave of the pioor. Jumping the dyke, I followed it. and after a few hundred yards—as soon as it was out of sight of the highway—the grass stopped and it became a very respectable road, which was evidently kept with some care. Clearly it ran to a house, and I began to think of doing the same. Hitherto my hick had held, and it might be that my best chance would be found in this remote dwelling. Anyhow, there were trees there, and that meant cover.