THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS

Wairarapa Times-Age, 17 June 1939, Page 12

THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS

By

JOHN BUCHAN

CHAPTER VI. (Continued). In the hotel I met the commander of the destroyer, to whom Scaife introduced me, and with whom I had a few words. Then I thought I would put in an hour or two watching Trafalgar Lodge. 1 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 were having a game of tennis. One was the old man, whom 1 had already seen: the other was a younger fellow, wearing some club colours in the scarf round his middle. They played with, tremendous zest, like two city gents who wanted hard exercise to open their pores. You couldn’t conceive a more innocent spectacle. They shouted and laughed and stopped for drinks, when a maid brought out two tankards on a .salver. I rubbed my eyes and asked myself if I was not the most immortal fool on earth. Mystery and darkness had hung about the men who hunted me over the Scotch moor in aeroplane and motor car. and notably about that infernal antiquarian. It was easy enough to connect those folk with the knife that pinned Scudder to the floor, and with fell designs on the world’s peace. But here were two guileless citizens taking their innocuous exercise, and soon about to go indoors to a humdrum dinner, where they would talk of market prices and the last cricket scores, and the gossip of their native Surbiton. I had been making a net to catch vultures and falcons, and lo and behold! two plump thrushes had blundered into it. Presently a third figure arrived, a young man on a bicycle, with a bag of golf clubs slung on his back. He strolled round to the tennis lawn and was welcomed riotously by the players. Evidently they were chaffing him, and their chaff sounded horribly English. Then the plump man, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief, announced that he must have a tub. I heard his very words —“I’ve got into a proper lather,” he said. “This will bring down my weight and my handicap, Bob. I’ll take you on tomorrow * and give you a stroke a hole.” You couldn’t find anything much more English than that. They all went into the house, and left me feeling a precious idiot. I had been barking up the wrong tree this time. These men might be acting; but if they were, where was their audience? They didn’t know I was sitting thirty yards off in a rhododendron. It was simply impossible to believe that these three hearty fellows were anything but what they seemed—-three ordinary, game-playing 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's notes; and half a mile off was lying a steam yacht with at least one German' officer. I thought of Karolides lying dead and all Europe trembling on the edge of earthquake, and the men I had left behind me in London who were waiting anxiously for the events of the next hours. There was no doubt that hell was afoot somewhere. The Black Stone had won. 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 doubt, and if I was going to make a fool of myself to do it handsomely. Suddenly I remembered a thing 1 once heard in Rhodesia. A fool tried to look different; a clever man looks the same and is different. Again, there was that other maxim which had helped me when I had been a roadman. “If you are playing a part, you will never keep it up unless you convince yourself that you are it.” That would explain the game of tennis. Those chaps didn't need to act, they just turned a handle and passed into another life, which came as naturally to them as the first. It was now getting on for eight o'clock, and I went back and saw Scaife to give him his instructions. I arranged with him how to place his men, and then I went for a walk, for I didn't feel up to any dinner. 1 went round the deserted golf course, and then to a point on the. cliffs farther north beyond the line of the villas.

The whole scene was so peaceful and ordinary that I got more dashed in. spirits every second. It took all my resolution to stroll towards Trailgar Lodge about half-past nine. On the way I got a piece of solid comfort from the sight, of a greyhound that was swinging along at a nursemaid's heels. He reminded me of a dog 1 used to have in Rhodesia, and of the time when 1 took him hunting with me in the Pali hills. We were after rhebok. the dun kind, and I recollected how. we had followed one beast, and both he and I had clean lost it. A greyhound works by sight, and my eyes are good enough, but that buck simply leaked out of the landscape. Afterwards I found out. bow it- managed it. Against the grey rock of the kopjies it showed no more than a crow against a thundercloud. It didn't need to run away; all it had to do was to stand still and melf into the background. Suddenly as these memories chased across my brain I thought of my present case and applied the moral. The Black Stone didn't need to bolt. They were quietly absorbed into the landscape. I was on the right track, and I jammed that down in my mind and vowed never to forget it. Scaife's men would be posted now, but there was no sign of a soul. r llic house stood as open as a market-place for anybody to observe. A three-foot | railing separated it from the cliff

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road the windows on the groundfloor were all open, and shaded lights and the low sound of voices revealed where the occupants were finishing dinner. Everything was as public and above board as a charity bazaar. Feeling the greatest fool on earth. I opened .the gate and rang the bell. 1 asked for Mi' Appleton, and was ushered it. My plan had been to walk straight into the dining-room, and by a sudden appearance wake in the men that start of recognition which would confirm my theory. But when I found myself in that neat hall the place mas-' tcred me. There were the golf-clubs and tennis-rackets, the Straw hats and caps, the rows of gloves, the sheaf of walking-sticks, which you will find in thousand British homes. A stack of neatly folded coats and waterproofs covered the top of an old oak chest; there was a grandfather's dock ticking; and some polished brass warm-ing-pans on the walls, and a barometer, and a print of Chiltern winning the St Leger. The place was as orthodox as an Anglican church. When the maid asked me for my name I gave it automatically, and was shown into the smoking-room, on the right side of the nail. That room was even worse. I hadn’t time to examine it, but 1 could see some framed group photographs above the mantlepiece, and I could have sworn they were English public school or college. I had only one glance, for I managed to pull myself together and go after the maid. But I was too late. She had already entered the dining-room and given my name to her master, and I had missed the chance of seeing how the three took it. When I walked into the room the old man at the head of the table had risen and turned round to meet me. He was in evening dress —a short coat and black tie, as was the other, whom I called in my mind the plump one. The third, the dark fellow, wore a blue serge suit and a soft 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 Ell rejoin you. We had belter go to the smokingroom.” Though I hadn’t an ounce of confidence in me. I forced myself to play the game. I pulled up a chair and sat down on it. “I think we have met before,” I said, “and I guess you know my business.” x 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, "1 haven’t a very good memory, but I’m afraid you must tell me your errand, sir, for I really don’t know it." ’’Well, then," I said, and all the time 1 seemed to myself to be talking pure foolishness—-"I have come' to tell you that the game’s up. I have here a 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 twenty-third day of last month.” “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. I read about it. Good heavens, you must be mad. sir? Where do you come from. “Scotland Yard!" I said. After that for a minute there was utter silence. The old man was staring at his plate and fumbling with a nut, the very model of innocent bewilderment: Thon the plump one spoke up. He stammered a little, like a man picking his words. “Don't get flustered, uncle,” he said. "It is all a ridiculous mistake; but these things happen sometimes, and we can easily set it right. It won’t be hard to prove our innocence. I can show that I was out of the country on May 23, 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 twenty-third. That was the day after Agatha’s wedding. Let me see. What was I doing? I came up in the morning from Woking, and lunched at the Club with Charlie Symons. Then—oh, yes. I dined with the Fishmongers. I remember, for the punch didn’t agree with me, and 1 was seedy next morning. Hang it all, there's the cigar-box I brought back from the dinner.” He pointed to an object on the table, and laughed nervously.

(To be- Continued.)