The Thirty-Nine Steps | Page 4

row in the Near East, and there was an article about Karolides, the
Greek Premier. I rather fancied the chap. From all accounts he seemed
the one big man in the show; and he played a straight game too, which
was more than could be said for most of them. I gathered that they
hated him pretty blackly in Berlin and Vienna, but that we were going
to stick by him, and one paper said that he was the only barrier between
Europe and Armageddon. 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 man from yawning.
About six o'clock I went home, dressed, dined at the Cafe Royal, and
turned into a music-hall. It was a silly show, all capering women and
monkey-faced men, and I did not stay long. The night was fine and
clear as I walked back to the flat I had hired near Portland Place. The
crowd surged past me on the pavements, busy and chattering, and I
envied the people for having something to do. These shop-girls and
clerks and dandies and policemen had some interest in life that kept
them going. I gave half-a-crown to a beggar because I saw him yawn;
he was a fellow-sufferer. At Oxford Circus I looked up into the spring
sky and I made a vow. I would give the Old Country another day to fit
me into something; if nothing happened, I would take the next boat for
the Cape.
My flat was the first floor in a new block behind Langham Place. There
was a common staircase, with a porter and a liftman at the entrance, but
there was no restaurant or anything of that sort, and each flat was quite
shut off from the others. I hate servants on the premises, so I had a
fellow to look after me who came in by the day. He arrived before eight
o'clock every morning and used to depart at seven, for I never dined at
home.
I was just fitting my key into the door when I noticed a man at my
elbow. I had not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance made
me start. He was a slim man, with a short brown beard and small,
gimlety blue eyes. I recognized him as the occupant of a flat on the top

floor, with whom I had passed the time of day on the stairs.
'Can I speak to you?' he said. 'May I come in for a minute?' He was
steadying his voice with an effort, and his hand was pawing my arm.
I got my door open and motioned him in. No sooner was he over the
threshold than he made a dash for my back room, where I used to
smoke and write my letters. Then he bolted back.
'Is the door locked?' he asked feverishly, and he fastened the chain with
his own hand.
'I'm very sorry,' he said humbly. 'It's a mighty liberty, but you looked
the kind of man who would understand. I've had you in my mind all
this week when things got troublesome. Say, will you do me a good
turn?'
'I'll listen to you,' I said. 'That's all I'll promise.' I was getting worried
by the antics of this nervous little chap.
There was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from which he filled
himself a stiff whisky-and-soda. He drank it off in three gulps, and
cracked the glass as he set it down.
'Pardon,' he said, 'I'm a bit rattled tonight. You see, I happen at this
moment to be dead.'
I sat down in an armchair and lit my pipe.
'What does it feel like?' I asked. I was pretty certain that I had to deal
with a 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'm going
to confide in you. I need help worse than any man ever needed it, and I
want to know if I can count you in.'
'Get on with your yarn,' I said, 'and I'll tell you.'

He seemed to brace himself for a great effort, and then started on the
queerest rigmarole. I didn't get hold of it at first, and I had to stop and
ask him questions. But here is the gist of it:
He was an American, from Kentucky, and after college, being pretty
well off, he had started out to see the world. He wrote a bit, and acted
as war correspondent for a Chicago paper, and spent a year or