The Thirty-Nine Steps | Page 9

young voice
who could hood his eyes like a hawk.
He spoke a good deal about death, too. He was mortally anxious about
winning through with his job, but he didn't care a rush for his life. 'I
reckon it's like going to sleep when you are pretty well tired out, and
waking to find a summer day with the scent of hay coming in at the
window. I used to thank God for such mornings way back in the
Blue-Grass country, and I guess I'll thank Him when I wake up on the
other side of Jordan.'
Next day he was much more cheerful, and read the life of Stonewall
Jackson much of the time. I went out to dinner with a mining engineer I
had got to see on business, and came back about half-past ten in time
for our game of chess before turning in.
I had a cigar in my mouth, I remember, as I pushed open the
smoking-room door. The lights were not lit, which struck me as odd. I
wondered if Scudder had turned in already.
I snapped the switch, but there was nobody there. Then I saw
something in the far corner which made me drop my cigar and fall into
a cold sweat.
My guest was lying sprawled on his back. There was a long knife
through his 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 maybe five
minutes, and was succeeded by a fit of the horrors. The poor staring
white face on the floor was more than I could bear, and I managed to
get a table-cloth and cover it. Then I staggered to a cupboard, found the
brandy and swallowed several mouthfuls. I had seen men die violently
before; indeed I had killed a few myself in the Matabele War; but this
cold-blooded indoor business was different. Still I managed to pull
myself together. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was half-past ten.
An idea seized me, and I went over the flat with a small-tooth comb.
There was nobody there, nor any trace of anybody, but I shuttered and
bolted all the windows and put the chain on the door. By this time my
wits were coming back to me, and I could think again. It took me about
an hour to figure the thing out, and I did not hurry, for, unless the
murderer came back, I had till about six o'clock in the morning for my
cogitations.
I was in the soup - that was pretty clear. Any shadow of a doubt I might
have had about the truth of Scudder's tale was now gone. The proof of
it was lying under the table-cloth. The men who knew that he knew
what he knew had found him, and had taken the best way to make
certain of his silence. Yes; but he had been in my rooms four days, and
his enemies must have reckoned that he had confided in me. So I would
be the next to go. It might be that very night, or next day, or the day
after, but my number was up all right. Then suddenly I thought of
another probability. Supposing I went out now and called in the police,
or went to bed and let Paddock find the body and call them in the
morning. What kind of a story was I to tell about Scudder? I had lied to
Paddock about him, and the whole thing looked desperately fishy. If I
made a clean breast of it and told the police everything he had told me,
they would simply laugh at me. The odds were a thousand to one that I
would be charged with the murder, and the circumstantial evidence was
strong enough to hang me. Few people knew me in England; I had no

real pal who could come forward and swear to my character. Perhaps
that was what those secret enemies were playing for. They were clever
enough for anything, and an English prison was as good a way of
getting rid of me till after June 15th as a knife in my chest.
Besides, if I told the whole story, and by any miracle was believed, I
would be playing their game. Karolides would stay at home, which was
what they wanted. Somehow or other the sight of Scudder's dead face
had made me a passionate believer in his scheme. He was gone, but he
had taken me into his confidence, and I was pretty well bound to carry
on his work.
You may think this ridiculous for a man in danger of his life, but that
was the way I looked