THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS John Buchan Author
- new bookISBN: 2940012859082
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 … More...
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 SeaCHAPTER ONEThe Man Who DiedI 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. Digital Content>E-books>Myst & Thrill>Mystery>Mystery Crit, SAP Digital >16<
