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Buchan, John, 1875-1940

"The Thirty-Nine Steps"

Bob's got to go to town tonight,'
he added, turning to me. The voice rang now as false as hell.
I looked at the clock, and it was nearly half-past ten.
'I am afraid he must put off his journey,' I said.
'Oh, damn,' said the young man. 'I thought you had dropped
that rot. I've simply got to go. You can have my address, and I'll
give any security you like.'
'No,' I said, 'you must stay.'
At that I think they must have realized that the game was desperate.
Their only chance had been to convince me that I was playing
the fool, and that had failed. But the old man spoke again.
'I'll go bail for my nephew. That ought to content you, Mr
Hannay.' Was it fancy, or did I detect some halt in the smoothness
of that voice?
There must have been, for as I glanced at him, his eyelids fell in
that hawk-like hood which fear had stamped on my memory.
I blew my whistle.
In an instant the lights were out. A pair of strong arms gripped
me round the waist, covering the pockets in which a man might be
expected to carry a pistol.
'SCHNELL, FRANZ,' cried a voice, 'DAS BOOT, DAS BOOT!' As it spoke I
saw two of my fellows emerge on the moonlit lawn.
The young dark man leapt for the window, was through it, and
over the low fence before a hand could touch him. I grappled the
old chap, and the room seemed to fill with figures.


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