The Thirty-Nine Steps Read Free Page B

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 2

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 at it. I am an ordinary sort of fellow, not braver than other people, but
     I hate to see a good man downed, and that long knife would not be the end of Scudder
     if I could play the game in his