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The Thirty-nine Steps-Part6_John Buchan(1875-1940)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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trees I saw a great castle. I swung through little old thatched

villages, and over peacefullowlandstreams, and past gardens blazing



with hawthorn and yellow laburnum. The land was so deep in

peace that I could scarcely believe that somewhere behind me were



those who sought my life; ay, and that in a month's time, unless I

had the almightiest of luck, these round country faces would be



pinched and staring, and men would be lying dead in English fields.

About mid-day I entered a long straggling village, and had a



mind to stop and eat. Half-way down was the Post Office, and on

the steps of it stood the postmistress and a policeman hard at work



conning a telegram. When they saw me they wakened up, and the

policemanadvanced with raised hand, and cried on me to stop.



I nearly was fool enough to obey. Then it flashed upon me that

the wire had to do with me; that my friends at the inn had come to an



understanding, and were united in desiring to see more of me, and

that it had been easy enough for them to wire the description of me



and the car to thirty villages through which I might pass. I released

the brakes just in time. As it was, the policeman made a claw at the



hood, and only dropped off when he got my left in his eye.

I saw that main roads were no place for me, and turned into the



byways. It wasn't an easy job without a map, for there was the risk

of getting on to a farm road and ending in a duck-pond or a stable-



yard, and I couldn't afford that kind of delay. I began to see what

an ass I had been to steal the car. The big green brute would be the



safest kind of clue to me over the breadth of Scotland. If I left it

and took to my feet, it would be discovered in an hour or two and



I would get no start in the race.

The immediate thing to do was to get to the loneliest roads.



These I soon found when I struck up a tributary of the big river,

and got into a glen with steep hills all about me, and a corkscrew



road at the end which climbed over a pass. Here I met nobody, but

it was taking me too far north, so I slewed east along a bad track



and finally struck a big double-line railway. Away below me I saw

another broadish valley, and it occurred to me that if I crossed it I



might find some remote inn to pass the night. The evening was now

drawing in, and I was furiously hungry, for I had eaten nothing since



breakfast except a couple of buns I had bought from a baker's cart.

just then I heard a noise in the sky, and lo and behold there was



that infernalaeroplane, flying low, about a dozen miles to the south

and rapidly coming towards me.



I had the sense to remember that on a bare moor I was at the

aeroplane's mercy, and that my only chance was to get to the leafy



cover of the valley. Down the hill I went like blue lightning,

screwing my head round, whenever I dared, to watch that damned



flying machine. Soon I was on a road between hedges, and dipping

to the deep-cut glen of a stream. Then came a bit of thick wood



where I slackened speed.

Suddenly on my left I heard the hoot of another car, and realized



to my horror that I was almost up on a couple of gate-posts through

which a private road debouched on the highway. My horn gave an



agonized roar, but it was too late. I clapped on my brakes, but my

impetus was too great, and there before me a car was sliding



athwart my course. In a second there would have been the deuce of

a wreck. I did the only thing possible, and ran slap into the hedge



on the right, trusting to find something soft beyond.

But there I was mistaken. My car slithered through the hedge



like butter, and then gave a sickeningplunge forward. I saw what

was coming, leapt on the seat and would have jumped out. But a



branch of hawthorn got me in the chest, lifted me up and held me,

while a ton or two of expensive metal slipped below me, bucked



and pitched, and then dropped with an almighty smash fifty feet to

the bed of the stream.



Slowly that thorn let me go. I subsided first on the hedge, and then

very gently on a bower of nettles. As I scrambled to my feet a hand



took me by the arm, and a sympathetic and badly scared voice

asked me if I were hurt.



I found myself looking at a tall young man in goggles and a

leather ulster, who kept on blessing his soul and whinnying



apologies. For myself, once I got my wind back, I was rather glad

than otherwise. This was one way of getting rid of the car.



'My blame, Sir,' I answered him. 'It's lucky that I did not add

homicide to my follies. That's the end of my Scotch motor tour,



but it might have been the end of my life.'

He plucked out a watch and studied it. 'You're the right sort of



fellow,' he said. 'I can spare a quarter of an hour, and my house is




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