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The Thirty-nine Steps-Part14_John Buchan(1875-1940)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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'By God, the murderer!' he cried. 'Here, you fellows, hold him!



That's Hannay, the man who did the Portland Place murder!' He

gripped me by the arm, and the others crowded round.



I wasn't looking for any trouble, but my ill-temper made me play

the fool. A policeman came up, and I should have told him the



truth, and, if he didn't believe it, demanded to be taken to Scotland

Yard, or for that matter to the nearest police station. But a delay at



that moment seemed to me unendurable, and the sight of Marmie's

imbecile face was more than I could bear. I let out with my left,



and had the satisfaction of seeing him measure his length in the

gutter.



Then began an unholy row. They were all on me at once, and

the policeman took me in the rear. I got in one or two good blows,



for I think, with fair play, I could have licked the lot of them, but

the policeman pinned me behind, and one of them got his fingers



on my throat.

Through a black cloud of rage I heard the officer of the law



asking what was the matter, and Marmie, between his broken teeth,

declaring that I was Hannay the murderer.



'Oh, damn it all,' I cried, 'make the fellow shut up. I advise you

to leave me alone, constable. Scotland Yard knows all about me,



and you'll get a proper wigging if you interfere with me.'

'You've got to come along of me, young man,' said the policeman.



'I saw you strike that gentleman crool 'ard. You began it too,

for he wasn't doing nothing. I seen you. Best go quietly or I'll have



to fix you up.'

Exasperation and an overwhelming sense that at no cost must I



delay gave me the strength of a bull elephant. I fairly wrenched the

constable off his feet, floored the man who was gripping my collar,



and set off at my best pace down Duke Street. I heard a whistle

being blown, and the rush of men behind me.



I have a very fair turn of speed, and that night I had wings. In a

jiffy I was in Pall Mall and had turned down towards St James's



Park. I dodged the policeman at the Palace gates, dived through a

press of carriages at the entrance to the Mall, and was making for



the bridge before my pursuers had crossed the roadway. In the

open ways of the Park I put on a spurt. Happily there were few



people about and no one tried to stop me. I was staking all on

getting to Queen Anne's Gate.



When I entered that quiet thoroughfare it seemed deserted. Sir

Walter's house was in the narrow part, and outside it three or four



motor-cars were drawn up. I slackened speed some yards off and

walked briskly up to the door. If the butler refused me admission,



or if he even delayed to open the door, I was done.

He didn't delay. I had scarcely rung before the door opened.



'I must see Sir Walter,' I panted. 'My business is desperately

important.'



That butler was a great man. Without moving a muscle he held

the door open, and then shut it behind me. 'Sir Walter is engaged,



Sir, and I have orders to admit no one. Perhaps you will wait.'

The house was of the old-fashioned kind, with a wide hall and



rooms on both sides of it. At the far end was an alcove with a

telephone and a couple of chairs, and there the butler offered me a seat.



'See here,' I whispered. 'There's trouble about and I'm in it. But

Sir Walter knows, and I'm working for him. If anyone comes and



asks if I am here, tell him a lie.'

He nodded, and presently there was a noise of voices in the



street, and a furious ringing at the bell. I never admired a man

more than that butler. He opened the door, and with a face like a



graven image waited to be questioned. Then he gave them it. He

told them whose house it was, and what his orders were, and



simply froze them off the doorstep. I could see it all from my

alcove, and it was better than any play.



I hadn't waited long till there came another ring at the bell. The

butler made no bones about admitting this new visitor.



While he was taking off his coat I saw who it was. You couldn't

open a newspaper or a magazine without seeing that face - the grey



beard cut like a spade, the firm fighting mouth, the blunt square

nose, and the keen blue eyes. I recognized the First Sea Lord, the



man, they say, that made the new British Navy.

He passed my alcove and was ushered into a room at the back of



the hall. As the door opened I could hear the sound of low voices.

It shut, and I was left alone again.



For twenty minutes I sat there, wondering what I was to do

next. I was still perfectly convinced that I was wanted, but when or



how I had no notion. I kept looking at my watch, and as the time




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