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crept on to half-past ten I began to think that the conference must

soon end. In a quarter of an hour Royer should be speeding along
the road to Portsmouth ...

Then I heard a bell ring, and the butler appeared. The door of
the back room opened, and the First Sea Lord came out. He walked

past me, and in passing he glanced in my direction, and for a
second we looked each other in the face.

Only for a second, but it was enough to make my heart jump. I
had never seen the great man before, and he had never seen me.

But in that fraction of time something sprang into his eyes, and that
something was recognition. You can't mistake it. It is a flicker, a

spark of light, a minute shade of difference which means one thing
and one thing only. It came involuntarily, for in a moment it died,

and he passed on. In a maze of wild fancies I heard the street door
close behind him.

I picked up the telephone book and looked up the number of his
house. We were connected at once, and I heard a servant's voice.

'Is his Lordship at home?' I asked.
'His Lordship returned half an hour ago,' said the voice, 'and has

gone to bed. He is not very well tonight. Will you leave a
message, Sir?'

I rang off and almost tumbled into a chair. My part in this
business was not yet ended. It had been a close shave, but I had

been in time.
Not a moment could be lost, so I marched boldly to the door of

that back room and entered without knocking.
Five surprised faces looked up from a round table. There was

Sir Walter, and Drew the War Minister, whom I knew from his
photographs. There was a slim elderly man, who was probably

Whittaker, the Admiralty official, and there was General WinStanley,
conspicuous from the long scar on his forehead. Lastly,

there was a short stout man with an iron-grey moustache and
bushy eyebrows, who had been arrested in the middle of a sentence.

Sir Walter's face showed surprise and annoyance.
'This is Mr Hannay, of whom I have spoken to you,' he said

apologetically to the company. 'I'm afraid, Hannay, this visit
is ill-timed.'

I was getting back my coolness. 'That remains to be seen, Sir,' I
said; 'but I think it may be in the nick of time. For God's sake,

gentlemen, tell me who went out a minute ago?'
'Lord Alloa,' Sir Walter said, reddening with anger.

'It was not,' I cried; 'it was his living image, but it was not Lord
Alloa. It was someone who recognized me, someone I have seen in

the last month. He had scarcely left the doorstep when I rang up
Lord Alloa's house and was told he had come in half an hour

before and had gone to bed.'
'Who - who -' someone stammered.

'The Black Stone,' I cried, and I sat down in the chair so recently
vacated and looked round at five badly scared gentlemen.

CHAPTER NINE
The Thirty-Nine Steps

'Nonsense!' said the official from the Admiralty.
Sir Walter got up and left the room while we looked blankly at

the table. He came back in ten minutes with a long face. 'I have
spoken to Alloa,' he said. 'Had him out of bed - very grumpy. He

went straight home after Mulross's dinner.'
'But it's madness,' broke in General Winstanley. 'Do you mean

to tell me that that man came here and sat beside me for the best
part of half an hour and that I didn't detect the imposture? Alloa

must be out of his mind.'
'Don't you see the cleverness of it?' I said. 'You were too

interested in other things to have any eyes. You took Lord Alloa for
granted. If it had been anybody else you might have looked more

closely, but it was natural for him to be here, and that put you all
to sleep.'

Then the Frenchman spoke, very slowly and in good English.
'The young man is right. His psychology is good. Our enemies

have not been foolish!'
He bent his wise brows on the assembly.

'I will tell you a tale,' he said. 'It happened many years ago in
Senegal. I was quartered in a remote station, and to pass the time

used to go fishing for big barbel in the river. A little Arab mare
used to carry my luncheon basket - one of the salted dun breed you

got at Timbuctoo in the old days. Well, one morning I had good
sport, and the mare was unaccountably restless. I could hear her

whinnying and squealing and stamping her feet, and I kept soothing
her with my voice while my mind was intent on fish. I could see

her all the time, as I thought, out of a corner of my eye, tethered
to a tree twenty yards away. After a couple of hours I began to

think of food. I collected my fish in a tarpaulin bag, and moved
down the stream towards the mare, trolling my line. When I got up

to her I flung the tarpaulin on her back -'
He paused and looked round.

'It was the smell that gave me warning. I turned my head and
found myself looking at a lion three feet off ... An old man-eater,

that was the terror of the village ... What was left of the mare, a
mass of blood and bones and hide, was behind him.'

'What happened?' I asked. I was enough of a hunter to know a
true yarn when I heard it.

'I stuffed my fishing-rod into his jaws, and I had a pistol. Also
my servants came presently with rifles. But he left his mark on me.'

He held up a hand which lacked three fingers.
'Consider,' he said. 'The mare had been dead more than an hour,

and the brute had been patiently watching me ever since. I never
saw the kill, for I was accustomed to the mare's fretting, and I

never marked her absence, for my consciousness of her was only of
something tawny, and the lion filled that part. If I could blunder

thus, gentlemen, in a land where men's senses are keen, why should
we busy preoccupied urban folk not err also?'

Sir Walter nodded. No one was ready to gainsay him.
'But I don't see,' went on Winstanley. 'Their object was to get

these dispositions without our knowing it. Now it only required
one of us to mention to Alloa our meeting tonight for the whole

fraud to be exposed.'
Sir Walter laughed dryly. 'The selection of Alloa shows their

acumen. Which of us was likely to speak to him about tonight? Or
was he likely to open the subject?'

I remembered the First Sea Lord's reputation for taciturnity and
shortness of temper.

'The one thing that puzzles me,' said the General, 'is what good
his visit here would do that spy fellow? He could not carry away

several pages of figures and strange names in his head.'
'That is not difficult,' the Frenchman replied. 'A good spy is

trained to have a photographic memory. Like your own Macaulay.
You noticed he said nothing, but went through these papers again

and again. I think we may assume that he has every detail stamped
on his mind. When I was younger I could do the same trick.'

'Well, I suppose there is nothing for it but to change the plans,'
said Sir Walter ruefully.

Whittaker was looking very glum. 'Did you tell Lord Alloa what
has happened?' he asked. 'No? Well, I can't speak with absolute

assurance, but I'm nearly certain we can't make any serious change
unless we alter the geography of England.'

'Another thing must be said,' it was Royer who spoke. 'I talked
freely when that man was here. I told something of the military

plans of my Government. I was permitted to say so much. But that
information would be worth many millions to our enemies. No, my

friends, I see no other way. The man who came here and his
confederates must be taken, and taken at once.'

'Good God,' I cried, 'and we have not a rag of a clue.'
'Besides,' said Whittaker, 'there is the post. By this time the news

will be on its way.'
'No,' said the Frenchman. 'You do not understand the habits

of the spy. He receives personally his reward, and he delivers
personally his intelligence. We in France know something of the

breed. There is still a chance, MES AMIS. These men must cross
the sea, and there are ships to be searched and ports to be

watched. Believe me, the need is desperate for both France and Britain.'
Royer's grave good sense seemed to pull us together. He was the

man of action among fumblers. But I saw no hope in any face, and
I felt none. Where among the fifty millions of these islands and

within a dozen hours were we to lay hands on the three cleverest
rogues in Europe?

Then suddenly I had an inspiration.
'Where is Scudder's book?' I cried to Sir Walter. 'Quick, man, I

remember something in it.'
He unlocked the door of a bureau and gave it to me.

I found the place. THIRTY-NINE STEPS, I read, and again, THIRTY-NINE
STEPS - I COUNTED THEM - HIGH TIDE 10.17 P.M.

The Admiralty man was looking at me as if he thought I had
gone mad.

'Don't you see it's a clue,' I shouted. 'Scudder knew where these
fellows laired - he knew where they were going to leave the

country, though he kept the name to himself. Tomorrow was the
day, and it was some place where high tide was at 10.17.'

'They may have gone tonight,' someone said.
'Not they. They have their own snug secret way, and they won't

be hurried. I know Germans, and they are mad about working to a
plan. Where the devil can I get a book of Tide Tables?'

Whittaker brightened up. 'It's a chance,' he said. 'Let's go over
to the Admiralty.'

We got into two of the waiting motor-cars - all but Sir Walter,
who went off to Scotland Yard - to 'mobilize MacGillivray', so he said.

We marched through empty corridors and big bare chambers
where the charwomen were busy, till we reached a little room lined

with books and maps. A resident clerk was unearthed, who
presently fetched from the library the Admiralty Tide Tables. I sat

at the desk and the others stood round, for somehow or other I had
got charge of this expedition.

It was no good. There were hundreds of entries, and so far as I
could see 10.17 might cover fifty places. We had to find some way

of narrowing the possibilities.
I took my head in my hands and thought. There must be some

way of reading this riddle. What did Scudder mean by steps? I
thought of dock steps, but if he had meant that I didn't think he

would have mentioned the number. It must be some place where
there were several staircases, and one marked out from the others

by having thirty-nine steps.
Then I had a sudden thought, and hunted up all the steamer

sailings. There was no boat which left for the Continent at 10.17 p.m.
Why was high tide so important? If it was a harbour it must be

some little place where the tide mattered, or else it was a heavy-
draught boat. But there was no regular steamer sailing at that hour,

and somehow I didn't think they would travel by a big boat from a
regular harbour. So it must be some little harbour where the tide

was important, or perhaps no harbour at all.
But if it was a little port I couldn't see what the steps signified.

There were no sets of staircases on any harbour that I had ever
seen. It must be some place which a particular staircase identified,

and where the tide was full at 10.17. On the whole it seemed to me
that the place must be a bit of open coast. But the staircases kept

puzzling me.
Then I went back to wider considerations. Whereabouts would a

man be likely to leave for Germany, a man in a hurry, who wanted
a speedy and a secret passage? Not from any of the big harbours.

And not from the Channel or the West Coast or Scotland, for,
remember, he was starting from London. I measured the distance

on the map, and tried to put myself in the enemy's shoes. I
should try for Ostend or Antwerp or Rotterdam, and I should

sail from somewhere on the East Coast between Cromer and Dover.
All this was very loose guessing, and I don't pretend it was



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