Kitobni o'qish: «The Thirty-Nine Steps. Selected Stories / 39 ступеней. Избранные новеллы»

© Шитова А. В., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2025

© ООО «ИД «Антология», 2025

The Thirty-Nine Steps

1

I returned from the City¹ at about three o'clock on that May afternoon feeling disgusted with life. I had been three months in the Old Country², and was fed up with it. That was the fact. The weather and the ordinary Englishmen made me sick, I couldn't get enough exercise, and the amusements of London were boring. 'Richard Hannay,' I was telling myself, 'get the hell out of here.' I thought of the plans I had been making while in Bulawayo³. Quite a lot of plans! When I was six, my father had brought me out from Scotland⁴, and I had never been home since. So England was like a wonderland to me, and I planned to stay there for the rest of my days.

But now I was disappointed with it. In a week I was tired of sightseeing, and in a month I had had enough of restaurants, theatres and races. I had no real friends, which probably explains things. Lots of people invited me to their houses, but they weren't interested in me. They asked me a question or two about South Africa, and then told me about their own affairs. A lot of ladies asked me to tea, and that was the worst thing of all. Here was I, thirty-seven years old, healthy, with enough money to have a good time, but doing nothing all day. I had almost decided to go back to Africa because I was the most bored man in the United Kingdom.

That afternoon I had been thinking about investments just to give myself something to work on, and on my way home I went into my club. I had a drink and read the evening papers. There was an article about Karolides, the Greek Premier. I liked the chap. He was a big man in South-Eastern Europe, and he played a fair game too. As I understood, they hated him in Berlin and Vienna, but not in London. I remember thinking that I could get a job in those parts of Europe. For example, Albania sounded like an interesting place.

At about six o'clock I went home, dressed, had dinner at the Cafe Royal⁵, and went into a music-hall. It was a silly show, and I did not stay long. The night was fine and clear as I walked back to the flat I had rented. The busy crowds went past me, and I envied the people for having something to do. There and then I finally decided I would give the Old Country just one more day to get me into something; if nothing happened, I would go back to Africa.

My flat was on the first floor in a new block. There was a staircase, a porter and a lift-man, but there was no restaurant or anything like that. Each flat was quite isolated from the others.

I was just unlocking the door when I noticed a man standing right next to me. I had not seen him coming, and the sudden appearance made me start⁶. He was slim, with a short brown beard and small blue eyes. I knew him as the person living in a flat on the top floor because I had sometimes met him on the stairs.

'Can I speak to you?' he said touching my arm. 'May I come in for a minute?' He could hardly control himself.

I opened my door and let him in. As soon as he walked in, he rushed to check my back room.

'Is the door locked?' he asked nervously. 'I am very sorry, but you look like the man who will understand. I've been thinking about you all week when things got worse. Will you do me a favor?⁷'

'I'll listen to you,' I said. 'That's all I can promise.' The behavior of this nervous little fellow worried me.

There were drinks on a table, so he made himself a whisky-and-soda and drank it quickly.

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I'm a bit shocked tonight. You see, I happen to be dead at this moment.⁸'

I sat down in an armchair and lit my pipe.

'What does it feel like?' I asked. Now I was sure that I was dealing with a madman.

He smiled a little. 'I'm not mad yet. Let's say I've been watching you, and I believe you're an honest man. I think I can trust you. I need help, and I want to know if I can count on you.'

'Well,just tell me your story,' I said, 'and then we'll see.'

He paused for a moment and then told me the strangest tale. I didn't even understand it at first, and I had to stop him and ask questions. But here it is.

He was a well-off American, and after college he had decided to see the world. As a war correspondent, he wrote a bit for a Chicago paper, and spent a year or two in South-Eastern Europe. He had learned the languages and got to know the society in those parts. He mentioned many names that I knew from the newspapers. He had been interested in politics, he told me. He was a sharp fellow who always wanted to get to the roots of things⁹. But he got a little further than he wanted.

Behind all the governments and the armies there was a big movement going on, organized by very dangerous people. Most of the people in that movement were the financiers and educated anarchists that make revolutions. He had learned about it by accident; it fascinated him, so he went further and then got caught.

He told me some queer things – things that happened in the Balkan War¹⁰, how one state suddenly came out on top, why alliances were made and broken, and why certain men disappeared. The aim of the whole conspiracy was the conflict between Russia and Germany, he said. When I asked why, he said that the anarchists thought it would give them their chance. They were behind it, and they hated Russia, too.

'Do you understand?' he cried. 'They are everywhere; they are ruling the world just now!'

'If so,' I said, 'then your anarchists have lost.'

'Yes and no,' he said. 'They'll win because they got a bigger thing than money, a thing that couldn't be bought – the old fighting instinct of man. But they haven't played their last card yet, and if I cannot stay alive for a month, they are going to play it and win.'

'But I thought you were dead,' I said.

He smiled. 'I'm coming to that, but I've got to tell you about a lot of things first. If you read your newspaper, I guess you know the name of Constantine Karolides?'

I started because I had been reading about him that very afternoon.

'He is the man that can ruin all their games. He is the one big brain in the whole show, and he is also an honest man. That's why he has been marked down¹¹, and I found out the way they're going to get him. That knowledge is deadly. That's why I had to die.'

He had another drink, and I mixed it for him because I was getting interested in the story.

'They can't get him in his own country because he has a bodyguard. But on the 15th of June he is coming to this city. The British Foreign Office¹² is holding a big International tea-party on that date. Karolides is the main guest, and if my friends do what they have planned, he will never return to his country.'

'That's simple,' I said. 'You can warn him.'

'And play their game?' he asked. 'If he does not come, they'll also win. He's the only man that can sort things out.'

'What about the British Government?' I said. ' They're not going to let their guests be murdered. Tell them, and they'll take measures.'

'No. Even if they doubled the police force, Constantine would still be in danger. My friends want a big occasion, with the eyes of all Europe on it. He'll be killed by an Austrian, and there'll be enough evidence to show the involvement of Vienna and Berlin. It will all be a lie, of course, but it will look bad enough to the world. But it's not going to happen if there's one man who knows it, alive, right here, in London, on the 15th of June. And that man is going to be me, Franklin P. Scudder.'

I was beginning to like the little chap. 'Where did you find out this story?' I asked.

'I heard it first in an inn in Tyrol¹³. Then I collected my other clues in a shop in Buda¹⁴, in a club in Vienna, and in a little bookshop in Leipzig¹⁵. I got its last details ten days ago in Paris. I can't tell you all now. When I was quite sure, I decided to disappear, and so I came to this city incognito. I left Paris as a young French-American, and I sailed from Hamburg as a diamond merchant. In Norway I was an English student, but when I left Bergen I was a cinema-man.

Then I came here and till yesterday I was feeling pretty happy. Then… Then I saw a man standing in the street outside this block. I used to stay in my room all day, and only get out after dark for an hour or two. I watched him from my window, and I thought I recognized him. He came in and spoke to the porter. When I came back from my walk last night, I found a card in my letter-box. It had the name of the man I didn't want to meet.'

I think that the look in his eyes and the fear on his face told of his honesty. I asked him what he did next.

'I realized that I was finished, and that there was only one way out. I had to die. If they knew I was dead, they would go to sleep again.'

'How did you do it?'

'I told my servant that I was feeling pretty bad, and I made myself up to look ill. That wasn't difficult because I'm good at disguises. Then I got a corpse. You can always get a body in London if you know where to go for it. I brought it back in a trunk and asked to take it upstairs to my room. I went to bed, and my servant wanted to call a doctor. I told him no and asked him to leave. When I was finally alone, I started to work on that corpse. He was my size, but didn't look like me. So I shot him in the face with a revolver. I am sure there will be somebody tomorrow to say they have heard a shot, but there are no neighbors on my floor, that is why I could risk it. So I left the body in bed, dressed up in my clothes, with a revolver, and a great mess around. I couldn't get into the streets, of course, but I had had you in my mind all day, and there seemed nothing to do but to ask you for help. I watched from my window till I saw you come home, and then went down the stairs to meet you…'

By this time I was quite convinced that he was honest with me. It was the wildest story, but in my time I had heard many strange tales which had turned out to be true.

'Give me your key,' I said, 'and I'll take a look at the corpse. Excuse me, but I'd like to verify what I can.'

He shook his head. 'I thought you'd ask for that, but I haven't got it. It's left on the table. I had to leave it behind because I couldn't leave any clues to make them suspicious. The people who are after me are pretty smart. You'll have to trust me for tonight, and tomorrow you'll get proof of the corpse.'

I thought for an instant or two. 'Right. I'll trust you for the night. I'll lock you in this room and keep the key. Just one word, Mr. Scudder. I believe you're honest, but if it's not so, I should warn you that I'm quite good with a gun.'

'Sure,' he said, jumping up. 'And please lend me a razor because I haven't had the time to shave.'

I took him to my bedroom and left him there. In half an hour a figure came out that I could hardly recognize. Only his eyes were the same. He was shaved clean and his hair was combed. Combined with his tan, it made him look like some British officer who had spent a long time in India. He had a monocle¹⁶ in his eye, too.

'My God! Mr. Scudder…' I began.

'Not Mr. Scudder,' he corrected, and I noticed that his American accent had gone. 'Captain Theophilus Digby, now home on leave¹⁷. Please remember that, Sir.'

I made him a bed in my smoking-room and went to sleep on a couch. I was more cheerful than I had been for the past month.

I woke up next morning and heard that my servant, Paddock, was trying to open the smoking-room door. Paddock was a chap I had known in Scotland, and I hired him as my servant as soon as I got back to England. He was not a great servant, but I knew I could count on him.

'Stop that, Paddock,' I said. 'There's a friend of mine, Captain… uhm… (I couldn't remember the name), sleeping in there. Get breakfast for two and then come and speak to me.'

I told Paddock a fine story about how my friend ended up in the smoking-room, and Scudder played up¹⁸ when he came to breakfast. I left Scudder with the newspaper and a box of cigars, and went to the City for lunch.

When I got back, the lift-man had an important face.

'Nasty business has happened here this morning, Sir. Gentleman in No. 15 has shot himself. The police are up there now.'

I went to No. 15 and found a couple of policemen and an inspector there, making an examination. I asked a few silly questions, and soon they kicked me out. Then I found Scudder's servant and questioned him, but he knew nothing.

I learned the next day that the jury decided it was a case of suicide, and a few things were handed over to the American Consul to deal with. I told Scudder all about it, and it interested him greatly.

The first two days he stayed with me in that back room, he was very peaceful. He read and smoked, and made notes in his note-book. Every night we played chess, at which he beat me. But on the third day, I could see, he was beginning to get restless. He made a list of the days till June 15th, and crossed each off with a red pencil. Then I could see that he began to get nervous again. He listened for little noises, and was always asking me if Paddock could be trusted. I didn't blame him. It was not his own safety that troubled him, but the success of the business he had planned.

'Listen, Hannay,' he said one night, 'I think I should let you a bit deeper into this business. I cannot go without leaving someone who would also know it.'

And he began to tell me in detail the story I had already heard from him.

I did not pay much attention to the details though. In fact, I was more interested in Scudder's own adventures than in the politics. I decided that Karolides and his affairs were not my business, leaving all that to him. So a lot of what he had said I just didn't remember. But I remembered that he had been very clear that the danger to Karolides would not begin till he had got to London. He mentioned the name of a woman, Julia Czechenyi, who had something to do with the danger. She would be the decoy, I understood, to get Karolides alone, without his guards. He also talked about a Black Stone, a man that lisped, and he very carefully described an old man with hooded eyes¹⁹ and a young voice, whom he feared. He spoke a lot about death, too.

Next day he was much more cheerful, and in the evening I went out to dinner with an engineer I had to see on business.

I came back at about half past ten, in time for our game of chess. I remember I pushed the smoking-room door open. The lights were not lit, which was odd. I wondered if Scudder had gone to bed already. I turned the lights on, but there was nobody there. Then I saw something in the far corner which made me freeze²⁰.

My guest was lying on his back. There was a long knife through his heart which pinned him to the floor.

2

I sat down in an armchair and felt very sick. That lasted for maybe five minutes. I couldn't look at the white face on the floor, so I covered it with a tablecloth. I had seen men die violently before – I had killed a few myself – but this cold-blooded business was different. Still I managed to pull myself together²¹. I looked at my watch and saw that it was half past ten.

I suddenly got an idea and went to examine the flat. There was nobody there, nor any trace of anybody, but I closed all the window shutters and put the chain on the door. By this time I could think again. It took me about an hour to figure the thing out, and I did not hurry. Unless the murderer came back, I had the time to think till about six o'clock in the morning.

I was in trouble – that was pretty clear. The men who knew that Scudder knew what he knew had found him. Yes, but he had been in my rooms four days, and his enemies must have realized that he had told me his story. So I would be the next to go. It might be that very night, or the next day, or the day after.

Then suddenly I thought of another probability. What if I went out now and called the police, or went to bed and let Paddock find the body and call them in the morning? What kind of a story could I tell about Scudder? I had lied to Paddock about him, and the whole thing already looked strange. If I told the police everything he had told me, they would simply laugh at me. I would be charged with the murder, and the evidence would be strong enough to hang me. Few people knew me in England; I had no real friends here. Those secret enemies could at least have me locked in an English prison till after June 15th.

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. Scudder was gone, but he had told me his whole story, and now I had to carry on his work – that was the way I looked at it. I am an ordinary fellow, but I hate to see a good man killed, and that long knife would not be the end of Scudder if I could play the game in his place.

It took me an hour or two to figure this out, and by that time I had come to a decision. I must disappear somehow till the end of the second week in June. Then I must somehow find a way to get in touch with the Government people and tell them what Scudder had told me. I wished I had listened more carefully to the things he had told me. I knew nothing but the facts. There was a big risk that I would not be believed in the end. I must hope that something might happen which would confirm my tale in the eyes of the Government.

My first job was to keep going for the next three weeks. It was now the 24th of May, and that meant twenty days of hiding. I decided that two kinds of people would be looking for me: Scudder's enemies to kill me and the police who would want me for Scudder's murder. It was strange how this prospect excited me. I had been bored for so long that any activity was welcome.

My next thought was if Scudder had any papers on him to give me a better idea of the business. I took off the table-cloth and searched his pockets. There was nothing much in there – no sign of the little black book in which I had seen him making notes. It had been taken by his murderer.

But as I looked up, I saw that some drawers had been pulled out in the writing-table. Someone must have been searching for something, perhaps for the pocket-book.

I went round the flat and found out that everything had been clearly searched. There was no trace of the book though. Most likely the enemies had found it, but they had not found it on Scudder's body.

Then I took an atlas, opened it, and looked at a big map of the British Isles. My plan was to go to some wild district. I thought that Scotland would be best because my people were Scotch, and I could pass as²² an ordinary Scotsman. I could also pretend to be a German tourist because I knew the language pretty well. In the end, I chose Galloway as the best place to go. It was the nearest wild part of Scotland where not so many people lived.

Another search informed me that there was a train that left at 7.10, which would bring me to any place in Galloway in the late afternoon. That was great, but a more important question was how I could get to the station because I was pretty sure that Scudder's friends would be watching outside. This troubled me for a bit, but then I had an idea. On that I went to bed and slept for two hours.

I got up at four and opened my bedroom shutters. It was a fine summer morning. I was determined to go on with my plan.

I put on a well-used suit, a pair of strong boots, and a flannel shirt. I stuffed my pockets with a cap, some handkerchiefs, and a tooth-brush. I had taken a good sum in gold from the bank two days before, in case Scudder needed money, and now I put it in a belt which I had brought back from Africa. That was all I wanted.

Then came the next step. Paddock usually arrived at 7.30 and let himself in with a key. But before that, about twenty minutes to seven, the milkman came with a great clatter of cans. I had seen that milkman sometimes. He was a young man about my own height, and he wore a white overall. On him I staked all my chances.

I went into the darkened smoking-room where I put a pipe in my pocket and filled my pouch from the tobacco jar on the table by the fireplace. As I put my fingers into the tobacco, they touched something hard, and I took out Scudder's little black pocket-book… That seemed to me a good sign.

'Goodbye, old chap,' I said to the body. 'I am going to do my best for you. Wish me luck.'

Then I stayed in the hall waiting for the milkman. That was the worst part of the business. Six-thirty passed, then six-forty, and yet there was no sign of him. The milkman had chosen this day of all days to be late.

At a quarter to seven I heard the clatter of the cans outside. I opened the front door, and there was my man. He was surprised to see me so early.

'Come in here for a moment,' I said. 'I want a word with you.' I let him into the room.

'I want you to do me a favor. Give me your cap and overall for ten minutes, and here's a sovereign²³ for you.'

His eyes opened at the sight of the gold, and he smiled. 'What's the game?' he asked.

'A bet,' I said. 'I haven't got time to explain, but to win it I've got to be a milkman for the next ten minutes. All you've got to do is to stay here till I come back. You'll be a bit late, but nobody will complain.'

'Right!' he said cheerfully.

I put on his blue hat and his white overall, picked up the cans, closed my door, and went downstairs. The porter there did not recognize me.

At first I thought there was nobody in the street. Then I saw a policeman a hundred yards away and some man walking past on the other side. On impulse, I looked up at the opposite house, and there at a first-floor window was a face. As the man passed it, he also looked up, which was like a signal.

I crossed the street, imitating the milkman. Then I turned into the first side street. There was no one in the little street, so I left the milk-cans, the cap and overall behind a board fence. I had only just put on my own cap when a postman came round the corner. I said good morning to him, and he answered me. At that moment the clock of a church struck seven.

There was not a second to waste, so I ran. The clock at the station showed five minutes past seven. I had no time to take a ticket, nor to choose my destination. A porter told me the platform, and there I saw the train already leaving. I managed to jump into the last carriage.

Three minutes later, the guard²⁴ wrote out a ticket to Newton-Stewart for me – a place name which had suddenly come back to my memory – and took me to a third-class compartment, occupied by a sailor and a fat woman with a child.

There I started my new life and couldn't even believe that a week ago I had been so bored.