The Thirty-Nine Steps. Selected Stories / 39 ступеней. Избранные новеллы. Джон Бакен

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 monocle[16] 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 leave[17]. 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 up[18] 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 eyes[19] 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 freeze[20].

      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 together[21]. 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.

16

монокль

17

приехавший домой на побывку

18

подыграл мне

19

полуприкрытые глаза с нависшими веками

20

что заставило меня застыть на месте

21

сумел взять себя в руки