4

That shining May morning I was driving the car at high speed along the moor roads, thinking of what I had found in Scudder's pocket-book.

The little man had told me a lot of lies. All his tales about the Balkans, and the anarchists, and the Foreign Office Conference were lies, and so was Karolides. Yet not quite^[30]. I had believed in his story enough to risk my own life, but he had let me down. His book was telling me a different tale, and I believed it absolutely. Why, I don't know.

The fifteenth of June was going to be a big day of destiny. It was so big that I wasn't surprised Scudder hadn't told me all about it. He had told me something which sounded big enough, but the real thing was so big that he – the man who had found it out – wanted it all for himself.

The whole story was in the notes with gaps. The four names he had written were authorities, and he had given them a numerical value. There was a man, Ducrosne, who got five, and another fellow, Ammersfoort, who got three. There also was one queer phrase which appeared several times, in brackets. It was '(Thirty-nine steps)', and the last time he used it, he wrote: '(Thirty-nine steps, I counted them, high tide 10.17p.m.)'. I could not understand that.

The first thing I learned was that it was not about preventing a war. The war was coming anyway. Karolides was going to be dead on June 14th, and nothing could prevent that.

The second thing was that this war was going to be a surprise for Britain. Karolides' death would anger the Balkans, and then Vienna would give an ultimatum. Russia wouldn't like that, but Berlin would play the peacemaker at first, then find a reason for a conflict and attack us. That was the idea.

But all this depended on the third thing, which would happen on June 15th. I had known back in my days in Africa that there was an alliance between France and Britain, and that the two countries could act together in case of war. Well, in June a very important man, Royer, was coming to London from Paris, and he was going to get information about the disposition of the British Fleet.

But on the 15th of June, other important people were going to be in London, too. Scudder simply called them the 'Black Stone'. They were not our allies, but rather our enemies. So the information intended for France could end up in their pockets.

This was the story I had deciphered in the country inn.

My first impulse had been to write a letter to the Prime Minister, but then I thought that it would be useless. Who would believe my tale? I must have some proof first. But what could that be? Most importantly, I had to keep going despite the fact that the police and the Black Stone were pursuing me.

I had no clear idea of my journey, but I kept going east. I drove along a river, through little old villages, over peaceful streams, and past gardens and parks. The land was so peaceful that I could hardly believe that in a month the country men would be lying dead in English fields.

At about midday I came to one village where I had planned to stop and eat. A policeman saw me and tried to make me stop. I almost did. Then I realized that the description of me and the car had been already sent to thirty villages through which I might pass. I sped up again and thought that main roads were no place for me. I turned onto a narrow lane, but without a map I could be turning onto a farm road and ending up in someone's yard.

What a fool I had been to steal the car! But even if I left it, it would be found in an hour or two, and I wouldn't get far enough either. The only thing to do now was not to take the main roads. The road I was driving along was taking me too far north, so I turned east along a bad track and finally reached a big double-line railway. Beyond it I saw another valley, and thought that if I crossed it I might find some inn to stay for the night. I was tired and hungry. Just then I heard a noise in the sky, and there was that airplane, flying low, coming towards me.

There were no trees on the moor, so I hurried to get to the valley. I went downhill, turning my head round to watch that plane. Soon I was on a road between hedges and slowed down a bit.

Suddenly on my left I heard the hoot of another car, and realized to my horror that I was running into a couple of posts of a private road. I stepped on my brakes, but it was too late. So I did the only thing possible and drove into the hedge on the right.

But it was a mistake. My car went through the hedge and then started falling forward. I saw what was coming. I tried to jump out and got caught on a branch of hawthorn which held me, while my car dropped fifty feet down to the stream below. This was a good way of getting rid of the car, I thought.

Slowly I crawled back to the road where a scared voice asked me if I was hurt. It was a tall young man from the other car.

'My fault, Sir,' I said to him. 'That's the end of my Scotch motor tour, but it might have been the end of my life.'

He looked at his watch. 'I have a quarter of an hour, and my house is two minutes away. I'll see that you have something to put on and eat. Where are all your things, by the way? Are they in the car?'

'They're in my pockets,' I said. 'I'm a Colonial and travel light.'^[31]

'A Colonial,' he cried. 'Are you by any chance a Free Trader?^[32]'

'I am,' said I, not knowing what he meant.

We got into his car, and three minutes later we stopped before a comfortable-looking cabin. He took me inside and first showed me half a dozen of his suits because my own had been torn. I chose a blue one, which made me look very different. Then he took me to the dining-room, where there was some food on the table, and told me that I had just five minutes to eat. I had a cup of coffee and some cold ham.

'You can take a snack in your pocket, and we'll have supper when we get back. I've got to be at the Masonic Hall at eight o'clock. I'm in a mess right now, Mr… you haven't told me your name. Twisdon? Well, Mr. Twisdon, you see I'm Liberal Candidate for this part of the world, and I have a meeting tonight. The Colonial ex-Premier, Crumpleton, was supposed to come^[33] and speak for me, but he got ill. Here I am, left to do the whole thing myself! I had planned to speak for ten minutes and must now go on for forty. The problem is I cannot think of anything to say, and you've got to help me. You're a Free Trader and can tell our people about the Colonies. I'll be for ever in your debt.'

I thought how odd it was to ask a stranger who had almost died and had lost an expensive car to speak at a meeting for him. I knew very little about Free Trade, but I saw no other chance to get what I wanted.

'All right,' I said. 'I'm not a good speaker, but I'll tell them a bit about Australia.'

On the way he told me the simple facts of his history. He was an orphan, and his uncle who was in the Cabinet had brought him up. His uncle had advised politics, and the young man had no preference in parties. 'Good friends in both,' he said, 'and plenty of enemies, too. I'm Liberal, because my family have always been Whigs^[34].' Altogether, he was a very clean, decent young man.

As we passed through a little town, two policemen stopped us.

'Pardon, Sir Harry,' said one. 'We've been looking for a car like yours.'

'All right,' said my host. After that we didn't speak anymore because he was busy thinking about his coming speech, and I began to prepare myself for a disaster. I tried to think of something I could say, but my mind was dry.

Finally we stopped outside a door in a street, and were welcomed by some noisy gentlemen. The hall had about five hundred people in it, mostly women and old men. The chairman commented on Crumpleton's absence and introduced me as a 'leader of Australian thought'. Then Sir Harry started. I never heard anything like it. He didn't know how to talk. He had a lot of notes from which he read. He talked about the 'German menace', and said it was a Tory^[35] invention. He was for reducing our Navy and then sending Germany an ultimatum telling her to do the same.

Yet I liked his speech. It took a load off my mind. I wasn't much of a speaker, but I was much, much better than Sir Harry.

When it was my turn, I simply told them all I could remember about Australia. I doubt if I ever mentioned Free Trade, but I said there were no Tories in Australia, only Labor and Liberals. Altogether I think I was a success.

When we were in the car again, my host was in good spirits^[36]. 'Excellent speech, Twisdon,' he said. 'Now, you're coming home with me. I'm all alone, and if you stay for a day or two, I'll show you some very decent fishing.'

We had a hot supper and then drank grog in a big smoking-room. I thought it was the time for me to put my cards on the table. I saw that he was the man I could trust.

'Listen, Sir Harry,' I said. 'I've something very important to say to you. You're a good fellow, and I'm going to be frank. What you said about Germany.'

'Why? What's wrong? Was it that bad?' he asked. 'But you don't think Germany would ever go to war with us?'

'If you give me half an hour, I am going to tell you a story,' I said.

It was the first time I had ever told anyone the truth. I left out no detail. He heard all about Scudder, and the milkman, and the note-book, and my adventures in Galloway.

'So you see,' I said, 'I am the man that is wanted for the Portland Place murder. You could call the police and give me up. I don't think I'll get very far.'

He got very excited and was looking at me with bright eyes. 'What was your job in Rhodesia, Mr. Hannay?' he asked.

'Mining engineer,' I said.

He watched me with a smile. 'I may be a bad speaker, but I can see that you're no murderer and you're no fool, and I believe you are telling the truth. I'm going to help you. Now, what can I do?'

'First, I want you to write a letter to your uncle. I've got to get in touch with the Government people sometime before the 15th of June.'

'That won't help you. This is Foreign Office business, and my uncle would have nothing to do with it. Besides, you'd never convince him. No, I have a better idea. I'll write to the Secretary at the Foreign Office. He's my godfather. What do you want?'

He sat down at a table and wrote what I said. The plan was that a man called Twisdon (I chose to keep that name) would come before June 15th.

He would be whistling a popular tune and would mention 'Black Stone', and the godfather needed to hear his story.

'Good,' said Sir Harry. 'By the way, you'll find my godfather, his name's Sir Walter Bullivant, at his country cottage in Whitsuntide. Now, what's the next thing?'

'You're about my size. Give me the oldest suit you've got. Then show me a map of the neighborhood. Lastly, if the police come looking for me, just show them the car in the stream. If the other fellows come, tell them I went south after your meeting.'