The Thirty-Nine Steps by John Buchan
page 38 of 145 (26%)
page 38 of 145 (26%)
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'You believe me,' I said gratefully.
'Of course I do,' and he held out his hand. 'I believe everything out of the common. The only thing to distrust is the normal.' He was very young, but he was the man for my money. 'I think they're off my track for the moment, but I must lie close for a couple of days. Can you take me in?' He caught my elbow in his eagerness and drew me towards the house. 'You can lie as snug here as if you were in a moss-hole. I'll see that nobody blabs, either. And you'll give me some more material about your adventures?' As I entered the inn porch I heard from far off the beat of an engine. There silhouetted against the dusky West was my friend, the monoplane. He gave me a room at the back of the house, with a fine outlook over the plateau, and he made me free of his own study, which was stacked with cheap editions of his favourite authors. I never saw the grandmother, so I guessed she was bedridden. An old woman called Margit brought me my meals, and the innkeeper was around me at all hours. I wanted some time to myself, so I invented a job for him. He had a motor-bicycle, and I sent him off next morning for the daily paper, which usually arrived with the post in the late afternoon. I told him to keep his eyes skinned, and make note of any strange figures he saw, keeping a special sharp look-out for motors and aeroplanes. Then I sat down in real earnest to Scudder's note-book. |
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