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You
may
picture
me
driving
that
40
h.p.
car
for
all
she
was
worth
over
the
crisp
moor
roads
on
that
shining
May
morning
;
glancing
back
at
first
over
my
shoulder
,
and
looking
anxiously
to
the
next
turning
;
then
driving
with
a
vague
eye
,
just
wide
enough
awake
to
keep
on
the
highway
.
For
I
was
thinking
desperately
of
what
I
had
found
in
Scudder
's
pocket-book
.
The
little
man
had
told
me
a
pack
of
lies
.
All
his
yarns
about
the
Balkans
and
the
Jew-Anarchists
and
the
Foreign
Office
Conference
were
eyewash
,
and
so
was
Karolides
.
And
yet
not
quite
,
as
you
shall
hear
.
I
had
staked
everything
on
my
belief
in
his
story
,
and
had
been
let
down
;
here
was
his
book
telling
me
a
different
tale
,
and
instead
of
being
once-bitten-twice-shy
,
I
believed
it
absolutely
.
Why
,
I
do
n't
know
.
It
rang
desperately
true
,
and
the
first
yarn
,
if
you
understand
me
,
had
been
in
a
queer
way
true
also
in
spirit
.
The
fifteenth
day
of
June
was
going
to
be
a
day
of
destiny
,
a
bigger
destiny
than
the
killing
of
a
Dago
.
It
was
so
big
that
I
did
n't
blame
Scudder
for
keeping
me
out
of
the
game
and
wanting
to
play
a
lone
hand
.
That
,
I
was
pretty
clear
,
was
his
intention
.
He
had
told
me
something
which
sounded
big
enough
,
but
the
real
thing
was
so
immortally
big
that
he
,
the
man
who
had
found
it
out
,
wanted
it
all
for
himself
.
I
did
n't
blame
him
.
It
was
risks
after
all
that
he
was
chiefly
greedy
about
.
The
whole
story
was
in
the
notes
--
with
gaps
,
you
understand
,
which
he
would
have
filled
up
from
his
memory
.
He
stuck
down
his
authorities
,
too
,
and
had
an
odd
trick
of
giving
them
all
a
numerical
value
and
then
striking
a
balance
,
which
stood
for
the
reliability
of
each
stage
in
the
yarn
.
The
four
names
he
had
printed
were
authorities
,
and
there
was
a
man
,
Ducrosne
,
who
got
five
out
of
a
possible
five
;
and
another
fellow
,
Ammersfoort
,
who
got
three
.
The
bare
bones
of
the
tale
were
all
that
was
in
the
book
--
these
,
and
one
queer
phrase
which
occurred
half
a
dozen
times
inside
brackets
.
(
"
Thirty-nine
steps
"
)
was
the
phrase
;
and
at
its
last
time
of
use
it
ran
--
(
"
Thirty-nine
steps
,
I
counted
them
--
high
tide
10.17
p.m.
"
)
.
I
could
make
nothing
of
that
.
The
first
thing
I
learned
was
that
it
was
no
question
of
preventing
a
war
.
That
was
coming
,
as
sure
as
Christmas
:
had
been
arranged
,
said
Scudder
,
ever
since
February
1912
.
Karolides
was
going
to
be
the
occasion
.
He
was
booked
all
right
,
and
was
to
hand
in
his
checks
on
June
14th
,
two
weeks
and
four
days
from
that
May
morning
.
I
gathered
from
Scudder
's
notes
that
nothing
on
earth
could
prevent
that
.
His
talk
of
Epirote
guards
that
would
skin
their
own
grandmothers
was
all
billy-o
.
The
second
thing
was
that
this
war
was
going
to
come
as
a
mighty
surprise
to
Britain
.
Karolides
'
death
would
set
the
Balkans
by
the
ears
,
and
then
Vienna
would
chip
in
with
an
ultimatum
.
Russia
would
n't
like
that
,
and
there
would
be
high
words
.
But
Berlin
would
play
the
peacemaker
,
and
pour
oil
on
the
waters
,
till
suddenly
she
would
find
a
good
cause
for
a
quarrel
,
pick
it
up
,
and
in
five
hours
let
fly
at
us
.
That
was
the
idea
,
and
a
pretty
good
one
too
.
Honey
and
fair
speeches
,
and
then
a
stroke
in
the
dark
.
While
we
were
talking
about
the
goodwill
and
good
intentions
of
Germany
our
coast
would
be
silently
ringed
with
mines
,
and
submarines
would
be
waiting
for
every
battleship
.
But
all
this
depended
upon
the
third
thing
,
which
was
due
to
happen
on
June
15th
.
I
would
never
have
grasped
this
if
I
had
n't
once
happened
to
meet
a
French
staff
officer
,
coming
back
from
West
Africa
,
who
had
told
me
a
lot
of
things
.
One
was
that
,
in
spite
of
all
the
nonsense
talked
in
Parliament
,
there
was
a
real
working
alliance
between
France
and
Britain
,
and
that
the
two
General
Staffs
met
every
now
and
then
,
and
made
plans
for
joint
action
in
case
of
war
.
Well
,
in
June
a
very
great
swell
was
coming
over
from
Paris
,
and
he
was
going
to
get
nothing
less
than
a
statement
of
the
disposition
of
the
British
Home
Fleet
on
mobilization
.
At
least
I
gathered
it
was
something
like
that
;
anyhow
,
it
was
something
uncommonly
important
.
But
on
the
15th
day
of
June
there
were
to
be
others
in
London
--
others
,
at
whom
I
could
only
guess
.
Scudder
was
content
to
call
them
collectively
the
"
Black
Stone
"
.
They
represented
not
our
Allies
,
but
our
deadly
foes
;
and
the
information
,
destined
for
France
,
was
to
be
diverted
to
their
pockets
.
And
it
was
to
be
used
,
remember
--
used
a
week
or
two
later
,
with
great
guns
and
swift
torpedoes
,
suddenly
in
the
darkness
of
a
summer
night
.
