The Thirty Nine Steps - John Buchan
64 páginas - Idioma: inglés
64 páginas - Idioma: inglés
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- john-buchan
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La Mansión del Inglés - www.mansioningles.com<br />
cigarette-box beside me, and I saw that it had been won by Percival Appleton, Esq., of the St Bede's Club,<br />
in a golf tournament. I had to keep a firm hold of Peter Pienaar to prevent myself bolting out of that house.<br />
'Well,' said the old man politely, 'are you reassured by your scrutiny, Sir?'<br />
I couldn't find a word.<br />
'I hope you'll find it consistent with your duty to drop this ridiculous business. I make no complaint, but<br />
you'll see how annoying it must be to respectable people.'<br />
I shook my head.<br />
'O Lord,' said the young man. 'This is a bit too thick!'<br />
'Do you propose to march us off to the police station?' asked the plump one. 'That might be the best way<br />
out of it, but I suppose you won't be content with the local branch. I have the right to ask to see your<br />
warrant, but I don't wish to cast any aspersions upon you. You are only doing your duty. But you'll admit<br />
it's horribly awkward. What do you propose to do?'<br />
<strong>The</strong>re was nothing to do except to call in my men and have them arrested, or to confess my blunder and<br />
clear out. I felt mesmerized by the whole place, by the air of obvious innocence—not innocence merely,<br />
but frank honest bewilderment and concern in the three faces.<br />
'Oh, Peter Pienaar,' I groaned inwardly, and for a moment I was very near damning myself for a fool and<br />
asking their pardon.<br />
'Meantime I vote we have a game of bridge,' said the plump one. 'It will give Mr Hannay time to think<br />
over things, and you know we have been wanting a fourth player. Do you play, Sir?'<br />
I accepted as if it had been an ordinary invitation at the club. <strong>The</strong> whole business had mesmerized me. We<br />
went into the smoking-room where a card-table was set out, and I was offered things to smoke and drink. I<br />
took my place at the table in a kind of dream. <strong>The</strong> window was open and the moon was flooding the cliffs<br />
and sea with a great tide of yellow light. <strong>The</strong>re was moonshine, too, in my head. <strong>The</strong> three had recovered<br />
their composure, and were talking easily—just the kind of slangy talk you will hear in any golf clubhouse.<br />
I must have cut a rum figure, sitting there knitting my brows with my eyes wandering.<br />
My partner was the young dark one. I play a fair hand at bridge, but I must have been rank bad that night.<br />
<strong>The</strong>y saw that they had got me puzzled, and that put them more than ever at their ease. I kept looking at<br />
their faces, but they conveyed nothing to me. It was not that they looked different; they were different. I<br />
clung desperately to the words of Peter Pienaar.<br />
<strong>The</strong>n something awoke me.<br />
<strong>The</strong> old man laid down his hand to light a cigar. He didn't pick it up at once, but sat back for a moment in<br />
his chair, with his fingers tapping on his knees.<br />
It was the movement I remembered when I had stood before him in the moorland farm, with the pistols of<br />
his servants behind me.<br />
A little thing, lasting only a second, and the odds were a thousand to one that I might have had my eyes on<br />
my cards at the time and missed it. But I didn't, and, in a flash, the air seemed to clear. Some shadow lifted<br />
from my brain, and I was looking at the three men with full and absolute recognition.<br />
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