ONE
The Man Who Died
I returned from the Cit y about three o?clock on that
May afternoon pretty well dis gusted with life. I had been
three m onths in the Old Country, and was fed up with it.
If anyone had told m e a year ago that I would have been
feeling like that I should ha ve laughed at him ; but there
was the fact. The weather m ade m e liver ish, th e talk of
the ordinary Englishm an m ade m e sick, I couldn?t get
enough exercise, and the am use ments of London seem ed
as flat as soda- wa ter that has been st anding in the sun.
?Richard Hannay,? I kept te lling myself, ?you have got
into the wrong ditch, my friend, and you had better clim b
out.? It m ade m e bite my lip s to think of the plans I had
been building up those last years in Bulawayo. I had got
my pile - not one of the big ones, but good enough for m e;
and I had figured out all ki nds of ways of enjoying
myself. My father had brought m e out from Scotland at
the age of six, and I had ne ver been hom e since; so
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England was a sort of Arabian Nights to m e, and I
counted on stopping there for the rest of m y days.
But from the first I was disa ppointed with it. In about a
week I was tired of seeing sight s, and in less than a m onth
I had had enough of restaurant s and theatres and race-
meetings. I had no real pal to go about with, which
probably explains things. Plen ty of people invited m e to
their houses, but they didn?t s eem much interested in m e.
They would fling m e a que stion or two about South
Af rica, and then ge t on their o wn af fairs. A lot of
Im perialist ladies asked m e to tea to m eet schoolm asters
from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that
was the dis malest busin ess of all. H ere was I, th irty -seven
years old, sound in wind and lim b, with enough money to
have a good tim e, yawning m y head off all day. I had just
about settled to clear out and get back to the veld, for I
was the best bored m an in the United Kingdom .
That afternoon I had been worrying m y brokers about
investm ents to give m y m ind som ething to work on, and
on m y way hom e I turned into my club - rather a pot-
house, which took in Colonial m embers. I had a long
drink, and read the evening pa pers. They were full of the
row in the Near East, and there was an article abou t
Karolides, the Greek Prem ier. I rather fancied the chap.
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From all accounts he seem ed the one big m an in the
show; and he played a straight gam e too, which was m ore
than could be said for most of them. I gathered that they
hated him pretty blackly in Berlin and Vienna, but that we
were going to stick by him , and one paper said that he
was the only barrier between Europe and Arm ageddon. I
rem ember wondering if I could get a job in those parts. It
struck m e that Albania was the sort of place that m ight
keep a m an from yawni ng.
About six o?clock I went hom e, dressed, dined at the
Caf e Royal, and turned into a m usic-ha ll. I t was a silly
show, all capering women and m onkey-faced m en, and I
did not stay long. The night was fine and clear as I walked
back to the flat I had hired near Portland Place. The crowd
surged past m e on the pavem ents, busy and chattering,
and I envied the people for having som ething to do. These
shop-girls and clerks and dandies and policem en had
som e interest in life that kept them going. I gave half-a-
crown to a beggar because I saw him ya wn; he was a
fellow-suf ferer. At Oxf ord Cir cus I look ed up into the
spring sky and I m ade a vow. I would give the Old
Country another day to fit m e into som ething; if nothing
happened, I would take the next boat for the Cape.
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My flat was the first floor in a new block behind
Langham Pl ace. There was a com mon staircase, with a
porter and a liftm an at the entran ce, but th ere was no
restau ran t or anyth ing of that sort, an d each flat was quite
shut off from the others. I hate servants on the prem ises,
so I had a fe llow to look after m e who ca me in by the day.
He arrived before eight o?cl ock every m orning and used
to depart at seven, for I never dined at hom e.
I was just f itting m y key into the doo r when I noticed a
man at m y elbow. I had not seen him approach, and the
sudden appearance m ade m e st art. He was a slim m an,
with a short brown beard and sm all, gim lety blue eyes. I
recognized him as the occupant of a flat on the top floor,
with whom I had passed the tim e of day on the stairs.
?Can I speak to you? ? he sa id. ?M ay I com e in for a
minute? ? He was steadying his voice with an effort, and
his hand was pawing m y arm .
I got m y door open and m otioned him in. No sooner
was he over the threshold than he m ade a das h for my
back room , where I used to sm oke and write my letters.
Then he bolted back.
?Is the doo r lock ed ?? he asked f everishly, and he
fastened the chain with his own hand.
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?I?m very sorry,? he s aid hum bly. ?It?s a m ighty liberty ,
but you looked the kind of m an who would understand.
I?ve had you in m y m ind all th is week when things got
troublesom e. Say, will y ou do m e a good turn ??
?I?ll listen to you,? I said. ?That?s al l I?ll prom ise.? I
was getting worried by the anti cs of this ne rvous little
chap.
There was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from
which he filled him self a s tiff whisky-and-soda. He drank
it off in three gulps, and crack ed the glass as he set it
down.
?Pardon,? he said, ?I?m a bit rattled tonight. You see, I
happen at this m oment to be dead.?
I sat down in an arm chair and lit m y pipe.
?W hat does it feel like? ? I asked. I was pretty certain
that I had to deal with a m adman.
A s mile flickered over his dr awn face. ?I?m not m ad -
yet. Say, Sir, I?ve been wa tching you, and I reckon you?re
a cool custom er. I reckon, too, you?re an honest m an, and
not afraid of playing a bold hand. I?m going to confide in
you. I need help worse than a ny m an ever needed it, and I
want to know if I can count you in.?
?Get on with your yarn,? I said, ?and I?ll tell you.?
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He seem ed to brace h imself for a great effort, and then
started on th e queeres t rigm arol e. I didn?t get hold of it at
first, and I had to stop and ask him questions. B ut here is
the gist of it:
He was an Am erican, from Kentucky, and after
college, being pretty well off, he had started out to see the
world. He wrote a bit, and acted as war correspondent for
a Chicago paper, and spent a year or two in South-Eastern
Europe. I gathered that he wa s a fine linguist, and had got
to know pretty well the societ y in those parts. He spoke
familiarly of m any nam es that I r emembered to have seen
in the newspapers.
He had played about with polit ics, he told m e, at first
for the inte rest of them , and then because he couldn?t help
him self. I read him as a sharp, restless fellow, who always
wanted to get down to the roots of things. He got a little
further down than he wanted.
I am giving you what he told m e as well as I could
make it out. Away behind all the Governm ents and the
arm ies there was a big subt erranean move ment going on,
engineered by very dangerous people. He had com e on it
by accid ent; it fascinated him ; he went further, and then
he got caught. I gathered that most of the peop le in it we re
the sort of educated an archis ts that m ake revolutions, but
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that beside them there were financiers who were playing
for m oney. A clever m an can m ake big profits on a falling
market, and it suited the book of both classes to set
Europe by the ears.
He told m e som e queer things that e xplained a lot tha t
had puzzled m e - things that happened in the Balkan W ar,
how one state suddenly cam e out on top, why alliances
were m ade and broken, why cer tain m en disappeared, and
where the sinews of war cam e from . The aim of the whole
conspiracy was to get Russia and Germ any at
loggerheads.
When I asked why, he said that the anarchist lot
thought it would give them their chance. E verything
would be in the m eltin g- pot, and they look ed to s ee a
new world em erge. The capitalists would rake in the
shekels, and m ake fortunes by buying up wreckage.
Capital, he said, had no conscience and no fatherland.
Besides, the Jew was b ehind it, and the Jew hated Russia
worse than h ell.
?Do you wonder? ? he cried. ?For three hundred years
they have be en persecu ted, and this is the re turn m atch f or
the pogrom s. The Jew is everywhere, but you have to go
far down the backstairs to find him . Take any big
Teutonic business concern. If you have dealings with it
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the first m an you m eet is Pr ince von und Zu Som ething,
an elegant young man who talks Eton-and-Harrow
English. But he cuts no ice. If your business is big, you
get behind him and find a pr ognathous W estphalian with
a retreating brow and the m anners of a hog. He is the
Germ an business m an t hat gives your English papers the
shakes. But if you?re on the biggest kind of job and are
bound to get to the real boss, ten to one you are brought
up against a little white -faced Jew in a bath-chair with an
eye like a rattlesnake. Yes, Sir, h e is the m an who is
ruling the world jus t now, a nd he has his knife in the
Em pire of the Tzar, because his aunt was outraged and his
father flogged in som e one- horse location on the Volga.?
I could not help saying that his Jew -anarchis ts s eem ed
to have got left behind a little.
?Yes and no,? he said. ?They won up to a point, but
they struck a bigger thing than money, a thing that
couldn?t be bought, the old elem ental fighting instincts of
man. If you? re going to be killed yo u invent so me kind of
flag and country to fight for, and if you survive you get to
love the thing. Those foolish de vils of soldiers have found
som ething they care for, and that has upset the pretty plan
laid in Berlin and Vienna. But m y friends haven?t played
their last card by a long sight. They?ve gotten th e ace up
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their sleeves , and unless I can keep alive for a month they
are going to play it and win.?
?But I thought you were dead,? I put in.
?MORS JANUA VITAE,? he sm iled. (I recogn ized the
quotation: it was about all the Latin I knew.) ?I?m com ing
to that, but I?ve got to put you wise about a lot of things
first. If you read your ne wspaper, I guess you know the
nam e of Constant ine Ka rolid es??
I sat up at that, for I had b een reading about him that
very afternoon.
?He is the man that has wreck ed a ll their gam es. He is
the one big brain in the whole show, and he happens also
to be an hon est m an. Therefore h e has been m arked down
these twelve m onths past. I found that out - not that it was
difficult, for any fool could guess as m uch. But I found
out the way they were going to get him , and that
knowledge was deadly. That?s w hy I have had to
decease. ?
He had another drink, and I m ixed it for him myself,
for I was getting interested in the beggar.
?They can?t get him in his own land, for he has a
bodyguard of Epirotes th at would skin their
grandm others. But on the 15th day of June he is com ing
to th is c ity . The British Foreign Of fice has taken to
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having International tea-parties, and the biggest of them is
due on that date. Now Karolides is reckoned the principal
guest, and if my f riends ha ve their way he will never
return to his adm iring countrym en.?
?That?s sim ple enough, anyhow,? I said. ?You can warn
him and keep him at hom e.?
?And play their gam e?? he asked sharply. ?If he does
not com e they win, for he?s the only m an that can
stra ighten o ut th e tang le. And if his Governm ent are
warned he won?t com e, for he does not know how big the
stakes will be on June the 15th.?
?W hat about the British Gove rnm ent?? I said. ?T hey?re
not going to let their guests be m urdered. T ip them the
wink, and th ey?ll take ex tra precau tio ns.?
?No good. They m ight stuff your city with plain-
clothes detectives and doubl e the police and Constantine
would still be a doom ed m an. My friends are not playing
this g ame for candy. T hey want a big o ccasion for the
taking off, with the eyes of all Europe on it. He?ll be
murdered b y an Austrian, and th ere?ll be p lenty of
evidence to show the connivance of the big folk in Vienna
and Berlin. It will all be an infernal lie, of course, but the
case will look black enough to the world. I?m not talking
hot air, m y friend. I happen to know every detail of the
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hellish contr ivance, and I can tell yo u it will be the m ost
finished piece of blackguardism since the Borgias. But
it?s no t going to com e of f if there ?s a cer tain m an who
knows the wheels of the business alive right here in
London on the 15th day of June. And that m an i s going to
be your servant, Franklin P. Scudder.?
I was gettin g to lik e th e little chap . His jaw h ad shut
like a ra t- trap, and th ere was the fire of battle in his
gim lety eyes. If he was spin ning me a yarn he could act
up to it.
?W here did you find out this story?? I asked.
?I go t the f irst h int in an i nn on the Achensee in Tyrol.
That set m e inquiring, and I co llected m y other clues in a
fur-shop in the Galician quarter of Buda, in a Strangers?
Club in Vienna, and in a little bookshop off the
Racknitzs trasse in Le ips ic. I com pleted m y evidence ten
days ago in Paris. I can?t tell you the details now, for it?s
som ething of a history. When I was quite sure in m y own
mind I judged it m y business to disappear, and I reached
this city by a m ighty queer circuit. I left Paris a dandified
young French-Am erican, and I sailed from Ham burg a
Jew diam ond m erchant. In Norway I was an English
student of Ibsen collecting m aterials for lectures, but
when I left Bergen I w as a cinem a-m an with special ski
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film s. And I cam e here from Leith with a lot of pulp-
wood proposition s in my pocket to put before the London
newspapers. Till yesterday I thought I had m uddied m y
trail som e, and was feeling pretty happy. Then ...?
The recollection seem ed to upset him, and he gulped
down som e more whisky.
?Then I saw a m an standing in the stree t outs ide this
block. I used to stay close in m y room all day, and only
slip out after dark for an hour or two. I watched him for a
bit from m y window, and I thought I recognized him ...
He cam e in and spoke to the porter ... W hen I cam e back
from m y wa lk last night I f ound a card in m y letter-box. It
bore the nam e of the man I wa nt least to m eet on God?s
earth. ?
I think that the look in m y com panion?s eyes, the sheer
naked scare on his face, com pleted m y conviction of his
honesty. My own voice sharpened a bit as I asked him
what he did next.
?I realized that I was bottl ed as s ure as a p ickled
herring, and that there was only one way out. I had to die.
If m y pursuers knew I was d ead they would go to sleep
again.?
?How did you m anage it??
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?I told th e m an that valets m e that I was f eeling pretty
bad, and I got m yself up to look like death. T hat wasn?t
difficult, for I?m no slouch at disguises. Then I got a
corpse - you can always get a body in London if you
know where to go for it. I fetched it back in a trunk on the
top of a four-wheeler, and I ha d to be assisted upstairs to
my room . You see I had to pile up som e evidence for the
inquest. I went to bed and got my m an to m ix m e a
sleeping- draught, and then told him to clear out. He
wanted to f etch a doctor, but I swore som e and said I
couldn?t abide leeches. When I was left alone I started in
to fake up that corpse. He was m y size, and I judged had
perished from too m uch alcohol, so I put som e spirits
handy about the place. The jaw was the weak point in the
likeness, so I blew it aw ay w ith a revolver. I daresay there
will be somebody tom orrow to swear to having heard a
shot, but there are no ne ighbours on m y floor, and I
guessed I could risk it. So I left the body in bed dressed
up in m y pyjam as, with a revolver lying on the bed-
clothes and a considerable m ess around. Then I got into a
suit of clothes I had kept waiting for em ergencies. I didn?t
dare to shave for fear of l eaving tracks, and besides, it
wasn?t any kind of use my tryi ng to get into the stre ets. I
had had you in m y mind all day, and there seem ed
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nothing to do but to make an appeal to you. I watched
from m y window till I saw you com e hom e, and then
slipped down the stair to m eet you ... There, Sir, I guess
you know about as m uch as m e of this business.?
He sat blink ing like an owl, f lutter ing with ner ves and
yet de spera tely de term ined. By th is tim e I was pr etty well
convinced that he was going st raight with m e. It was the
wildest sor t of narrative, but I had heard in m y tim e m any
steep tales which had turned out to be true, and I had
made a practice of judging the man rather than the story.
If he had wanted to get a location in my flat, and then cut
my throat, he would have pitched a m ilder yarn.
?Hand m e your key,? I said, ?and I?ll take a look at the
corpse. Excuse m y caution, but I?m bound to verify a bit
if I can.?
He shook his head m our nfully. ?I reckoned you?d ask
for that, but I haven?t got it. It?s on m y chain on the
dressing-table. I had to l eave it behind, for I couldn?t
leave any clues to b reed susp icions. The gentry who are
after m e are pretty bright-eyed citizens. You?ll have to
take m e on trust for the ni ght, and tom orrow you?ll get
proof of the corpse business right enough.?
I thought for an instant or two. ?Right. I?ll trust you for
the night. I?ll lock you into this room and keep the key.
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just one word, Mr Scudder. I believe you?re straight, but
if so be you are not I should warn you that I?m a handy
man with a gun.?
?Sure,? he said, jum ping up with som e briskness. ?I
haven?t the privilege of your nam e, Sir, but let m e tell you
that you?re a white m an. I?l l thank you to lend m e a
razor. ?
I took him into m y bedroom and turned him loose. In
half an hou r?s tim e a figure cam e out that I scarcely
recognized. Only his gim lety, hungry eyes were the sam e.
He was shaved clean, h is hair was parted in th e m iddle,
and he had cut his eyebrows. Furth er, he carrie d him self
as if he had been drilled, and was the very m odel, even to
the brown com plexion, of so me British officer who had
had a long spell in India. He had a monocle, too, which he
stuck in his eye, and ever y trace of the Am erican had
gone out of his speech.
?My hat! Mr Scudder -? I stamm ered.
?Not Mr Scudder,? he corre cted; ?Captain Theophilus
Digby, of the 40th Gurkhas, presently hom e on l eave. I?ll
thank you to rem ember that, Sir.?
I m ade hi m up a bed in my s moking-room and sought
my own couch, m ore cheerful than I had been for the past
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month. Things did happen occasion ally, even in this God-
forgotten metropolis.
I woke next m orning to hear my m an, Paddock,
making the deuce of a row at the sm oking-room door.
Paddock was a fellow I had done a good turn to out on the
Selakwe, and I had inspanned him as m y servant as soon
as I got to E ngland. He had a bout as m uch gift of the gab
as a hippopotam us, and was not a great hand at valeting,
but I knew I could count on his loyalty.
?Stop that row, Paddock,? I said. ?There?s a friend of
mine, Captain - Captain? (I couldn?t rem ember the nam e)
?dossing down in there. Get breakf ast for two and then
com e and speak to m e.?
I told Paddock a fine story about how m y friend was a
great swe ll, with his n erves pretty bad from overwork,
who wanted absolute rest a nd stillness. Nobody had got to
know he was here, or he would be besieged by
communications from the India Office and the Prim e
Minister and his cure would be ruined. I am bound to say
Scudder played up splendidly when he ca me to breakfast.
He fixed Paddock with his ey eglass, just like a British
officer, asked him about the Boer War, and slung out at
me a lot of stuff about im aginary pals. Paddock couldn?t
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learn to call m e ?Sir?, but he ?sirred? Scudder as if his life
depended on it.
I left him with the newspa per and a box of cigars, and
went down t o the City till luncheon. When I got back the
lift-m an had an im portant face.
?Nawsty business ?ere this m orning, Sir. Gent in No.
15 been and shot ?isself. They?ve just took ?im to the
mortiary. Th e police are up there no w.?
I ascended to No. 15, a nd found a couple of bobbies
and an inspector busy m aking an exam ination. I asked a
few idiotic questions, and they soon kicked m e out. Then
I found the m an that had valeted Scudder, and pum ped
him , but I could see he su spected nothing. He was a
whining fellow with a churchyard f ace, and half- a-crown
went far to console him .
I attended the inquest next day. A partner of som e
publishin g firm gave evidence th at the dece ased had
brought him wood-pul p propositio ns, and had been, he
believ ed, an agent of an Am erican business. The jury
found it a case of suicide while of unsound m ind, and the
few effects were handed over to the Am erican Consul to
deal with. I gave Scudder a fu ll account of the affair, and
it interested him greatly. He said he wished he could have
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attended the inquest, for he reckoned it would be about as
spicy as to read one?s own obituary notice.
The f irst two days he stayed with me in that ba ck room
he was very peaceful. He read an d sm oked a bit, and
made a heap of jottings in a note-book, and every night
we had a gam e of ches s, at which he beat m e hollow. I
think he was nursing his nerves back to health, for he had
had a p retty try ing tim e. But on the third day I could see
he was beginning to get restless. He fixed up a list of the
days till Jun e 15th, and ticked each off with a red pencil,
making re marks in shorthand against them . I would find
him sunk in a brown study, with his sharp eyes abstracted,
and after th ose spells of m editation he was apt to be very
despondent.
Then I could see that he began to get edgy again. He
listened for little noises, and was always asking m e if
Paddock could be trusted. On ce or twice he got very
peevish, and apologized for it. I didn?t blam e him. I m ade
every allow ance, for he had taken on a fairly stiff job.
It was no t th e saf ety of his own skin that troubled him,
but the success of the schem e he had planned. That little
man was clean grit all through, w ithout a soft spot in him .
One night he was very solem n.
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?Say, Hannay,? he said, ?I j udge I should let you a bit
deeper into this business. I should hate to go out without
leaving som ebody else to put up a fi ght.? And he began to
tell m e in detail what I ha d only heard from hi m vaguely.
I did not give him very close attention. The fac t is, I
was m ore interes ted in his own adventures than in his
high politics. I reckoned that Karolides and his affairs
were not m y business, le aving all tha t to him . So a lot tha t
he said slipped clean out of my me mo ry. I reme mb er that
he was very clear that the danger to Karolides would not
begin till he had got to L ondon, and would com e from the
very highest quarters, where there would be no thought of
suspicion. He mentioned the name of a woman - Julia
Czechenyi - as having s omething to do with th e danger.
She would be the decoy, I gath ered, to get Karolides out
of the care of his guards. He talked, too, about a Black
Stone and a m an that lisped in his speech, and he
described very particularly som ebody that he never
referred to without a shudde r - an old m an with a young
voice who could hood his eyes like a hawk.
He spoke a good deal about death, too. He was
mortally anxious about winni ng through with his job, but
he didn?t care a rush for his lif e. ?I reckon it?s like going
to sleep when you are pretty well tired out, and waking to
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find a summer day with the s cent of hay com ing in at the
window. I used to thank God for suc h m ornings way back
in the Blue-Grass country, and I guess I?ll thank Hi m
when I wake up on the other side of Jordan.?
Next day he was m uch more cheerf ul, and read the life
of Stonewall Jackson much of the tim e. I went out to
dinner with a m ining engine er I had got to see on
business, and cam e bac k about half-past ten in tim e for
our gam e of chess before turning in.
I had a cigar in m y m outh, I rem ember, as I pushed
open the smoking-room door. The lights were not lit,
which struck m e as odd. I w ondered if Scudder had turned
in already.
I snapped the switch, but th ere was nobody there. Then
I saw som ething in the f ar co rner which m ade m e drop
my cigar an d fall into a cold sweat.
My guest w as lying sprawled on his back. There was a
long knife through his heart wh ich skewered him to the
floor.
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