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acumen. Which of us was likely to speak to him about tonight? Or

was he likely to open the subject?'

I remembered the First Sea Lord's reputation for taciturnity and

shortness of temper.

'The one thing that puzzles me,' said the General, 'is what good

his visit here would do that spy fellow? He could not carry away

several pages of figures and strange names in his head.'

'That is not difficult,' the Frenchman replied. 'A good spy is

trained to have a photographic memory. Like your own Macaulay.

You noticed he said nothing, but went through these papers again

and again. I think we may assume that he has every detail stamped

on his mind. When I was younger I could do the same trick.'

'Well, I suppose there is nothing for it but to change the plans,'

said Sir Walter ruefully.

Whittaker was looking very glum. 'Did you tell Lord Alloa what

has happened?' he asked. 'No? Well, I can't speak with absolute

assurance, but I'm nearly certain we can't make any serious change

unless we alter the geography of England.'

'Another thing must be said,' it was Royer who spoke. 'I talked

freely when that man was here. I told something of the military

plans of my Government. I was permitted to say so much. But that

information would be worth many millions to our enemies. No, my

friends, I see no other way. The man who came here and his

confederates must be taken, and taken at once.'

'Good God,' I cried, 'and we have not a rag of a clue.'

'Besides,' said Whittaker, 'there is the post. By this time the news

will be on its way.'

'No,' said the Frenchman. 'You do not understand the habits

of the spy. He receives personally his reward, and he delivers

personally his intelligence. We in France know something of the

breed. There is still a chance, MES AMIS. These men must cross

the sea, and there are ships to be searched and ports to be

watched. Believe me, the need is desperate for both France and Britain.'

Royer's grave good sense seemed to pull us together. He was the

man of action among fumblers. But I saw no hope in any face, and

I felt none. Where among the fifty millions of these islands and

within a dozen hours were we to lay hands on the three cleverest

rogues in Europe?

Then suddenly I had an inspiration.

'Where is Scudder's book?' I cried to Sir Walter. 'Quick, man, I

remember something in it.'

He unlocked the door of a bureau and gave it to me.

I found the place. THIRTY-NINE STEPS, I read, and again, THIRTY-NINE

STEPS - I COUNTED THEM - HIGH TIDE 10.17 P.M.

The Admiralty man was looking at me as if he thought I had

gone mad.

'Don't you see it's a clue,' I shouted. 'Scudder knew where these

fellows laired - he knew where they were going to leave the

country, though he kept the name to himself. Tomorrow was the

day, and it was some place where high tide was at 10.17.'

'They may have gone tonight,' someone said.

'Not they. They have their own snug secret way, and they won't

be hurried. I know Germans, and they are mad about working to a

plan. Where the devil can I get a book of Tide Tables?'

Whittaker brightened up. 'It's a chance,' he said. 'Let's go over

to the Admiralty.'

We got into two of the waiting motor-cars - all but Sir Walter,

who went off to Scotland Yard - to 'mobilize MacGillivray', so he said.

We marched through empty corridors and big bare chambers

where the charwomen were busy, till we reached a little room lined

with books and maps. A resident clerk was unearthed, who

presently fetched from the library the Admiralty Tide Tables. I sat

at the desk and the others stood round, for somehow or other I had

got charge of this expedition.

It was no good. There were hundreds of entries, and so far as I

could see 10.17 might cover fifty places. We had to find some way

of narrowing the possibilities.

I took my head in my hands and thought. There must be some

way of reading this riddle. What did Scudder mean by steps? I

thought of dock steps, but if he had meant that I didn't think he

would have mentioned the number. It must be some place where

there were several staircases, and one marked out from the others

by having thirty-nine steps.

Then I had a sudden thought, and hunted up all the steamer

sailings. There was no boat which left for the Continent at 10.17 p.m.

Why was high tide so important? If it was a harbour it must be

some little place where the tide mattered, or else it was a heavy-

draught boat. But there was no regular steamer sailing at that hour,

and somehow I didn't think they would travel by a big boat from a

regular harbour. So it must be some little harbour where the tide

was important, or perhaps no harbour at all.

But if it was a little port I couldn't see what the steps signified.

There were no sets of staircases on any harbour that I had ever

seen. It must be some place which a particular staircase identified,

and where the tide was full at 10.17. On the whole it seemed to me

that the place must be a bit of open coast. But the staircases kept

puzzling me.

Then I went back to wider considerations. Whereabouts would a

man be likely to leave for Germany, a man in a hurry, who wanted

a speedy and a secret passage? Not from any of the big harbours.

And not from the Channel or the West Coast or Scotland, for,

remember, he was starting from London. I measured the distance

on the map, and tried to put myself in the enemy's shoes. I

should try for Ostend or Antwerp or Rotterdam, and I should

sail from somewhere on the East Coast between Cromer and Dover.

All this was very loose guessing, and I don't pretend it was

ingenious or scientific. I wasn't any kind of Sherlock Holmes. But I

have always fancied I had a kind of instinct about questions like

this. I don't know if I can explain myself, but I used to use my

brains as far as they went, and after they came to a blank wall I

guessed, and I usually found my guesses pretty right.

So I set out all my conclusions on a bit of Admiralty paper. They

ran like this:

FAIRLY CERTAIN

(1) Place where there are several sets of stairs; one that

matters distinguished by having thirty-nine steps.

(2) Full tide at 10.17 p.m. Leaving shore only possible at full

tide.

(3) Steps not dock steps, and so place probably not harbour.

(4) No regular night steamer at 10.17. Means of transport must

be tramp (unlikely), yacht, or fishing-boat.

There my reasoning stopped. I made another list, which I headed

'Guessed', but I was just as sure of the one as the other.

GUESSED

(1) Place not harbour but open coast.

(2) Boat small - trawler, yacht, or launch.

(3) Place somewhere on East Coast between Cromer and Dover.

it struck me as odd that I should be sitting at that desk with a

Cabinet Minister, a Field-Marshal, two high Government officials,

and a French General watching me, while from the scribble of a

dead man I was trying to drag a secret which meant life or death

for us.

Sir Walter had joined us, and presently MacGillivray arrived. He

had sent out instructions to watch the ports and railway stations for

the three men whom I had described to Sir Walter. Not that he or

anybody else thought that that would do much good.

'Here's the most I can make of it,' I said. 'We have got to find a

place where there are several staircases down to the beach, one of

which has thirty-nine steps. I think it's a piece of open coast with

biggish cliffs, somewhere between the Wash and the Channel. Also

it's a place where full tide is at 10.17 tomorrow night.'

Then an idea struck me. 'Is there no Inspector of Coastguards or

some fellow like that who knows the East Coast?'

Whittaker said there was, and that he lived in Clapham. He went

off in a car to fetch him, and the rest of us sat about the little room

and talked of anything that came into our heads. I lit a pipe and

went over the whole thing again till my brain grew weary.

About one in the morning the coastguard man arrived. He was a

fine old fellow, with the look of a naval officer, and was desperately

respectful to the company. I left the War Minister to cross-examine

him, for I felt he would think it cheek in me to talk.

'We want you to tell us the places you know on the East Coast

where there are cliffs, and where several sets of steps run down to

the beach.'

He thought for a bit. 'What kind of steps do you mean, Sir?

There are plenty of places with roads cut down through the cliffs,

and most roads have a step or two in them. Or do you mean

regular staircases - all steps, so to speak?'

Sir Arthur looked towards me. 'We mean regular staircases,' I said.

He reflected a minute or two. 'I don't know that I can think of

any. Wait a second. There's a place in Norfolk - Brattlesham -

beside a golf-course, where there are a couple of staircases, to let the

gentlemen get a lost ball.'

'That's not it,' I said.

'Then there are plenty of Marine Parades, if that's what you

mean. Every seaside resort has them.'

I shook my head.

'It's got to be more retired than that,' I said.

'Well, gentlemen, I can't think of anywhere else. Of course,

there's the Ruff -'

'What's that?' I asked.

'The big chalk headland in Kent, close to Bradgate. It's got a lot

of villas on the top, and some of the houses have staircases down to

a private beach. It's a very high-toned sort of place, and the residents

there like to keep by themselves.'

I tore open the Tide Tables and found Bradgate. High tide there

was at 10.17 P.m. on the 15th of June.

'We're on the scent at last,' I cried excitedly. 'How can I find out

what is the tide at the Ruff?'

'I can tell you that, Sir,' said the coastguard man. 'I once was lent

a house there in this very month, and I used to go out at night to

the deep-sea fishing. The tide's ten minutes before Bradgate.'

I closed the book and looked round at the company.

'If one of those staircases has thirty-nine steps we have solved

the mystery, gentlemen,' I said. 'I want the loan of your car, Sir

Walter, and a map of the roads. If Mr MacGillivray will spare me

ten minutes, I think we can prepare something for tomorrow.'

It was ridiculous in me to take charge of the business like this,

but they didn't seem to mind, and after all I had been in the show

from the start. Besides, I was used to rough jobs, and these eminent

gentlemen were too clever not to see it. It was General Royer who

gave me my commission. 'I for one,' he said, 'am content to leave

the matter in Mr Hannay's hands.'

By half-past three I was tearing past the moonlit hedgerows of

Kent, with MacGillivray's best man on the seat beside me.

CHAPTER TEN

Various Parties Converging on the Sea

A pink and blue June morning found me at Bradgate looking from

the Griffin Hotel over a smooth sea to the lightship on the Cock

sands which seemed the size of a bell-buoy. A couple of miles

farther south and much nearer the shore a small destroyer was

anchored. Scaife, MacGillivray's man, who had been in the Navy,

knew the boat, and told me her name and her commander's, so I

sent off a wire to Sir Walter.

After breakfast Scaife got from a house-agent a key for the gates

of the staircases on the Ruff. I walked with him along the sands,

and sat down in a nook of the cliffs while he investigated the half-

dozen of them. I didn't want to be seen, but the place at this hour

was quite deserted, and all the time I was on that beach I saw

nothing but the sea-gulls.

It took him more than an hour to do the job, and when I saw

him coming towards me, conning a bit of paper, I can tell you my

heart was in my mouth. Everything depended, you see, on my

guess proving right.

He read aloud the number of steps in the different stairs. 'Thirty-

four, thirty-five, thirty-nine, forty-two, forty-seven,' and 'twenty-

one' where the cliffs grew lower. I almost got up and shouted.

We hurried back to the town and sent a wire to MacGillivray. I

wanted half a dozen men, and I directed them to divide themselves

among different specified hotels. Then Scaife set out to prospect

the house at the head of the thirty-nine steps.

He came back with news that both puzzled and reassured me.

The house was called Trafalgar Lodge, and belonged to an old

gentleman called Appleton - a retired stockbroker, the house-agent

said. Mr Appleton was there a good deal in the summer time, and

was in residence now - had been for the better part of a week.

Scaife could pick up very little information about him, except that

he was a decent old fellow, who paid his bills regularly, and was

always good for a fiver for a local charity. Then Scaife seemed to

have penetrated to the back door of the house, pretending he was

an agent for sewing-machines. Only three servants were kept, a

cook, a parlour-maid, and a housemaid, and they were just the sort

that you would find in a respectable middle-class household. The

cook was not the gossiping kind, and had pretty soon shut the door

in his face, but Scaife said he was positive she knew nothing. Next

door there was a new house building which would give good cover

for observation, and the villa on the other side was to let, and its

garden was rough and shrubby.

I borrowed Scaife's telescope, and before lunch went for a walk

along the Ruff. I kept well behind the rows of villas, and found a