THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS
there would be trouble. I had a notion that the cordon was still tight round the glen, and that if I walked in any direction I should meet with questioners.
But get out I must. No man's nerve could stand more than a day of being spied on
I stayed at my post till about five o'clock. By that time I had resolved to go down to Turnbull's cottage at nightfall and take my chance of getting over the hills in the darkness. But suddenly a new car came up the road, and slowed down a yard or two from me. A fresh wind had risen, and the occupant wanted to light a cigarette.
It was a touring-car, with the tonneau full of an assortment of baggage. One man sat in it, and by an amazing chance I knew him. His name was Marmaduke Jopley, and he was an offence to creation. He was a sort of blood stockbroker, who did his business by toadying eldest sons and rich young peers and foolish old ladies.
"Marmie" was a familiar figure, I understood, at balls and polo-weeks and country
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