Page 139 - the-thirty-nine-steps

myself to play the game. I pulled up a chair and sat down
on it.
‘I think we have met before,’ I said, ‘and I guess you know
my business.’
The light in the room was dim, but so far as I could see
their faces, they played the part of mystification very well.
‘Maybe, maybe,’ said the old man. ‘I haven’t a very good
memory, but I’m afraid you must tell me your errand, Sir,
for I really don’t know it.’
‘Well, then,’ I said, and all the time I seemed to myself
to be talking pure foolishness ‘I have come to tell you that
the game’s up. I have a warrant for the arrest of you three
gentlemen.’
‘Arrest,’ said the old man, and he looked really shocked.
‘Arrest! Good God, what for?’
‘For the murder of Franklin Scudder in London on the
23rd day of last month.’
‘I never heard the name before,’ said the old man in a
dazed voice.
One of the others spoke up. ‘That was the Portland Place
murder. I read about it. Good heavens, you must be mad,
Sir! Where do you come from?’
‘Scotland Yard,’ I said.
After that for a minute there was utter silence. The old
man was staring at his plate and fumbling with a nut, the
very model of innocent bewilderment.
Then the plump one spoke up. He stammered a little, like
a man picking his words.
‘Don’t get flustered, uncle,’ he said. ‘It is all a ridiculous

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