The Thirty-Nine Steps

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A level 4 Oxford Bookworms Library graded reader. Retold for Learners of English by Nick Bullard.

'I turned on the light, but there was nobody there. Then I saw something in the corner that made my blood turn cold. Scudder was lying on his back. There was a long knife through his heart, pinning him to the floor.'

Soon Richard Hannay is running to his life across the hills of Scotland. The police are chasing him for a murder he did not do, and another, more dangerous enemy is chasing him as well – the mysterious 'Black Stone'. Who are these people? And why do they want Hannay dead?

Автор

John Buchan

#Зарубежная литература #Зарубежная образовательная литература

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THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS

As Richard Hannay walks home to his flat in London, he is feeling bored. Nothing exciting ever seems to happen in England, he thinks. Perhaps he’ll go back to Africa. But that night he has a visitor, a man called Scudder, who has a strange story to tell.

A week later Hannay is lying, hungry and exhausted, in the heather on a Scottish moor. Above him a small plane circles in the blue sky, flying low. Hannay lies still, hoping desperately that the plane will not see him, and thinks about Scudder’s little black notebook in his pocket. Who are the people chasing him – the mysterious ‘Black Stone’ that Scudder writes about? What is so important about ‘the thirty-nine steps’? And what is going to happen in London on the 15th of June?

But Scudder has been murdered, and Hannay must find his own answers, while his enemies chase him night and day through the hills of Scotland. If they catch him, they will kill him …

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This simplified edition © Oxford University Press 2008

Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published in Oxford Bookworms 1994

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ISBN 978 0 19 479188 5

A complete recording of this Bookworms edition of The Thirty-Nine Steps is available on audio CD ISBN 978 0 19 479156 4

Typeset by Wyvern Typesetting Ltd, Bristol

Printed in Hong Kong

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Illustrated by: Ron Tiner

Word count (main text): 17,170 words

For more information on the Oxford Bookworms Library, visit www.oup.com/bookwormswww.oup.com/bookworms e-Book ISBN 978 0 19 478652 2

e-Book first published 2012

THE MAN WHO DIED

I returned to my flat at about three o’clock on that May afternoon very unhappy with life. I had been back in Britain for three months and I was already bored. The weather was bad, the people were dull, and the amusements of London seemed as exciting as a glass of cold water. ‘Richard Hannay,’ I told myself, ‘you have made a mistake, and you had better do something about it.’

It made me angry when I thought of the years I had spent in Africa. I had spent those years working very hard and making money. Not a lot of money, but enough for me. I had left Scotland when I was six years old, and I had never been home since. For years I had dreamt of coming home to Britain and spending the rest of my life there, but I was disappointed with the place after the first week. And so here I was, thirty-seven years old, healthy, with enough money to have a good time, and bored to death.

That evening I went out to dinner and sat reading the newspapers afterwards. They were full of the troubles in south-east Europe, and there was a long report about Karolides, the Greek Prime Minister. He seemed to be an honest man, but some people in Europe hated him. However, many people in Britain liked him, and one newspaper said that he was the only man who could prevent a war starting. I remember wondering if I could get a job in south-east Europe; it might be a lot less boring than life in London.

As I walked home that night, I decided to give Britain one more day. If nothing interesting happened, I would take the next boat back to Africa.

My flat was in a big new building in Langham Place. There was a doorman at the entrance to the building, but each flat was separate, with its own front door. I was just putting the key into my door when a man appeared next to me. He was thin, with a short brown beard and small, very bright eyes. I recognized him as the man who lived in a flat on the top floor of the building. We had spoken once or twice on the stairs.

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