I returned from the City[1] at about three o'clock on that May afternoon feeling disgusted with life. I had been three months in the Old Country[2], and was fed up with it. That was the fact. The weather and the ordinary Englishmen made me sick, I couldn't get enough exercise, and the amusements of London were boring. 'Richard Hannay,' I was telling myself, 'get the hell out of here.' I thought of the plans I had been making while in Bulawayo[3]. Quite a lot of plans! When I was six, my father had brought me out from Scotland[4], and I had never been home since. So England was like a wonderland to me, and I planned to stay there for the rest of my days.
But now I was disappointed with it. In a week I was tired of sightseeing, and in a month I had had enough of restaurants, theatres and races. I had no real friends, which probably explains things. Lots of people invited me to their houses, but they weren't interested in me. They asked me a question or two about South Africa, and then told me about their own affairs. A lot of ladies asked me to tea, and that was the worst thing of all. Here was I, thirty-seven years old, healthy, with enough money to have a good time, but doing nothing all day. I had almost decided to go back to Africa because I was the most bored man in the United Kingdom.
That afternoon I had been thinking about investments just to give myself something to work on, and on my way home I went into my club. I had a drink and read the evening papers. There was an article about Karolides, the Greek Premier. I liked the chap. He was a big man in South-Eastern Europe, and he played a fair game too. As I understood, they hated him in Berlin and Vienna, but not in London. I remember thinking that I could get a job in those parts of Europe. For example, Albania sounded like an interesting place.
At about six o'clock I went home, dressed, had dinner at the Cafe Royal[5], and went into a music-hall. It was a silly show, and I did not stay long. The night was fine and clear as I walked back to the flat I had rented. The busy crowds went past me, and I envied the people for having something to do. There and then I finally decided I would give the Old Country just one more day to get me into something; if nothing happened, I would go back to Africa.
My flat was on the first floor in a new block. There was a staircase, a porter and a lift-man, but there was no restaurant or anything like that. Each flat was quite isolated from the others.
I was just unlocking the door when I noticed a man standing right next to me. I had not seen him coming, and the sudden appearance made me start[6]. He was slim, with a short brown beard and small blue eyes. I knew him as the person living in a flat on the top floor because I had sometimes met him on the stairs.
'Can I speak to you?' he said touching my arm. 'May I come in for a minute?' He could hardly control himself.
I opened my door and let him in. As soon as he walked in, he rushed to check my back room.
'Is the door locked?' he asked nervously. 'I am very sorry, but you look like the man who will understand. I've been thinking about you all week when things got worse. Will you do me a favor?[7]'
'I'll listen to you,' I said. 'That's all I can promise.' The behavior of this nervous little fellow worried me.
There were drinks on a table, so he made himself a whisky-and-soda and drank it quickly.
'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I'm a bit shocked tonight. You see, I happen to be dead at this moment.[8]'
I sat down in an armchair and lit my pipe.
'What does it feel like?' I asked. Now I was sure that I was dealing with a madman.
He smiled a little. 'I'm not mad yet. Let's say I've been watching you, and I believe you're an honest man. I think I can trust you. I need help, and I want to know if I can count on you.'
'Well,just tell me your story,' I said, 'and then we'll see.'
He paused for a moment and then told me the strangest tale. I didn't even understand it at first, and I had to stop him and ask questions. But here it is.
He was a well-off American, and after college he had decided to see the world. As a war correspondent, he wrote a bit for a Chicago paper, and spent a year or two in South-Eastern Europe. He had learned the languages and got to know the society in those parts. He mentioned many names that I knew from the newspapers. He had been interested in politics, he told me. He was a sharp fellow who always wanted to get to the roots of things[9]. But he got a little further than he wanted.
Behind all the governments and the armies there was a big movement going on, organized by very dangerous people. Most of the people in that movement were the financiers and educated anarchists that make revolutions. He had learned about it by accident; it fascinated him, so he went further and then got caught.
He told me some queer things – things that happened in the Balkan War[10], how one state suddenly came out on top, why alliances were made and broken, and why certain men disappeared. The aim of the whole conspiracy was the conflict between Russia and Germany, he said. When I asked why, he said that the anarchists thought it would give them their chance. They were behind it, and they hated Russia, too.
