THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS
"Is the door locked?" he asked feverishly, and he fastened the chain with his own hand.
"I'm very sorry," he said humbly. "It's a mighty liberty, but you looked the kind of man who would understand. I've had you in my mind all this week when things got troublesome. Say, will you do me a good turn?"
"I'll listen to you," I said. "That's all I'll promise." I was getting worried by the antics of this nervous little chap.
There was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from which he filled himself a stiff whisky and soda. He drank it off in three gulps, and cracked the glass as he set it down.
"Pardon," he said, "I'm a bit rattled tonight. You see, I happen at this moment to be dead."
I sat down in an armchair and lit my pipe.
"What does it feel like?" I asked. I was pretty certain that I had to deal with a madman.
A smile flickered over his drawn face. "I'm not mad—yet. Say, sir, I've been
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