The Thirty Nine Steps(Illustrated) E-Book

John Buchan

• Herausgeber: Micheal Smith
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

• Illustrated Edition: Enrich your reading with 20 original illustrations, bringing the thrilling world of Richard Hannay to life.
• Bonus Features: Includes a detailed summary, a comprehensive list of characters, and an engaging biography of John Buchan.

Dive into the heart-pounding espionage adventure of "The Thirty-Nine Steps" with this beautifully illustrated edition. In this classic tale that set the standard for spy thrillers, John Buchan introduces Richard Hannay, a man catapulted into a frenzied race across the British Isles to thwart a sinister plot that threatens the very safety of the nation.
From the streets of London to the wild moors of Scotland, each page is bursting with tension, mystery, and relentless action. Hannay, an ordinary gentleman, must tap into extraordinary courage and cunning to survive the deadly game of cat and mouse as he confronts the shadowy figures of the Black Stone.
This Illustrated Edition brings a visual feast to complement Buchan's masterful storytelling, with 20 stunning illustrations that capture the essence of the era and the escalating suspense of the narrative. Alongside the visual journey, readers are treated to a succinct summary that distills the essence of the tale, ensuring that you grasp every nuance of the adventure.
Explore the intricate web of characters with our comprehensive list, each personage rendered in vivid detail to enhance your understanding and enjoyment of the story. To complete the experience, delve into the fascinating life of John Buchan with a biography that portrays the author not only as a master storyteller but also as a man of great intellect and public service.
Whether you're a first-time reader or revisiting this timeless classic, the Illustrated Edition of "The Thirty-Nine Steps" is an essential addition to your collection, offering a richly layered experience of this cornerstone of adventure literature.
 

Leseprobe

THE

THIRTY-NINE STEPS

BY

JOHN BUCHAN

ABOUT BUCHAN

John Buchan, 1st Baron Tweedsmuir, was a man of formidable intellect and diverse talents whose life story reads like one of his own adventure novels. Born in 1875, in Perth, Scotland, he was the eldest son of a minister, an upbringing that instilled in him a profound moral compass that would guide him through a remarkable life.

Buchan's journey began at the University of Glasgow and continued at Brasenose College, Oxford, where he studied Classics, winning several prestigious awards and exhibiting a literary talent that would soon flourish. He embarked on his writing career while still a student, publishing his first book, "Sir Quixote of the Moors," in 1895. After graduating, Buchan embarked on a brief legal career, but the allure of letters was irresistible.

A man of his era, Buchan's life was deeply affected by the First World War. Although a series of health issues kept him from serving on the front lines, he contributed to the war effort through diplomatic and intelligence work. He wrote a war history, "A History of the Great War," in multiple volumes, which was widely regarded for its breadth and insight.

Buchan's writing ranged from history and biography to novels and short stories. However, it was the genre of adventure fiction where he truly left his mark. His most famous character, Richard Hannay, debuted in "The Thirty-Nine Steps" (1915), blending Buchan's love of the Scottish landscape with his insights into the complexities of espionage. The book was a resounding success, pioneering the 'man-on-the-run' thriller and inspiring countless adaptations.

His literary output was prodigious and diverse, reflecting his wide-ranging interests. Buchan penned over 100 works, including notable titles such as "Greenmantle" (1916) and "Mr. Standfast" (1919), which further chronicled Hannay's exploits, as well as biographies of historical figures like Sir Walter Scott and Montrose.

But writing was just one aspect of this renaissance man's life. Buchan also pursued a career in public service, becoming a Member of Parliament in 1927. His dedication to his country was unwavering, and in 1935, he took on a new role as the Governor General of Canada. Embracing his position with typical vigor, he sought to enhance the cultural fabric of the country, encouraging Canadian arts and literature. He took his peerage as Lord Tweedsmuir and worked towards unity and understanding between Canada's diverse communities.

During his time in Canada, Buchan continued to write, producing works that reflected his experiences and surroundings, like "Sick Heart River" (1941). He also remained an advocate for literacy and the importance of adventure stories for youth, presaging modern ideas about the value of genre fiction in education.

Tragically, John Buchan's story was cut short. On February 11, 1940, after suffering a head injury, he passed away. His legacy, however, is enduring. Buchan was a visionary who believed in the power of storytelling, the importance of public service, and the value of cultural exchange. A bridge between worlds – literary and political, Scottish and Canadian – Buchan's life was a testament to the idea that one can, indeed, live many lives through both action and imagination. His works remain a testament to a life lived with an unquenchable thirst for adventure and service, resonating with readers and leaders alike.

SUMMARY

In "The Thirty-Nine Steps," readers are whisked away on a heart-pounding chase through the moors of Scotland with Richard Hannay, a man who finds himself ensnared in a perilous web of espionage and murder. After a mysterious spy bursts into Hannay's quiet London life and is subsequently murdered, Hannay finds himself on the run, framed for a crime he did not commit.

With only his wits and the deceased spy's cryptic notebook, which contains references to the enigmatic "thirty-nine steps," Hannay must elude both the police and a cunning ring of enemy agents. Buchan masterfully blends action, suspense, and vivid landscapes as Hannay races against time to unravel the mystery before it's too late.

As the plot twists and turns, leading to high-stakes encounters and narrow escapes, readers are plunged into the dark underbelly of wartime espionage. "The Thirty-Nine Steps" is not just a story of adventure; it is a pioneering thriller that set the standard for a genre and remains as engaging and thrilling today as when it first captivated the imaginations of readers over a century ago. Buchan's novel is an unmissable journey for anyone who relishes a classic tale of intrigue and survival against all odds.

CHARACTERS LIST

"The Thirty-Nine Steps," by John Buchan, presents a compact cast of memorable characters, each playing a crucial role in the unfolding drama of espionage and adventure. Here's a list of the primary characters:

Richard Hannay: The protagonist, a man of action and resourcefulness. A 37-year-old Scotsman, former mining engineer, and now a London resident, Hannay becomes embroiled in a conspiracy that takes him on a perilous journey across the United Kingdom.

Franklin P. Scudder: Scudder, a freelance spy, informs Hannay of an assassination plot, setting the events of the novel in action. His assassination at Hannay's apartment serves as the impetus for Hannay's flight and following adventure.

Sir Walter Bullivant: A high-ranking official in the British government, Bullivant assists Hannay and provides him with information. He represents the official response to the espionage threat and later becomes Hannay’s ally.

The Black Stone: A secret espionage organization, with its agents being the primary antagonists of the novel. They are behind the plot that Scudder uncovers and are relentless in their pursuit of Hannay.

Within this organization, there are several key members:

The Man with the Turned-up Hat: A figure that stands out in Hannay’s memory, one of the pursuers.

The Man with the Flat, Quiet Voice: Another spy of the Black Stone, who almost tricks Hannay into revealing himself.

The Man who was Missing Three Fingers: Identified as the group's leader, this man is a critical figure in the conspiracy.

Mr. Jopley: A pompous road motorist who Hannay manages to trick in order to escape the pursuing agents.

John S. Blenkiron: Mentioned by Scudder in his notes, Blenkiron is an American who is involved in the plot.

Karolides: The Greek Premier, whose assassination is at the heart of the conspiracy Scudder uncovers.

Additionally, there are a host of secondary characters that Hannay encounters during his flight across Britain, including helpful innkeepers, suspicious policemen, and various travelers, all of whom add color and depth to the chase.

Buchan's efficient character design means each figure Hannay encounters serves to propel the narrative forward, whether as friend, foe, or part of the rich backdrop against which the chase is set.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One. The Man Who Died

Chapter Two. The Milkman Sets Out On His Travels

Chapter Three. The Adventure Of The Literary Innkeeper

Chapter Four. The Adventure Of The Radical Candidate

Chapter Five. The Adventure Of The Spectacled Roadman

Chapter Six. The Adventure Of The Bald Archaeologist

Chapter Seven. The Dry-Fly Fisherman

Chapter Eight. The Coming Of The Black Stone

Chapter Nine. The Thirty-Nine Steps

Chapter Ten. Various Parties Converging On The Sea

Dedication

TO THOMAS ARTHUR NELSON (LOTHIAN AND BORDER HORSE)

My Dear Tommy,

You and I have long cherished an affection for that elemental type of tale which Americans call the 'dime novel' and which we know as the 'shocker'—the romance where the incidents defy the probabilities, and march just inside the borders of the possible. During an illness last winter I exhausted my store of those aids to cheerfulness, and was driven to write one for myself. This little volume is the result, and I should like to put your name on it in memory of our long friendship, in the days when the wildest fictions are so much less improbable than the facts.

J.B.

Chapter One. The Man Who Died

I returned from the City about three o'clock on that May afternoon pretty well disgusted with life. I had been three months in the Old Country, and was fed up with it. If anyone had told me a year ago that I would have been feeling like that I should have laughed at him; but there was the fact. The weather made me liverish, the talk of the ordinary Englishman made me sick. I couldn't get enough exercise, and the amusements of London seemed as flat as soda-water that has been standing in the sun. 'Richard Hannay,' I kept telling myself, 'you have got into the wrong ditch, my friend, and you had better climb out.'

It made me bite my lips to think of the plans I had been building up those last years in Bulawayo. I had got my pile—not one of the big ones, but good enough for me; and I had figured out all kinds of ways of enjoying myself. My father had brought me out from Scotland at the age of six, and I had never been home since; so England was a sort of Arabian Nights to me, and I counted on stopping there for the rest of my days.

But from the first I was disappointed with it. In about a week I was tired of seeing sights, and in less than a month I had had enough of restaurants and theatres and race-meetings. I had no real pal to go about with, which probably explains things. Plenty of people invited me to their houses, but they didn't seem much interested in me. They would fling me a question or two about South Africa, and then get on their own affairs. A lot of Imperialist ladies asked me to tea to meet schoolmasters from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that was the dismalest business of all. Here was I, thirty-seven years old, sound in wind and limb, with enough money to have a good time, yawning my head off all day. I had just about settled to clear out and get back to the veld, for I was the best bored man in the United Kingdom.

That afternoon I had been worrying my brokers about investments to give my mind something to work on, and on my way home I turned into my club—rather a pot-house, which took in Colonial members. I had a long drink, and read the evening papers. They were full of the row in the Near East, and there was an article about Karolides, the Greek Premier. I rather fancied the chap. From all accounts he seemed the one big man in the show; and he played a straight game too, which was more than could be said for most of them. I gathered that they hated him pretty blackly in Berlin and Vienna, but that we were going to stick by him, and one paper said that he was the only barrier between Europe and Armageddon. I remember wondering if I could get a job in those parts. It struck me that Albania was the sort of place that might keep a man from yawning.

About six o'clock I went home, dressed, dined at the Cafe Royal, and turned into a music-hall. It was a silly show, all capering women and monkey-faced men, and I did not stay long. The night was fine and clear as I walked back to the flat I had hired near Portland Place. The crowd surged past me on the pavements, busy and chattering, and I envied the people for having something to do. These shop-girls and clerks and dandies and policemen had some interest in life that kept them going. I gave half-a-crown to a beggar because I saw him yawn; he was a fellow-sufferer. At Oxford Circus I looked up into the spring sky and I made a vow. I would give the Old Country another day to fit me into something; if nothing happened, I would take the next boat for the Cape.

My flat was the first floor in a new block behind Langham Place. There was a common staircase, with a porter and a liftman at the entrance, but there was no restaurant or anything of that sort, and each flat was quite shut off from the others. I hate servants on the premises, so I had a fellow to look after me who came in by the day. He arrived before eight o'clock every morning and used to depart at seven, for I never dined at home.

I was just fitting my key into the door when I noticed a man at my elbow. I had not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance made me start. He was a slim man, with a short brown beard and small, gimlety blue eyes. I recognized him as the occupant of a flat on the top floor, with whom I had passed the time of day on the stairs.

'Can I speak to you?' he said. 'May I come in for a minute?' He was steadying his voice with an effort, and his hand was pawing my arm.

I got my door open and motioned him in. No sooner was he over the threshold than he made a dash for my back room, where I used to smoke and write my letters. Then he bolted back.

'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 watching you, and I reckon you're a cool customer. I reckon, too, you're an honest man, and not afraid of playing a bold hand. I'm going to confide in you. I need help worse than any man ever needed it, and I want to know if I can count you in.'

'Get on with your yarn,' I said, 'and I'll tell you.'

He seemed to brace himself for a great effort, and then started on the queerest rigmarole. I didn't get hold of it at first, and I had to stop and ask him questions. But here is the gist of it:

He was an American, from Kentucky, and after college, being pretty well off, he had started out to see the world. He wrote a bit, and acted as war correspondent for a Chicago paper, and spent a year or two in South-Eastern Europe. I gathered that he was a fine linguist, and had got to know pretty well the society in those parts. He spoke familiarly of many names that I remembered to have seen in the newspapers.

He had played about with politics, he told me, at first for the interest of them, and then because he couldn't help himself. I read him as a sharp, restless fellow, who always wanted to get down to the roots of things. He got a little further down than he wanted.

I am giving you what he told me as well as I could make it out. Away behind all the Governments and the armies there was a big subterranean movement going on, engineered by very dangerous people. He had come on it by accident; it fascinated him; he went further, and then he got caught. I gathered that most of the people in it were the sort of educated anarchists that make revolutions, but that beside them there were financiers who were playing for money. A clever man can make big profits on a falling market, and it suited the book of both classes to set Europe by the ears.

He told me some queer things that explained a lot that had puzzled me—things that happened in the Balkan War, how one state suddenly came out on top, why alliances were made and broken, why certain men disappeared, and where the sinews of war came from. The aim of the whole conspiracy was to get Russia and Germany at loggerheads.

When I asked why, he said that the anarchist lot thought it would give them their chance. Everything would be in the melting-pot, and they looked to see a new world emerge. The capitalists would rake in the shekels, and make fortunes by buying up wreckage. Capital, he said, had no conscience and no fatherland. Besides, the Jew was behind it, and the Jew hated Russia worse than hell.

'Do you wonder?' he cried. 'For three hundred years they have been persecuted, and this is the return match for the pogroms. The Jew is everywhere, but you have to go far down the backstairs to find him. Take any big Teutonic business concern. If you have dealings with it the first man you meet is Prince von und Zu Something, an elegant young man who talks Eton-and-Harrow English. But he cuts no ice. If your business is big, you get behind him and find a prognathous Westphalian with a retreating brow and the manners of a hog. He is the German business man that gives your English papers the shakes. But if you're on the biggest kind of job and are bound to get to the real boss, ten to one you are brought up against a little white-faced Jew in a bath-chair with an eye like a rattlesnake. Yes, Sir, he is the man who is ruling the world just now, and he has his knife in the Empire of the Tzar, because his aunt was outraged and his father flogged in some one-horse location on the Volga.'

I could not help saying that his Jew-anarchists seemed to have got left behind a little.

'Yes and no,' he said. 'They won up to a point, but they struck a bigger thing than money, a thing that couldn't be bought, the old elemental fighting instincts of man. If you're going to be killed you invent some kind of flag and country to fight for, and if you survive you get to love the thing. Those foolish devils of soldiers have found something they care for, and that has upset the pretty plan laid in Berlin and Vienna. But my friends haven't played their last card by a long sight. They've gotten the ace up their sleeves, and unless I can keep alive for a month they are going to play it and win.'

'But I thought you were dead,' I put in.

'MORS JANUA VITAE,' he smiled. (I recognized the quotation: it was about all the Latin I knew.) 'I'm coming to that, but I've got to put you wise about a lot of things first. If you read your newspaper, I guess you know the name of Constantine Karolides?'

I sat up at that, for I had been reading about him that very afternoon.

'He is the man that has wrecked all their games. He is the one big brain in the whole show, and he happens also to be an honest man. Therefore he has been marked down these twelve months past. I found that out—not that it was difficult, for any fool could guess as much. But I found out the way they were going to get him, and that knowledge was deadly. That's why I have had to decease.'

He had another drink, and I mixed it for him myself, for I was getting interested in the beggar.

'They can't get him in his own land, for he has a bodyguard of Epirotes that would skin their grandmothers. But on the 15th day of June he is coming to this city. The British Foreign Office has taken to having International tea-parties, and the biggest of them is due on that date. Now Karolides is reckoned the principal guest, and if my friends have their way he will never return to his admiring countrymen.'

'That's simple enough, anyhow,' I said. 'You can warn him and keep him at home.'