THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS
the British Empire at their back, had the job in hand. Yet I couldn't be convinced. It seemed as if a voice kept speaking in my ear, telling me to be up and doing or I would never sleep again.
The upshot was that about half-past nine I made up my mind to go to Queen Anne's Gate. Very likely I would not be admitted, but it would ease my conscience to try.
I walked down Jermyn Street and at the corner of Duke Street passed a group of young men. They were in evening dress, had been dining somewhere, and were going on to music-hall. One of them was Mr. Marmduke Jopley.
He saw me and stopped short.
"By God, the murderer!" he cried. "Here, you fellows, hold him! That's Hannay, the man who did the Portland Place murder!" He gripped me by the arm and others crowded around.
I wasn't looking for any trouble, but my ill temper made me play the fool. A policeman came up, and I should have told him
180
