A Scotsman in Scotland

That morning of 24 May left the

Langham Place

building wearing coat and hat as a milkman. I rushed to the train station to travel due to Scotland. I noticed that nobody was following me and got on the last car of the train.

Ordinary people, mostly farmers were on the train. The journey was long. The train passed through narrow green meadows of beautiful spring shown in Scotland.

Several experiences I lived in one trip. In a train station I noticed a local police asking questions of the peasants. I got off the train and walked through the forest. I panic when I heard a plane machine guarding the region. I finally found a young man reading a book and smoking a pipe. He owned a hotel in that place.

He was a young friendly and polite. He dreamed of writing stories and novels of success. He invited me to the hotel, while dining trusted him and talk some about the history of spies and police that he was living. He was happy to have found a good topic to write a novel.

Stay at the hotel I spent the night in my room trying to decipher the "black book" that hid in the closet of my apartment Mr. Scudder, and I found before running off with the milkman's clothing. I was sure to find the "black book" key to continue with this exciting story of spies and police. Above all, I wanted to finish the job left unfinished Mr Scudder to prevent a global conflict.

Continued ... Follow me

Fleeing From The Murderers And The Police

The man who told me this extraordinary story was an American named Franklin P. Scudder. Right now I do not know if he was killed in my apartment or still alive in their efforts to save us from a world war.

Mr. Scudder had spent several years in Europe. Coincidentally, he learned that a group of international criminals sought to create a global conflict. The work of these criminals would be for money or politics. The American did not explain very clearly.

The truth is that criminals know that Mr. Scudder knew that hatched a plot to assassinate Prime Minister of Greece at a major meeting of dignitaries scheduled for June 15 in London.

My neighbor Scudder was being pursued by international criminals. He knew and had trusted me that night that he came to my apartment.

I offered "political asylum" Mr. Scudder in my apartment, I think so now. He was to live a few days in my flat. In that short time, two men were killed in the building of

Langham Place

. One of them I think would have been killed by Mr. Scudder, to leave evidence of his own death to the men who were chasing. The dead appeared in the apartment inhabited by Scudder. The police called the incident a suicide ... of Mr. Scudder of course.

The other died I found myself in my own flat. It seemed Mr. Scudder, but now I'm not so sure. On this latest killing blamed the man who delivers milk of the building because I asked him his coat and hat to go out dressed as a milkman and escape from that place. On this latest killing blamed the man who delivers milk of the building because I asked him his coat and hat to go out dressed as a milkman and escape from that place. Now I'm running from the police to seek the murderer of Scudder and the criminals who think I know the plot to assassinate Prime Minister of Greece in the important dignitaries meeting on 15 June in London...

And the spy story continues. Follow me

A London life boring?

I'm Richard Hannay, a man born in Scotland. This is my crazy and interesting history that I experienced when I least expected.

My purpose was to return to the land of my birth, Scotland, 37 years ago. Actually I do not know that land. My parents took me to Africa when I was only six years. I remember my mother said the family moved to Africa because my father worked on oil companies.

Now I am in London. I arrived three months ago and, in fact, I plan to return to Africa. This is a city cold and boring. I think nothing is happening here.

Still I have good savings. Work in recent years in the gold business. Earn good money, not much, but enough to live well.

After three months of living in a nice flat in

Langham Place

, one evening I returned to my apartment, and when I opened the door, a strange man surprised me. He asked if he could talk to me for a few minutes. It seemed a friendly and educated man. I invited him to come and also invited him whiskey.

That night changed my boring life that I lived in London. So begins this strange, sharp, interesting and now I think, funny episode in my life.

White man with short brown beard, and very bright eyes, told me a story of politics and international spies. Not that I had expected I was involved in that issue espionale. In the building of

Langham Place

two murders occurred. One of them, coincidentally, in my apartment where I found Mr. Scudder died.

And the story is just beginning ... see you later.