The Bulldog Drummond Megapack

by H. C. McNeile

  “You’ll have to undo one of the ropes, my friend, before you can get at it,” said Hugh quietly.

  For a moment the German hesitated. He looked at the ropes carefully; the one that bound the arms and the upper part of the body was separate from the rope round the legs. Even if he did undo it the fool Englishman was still helpless, and he knew that he was unarmed. Had he not himself removed his revolver, as he lay unconscious in the hall? What risk was there, after all? Besides, if he called someone else in he would have to share the money.

  And, as he watched the German’s indecision, Hugh’s forehead grew damp with sweat… Would he undo the rope? Would greed conquer caution?

  At last the Boche made up his mind, and went behind the chair. Hugh felt him fumbling with the rope, and flashed an urgent look of caution at the other two.

  “You’d better be careful, Heinrich,” he remarked, “that none of the others see, or you might have to share.”

  The German ceased undoing the knot, and grunted. The English swine had moments of brightness, and he went over and closed the door. Then he resumed the operation of untying the rope; and, since it was performed behind the chair, he was in no position to see the look on Drummond’s face. Only the two spectators could see that, and they had almost ceased breathing in their excitement. That he had a plan they knew; what it was they could not even guess.

  At last the rope fell clear, and the German sprang back.

  “Put the case on the table,” he cried, having not the slightest intention of coming within range of those formidable arms.

  “Certainly not,” said Hugh, “until you undo my legs. Then you shall have it.”

  Quite loosely he was holding the case in one hand; but the others, watching his face, saw that it was strained and tense.

  “First I the notes must have.” The German strove to speak conversationally, but all the time he was creeping nearer and nearer to the back of the chair. “Then I your legs undo, and you may go.”

  Algy’s warning cry rang out simultaneously with the lightning dart of the Boche’s hand as he snatched at the cigarette-case over Drummond’s shoulder. And then Drummond laughed a low, triumphant laugh. It was the move he had been hoping for, and the German’s wrist was held fast in his vicelike grip. His plan had succeeded.

  And Longworth and Sinclair, who had seen many things in their lives, the remembrance of which will be with them till their dying day, had never seen and are never likely to see anything within measurable distance of what they saw in the next few minutes. Slowly, inexorably, the German’s arm was being twisted, while he uttered hoarse, gasping cries, and beat impotently at Drummond’s head with his free hand. Then at last there was a dull crack as the arm broke, and a scream of pain, as he lurched round the chair and stood helpless in front of the soldier, who still held the cigarette-case in his left hand.

  They saw Drummond open the cigarette-case and take from it what looked like a tube of wood. Then he felt in his pocket and took out a matchbox, containing a number of long thin splinters. And, having fitted one of the splinters into the tube, he put the other end in his mouth.

  With a quick heave they saw him jerk the German round and catch his unbroken arm with his free left hand. And the two bound watchers looked at Hugh’s eyes as he stared at the moaning Boche, and saw that they were hard and merciless.

  There was a sharp, whistling hiss, and the splinter flew from the tube into the German’s face. It hung from his cheek, and even the ceaseless movement of his head failed to dislodge it.

  “I have broken your arm, Boche,” said Drummond at length, “and now I have killed you. I’m sorry about it; I wasn’t particularly anxious to end your life. But it had to be done.”

  The German, hardly conscious of what he had said owing to the pain in his arm, was frantically kicking the Englishman’s legs, still bound to the chair; but the iron grip on his wrists never slackened. And then quite suddenly came the end. With one dreadful, convulsive heave the German jerked himself free, and fell doubled up on the floor. Fascinated, they watched him writhing and twisting, until at last, he lay still… The Boche was dead…

  “My God!” muttered Hugh, wiping his forehead. “Poor brute.”

  “What was that blow-pipe affair?” cried Sinclair hoarsely.

  “The thing they tried to finish me with in Paris last night,” answered Hugh grimly, taking a knife out of his waistcoat pocket. “Let us trust that none of his pals come in to look for him.”

  A minute later he stood up, only to sit down again abruptly, as his legs gave way. They were numbed and stiff with the hours he had spent in the same position, and for a while he could do nothing but rub them with his hands, till the blood returned and he could feel once more.

  Then, slowly and painfully, he tottered across to the others and set them free as well. They were in an even worse condition than he had been; and it seemed as if Algy would never be able to stand again, so completely dead was his body from the waist downwards. But, at length, after what seemed an eternity to Drummond, who realised only too well that should the gang come in they were almost as helpless in their present condition as if they were still bound in their chairs, the other two recovered. They were still stiff and cramped—all three of them—but at any rate they could move; which was more than could be said of the German, who lay twisted and rigid on the floor with his eyes staring up at them—a glassy, horrible stare.

  “Poor brute!” said Hugh again, looking at him with a certain amount of compunction. “He was a miserable specimen—but still…” He shrugged his shoulders. “And the contents of my cigarette-case are half a dozen gaspers, and a ten-bob Bradbury patched together with stamp paper!”

  He swung round on his heel as if dismissing the matter, and looked at the other two.

  “All fit now? Good! We’ve got to think what we’re going to do, for we’re not out of the wood yet by two or three miles.”

  “Let’s get the door open,” remarked Algy, “and explore.”

  Cautiously they swung it open, and stood motionless. The house was in absolute silence; the hall was deserted.

  “Switch out the light,” whispered Hugh. “We’ll wander round.”

  They crept forward stealthily in the darkness, stopping every now and then to listen. But no sound came to their ears; it might have been a house of the dead.

  Suddenly Drummond, who was in front of the other two, stopped with a warning hiss. A light was streaming out from under a door at the end of a passage, and, as they stood watching it, they heard a man’s voice coming from the same room. Someone else answered him, and then there was silence once more.

  At length Hugh moved forward again, and the others followed. And it was not until they got quite close to the door that a strange, continuous noise began to be noticeable—a noise which came most distinctly from the lighted room. It rose and fell with monotonous regularity; at times it resembled a brass band—at others it died away to a gentle murmur. And occasionally it was punctuated with a strangled snort…

  “Great Scott!” muttered Hugh excitedly, “the whole boiling-bunch are asleep, or I’ll eat my hat.”

  “Then who was it that spoke?” said Algy. “At least two of ’em are awake right enough.”

  And, as if in answer to his question, there came the voice again from inside the room.

  “Wal, Mr. Darrell, I guess we can pass on, and leave this bunch.”

  With one laugh of joyful amazement Hugh flung open the door, and found himself looking from the range of a yard into two revolvers.

  “I don’t know how you’ve done it, boys,” he remarked, “but you can put those guns away. I hate looking at them from that end.”

  “What the devil have they done to all your dials?” said Darrell, slowly lowering his arm.

  “We’ll leave that for the time,” returned Hugh grimly, as he shut the door. “There are other more pressing matters to be discussed.”

  He glanced round the room, and a slow grin spread over his fac
e. There were some twenty of the gang, all of them fast asleep. They sprawled grotesquely over the table, they lolled in chairs; they lay on the floor, they huddled in corners. And, without exception, they snored and snorted.

  “A dandy bunch,” remarked the American, gazing at them with satisfaction. “That fat one in the corner took enough dope to kill a bull, but he seems quite happy.” Then he turned to Drummond. “Say now, Captain, we’ve got a lorry load of the boys outside; your friend here thought we’d better bring ’em along. So it’s up to you to get busy.”

  “Mullings and his crowd,” said Darrell, seeing the look of mystification on Hugh’s face. “When Mr. Green got back and told me you’d shoved your great mutton-head in it again, I thought I’d better bring the whole outfit.”

  “Oh, you daisy!” cried Hugh, rubbing his hands together, “you pair of priceless beans! The Philistines are delivered into our hands, even up to the neck.” For a few moments he stood, deep in thought; then once again the grin spread slowly over his face. “Right up to their necks,” he repeated, “so that it washes round their back teeth. Get the boys in, Peter; and get these lumps of meat carted out to the lorry. And, while you do that, we’ll go upstairs and mop up.”

  III

  Even in his wildest dreams Hugh had never imagined such a wonderful opportunity. To be in complete possession of the house, with strong forces at his beck and call, was a state of affairs which rendered him almost speechless.

  “Up the stairs on your hands and knees,” he ordered, as they stood in the hall. “There are peculiarities about this staircase which require elucidation at a later date.”

  But the murderous implement which acted in conjunction with the fifth step was not in use, and they passed up the stairs in safety.

  “Keep your guns handy,” whispered Hugh. “We’ll draw each room in turn till we find the girl.”

  But they were not to be put to so much trouble. Suddenly a door opposite opened, and the man who had been guarding Phyllis Benton peered out suspiciously. His jaw fell, and a look of aghast surprise spread over his face as he saw the four men in front of him. Then he made a quick movement as if to shut the door, but before he realised what had happened the American’s foot was against it, and the American’s revolver was within an inch of his head.

  “Keep quite still, son,” he drawled, “or I guess it might sort of go off.”

  But Hugh had stepped past him, and was smiling at the girl who, with a little cry of joyful wonder, had risen from her chair.

  “Your face, boy” she whispered, as he took her in his arms, regardless of the other; “your poor old face! Oh! that brute, Lakington!”

  Hugh grinned.

  “It’s something to know, old thing,” he remarked cheerily, “that anything could damage it. Personally I have always thought that any change on it must be for the better.”

  He laughed gently, and for a moment she clung to him, unmindful of how he had got to her, glorying only in the fact that he had. It seemed to her that there was nothing which this wonderful man of hers couldn’t manage; and now, blindly trusting, she waited to be told what to do. The nightmare was over; Hugh was with her…

  “Where’s your father, dear?” he asked her after a little pause.

  “In the dining-room, I think,” she answered with a shiver, and Hugh nodded gravely.

  “Are there any cars outside?” He turned to the American.

  “Yours,” answered that worthy, still keeping his eyes fixed on his prisoner’s face, which had now turned a sickly green.

  “And mine is hidden behind Miss Benton’s greenhouse unless they’ve moved it,” remarked Algy.

  “Good!” said Hugh. “Algy, take Miss Benton and her father up to Half Moon Street—at once. Then come back here.”

  “But Hugh—” began the girl appealingly.

  “At once, dear, please.” He smiled at her tenderly, but his tone was decided. “This is going to be no place for you in the near future.” He turned to Longworth and drew him aside. “You’ll have a bit of a job with the old man,” he whispered. “He’s probably paralytic by now. But get on with it, will you? Get a couple of the boys to give you a hand.”

  With no further word of protest the girl followed Algy, and Hugh drew a breath of relief.

  “Now, you ugly-looking blighter,” he remarked to the cowering ruffian, who was by this time shaking with fright, “we come to you. How many of these rooms up here are occupied—and which?”

  It appeared that only one was occupied—everyone else was below… The one opposite… In his anxiety to please, he moved towards it; and with a quickness that would have done even Hugh credit, the American tripped him up.

  “Not so blamed fast; you son of a gun,” he snapped, “or there sure will be an accident.”

  But the noise he made as he fell served a good purpose. The door of the occupied room was flung open, and a thin, weedy object clad in a flannel night-gown stood on the threshold blinking foolishly.

  “Holy smoke!” spluttered the detective, after he had gazed at the apparition in stunned silence for a time. “What, under the sun, is it?”

  Hugh laughed.

  “Why, it’s the onion-eater; the intimidated rabbit,” he said delightedly. “How are you, little man?”

  He extended an arm, and pulled him into the passage, where he stood spluttering indignantly.

  “This is an outrage, sir,” he remarked; “a positive outrage.”

  “Your legs undoubtedly are,” remarked Hugh, gazing at them dispassionately. Put on some trousers—and, get a move on. Now you”—he jerked the other man to his feet—“when does Lakington return?”

  “Termorrow, sir,” stammered the other.

  “Where is he now?”

  The man hesitated for a moment, but the look in Hugh’s eyes galvanised him into speech.

  “He’s after the old woman’s pearls, sir—the Duchess of Lampshire’s.”

  “Ah!” returned Hugh softly. “Of course he is. I forgot.”

  “Strike me dead, guv’nor,” cringed the man, “I never meant no ’arm—I didn’t really. I’ll tell you all I know, sir. I will, strite.”

  “I’m quite certain you will,” said Hugh. “And if you don’t, you swine, I’ll make you. When does Peterson come back?”

  “Termorrow, too, sir, as far as I knows,” answered the man, and at that moment the intimidated rabbit shot rapidly out of his room, propelled by an accurate and forcible kick from Toby, who had followed him in to ensure rapidity of toilet.

  “And what’s he doing?” demanded Drummond.

  “On the level, guv’nor, I can’t tell yer. Strite, I can’t; ’e can.” The man pointed to the latest arrival, who, with his nightdress tucked into his trousers, stood gasping painfully after the manner of a recently landed fish.

  “I repeat, sir,” he sputtered angrily, “that this is an outrage. By what right…”

  “Dry up,” remarked Hugh briefly. Then he turned to the American. “This is one of the ragged-trousered brigade I spoke to you about.”

  For a while the three men studied him in silence; then the American thoughtfully transferred his chewing-gum to a fresh place.

  “Wal,” he said, “he looks like some kind o’ disease; but I guess he’s got a tongue. Say, flop-ears, what are you, anyway?”

  “I am the secretary of a social organisation which aims at the amelioration of the conditions under which the workers of the world slave,” returned the other with dignity.

  “You don’t say,” remarked the American unmoved. “Do the workers of the world know about it?”

  “And I again demand to know,” said the other, turning to Drummond, “the reason for this monstrous indignity.”

  “What do you know about Peterson, little man?” said Hugh, paying not the slightest attention to his protests.

  “Nothing, save that he is the man whom we have been looking for, for years,” cried the other. “The man of stupendous organising power, who has brought toget
her and welded into one the hundreds of societies similar to mine, who before this have each, on their own, been feebly struggling towards the light. Now we are combined, and our strength is due to him.”

  Hugh exchanged glances with the American.

  “Things become clearer,” he murmured. “Tell me, little man,” he continued, “now that you’re all welded together, what do you propose to do?”

  “That you shall see in good time,” cried the other triumphantly. “Constitutional methods have failed—and, besides, we’ve got no time to wait for them. Millions are groaning under the intolerable bonds of the capitalist: those millions we shall free, to a life that is worthy of a man. And it will all be due to our leader—Carl Peterson.”

  A look of rapt adoration came into his face, and the American laughed in genuine delight.

  “Didn’t I tell you, Captain, that that guy was the goods?”

  But there was no answering smile on Hugh’s face.

  “He’s the goods right enough,” he answered grimly. “But what worries me is how to stop their delivery.”

  At that moment Darrell’s voice came up from the hall.

  “The whole bunch are stowed away, Hugh. What’s the next item?”

  Hugh walked to the top of the stairs.

  “Bring ’em both below,” he cried over his shoulder, as he went down. A grin spread over his face as he saw half a dozen familiar faces in the hall, and he hailed them cheerily.

  “Like old times, boys,” he laughed. “Where’s the driver of the lorry?”

  “That’s me, sir.” One of the men stepped forward. “My mate’s outside.”

  “Good!” said Hugh. “Take your bus ten miles from here: then drop that crowd one by one on the road as you go along. You can take it from me that none of ’em will say anything about it, even when they wake up. Then take her back to your garage; I’ll see you later.”

  “Now,” went on Hugh, as they heard the sound of the departing lorry, “we’ve got to set the scene for tomorrow morning.” He glanced at his watch. “Just eleven. How long will it take me to get the old buzz-box to Laidley Towers?”