The Bulldog Drummond Megapack

by H. C. McNeile

  “One of my ancestors picked it up somewhere,” he answered apologetically.

  “Fashioned with the blood of men, guarded with their lives, and one of your ancestors picked it up!” The Duke withered completely under the biting scorn of the words, and seemed about to say something, but the Indian had turned away, and his long, delicate fingers were hovering over the box. “There is power in this box,” he continued, and his voice was low and thoughtful. “Years ago a man who came from the land where dwells the Great Brooding Spirit told me of this thing. I wonder… I wonder…”

  With gleaming eyes he stared in front of him, and a woman shuddered audibly.

  “What is it supposed to do?” she ventured timidly.

  “In that box lies the power unknown to mortal man though the priests of the Temple City have sometimes discovered it before they pass beyond. Length you know, and height, and breadth—but in that box lies more.”

  “You don’t mean the fourth dimension, do you?” demanded a man incredulously.

  “I know not what you call it, sahib,” said the Indian quietly. “But it is the power which renders visible or invisible at will.”

  For a moment Hugh felt an irresistible temptation to shout the truth through the window, and give Lakington away; then his curiosity to see the next move in the game conquered the wish, and he remained silent. So perfect was the man’s acting that, in spite of having seen the substitution of the boxes, in spite of knowing the whole thing was bunkum, he felt he could almost believe it himself. And as for the others—without exception—they were craning forward eagerly, staring first at the Indian and then at the box.

  “I say, that’s a bit of a tall order, isn’t it, Mr. Rum Bar?” protested the Duke a little feebly. “Do you mean to say you can put something into that box, and it disappears?”

  “From mortal eye, Protector of the Poor, though it is still there,” answered the Indian. “And that only too for a time. Then it reappears again. So runs the legend.”

  “Well, stuff something in and let”s see,” cried young Laidley, starting forward, only to pause before the Indian”s outstretched arm.

  “Stop, sahib,” he ordered sternly. “To you that box is nothing; to others—of whom I am one of the least—it is sacred beyond words.” He stalked away from the table, and the guests” disappointment showed on their faces.

  “Oh, but Mr. Ram Dar,” pleaded the Duchess, “can’t you satisfy our curiosity after all you’ve said?”

  For a moment he seemed on the point of refusing outright; then he bowed, a deep Oriental bow.

  “Your Grace,” he said with dignity, “for centuries that box contained the jewels—precious beyond words—of the reigning Queens of the Chow Dynasty. They were wrapped in silver and gold tissue—of which this is a feeble, modern substitute.”

  From a cummerbund under his robe he drew a piece of shining material, the appearance of which was greeted with cries of feminine delight.

  “You would not ask me to commit sacrilege?” Quietly he replaced the material in his belt and turned away, and Hugh’s eyes glistened at the cleverness with which the man was acting. Whether they believed it or not, there was not a soul in the room by this time who was not consumed with eagerness to put the Chinese cabinet to the test.

  “Supposing you took my pearls, Mr. Ram Dar,” said the Duchess diffidently. “I know that compared to such historic jewels they are poor, but perhaps it would not be sacrilege.”

  Not a muscle on Lakington’s face twitched, though it was the thing he had been playing for. Instead he seemed to be sunk in thought, while the Duchess continued pleading, and the rest of the party added their entreaties. At length she undid the fastening and held the necklace out, but he only shook his head.

  “You ask a great thing of me, your Grace,” he said. “Only by the exercise of my power can I show you this secret—even if I can show you at all. And you are unbelievers.” He paced slowly to the window, ostensibly to commune with the gods on the subject; more materially to flash once again the signal into the darkness. Then, as if he had decided suddenly, he swung round.

  “I will try,” he announced briefly, and the Duchess headed the chorus of delight. “Will the Presences stand back, and you, your Grace, take that?” He handed her the piece of material. “No hand but yours must touch the pearls. Wrap them up inside the silver and gold.” Aloofly he watched the process. “Now advance alone, and open the box. Place the pearls inside. Now shut and lock it.” Obediently the Duchess did as she was bid; then she stood waiting for further instructions.

  But apparently by this time the Great Brooding Spirit was beginning to take effect. Singing a monotonous, harsh chant, the Indian knelt on the floor, and poured some powder into a little’ brazier. He was still close to the open window, and finally he sat down with his elbows on his knees, and his head rocking to and fro in his hands.

  “Less light—less light!” The words seemed to come from a great distance—ventriloquism in a mild way was one of Lakington’s accomplishments; and as the lights went out a greenish, spluttering flame rose from the brazier. A heavy, odorous smoke filled the room, but framed and motionless in the eerie light sat the Indian, staring fixedly in front of him. After a time the chant began again; it grew and swelled in volume till the singer grew frenzied and beat his head with his hands. Then abruptly it stopped.

  “Place the box upon the floor,” he ordered, “in the light of the Sacred fire.” Hugh saw the Duchess kneel down on the opposite side of the brazier, and place the box on the floor, while the faces of the guests—strange and ghostly in the green light—peered like spectres out of the heavy smoke. This was undoubtedly a show worth watching.

  “Open the box!” Harshly the words rang through the silent room, and with fingers that trembled a little the Duchess turned the key and threw back the lid.

  “Why, it’s empty!” she cried in amazement, and the guests craned forward to look.

  “Put not your hand inside,” cried the Indian in sudden warning, “or perchance it will remain empty.”

  The Duchess rapidly withdrew her hand, and stared incredulously through the smoke at his impassive face.

  “Did I not say that there was power in the box?” he said dreamily. “The power to render invisible—the power to render visible. Thus came protection to the jewels of the Chow Queens.”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Ram Dar,” said the Duchess a little apprehensively. “There may be power in the box, but my pearls don’t seem to be.”

  The Indian laughed.

  “None but you has touched the cabinet, your Grace; none but you must touch it till the pearls return. They are there now; but not for mortal eyes to see.”

  Which, incidentally, was no more than the truth.

  “Look, oh! sahibs, look; but do not touch. See that to your vision the box is empty…” He waited motionless, while the guests thronged round, with expressions of amazement; and Hugh, safe from view in the thick, sweet-smelling smoke, came even nearer in his excitement.

  “It is enough,” cried the Indian suddenly. “Shut the box, your Grace, and lock it as before. Now place it on the table whence it came. Is it there?”

  “Yes.” The Duchess’s voice came out of the green fog.

  “Go not too near,” he continued warningly. “The gods must have space—the gods must have space.”

  Again the harsh chant began, at times swelling to a shout, at times dying away to a whisper. And it was during one of these latter periods that a low laugh, instantly checked, disturbed the room. It was plainly audible, and someone irritably said, “Be quiet!” It was not repeated, which afforded Hugh, at any rate, no surprise. For it had been Irma Peterson who had laughed, and it might have been hilarity, or it might have been a signal.

  The chanting grew frenzied and more frenzied; more and more powder was thrown on the brazier till dense clouds of the thick vapour were rolling through the room, completely obscuring everything save the small space round the brazier, and the I
ndian’s tense face poised above it.

  “Bring the box, your Grace,” he cried harshly, and once more the Duchess knelt in the circle of light, with a row of dimly seen faces above her.

  “Open; but as you value your pearls—touch them not.” Excitedly she threw back the lid, and a chorus of cries greeted the appearance of the gold and silver tissue at the bottom of the box.

  “They’re here, Mr. Ram Dar.”

  In the green light the Indian’s sombre eyes stared round the group of dim faces.

  “Did I not say,” he answered, “that there was power in the box? But in the name of that power—unknown to you—I warn you: do not touch those pearls till the light has burned low in the brazier. If you do they will disappear—never to return. Watch, but do not touch!”

  Slowly he backed towards the window, unperceived in the general excitement; and Hugh dodged rapidly towards the car. It struck him that the séance was over, and he just had time to see Lakington snatch something which appeared to have been let down by a string from above, before turning into the bushes and racing for the car. As it was, he was only a second or two in front of the other, and the last vision he had through a break in the trees, before they were spinning smoothly down the deserted road, was an open window in Laidley Towers from which dense volumes of vapour poured steadily out. Of the house party behind, waiting for the light to burn low in the brazier, he could see no sign through the opaque wall of green fog.

  It took five minutes, so he gathered afterwards from a member of the house party, before the light had burned sufficiently low for the Duchess to consider it safe to touch the pearls. In various stages of asphyxiation the assembled guests had peered at the box, while the cynical comments of the men were rightly treated by the ladies with the contempt they deserved. Was the necklace not there, wrapped in its gold and silver tissue, where a few minutes before there had been nothing?

  “Some trick of that beastly light,” remarked the Duke peevishly. “For heaven’s sake, throw the damn thing out of the window.”

  “Don’t be a fool, John,” retorted his spouse. “If you could do this sort of thing, the House of Lords might be some use to somebody.”

  And when two minutes later they stared horror-struck at a row of ordinary marbles laboriously unwrapped from a piece of gold and silver tissue, the Duke’s pungent agreement with his wife’s sentiment passed uncontradicted. In fact, it is to be understood that over the scene which followed it was best to draw a decent veil.

  III

  Drummond, hunched low over the wheel, in his endeavour to conceal his identity from the man behind, knew nothing of that at the time. Every nerve was centred on eluding the pursuit he thought was a certainty; for the thought of Lakington, when everything was prepared for his reception, being snatched from his clutches even by the majesty of the law was more than he could bear. And for much the same reason he did not want to have to deal with him until The Elms was reached; the staging there was so much more effective.

  But Lakington was far too busy to bother with the chauffeur. One snarling curse as they had entered, for not having done as he had been told, was the total of their conversation during the trip. During the rest of the time the transformation to the normal kept Lakington busy, and Hugh could see him reflected in the windscreen removing the make-up from his face, and changing his clothes.

  Even now he was not quite clear how the trick had been worked. That there had been two cabinets, that was clear—one false, the other the real one. That they had been changed at the crucial moment by the girl Irma was also obvious. But how had the pearls disappeared in the first case, and then apparently reappeared again? For of one thing he was quite certain. Whatever was inside the parcel of gold and silver tissue which, for all he knew, they might be still staring at, it was not the historic necklace.

  And he was still puzzling it over in his mind when the car swung into the drive at The Elms.

  “Change the wheels as usual,” snapped Lakington as he got out, and Hugh bent forward to conceal his face. “Then report to me in the central room.”

  And out of the corner of his eye Hugh watched him enter the house with one of the Chinese cabinets clasped in his hand… “Toby,” he remarked to that worthy, whom he found mournfully eating a ham sandwich in the garage, “I feel sort of sorry for our Henry. He’s just had the whole complete ducal outfit guessing, dressed up as an Indian; he’s come back here with a box containing the Duchess’s pearls or I’ll eat my hat, and feeling real good with himself; and now instead of enjoying life he’s got to have a little chat with me.”

  “Did you drive him back?” demanded Sinclair, producing a bottle of Bass.

  “Owing to the sudden decease of his chauffeur I had to,” murmured Hugh. “And he’s very angry over something. Let’s go on the roof.”

  Silently they both climbed the ladder which had been placed in readiness, to find Peter Darrell and the American detective already in position. A brilliant light streamed out through the glass dome, and the inside of the central room was clearly visible.

  “He’s already talked to what he thinks is you,” whispered Peter ecstatically, “and he is not in the best of tempers.”

  Hugh glanced down, and a grim smile flickered round his lips. In the three chairs sat the motionless, bound figures, so swathed in rope that only the tops of their heads were visible, just as Lakington had left him and Toby and Algy earlier in the evening. The only moving thing in the room was the criminal himself, and at the moment he was seated at the table with the Chinese cabinet in front of him. He seemed to be doing something inside with a penknife, and all the time he kept up a running commentary to the three bound figures.

  “Well, you young swine, have you enjoyed your night?” A feeble moan came from one of the chairs. “Spirit broken at last, is it?” With a quick turn of his wrist he prised open two flaps of wood, and folded them back against the side. Then he lifted out a parcel of gold and silver tissue from underneath.

  “My hat!” muttered Hugh. “What a fool I was not to think of it! Just a false bottom actuated by closing the lid. And a similar parcel in the other cabinet.”

  But the American, whistling gently to himself, had his eyes fixed on the rope of wonderful pearls which Lakington was holding lovingly in his hands.

  “So easy, you scum,” continued Lakington, “and you thought to pit yourself against me. Though if it hadn”t been for Irma”—he rose and stood in front of the chair where he had last left Drummond—“it might have been awkward. She was quick, Captain Drummond, and that fool of a chauffeur failed to carry out my orders, and create a diversion. You will see what happens to people who fail to carry out my orders in a minute. And after that you’ll never see anything again.”

  “Say, he’s a dream—that guy,” muttered the American. “What pearls are those he’s got?”

  “The Duchess of Lampshire’s,” whispered Hugh. “Lifted right under the noses of the whole bally house party.”

  With a grunt the detective re-arranged his chewing-gum; then once more the four watchers on the roof glued their eyes to the glass. And the sight they saw a moment or two afterwards stirred even the phlegmatic Mr. Green.

  A heavy door was swinging slowly open, apparently of its own volition, though Hugh, stealing a quick glance at Lakington, saw that he was pressing some small studs in a niche in one of the walls. Then he looked back at the door, and stared dumbfounded. It was the mysterious cupboard of which Phyllis had spoken to him, but nothing he had imagined from her words had prepared him for the reality. It seemed to be literally crammed to overflowing with the most priceless loot. Gold vessels of fantastic and beautiful shapes littered the floor; while on the shelves were arranged the most wonderful collection of precious stones, which shone and scintillated in the electric light till their glitter almost blinded the watchers.

  “Shades of Chu Chin Chow, Ali Baba and the forty pundits!” muttered Toby. “The man’s a genius.”

  The pearls were carefully
placed in a position of honour, and for a few moments Lakington stood gloating over his collection.

  “Do you see them, Captain Drummond?” he asked quietly. “Each thing obtained by my brain—my hands. All mine—mine!” His voice rose to a shout. “And you pit your puny wits against me.” With a laugh he crossed the room, and once more pressed the studs. The door swung slowly to and closed without a sound, while Lakington still shook with silent mirth.

  “And now,” he resumed, rubbing his hands, “we will prepare your bath, Captain Drummond.” He walked over to the shelves where the bottles were ranged, and busied himself with some preparations. “And while it is getting ready, we will just deal with the chauffeur who neglected his orders.”

  For a few minutes he bent over the chemicals, and then he poured the mixture into the water which half filled the long bath at the end of the room. A faintly acid smell rose to the four men above, and the liquid turned a pale green.

  “I told you I had all sorts of baths, didn’t I?” continued Lakington; “some for those who are dead, and some for those who are alive. This is the latter sort, and has the great advantage of making the bather wish it was one of the former.” He stirred the liquid gently with a long glass rod. “About five minutes before we’re quite ready,” he announced. “Just time for the chauffeur.”

  He went to a speaking-tube, down which he blew. Somewhat naturally there was no answer, and Lakington frowned.

  “A stupid fellow,” he remarked softly. “But there is no hurry; I will deal with him later.”

  “You certainly will,” muttered Hugh on the roof. “And perhaps not quite so much later as you think, friend Henry.”

  But Lakington had returned to the chair which contained, as he thought, his chief enemy, and was standing beside it with an unholy joy shining on his face.

  “And since I have to deal with him later, Captain, Drummond, D.S.O., M.C., I may as well deal with you now. Then it will be your friend’s turn. I am going to cut the ropes, and carry you, while you’re so numbed that you can’t move, to the bath. Then I shall drop you in, Captain Drummond, and when afterwards, you pray for death, I shall mercifully spare your life—for a while.”