The Bulldog Drummond Megapack

by H. C. McNeile

  Blackton nodded thoughtfully. “Now you speak of it, I do recall something of the sort.”

  “Good,” continued Drummond. “And since no one could call me grudging in praise, I will admit that you made several exceedingly creditable attempts. This time, however, the boot is on the other leg; it’s my turn to say—snap. In other words, I am going to kill you, Carl. At least, lest I should seem to boast, I’m going to have a damned good attempt—one that I trust will be even more creditable than yours.”

  Once again a silence settled, broken this time by an amused laugh from the girl. “Adorable as ever, my Hugh,” she murmured. “And where shall I send the wreath?”

  “Mademoiselle,” answered Drummond gravely, “I propose to be far more original than that. To do your—er—father—well, we won’t press that point—to do Carl justice, his attempts were most original. You were not, of course, present on the evening at Maybrick Hall, when that exceedingly unpleasant Russian came to an untimely end. But for the arrival of the Black Gang, I fear that I should have been the victim—and Phyllis. However, let me assure you that I have no intention whatever of doing you any harm. But I should like you to listen—even as Phyllis had to listen—while I outline my proposals. Carl ran over his that night for my benefit, and I feel sure he would have fallen in with any proposals I had to make. Similarly, believe me, I shall be only too charmed to do the same for him.”

  Sir Raymond Blantyre sat up and pinched himself. Was this some strange jest staged for his special benefit? Was this large young man who spoke with a twinkle in his eyes the jester? And glancing at the two men, he saw that there was no longer any twinkle, and that Blackton’s face had become strangely drawn and anxious. But his voice when he spoke was calm.

  “We appear to be in for an entertaining chat,” he murmured.

  “I hope you will find it so,” returned Drummond gravely. “But before we come to my actual proposal, I would like you to understand quite clearly what will happen if you refuse to fall in with it. Outside in the passage, Carl, are two large, stolid Swiss gendarmes: men of sterling worth, and quite unbribable. They don’t know why they are there at present; but it will not take long to enlighten them. Should you decide, therefore, to decline my suggestion, I shall be under the painful necessity of requesting them to step in here, when I will inform them of just so much of your past history as to ensure your sleeping for the next few nights in rather less comfortable quarters. Until, in fact, extradition papers arrive from England. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” answered the other. “That will occur if I do not fall in with your suggestion. So let us hear the suggestion.”

  “It took a bit of thinking out,” admitted Drummond. “I haven’t got your fertile brain, Carl, over these little matters. Still, I flatter myself it’s not bad for a first attempt. I realised somewhat naturally the drawbacks to shooting you on sight—besides, it’s so bad for the carpet. At the same time I have come to the unalterable conclusion that the world is not big enough for both of us. I might—you will justly observe—hand you over anyway to those stolid warriors outside. And since you would undoubtedly be hanged, the problem would be solved. But unsatisfactorily, Carl—most unsatisfactorily.”

  “We are certainly in agreement on that point,” said the other.

  “We have fought in the past without the police; we’ll finish without them. And having made up my mind to that, it became necessary to think of some scheme by which the survivor should not suffer. If it’s you—well, you’ll get caught sooner or later; if it’s me, I certainly don’t propose to suffer in any way. Apart from having just bought weight-carrying hunters for next winter, it would be grossly unfair that I should.”

  He selected a cigarette with care and lit it.

  “It was you, Carl, who put the idea into my head,” he continued, “so much of the credit is really yours. Your notion of making my death appear accidental that night at Maybrick Hall struck me as excellent. Worthy undoubtedly of an encore. Your death, Carl—or mine—will appear accidental, which makes everything easy for the survivor. I hope I’m not boring you.”

  “Ger down to it,” snarled Blackton. “Don’t play the fool, damn you!”

  “As you did, Carl, that night at Maybrick Hall.”

  For a moment the veins stood out on Drummond’s neck as the remembrance of that hideous scene came back to him; then he controlled himself and went on. “At first sight it may seem absurd—even fanciful—this scheme of mine; but don’t judge it hastily, I beg you. Know anything about glaciers, Carl?” He smiled at the look of blank amazement on the other’s face. “Jolly little things, my dear fellow, if you treat ’em the right way. But dangerous things to play tricks with. There are great cracks in them, you know-deep cracks with walls of solid ice. If a man falls down one of those cracks, unless help is forthcoming at once, he doesn’t live long, Carl; in fact, he dies astonishingly quickly.”

  Blackton moistened his lips with his tongue.

  “People fall down these cracks accidentally sometimes,” continued Drummond thoughtfully. “In fact there was a case once—I won’t vouch for its truth—but I’m sure you’d like to hear the story. It occurred on the glacier not far from Grindelwald—and it’s always tickled me to death. It appears that one of the local celebrities went out to pick edelweiss or feed the chamois or something equally jolly, and failed to return. He’d gone out alone, and after a time his pals began to get uneasy. So they instituted a search-party, and in due course they found him. Or rather they saw him. He had slipped on the edge of one of the deepest crevasses in the whole glacier, and there he was about fifty feet below them wedged between the two walls of ice. He was dead, of course—though they yodelled at him hopefully for the rest of the day. A poor story, isn’t it, Carl?—but It’s not quite finished. They decided to leave him there for the night, and return next day and extract him. Will you believe it, Mademoiselle, when they arrived the following morning, they couldn’t get at him. The old glacier had taken a heave forward in the night, and there he was wedged. Short of blasting him out with dynamite he was there for keeps. A terrible position for a self-respecting community, don’t you think? To have the leading citizen on full view in a block of ice gives visitors an impression of carelessness. Of course, they tried to keep it dark; but it was useless.

  “People came flocking from all over the place. Scientists came and made mathematical calculations as to when he’d come out at the bottom. Every year he moved on a few more yards; every year his widow—a person now of some consequence—took her children to see father, and later on her grandchildren to see grandfather. Forty years was the official time—and I believe he passed the winning post in forty-one years three months: a wonderful example of pertinacity and dogged endurance.” Drummond paused hopefully. “That’s a pretty original idea, Carl, don’t you think?”

  Sir Raymond gave a short, almost hysterical laugh, but there was no sign of mirth on the faces of the other two.

  “Am I to understand,” said Blackton harshly, “that you propose that one or other of us should fall down a crevasse in a glacier? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.”

  “Don’t say that,” answered Drummond. “It’s no more ridiculous than braining me with a rifle-butt, as you intended to do once. And a great deal less messy. Anyway, that is my proposal. You and I, Carl, will go unarmed to a glacier. We will there find a suitably deep crevasse. And on the edge of that crevasse”—his voice changed suddenly—”we will fight for the last time, with our bare hands. It will be slippery, which is to your advantage, though the fact that I am stronger than you cannot be adjusted at this late hour.

  “It’s that—or the police, Peterson: one gives you a chance, the other gives you none. And if, as I hope, you lose—why, think of your triumph. The leading detectives of four continents will be dancing with rage on the top of the ice watching you safely embalmed underneath their feet.”

  “I refuse utterly,” snarled the other. “It�
��s murder—nothing more nor less.”

  “A form of amusement you should be used to,” said Drummond. “However, you refuse. Very good. I will now send for the police.”

  He rose and went to the door, and Blackton looked round desperately.

  “Wait,” he cried. “Can’t we—can’t we come to some arrangement?”

  “None. Those are my terms. And there is one other that I have not mentioned. You said that two copies of the Professor’s notes were excessive. I agree—but I go farther: one is too much; that process is altogether too dangerous. If the police take you—it doesn’t matter; but if you accept my terms, you’ve got to hand that copy over to me now. And I shall burn it. I don’t mind running the risk of being killed; but if I am, you’re not going to get away with the other thing too.”

  Drummond glanced at his watch. “I give you half a minute to decide.”

  The seconds dragged by and Blackton stared in front of him.

  Plan after plan flashed through his mind, only to be dismissed as impossible. He was caught—and he knew it. Once the police had him, he was done for utterly and completely. They could hang him ten times over in England alone. Moreover, anything in the nature of personal violence under present circumstances was out of the question. Powerful though he was, at no time was he a match for Drummond in the matter of physical strength; but here in the Palace Hotel it was too impossible even to think of. Almost as impossible as any idea of bribery.

  He was caught: not only had this, his greatest coup, failed, but his life was forfeit as well. For he was under no delusions as to what would be the result of the fight on the glacier.

  He heard the snap of a watch closing.

  “Your half-minute is up, Peterson.” Drummond’s hand was on the door. “And I must say—I thought better of you.”

  “Stop,” said the other sullenly. “I accept.”

  Drummond came back into the room slowly. “That is good,” he remarked. “Then first of all—the notes of Professor Goodman’s process.”

  Without a word Blackton handed over two sheets of paper, though in his eyes was a look of smouldering fury.

  “You fool!” he snarled, as he watched them burn to ashes. “You damned fool!”

  “Opinions differ,” in murmured Drummond, powdering the ash on the table. “And now to discuss arrangements. We start early tomorrow morning by car. I have been to some pains to examine the time-table—I mention this in case you should try to bolt. There is nothing that will do you any good either in the Lausanne direction or towards Italy. Behind you have the mountain railways, which don’t run trains at night; in front you have the lake. Below two very good friends of mine are waiting to assist if necessary—though I can promise you they will take no part in our little scrap. But you’re such an elusive person, Peterson, that I felt I could take no chances.

  “To the best of my ability I’ve hemmed you in for the few hours that remain before we start. And then you and I will sit on the back seat and discuss the view. I feel the precautions seem excessive, but I have not the advantage of a specially prepared house—like you have always had in the past.”

  “And until we start?” said Blackton quietly.

  “We remain in this room,” answered Drummond. “At least—you and I do. Mademoiselle must please herself.”

  The girl looked at him languidly.

  “You don’t mind if I leave you?” she remarked. “To tell you the truth, mon ami, you’re being a little tedious this evening. And since I am going to Evian-Les-Bains for the waters tomorrow, I think I’ll retire to bed. Do you know Evian?”

  “Never heard of it, I’m afraid,” said Drummond. “My geography was always rotten.”

  He was lighting a cigarette, more to conceal his thoughts than for any desire to smoke. That she was a perfect actress he knew, and yet it seemed impossible to believe that her composure was anything but natural. He glanced at Peterson, who was still sitting motionless, his chin sunk on his chest. He glanced at the girl, and she was patting a stray tendril of hair in front of a mirror. He even glanced at Sir Raymond, but there was nothing to be learned from that gentleman. He still resembled a man only partially recovered from a drugged sleep. Was it conceivable that he had left a loophole in his scheme? Or could it be that she had ceased to care for Peterson?

  She had turned and was regarding him with a faint smile.

  “I fear I shan’t be up before you go tomorrow,” she murmured. “But whoever does not go into cold storage must come and tell me about it. And there are a lot of other things, too, I want to hear about. Why Carl, for instance, ought to have looked in the motorboat, and how you got concussion.”

  Drummond looked at her steadily. “I find you a little difficult to understand, Mademoiselle. I trust you are under no delusions as to whether I am bluffing or not. You can, at any rate settle one point in your mind by glancing outside the door.”

  “To see the two large policemen,” laughed the girl. “La, la, my dear man—they would give me what you call a nightmare. I will take your word for it.”

  “And any appeal for help will result somewhat unfortunately for Carl.”

  She shrugged her shoulders irritably. “I know when the game is up,” she remarked. Then abruptly she turned on the man who had been her companion for years. “Bah! you damned fool!” she stormed. “Every time this great idiot here does you down. Not once, but half a dozen times have you told me ‘Drummond is dead,’ and every time he bobs up again like a jack-in-the-box. And now—this time—when you had everything—everything—everything, you go and let him beat you again. You tire me. It is good that we end our partnership. You are imbecile.”

  She raged out of the room, and Carl Peterson raised his haggard eyes as the door closed. His lips had set in a twisted smile, and after a while his head sank forward again, and he sat motionless, staring at the table in front of him. His cigar had long gone out; he seemed to have aged suddenly. And into Drummond’s mind there stole a faint feeling of pity.

  “I’m sorry about that, Peterson,” he said quietly. “She might at least have seen the game out to the end.”

  The other made no reply—only by a slight shake of his shoulders did he show that he had heard. And Drummond’s feeling of pity increased. Scoundrel, murderer, unmitigated blackguard though he knew this man to be, yet when all was said and done he was no weakling. And it wasn’t difficult to read his thoughts at the moment-to realise the bitterness and the fury that must be possessing him. Half an hour ago he had believed himself successful beyond his wildest dreams; now-And then for the girl to go back on him at the finish.

  Drummond pulled himself together; such thoughts were dangerous. He forced himself to remember that night when it had been the question of seconds between life and death for Phyllis; he recalled to his mind the words he had listened to as he lay on the floor in the house to which Freyder had brought him while still unconscious. “I think if it was a question between getting away with the process and killing Drummond—it would be the latter.”

  If the positions were reversed, would one thought of mercy have softened the man he now held in his power? No one knew better than Drummond himself that it would not. He was a fool even to think about it. The man who hated him so bitterly was in his power. He deserved, no man more so, to die; he was going to die.

  Moreover he was going to have a sporting chance for his life into the bargain. And that was a thing he had never given Drummond. And yet he could have wished the girl had not proved herself so rotten.

  The lights went out on the long terrace fronting the lake, and he glanced at his watch. It was twelve o’clock: in another three hours it would be light enough to start. Through Chateau d’Oex to Interlaken—he knew the way quite well. And then up either by train or car to Grindelwald. It would depend on what time they arrived as to the rest of the programme. And as he saw in his mind’s eye the grim struggle that would be the finish one way or the other—for Peterson was no mean antagonist physically. Drummond’s
fists tightened instinctively and his breathing came a little quicker. Up above the snow-line they would fight, in the dusk when the light was bad, and there would be no wandering peasant to spread awkward stories.

  Peterson’s voice cut in on his thoughts. “You are quite determined to go through with this?”

  “Quite,” answered Drummond. “As I told you, I have definitely come to the conclusion that the world is not big enough for both of us.”

  Peterson said no more, but after a while he rose and walked into the glassed-in balcony. The windows were open, and with his hands in his pockets he stood staring out over the lake.

  “I advise you to try nothing foolish,” said Drummond, joining him. “The Swiss police are remarkably efficient, and communication with the frontiers by telephone is rapid.”

  “You think of everything,” murmured Peterson. “But there are no trains, and it takes time to order a car at midnight. And since it is beyond my powers to swim the lake, there doesn’t seem much more to be said.”

  He turned and faced Drummond thoughtfully. “How on earth do you do it, my young friend? Are you aware that you are the only man in the world who has ever succeeded in doing me down? And you have done it not once—but three times. I wonder what your secret is.”

  He gave a short laugh, then once again stared intently out of the window. “Yes, I wonder very much. In fact I shall really have to find out. Good God! look at that fool Blantyre.”

  Drummond swung round, and even as he did so Peterson hit him with all his force under the jaw. The blow caught him off his balance, and he crashed backwards, striking the back of his head against the side of the balcony as he fell. For a moment or two he lay there half-stunned. Dimly he saw that Peterson had disappeared, then, dazed and sick, he scrambled to his feet and tottered to the window. And all he saw was the figure of a man which showed up for a second in the light of a street-lamp and then disappeared amongst the trees which led to the edge of the lake.