The Bulldog Drummond Megapack

by H. C. McNeile

  And with that illuminating phrase light dawned on Drummond. If the oil could not have come there by itself, someone must have put it there. That sudden faint became clearer. And as he watched the girl playing with the dogs outside the cottage a slight smile twitched round his lips.

  “How long will it take you to put it right?” he demanded.

  “Not very long, sir. I’ll just have to take this to pieces and thoroughly clean it and dry it.”

  Drummond glanced down the road: the girl was coming towards them.

  “Put it back,” he said quietly, “and follow my lead. I’ll make it worth your while. You haven’t been able to find out what’s the matter. Well, this is a black business,” he cried as the girl joined them. “Up to date the expert has failed.”

  “What am I going to do?” she said disconsolately. “Poor old uncle! He’ll get every handicap wrong, bless his heart.”

  “Not on your life,” laughed Drummond. “What’s the matter with my bus? I can easily drop you at your uncle’s house on my way to London.”

  The girl looked at him doubtfully, whilst the mechanic hurriedly concealed a grin. So that was how the land lay.

  “I couldn’t think of troubling you,” she said. “It’s miles out of your way.”

  “It’s nothing of the sort,” he answered. “In any case, the day is yet young. We will leave this warrior here to delve still deeper into the villainies of your machine, and we will push off.”

  “Well, if you’re quite sure it’s not a frightful bother,” she said gratefully. “It’s most awfully good of you.”

  “Say no more.” Drummond waved a vast hand. “The matter is settled save for one trifling detail. Where is he to take the car when he’s got it to go? To your uncle’s house?”

  She hesitated for a moment.

  “Let me think,” she said. “I think it would be better if he left it in Cambridge. Do you know Cannaby’s garage?”

  “I don’t, miss, but I can find it.”

  “You see,” she explained to Drummond, “my uncle has only just gone there, and it’s difficult to describe where his house is. So leave it at Cannaby’s garage,” she told the mechanic, “and I will ring them up and tell them to pay you whatever it comes to.”

  He touched his cap.

  “All right, miss. I’ll leave her there.”

  He watched the two of them as they strolled back to the cottage, and the grin was no longer hidden. The exact refinements of the case were beyond his ken, but the main basic idea was obvious. And it struck him that the large bloke was no bad judge either, an opinion he had no desire to retract when Drummond returned alone and gave him a ten-shilling note. To bring the car along in an hour or so, and keep his mouth shut at Cannaby’s garage were his instructions and easy to understand. What was a little harder to follow was the meaning of the cryptic telegram he had in his pocket. His orders were to send it if the writer had not arrived at the garage by midday.

  Darrell. Senior Sports Club, London. Spider, Parlour. Cambridge. Hugh.

  It did not seem to make sense to him. It was not a racing code, so far as he could make out; it had but little to do with love. In fact it defeated him. And not the least perplexing part of the matter was that there seemed to be no reason to prevent the bloke sending it himself.

  CHAPTER III

  That he was deliberately walking into the parlour and playing the part of the fly did not trouble Hugh Drummond in the slightest. Too often in the past had he done the same thing for it to worry him. And even when the girl asked him to stop in a village so that she could ostensibly telephone her uncle to say that she would be late, but in reality to warn in about his arrival, he rather welcomed the opportunity for getting things straightened out in his mind.

  Her name he had discovered was Venables; and the more he had talked to her the more he had wondered at her being mixed up with his visitors of the previous evening. So much so that he had once again begun to wonder if his eyes had deceived him over the tea-cup incident. Against that however, he had to put the matter of the car. If what the mechanic had said was correct, she must have deliberately put the oil in herself. She had done it the first instant she could after finding out that his over-night guests had made a mistake in putting him down as a local product. And as one who was used to acting on the spur of the moment himself he could only admire her technique.

  Without doubt had he tried the self-starter when he first got to the car the engine would have gone perfectly; believing that she had to deal with a labourer who knew nothing about motors she would not have troubled to put the machine out of commission. And then quite unexpectedly she found out her error, and rectified it in a way that showed she was no inexpert driver. But with what object? Answer obvious. So that she could dope his tea and again search the house for the message. There she had backed a loser, and had taken it without turning a hair.

  He lit a cigarette as he sat idly at the wheel; the telephone call was a lengthy one. What had been her next move? He recalled her growing anxiety over her uncle’s tennis party; her apparent impatience to get started. She had naturally not suggested it, but was she hoping all along that he would take her in his own car? If so it must have seemed to her that he had played right into her hands.

  Again, however, came the question: with what object? Why did she want him to meet her uncle? And this time the answer was not so obvious. The idea that it was anything to do with getting her there quickly because of a tennis party he dismissed as absurd. If it was only that, she, having done the damage to her own car herself, could very easily and oh! so cleverly have discovered it herself. Why then did she want him to go to her uncle’s house at Cambridge? Could it be possible that certain arrangements were even now being made to greet him in a suitable fashion? Could it be possible that such an unladylike thing as a rough house was looming in the offing?

  Drummond grinned happily to himself; life seemed astoundingly good. True, at the moment, the warfare was blind, but he held one very valuable card. He was convinced that the girl had no inkling that he had got her taped. That she suspected him was obvious; the mere fact that he had acted the part of a yokel the previous night, and had lied about the broken window, was sufficient to blot his copy-book.

  “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting all this time,” said the girl when she at length appeared. “But my poor old uncle seems terribly worried.”

  “That’s not so good,” answered Drummond. “What’s the trouble? Has the vicar’s wife ratted from the tennis party?”

  But she remained dead serious.

  “Captain Drummond,” she said, “I hate to bother you. But would you be an absolute dear and take me to Norwich?”

  “Of course,” cried Drummond. “Take you anywhere you like, bless your heart. And it’s very little out of our way. Or do you want me to leave you there?”

  “No, no; I’ve just got to find out something. It won’t take me a moment.”

  “The day is yet young,” said Drummond cheerfully. “Take as many moments as you like.”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was in no mood for conversation. She was staring in front of her, and her fingers were drumming a tattoo on the arm rest.

  “It’s damnable,” she burst out once. “Utterly damnable.”

  “I’m sure it is,” he remarked soothingly. “What’s the trouble?”

  But she shook her head.

  “The family skeleton,” she said bitterly. “And it’s driving my uncle into his grave.”

  And not another word was spoken until they reached Norwich.

  “Will you wait for me here,” she said as the car drew up under the shadow of the cathedral. “I’ll be as quick as I possibly can.”

  “Here you will find me,” Drummond assured her, and watched her till she was out of sight. The idea of following her had crossed his mind, only to be dismissed at once. What significance, if any, was to be attached to this unexpected change of route, at the moment was
beyond him. But one thing was certain. If he was still to retain his one trump he must do nothing to make her think he suspected her. And to follow her in the broad light of day, when she clearly did not want his company, would be such an outrageous piece of bad taste that it would give him away immediately. So there was nothing for it but to possess his soul in patience until she returned, and then await further developments.

  It was twenty minutes before he saw her coming towards him, and it was obvious her mission had not been a success. Without a word she got into the car, and he started up the engine.

  “Cambridge?” he asked. “Or is there anything else you have to do here?”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve found out what I wanted to know.”

  “I fear the result is not very satisfactory,” said Drummond.

  “Satisfactory,” she cried. “I don’t know how I shall break it to my uncle.”

  “Look here, Miss Venables,” said Drummond quietly. “I don’t want to barge in, or anything of that sort, but can I be of any assistance? I mean, it’s clear that something is up.”

  For a while she did not answer; then suddenly she seemed to make up her mind.

  “Captain Drummond, have you ever heard of Der Schlüsselverein?”

  “The—whatever you said. Afraid I haven’t. What does it mean when it’s at home?”

  “Actually it means the Key Club.”

  “I’m still afraid I haven’t,” said Drummond. “It sounds pretty harmless.”

  She gave a short laugh.

  “You may take it from me that the name is the only thing about it that is harmless. The Key Club is the most dangerous secret society in Europe today.”

  Drummond negotiated a cow with care.

  “The devil they are,” he remarked. “I thought secret societies had gone out of fashion some time ago.”

  “Then you thought wrong,” cried the girl bitterly.

  “Well, well—one lives and learns. Anyway, what do these birds mean in your young life?”

  “Nothing in mine actually,” she answered, “but a lot in my uncle’s.”

  “Is your uncle a foreigner?”

  “Good heavens! no. He’s as English as you or I.”

  Drummond was thinking hard, though his face expressed polite interest. And suddenly it dawned on him that if he still wanted to hold that trump card of his he must, after such an opening, allude to his visitors of the previous night. To keep silent would be tantamount to admitting that he did not trust her.

  “Funny you should talk about foreigners,” he said casually. “I had a visit from two of them last night. Germans.”

  “You had,” she cried, and Drummond gave her full marks for registering amazement. “What on earth did they want with you?”

  “’Pon my soul, Miss Venables, I don’t know. They talked a great deal out of their turn, and a gentleman called Emil…”

  “Emil,” she gasped. “Was he wearing a ring with a blue stone in it?”

  “That’s the cove. Do you know him?”

  “Captain Drummond, he’s one of the big men in the Key Club.”

  “Is he now? He was throwing his weight about all right last night. Took me for a farm labourer, and I did not disillusionise him. He arrived shortly after that drunk I told you about had bunged the brick through the window. It seemed to interest him quite a lot—that brick.”

  “But I don’t understand,” she cried. “Why did you let him think you were a farm labourer?”

  “Saved bother,” answered Drummond casually. “He seemed set on it.”

  “I can’t get this straight at all,” she said. “Why should he worry about a brick?”

  “Extraordinary what some people’s hobbies are,” he remarked. “He seemed all hot and bothered about it. Waved a gun in the atmosphere, and frothed at the mouth. Of course it may have been a pool of blood in the road outside that caused the apoplexy.”

  “A pool of blood!” she echoed. “But was somebody hurt?”

  “Presumably. Blood doesn’t grow on its own. Though, of course, it may have been some animal.”

  “Didn’t you do anything to find out?” she cried.

  “My dear Miss Venables, the mist was so dense you could hardly see your hand in front of your face. Besides, Mr. Emil was occupying my attention. He seemed to think I’d got a man concealed about the cottage.”

  “You mean he was chasing someone?”

  “That is undoubtedly the impression he gave me.”

  “I see,” said the girl after a long pause. “Only too clearly, unfortunately.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” remarked Drummond. “For I most certainly don’t. And if you can explain I shall be very grateful.”

  “Do you know who it was I went to see in Norwich?” she said, after another long pause.

  “Haven’t an earthly, bless you. How should I?”

  “The man whose blood was on the road. The man they were chasing.”

  “And did you see him?”

  “No. His landlady told me that two foreigners called for him late last night, and that he went away with them. They’d found him, and then I suppose he somehow escaped from them in the mist. And it was then they came to you. Oh! it will break Uncle John’s heart.”

  Drummond stared at her.

  “What’s Uncle John got to do with it?”

  “It was his son; my first cousin Harold.”

  Drummond whistled thoughtfully.

  “Was it, by Jove! And why, if it isn’t a rude question, should Mr. Emil and Co. be chasing your first cousin Harold?”

  “Captain Drummond,” she said suddenly. “I’m going to trust you. Whether I’m doing right or not, I don’t know, but the whole thing has got on my nerves. And now that this has happened, and you have been mixed up in it in such an extraordinary way, I feel I just can’t stand it any more. Three years ago Harold went to Germany…”

  “Just a moment, Miss Venables. What sort of a bloke is Harold?”

  “A nice boy, but weak. His mother died when he was born, and Uncle John, though I’m devoted to him, has brought him up very badly. He’s spoiled him abominably all his life, with the inevitable result that Harold is a waster. Well, as I say, he went to Germany three years ago—his one great gift is that he speaks languages perfectly—and there, in some extraordinary way, he got mixed up with that devil Emil and the Key Club. In fact he became a member of the society himself.”

  “Did he? Seems strange that an Englishman was allowed to join a German secret society.”

  “So he ought to have realised,” she admitted. “But he didn’t; until it was too late. He looked on the whole thing as a sort of joke, till one fine day he discovered his mistake. You’ll understand, Captain Drummond, that neither my uncle nor I knew about it at the time; we only found it out quite recently. And though we noticed he was looking haggard and worried, he wouldn’t tell us what was the matter. And then one day I got it out of him. They were bringing pressure on him to supply them with confidential information.”

  “Hold hard a minute,” cried Drummond. “What confidential information could your cousin have access to which would be of any value to them?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain Drummond; I’m telling it badly. I forgot to say that Harold is in the Foreign Office, and so he frequently has the opportunity of seeing important documents.”

  “I get you,” said Drummond. “Please go on.”

  “A fortnight ago it came to a head. I was with my uncle at the time, and Harold suddenly arrived one evening in a pitiable condition. And to make matters worse he’d been drinking, which, to do him justice, is not a vice of his. For a time he was quite incoherent, but at last we got some sort of sense out of him. It was terrible, Captain Drummond; terrible. Apparently these devils, who had hitherto contented themselves with threatening him by letter from Germany, had arrived in this country, and were bringing pressure to bear on him in person. There was some document or other they wanted a copy of, and unless he
got it for them he knew what the result would be.”

  “Why didn’t he go to the police?”

  “Just what my uncle said to him. And then we heard the ghastly truth; he didn’t dare to. He had already sent these men certain information which he had no business to, though he swore on his Bible oath that it was of no real importance. For all that the mere fact that he’d sent anything at all was enough to brand him for life. And these brutes knew it, and were bringing the screw to bear, over something that really was vital—something that it really was traitorous to give away.

  “He was at his wits’ end, Captain Drummond. If he didn’t tell them it meant death; if he did he felt he would never hold up his head again. And so he had taken the only course open to him. Somehow or other he had managed to get three weeks leave, and he’d bolted from London. But now arose the difficulty. He couldn’t stop in my uncle’s house, because they could easily track him there. So he had to go into hiding. And we decided on the rooms in Norwich where I went today.”

  “But how did you know this had happened last night, Miss Venables?” asked Drummond.

  “My uncle told me over the telephone,” she said. “You see this tennis party has been fixed for weeks, and both my uncle and I agreed it would be unwise to postpone it. I’ve been staying with some friends for a few days, and it was when I rang him up to explain why I was late that he told me he had phoned Harold last night and again this morning, and that the only reply he could get was from the landlady to say that Harold’s bed had not been slept in. The rest you know. Somehow or other they got on his tracks, and now…”

  She was rolling her handkerchief into a ball in her hands.

  “Poor old Uncle John! He idolised Harold.”

  “I’m very sorry for both of you,” said Drummond gravely. “In fact it’s the devil and all of a business.”

  “I suppose I oughtn’t to have told you, but somehow or other you look the sort of man one can rely on.”

  “Deuced kind of you to say so, my dear,” cried Drummond genially. “But the thing that is worrying my grey matter is why your cousin should have bunged a rock through the window.”