The Bulldog Drummond Megapack

by H. C. McNeile

  “Good evening, my dear,” he said, washing his hands with invisible soap. “I think—yes, I think—a little drop of auntie’s ruin with some Angostura bitters in it. Been a lovely day, gentlemen.”

  “Very,” answered Drummond curtly, and glanced at Standish, whose face was expressionless.

  In the lapel of Doctor Belfage’s coat was a small bronze key.

  CHAPTER VII

  “Funny, isn’t it,” remarked the barmaid, “that you should have been saying… Now then, clumsy, look where you’re putting your great fat hands.”

  “A thousand apologies, my dear,” cried Standish, picking up the glass he had knocked over. “Let’s have the other half. It is strange, sir,” he continued affably, “that just before you came in we were remarking on the fact that outside the Navy one so rarely sees the good homely pink gin being drunk. Cocktails, yes: gin and French: sherry.”

  He rambled on, and the barmaid after one quick look of surprise took her cue.

  “And, by the way, sir,” Standish was saying, “if it’s not an impertinent question on my part, may I ask if that badge you are wearing in your coat has any special significance?”

  “It certainly has, sir,” answered the other. “It is the badge of a society to which I belong, and a meeting of which I am actually attending tonight.”

  “Indeed,” said Standish politely. “Some local organisation, I suppose?”

  “Far from it, I assure you. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say that its ramifications extend all over the world. The Key Club, sir, so called because it symbolises the unlocking of the door into an improved world. Many of the undergraduates here belong to it; there is no entrance fee, and membership is open to all regardless of social position.”

  “Most interesting,” remarked Standish. “Some time I must make further inquiries about it.”

  “Would you care to come to the meeting this evening—you and your friends?” asked the doctor. “There will be no difficulty about it at all. Strictly speaking each member is allowed only one guest, but I can easily arrange for other people to sponsor two of you.”

  “That is very good of you,” said Standish. “Where is the meeting being held?”

  “At a house of mine called Hartley Court. It is at present let, but the tenant is a keen member of the Key Club himself.”

  He glanced at his watch.

  “We shall just be in nice time if we start now,” he continued. “The house is about three miles out of Cambridge.”

  He looked at them inquiringly, and Drummond shook his head.

  “I’m afraid I shan’t be able to avail myself of your kind offer,” he remarked. “I’ve got to be pushing off for London shortly. But why don’t you two fellows go? It ought to be rather interesting.”

  “Peter can’t very well,” said Standish. “You’ve got that bloke coming in at ten, old boy.”

  “So I have,” cried Darrell. “Forgotten all about him till you mentioned it.”

  “But I’d like to come very much,” said Standish, lighting a cigarette. “I suppose it won’t be a very late show?”

  “About eleven o’clock. And then we have an informal talk, with light refreshments. Well, good night, gentlemen.” He bowed to Drummond and Darrell. “I’m sorry you can’t come.”

  The door closed behind him and Standish, and immediately the barmaid became agog with excitement.

  “What’s the game?” she cried. “What are you boys up to? Be sports and tell. I played up over that pink gin.”

  “You did indeed, my dear,” said Drummond. “And I’d tell you like a shot what we were up to if I knew myself. I mean it, really; I promise you.”

  “Tell that to the marines,” she scoffed. “Why didn’t you want that little horror to know you’d been asking me about Hartley Court? Him and his improved world! I nearly gave the show away then by laughing. Look here,” she said shrewdly, “is there something crooked on? Are you guys detectives?”

  “We are not,” laughed Drummond. “But…”

  He paused as a page-boy came into the bar with a letter.

  “Given me by a gent, sir, what’s just left.”

  Drummond opened it, and found a hastily scrawled note from Standish.

  Safer neither of you come: even Peter might be recognised. Don’t know if clumsy trap or pure coincidence. Be on hand outside. Keep that barmaid’s mouth shut. Am taking Peter’s car. R.S.

  He read it and handed it to Darrell.

  “No, my dear,” he said, “we are not detectives. At the same time, you can take it from me that there is a bit more in this than meets the eye. And I want you, please, to promise me something. It’s really very important. I want you to promise that you won’t say a word about it to a soul. There’s a big bet on, and if you keep quiet there’s a spot of money in it for me, and a fiver in it for you.”

  “A fiver! Big boy, for a fiver an oyster would deafen you compared to me. For all that, I wish you’d tell.”

  “Honest, kid, there’s nothing to tell as yet. Thumbs crossed. Later on there may be lots, and you’re for the front row of the stalls.… A bit rum, Peter,” he went on thoughtfully, “having a debagged doctor in a moral uplift society.”

  “Probably joined before he got the bird,” said Darrell. “May have been useful to him in his practice.”

  “I’ve seen other guys wearing that little key,” announced the barmaid. “Undergraduates mostly. I thought it was some University club. Pretty pimply-looking lot they were.”

  “Do you know where that little man lives now?” asked Drummond.

  “I don’t,” said the girl. “He went right away from this part of the country when the trouble took place.”

  “And one rather wonders, Peter, what brings him back,” remarked Drummond. “I can’t think that a meeting of his darned club, finishing up with light refreshments at eleven, would prove a sufficient inducement.… Give me some sandwiches, my pet,” he continued, as some men came into the bar. “We will get down to ’em in that corner.”

  “What’s the plan of campaign, Hugh?” said Darrell as they sat down.

  “We’ll have to be guided by events,” answered Drummond. “Personally, I don’t think Ronald is likely to find anything out that’s going to help us. This meeting can’t have been arranged today, so presumably it’s just in the ordinary course of affairs: part of the general smoke screen which covers the doings behind. In which case those attending it will be perfectly harmless.”

  He glanced at his watch.

  “No good our starting for at least another hour,” he remarked. “I’m going to have a spot of shut eye. Wake me if I snore.”

  It was one of Drummond’s most remarkable traits—his ability to snatch forty winks almost at will, and in a couple of minutes he was sound asleep. Darrell, on the other hand, had never felt so wide-awake in his life. Vaguely he heard odd remarks from the bunch gathered round the bar, but his brain was busy trying to get some semblance of order into the existing chaos. What Standish had told them certainly threw some light on the matter, but in all conscience light was needed.

  That their trip to Kessingland had been a complete waste of time was obvious, but what would have happened if they had not gone back via the cottage? Doing so had only been a last-minute decision and could not have been anticipated by the other side. And yet they had left a man to watch the cottage. Taking no chances evidently.… Even so, to murder him for a trifling indiscretion seemed a bit drastic.

  And the attempt on Drummond’s life. True, when it was made they knew he had fooled them: true, they suspected even if they did not know that he had been in possession of the genuine message the whole time. But murder seemed out of all proportion when the contents of the message were considered. On the other hand, admittedly they could not know what those contents were.

  Mary Jane. Urgent G G Font. A5.

  What the devil did it mean? Could it be that Mary Jane was the girl herself—Doris Venables? A nickname or something of that sor
t. That the message was actually intended for her? In that case she must have known there was something badly wrong, when she got Drummond’s faked wire. A point; a definite point.… Did she know? Was she playing some very deep game—deeper by far than the unfortunate Johnstone in the Giuseppi affair? And the more he thought of it, the more did he become convinced that if Miss Doris Venables could be found and made to talk, many things would become clearer.

  The bar was getting more empty. Drummond was still asleep, and Darrell himself was beginning to feel drowsy, when, happening to glance at the door, he saw something that instantly made him wide awake. Not that he gave any outward sign of it—Drummond had trained him far too well for that—but every sense was on the alert. Save for a narrow horizontal strip at the top the door consisted of frosted glass. And in the centre of that strip was the face of a man. He was looking straight at their corner, and after a while he turned and spoke to someone who was out of sight. Then he disappeared, and Darrell touched Drummond on the arm.

  “Sorry to disturb your slumbers, old boy,” he remarked, “but a guy has been peering through the top of the door and giving us the once over. He’s gone now, but in case he comes back you’d better have a look at his dial.”

  “Sure it was us he was interested in?” asked Drummond.

  “Absolutely. He was looking straight at us.”

  They waited a few minutes, but there was no further sign of him. And when at length the bar closed and they went into the lounge they could see no one about the place who looked even remotely interested in their doings.

  “You can see that corner perfectly,” said Darrell, and then he gave a sudden exclamation. “Come here, Hugh. I’m six foot, and I can only just see over the frosted glass. I saw that bloke’s whole face; I saw his chin.”

  “Our tall friend?” queried Drummond thoughtfully and beckoned to the hall porter. “Has a very tall gentleman been in here recently?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, there has. He went about five minutes ago.”

  “Do you know his name?” asked Drummond.

  “No, sir. I ain’t never seen him before.”

  The page-boy had drawn near and now spoke.

  “Asked for you, sir, he did. Captain Drummond. I said as ’ow you were in the bar, and I thought the gentleman had joined you.”

  Drummond nodded and turned away.

  “Seems hard to shake ’em off, Peter,” he remarked. “Do we perceive in this the hand of the unfrocked doctor?”

  “He didn’t know your name,” said Darrell.

  “No. But with a face like mine I’m not hard to describe. I’m open to a small bet, Peter, that there are other activities on at Hartley Court tonight, besides that fatuous meeting. And it’s on account of these that Doctor Belfage has appeared on the scene. It’s unfortunate he should have chosen to lower his pink gin at this pub, but it can’t be helped. Of course the instant he arrived at the house he was told about us, and realised he’d been talking to the very men who had caused all the commotion. Longshanks was there and came down to make sure.”

  “I hope old Ronald’s all right,” said Darrell.

  Drummond laughed.

  “I don’t think we need worry our heads about Ronald,” he answered. “His only danger is the possibility that the light refreshments at eleven may prove to be non-alcoholic. No, Peter, it’s you and I who have got to watch it just at the moment. And what I’m wondering about is their next move. Officially I’m going to London, and you’re seeing a man about a dog here. But do they believe it? If so, are they going to take any steps to alter our plans?… Good Lord! Cabbageface, what on earth are you doing here?”

  A tall, somewhat languid man had just entered the hotel, followed by a positive lorry-load of suitcases.

  “Hullo, Hugh!” he drawled. “The surprise is mutual. Can one get a drink?”

  “If you’re staying in the hotel, sir,” said the hall porter.

  “Clarence,” remarked the new-comer, “I fear you will not rise high in your profession. Do you imagine I have taken those bags out of the car merely to put them back again?”

  “Peter,” said Drummond, “meet Cabbageface, otherwise known as Major Humphrey Gregson. This is Darrell.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Often seen you playing at Lord’s,” said Gregson, “in the intervals of my onerous duties at the War House.”

  “Are you travelling in underclothes or what, old boy?” demanded Drummond, eyeing the pile of suitcases.

  “Not exactly,” said the other with a grin. “But honestly, Hugh, what are you fellows doing here?”

  “Investigating a spot of bother, Cabbageface,” answered Drummond guilelessly.

  Gregson looked at him steadily over the rim of his glass.

  “Ever the same old Hugh,” he remarked quietly. “Can it be possible, I wonder, that this meeting is not quite so fortuitous as it appeared at first sight?”

  “Ronald Standish is here,” said Drummond, with apparent irrelevance.

  “The devil he is! When did he come?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “Is he in the hotel now?”

  “No, Cabbageface, he is not,” said Drummond deliberately. “He is at the present moment attending a meeting of a society known as the Key Club.”

  Gregson stared at him blankly.

  “Standish at a meeting of the Key Club!” he remarked in amazement. “What in the name of all that’s marvellous is he doing that for?”

  “He was asked by a nice kind gentleman,” said Drummond. “So incidentally were we, but Peter and I wouldn’t play. By the way, have you ever heard of a doctor called Belfage?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Or a man called Meredith?”

  Gregson shook his head.

  “Or a German named Emil?”

  “Emil! Medium height: dark: dangerous-looking customer.”

  “The description serves.”

  “That might be Emil Veight,” said Gregson half to himself. “Hugh,” he continued, “this is the most amazing affair. Quite obviously we are mixed up in the same show. How on earth did you get pushed into it?”

  For a few moments Drummond did not reply. Then:

  “What’s your job at the War House, Humphrey?”

  “Intelligence—though you might not think so.”

  “Hush-hush business you mean.”

  Gregson nodded.

  “You can call it that if you like.”

  “If you were sending a report, or getting a message through, would you always sign yourself by your own name?”

  “I don’t know that I’m quite prepared to answer that question, Hugh,” said Gregson. “A bit near the confidential, you know. And we must pretend to be hush-hush.”

  “You wouldn’t perhaps sign yourself A2 or A3 or something like that?” pursued Drummond imperturbably.

  Gregson stared at him.

  “Without committing myself,” he said quietly, “let us assume for the moment that I should.”

  “Good,” remarked Drummond. “You asked me how I got pushed into this performance. The reason was that someone who signed himself A5—”

  “Ginger Lovelace!” cried Gregson involuntarily,

  “Bunged a message through the window of a cottage I was staying in last night,” continued Drummond, ignoring the interruption.

  “But why did he do that?” cried Gregson, utterly bewildered.

  “Because he was wounded unto death,” said Drummond gravely, “and Emil and his damned bunch were after him.”

  “My God!” stammered Gregson. “Ginger wounded! Where is he now?”

  “I can’t tell you,” said Drummond, “for I don’t know. Before I could get hold of him he’d vanished into the fog. And then Emil and Co. appeared on the scene.”

  “What was the message, Hugh?”

  Drummond looked round; there was no one near.

  “‘Mary Jane. Urgent. G G Pont. A5,’” he said in a low voice. “Can you make head or ta
il of it?”

  “‘Mary Jane,’” repeated Gregson. “‘G G Pont.’ What the devil was the old lad talking about?”

  “It means nothing in your young life then?” said Drummond.

  “Absolutely nix,” answered Gregson. “Ginger wounded! Have you been to the police?”

  “Yes and no, Humphrey. It’s much too long a story to go into now, but rightly or wrongly I decided not to last night. The cottage is not on the telephone: you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face: and I had no idea who the bloke was. In fact at the time the whole thing completely defeated me. But today’s doings have produced one certainty. The gentlemen on the other side are prepared to go literally to any lengths to get hold of the message I’ve just told you. Now even if that message is beyond you, can’t you throw some light on things? Why was Lovelace down here? What’s brought you down here?”

  Gregson lit a cigarette.

  “One at a time. Lovelace has officially been on leave for a matter of two months. And with us, as you may know, that does not mean leave. I’m not clear what he’s been on: the Chief is a firm believer in not letting the right hand know what the left is doing. All I can tell you is that he has been in Poland, and until now I thought he was there still. So much for Ginger. Now for my show. I was to come here prepared for any eventuality; hence”—he grinned gently and waved a hand at the suitcases—”a few props in the change-of-appearance line. I was to meet a woman round about ten o’clock, and after I’d heard what she had to say, I was to act entirely on my own initiative. And it being about ten now, the lady may shortly materialise.”

  “And she may not,” said Drummond thoughtfully. “It’s beginning to fit a little more, Peter. Have you any idea what sort of a woman she is, Cabbageface?”

  “Not the slightest, old boy. No more, I gather, had the Chief. In fact he was even less communicative than usual. But he did mention the Key Club, which proves that we are both chasing the same hare.”

  “Do you employ any women on your job?” asked Drummond.

  “Certainly. But none, so far as I’m aware of, actually in England.”

  “Your boss would know if this woman you’re meeting was one of them?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean he’d of necessity tell me.”