The Bulldog Drummond Megapack

by H. C. McNeile

  “It was in every way an ideal prison. Hoskins was respected and liked in the neighbourhood; save for this one strange streak he was a charming old gentleman. And so he was the last man who would incur suspicion should a hue and cry be raised for Waldron. At the same time every precaution was taken to prevent discovery. The drawbridge was raised every night at sunset, and not lowered till the following morning; the tradesmen left their goods in the courtyard in front of the house. And so far as we could tell, nobody had an inkling of what was occurring. Waldron’s relatives, if he had any, were evidently not worrying; the faked telegram had kept the servants quiet. Which left Gregoroff and I plenty of time to arrange our plans.

  “One thing we soon found out: the Mexican, Cortez, had to be reckoned with. He was under no delusions concerning us, and he told us so quite candidly. A nuisance, but one that could not be helped, and he is one person who will have to be squared when the time comes. But he did not affect our scheme, which, in brief, was the same as the doctor’s. With one or two small additions—additions we did not pass on to Belfage.

  “We proposed to allow him to get the Graham Caldwell plans when the time was ripe, by using his cylinder of gas. We intended to accompany him, and if by any unfortunate chance a fire should take place while the men were powerless in the office, and after the plans had been removed, it would doubtless be attributed to natural causes. In fact we proposed that two fires should take place, the other being the hangar containing the machine itself.”

  “Good,” said Kalinsky softly. “Very good. And the worthy doctor?”

  Veight smiled faintly.

  “Would not, I think, be missed. They are dangerous roads, m’sieur, and lonely roads in that part of Scotland. No, I think the doctor would not be missed. Then having got the plans, we proposed to return to Horsebridge—you remember, do you not, that Hoskins knows nothing about the aeroplane—and obtain the secret of the gas if we had not done so already. Such, briefly, was our intention.”

  “You speak in the past, Veight,” said Kalinsky. “Is it not your intention now?”

  For a moment or two Veight hesitated. Up till now he knew he had held his listeners; it was vital that he should continue to do so.

  “M’sieur—I am going to be perfectly frank with you,” he remarked. “Four days ago a most annoying thing happened. You have, of course, appreciated the essential importance of keeping Waldron’s presence in Horsebridge a secret. Judge then of our dismay when Gregoroff while walking in the courtyard one evening suddenly recognised a man who was fiddling about with the mechanism of the drawbridge as a British Secret Service man, whom he had last seen in Warsaw. He acted at once. He is a man of immense physical strength, and the road outside was deserted. So he hit the so-called workman over the back of the head with a stick he was carrying; stunned him and dragged him into the house. Then we held a council of war.

  “What had happened was unfortunately only too obvious. This man, whose name is Lovelace and who is an officer in the English Army, must have spotted Gregoroff in Warsaw at the time when he was finding out about the gas. Suspecting something, he had followed Gregoroff to England, and by some means or other had got on his track again. It seemed to us that Lovelace must have lost him to start with, otherwise we should have had the police on our heels before. In fact we hoped, and as things have since turned out hoped rightly, that we had got him in time. Nothing had so far been passed on. But we were confronted with the situation of having a British Secret Service man a prisoner in the house. Waldron was on the verge of cracking; and we had received information from Scotland that another three days would see the plans completed. And then this had come out of the blue.

  “The first thing to decide was what to do with Lovelace. To kill him was far too dangerous; besides, Hoskins wouldn’t hear of it. Moreover, there was no place to keep him prisoner, except the dungeon where Waldron was, which again did not suit us. And so we decided to take him to the doctor’s other house, and put him in the central room there.

  “We waited till it was dark; then, having given him something to keep him quiet, I started off by car with a fellow-countryman of mine and another man as guards. And on the way we ran into dense fog.

  “Well, gentlemen, I will not weary you with a long story. Suffice it to say that Lovelace, having partially recovered from the drug, managed to give us the slip while we were creeping along through the mist. I had one shot and wounded him, but before we finally caught him again he had succeeded in throwing a stone with a message wrapped round it through the lighted window of a cottage. And that is what has caused the bother. For the message was found by the owner of the cottage, a man of the name of Drummond, who proceeded to make an unmitigated nuisance of himself.”

  “What was the message?” demanded Kalinsky.

  “Gibberish; complete gibberish,” said Veight. “In fact I would not have bored you with all this, seeing that everything is quite satisfactorily settled now, but for one thing. Drummond, as I say, became most troublesome, and collected three other men round him. They knew nothing, but they were becoming very inquisitive. And so it was necessary to take steps to stop them. They were all armed; they were all tough customers. However, by means of a simple ruse they were all four inveigled into the central room in the doctor’s house. And there we had to waste Waldron’s gas on them.”

  “Why?” said Morgenstein.

  Veight smiled grimly.

  “Because, gentlemen, from my knowledge of human nature, Drummond is a man I would prefer not to talk to if he has the full use of his limbs and a gun in his pocket. To a lesser degree the same applies to the other three.”

  “Did the gas work?” asked Kalinsky.

  “Marvellously; marvellously. It is all Waldron claims for it. But—there is no more. That is the point.”

  “My dear Veight,” remarked Kalinsky curtly, “that is not our affair. Why do you worry us with these details?”

  “Because, m’sieur,” said Veight quietly, “I take it that the plans of the Graham Caldwell aeroplane will be more valuable to you if England is not in a position to have them redrawn.”

  “Well?” snapped Kalinsky.

  “While we still had the gas it would have been possible to ensure that result, and make it appear an accident. Now that is out of the question. It can only be murder plain and unadorned.”

  Kalinsky shrugged his shoulders.

  “I am not increasing my offer,” he said.

  “And I am not asking you to, m’sieur,” answered Veight. “But I am asking for a certain amount on account. I have a very wholesome regard for the English police, and I have no wish whatever to give their hangman a job. I must have money to make my plans, and ensure a safe get-away.”

  “You say this message was gibberish,” said Kalinsky. “What do you mean by that? Why should anyone take the trouble to send a meaningless message?”

  “It may have been a code, m’sieur. At any rate we could make nothing of it.”

  “Perhaps not. But what about this man Drummond? He may have solved the code.”

  Veight smiled grimly.

  “It doesn’t matter much if he has. He and his friends have been prisoners for three days in the room I told you of. The house is shut up and empty; the room is sound-proof. I fear they may be getting a little hungry, but that can’t be helped.”

  “And where is this secret service man you wounded?”

  “At Horsebridge. He is unconscious, and so can be safely left in one of the ordinary bedrooms. I can assure you, gentlemen,” continued Veight, “that everything is exactly as it was before this regrettable contretemps occurred, save that we no longer have the gas to help us. It is therefore for you to decide. Do you wish there to be no chance of the plans being duplicated?”

  At a sign from Kalinsky, Morgenstein rose, and the two financiers withdrew to the window, where they conferred in low tones. And Veight watched them anxiously, though his face was expressionless. What were they going to say?

  H
e had told them the exact position of affairs quite truthfully. But he knew—none better—that men of their type did not advance money on mere promises. And yet it was essential that he should have some, if he and Gregoroff were going to escape from the country.

  He lit a cigarette to soothe himself: the last three days had been trying ones. Present always had been the fear that Drummond and his friends had found out about Horsebridge, and had handed the information on before they were made prisoners. Then as the time passed and the police still left them alone, that fear had gradually died. But the atmosphere remained.

  Doctor Belfage had completely lost his nerve: the Drummond episode had finished him. Only a ceaseless application to the bottle had kept him going, and even then it had been unsafe to leave him alone for fear that he might give everything away in a sudden access of terror. And Cortez had been a trouble. And Meredith. In fact the whole gang gathered together at Horsebridge had been suffering from suspicionitis. Nobody trusted anybody else; the only point on which they all combined was in continuing to fool Hoskins. After that the trouble started.

  Meredith, in particular, had been showing his teeth. From the first he had resented the appearance of two foreigners, though until the affaire Drummond he had not shown it openly. But since then he had taken no pains to conceal his belief that Gregoroff and Veight himself were playing a double game. Which, in view of the fact that it was perfectly true, had not helped matters.

  The girl, too, Doris Venables, had proved a complication. Even now he did not know where she came in; it had been necessary to keep her permanently under the influence of drugs in her room in Horsebridge to prevent any chance of her screaming. And it had all increased the nervous tension. Only Hoskins himself seemed impervious to it: he was too occupied torturing Waldron to bother about anything else.

  He came out of his reverie; Kalinsky was speaking.

  “I will tell you what we have decided, Veight. You will appreciate that we have no means whatever of testing what you have told us. We have to rely entirely on your word. At the same time, neither Herr Morgenstein nor I think it likely that you would be so very foolish as to waste our time with a tissue of falsehoods. So we will assume that everything is as you have said.”

  Veight bowed; this sounded a promising beginning.

  “That being the case,” continued Kalinsky, “the whole problem boils down to whether or not you can deliver the goods, and further if the goods, when delivered, are what you claim for them. Will five thousand pounds be enough for your immediate needs?”

  “Ample, m’sieur,” said Veight.

  “Good; you shall have it. And that we will regard as over and above the rest of the money, and not as a payment on account.”

  “You are generous, gentlemen. I thank you.”

  “On receipt by us of the tracings of the aeroplane and the formula of the gas you will receive ten thousand pounds out of the fifty we have agreed on. When we have satisfied ourselves that they are of real value you will receive a further fifteen, making twenty-five thousand in all. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, m’sieur,” said Veight slowly.

  “The remaining twenty-five thousand, Veight,” continued Kalinsky, “will not be handed over until we have indisputable proof that we and we alone hold those two secrets. There may be duplicate plans of the aeroplane already in existence; the formula of the gas may be known to someone else. If so, the removal of the people concerned will not avail much—but that is your affair. If, on the contrary, no duplicates already exist, then the removal of the people concerned will solve the question. That again is your affair. So my offer can be summed up in short. Five thousand for current expenses; ten for the delivery of the goods; fifteen when the goods are proved satisfactory, and a final twenty-five when it is proved we have a monopoly. Do you agree?”

  “There is one point that occurs to me, m’sieur. Supposing we have a partial success. Supposing, for instance, the plans of the aeroplane become your monopoly, but the formula of the gas is known elsewhere. What then?”

  “You would receive half. In the case you have mentioned, instead of receiving the final twenty-five thousand you would receive twelve and a half.”

  Veight rose to his feet.

  “Gentlemen, I accept. In a case of this sort we have to trust one another. You are trusting me to the extent of fifteen thousand pounds; I am trusting you for the remaining forty, or whatever may be due. You will be here, m’sieur, for some days?”

  “In all probability. If not, you know the permanent address in Paris that always finds me.”

  “Then I will bid you good night, gentlemen. You will hear from me in the course of four days at the outside.”

  With a bow he left the room and walked along the corridor towards the lift. Taking everything into account, he felt well satisfied with his evening’s work, and his brain was already busy as to the best means of still further lining his own pocket. He shrewdly guessed that the two men he had just left were planning war at an early date, and inside information of that sort could be profitably used.

  For a few moments he stood outside the swing doors watching young London arrive to revel. Mere girls and boys—happy and care-free, with healthy appetites and tireless legs. What would they be thinking in a few months’ time?

  “Ein wunderschöner Abend, Herr Veight,” came a voice from behind him.

  He swung round as if he had been shot. Who had spoken to him about the evening? But all he saw was a superb being in a gorgeous uniform, surrounded by bevies of lovely girls and their attendant swains.

  “A taxi, sir?” said the superb being politely.

  “No,” snarled Veight. And then, obeying a sudden impulse, he added: “Did you hear anyone speak to me in German?”

  The superb being raised his eyebrows.

  “German, sir? Really. Most peculiar, sir.”

  With another snarl Emil Veight turned on his heel and strode into the Strand. For though the words were German, the accent had been English.

  CHAPTER XI

  He hailed a taxi and gave the name of his hotel. But, try as he would, he could not get the incident out of his head. Emil Veight was the last person in the world to court publicity, and at the moment he was particularly anxious to blush unseen. But the fact remained that someone had recognised him as he left the Ritz-Carlton. Who could it have been?

  The police he dismissed as unlikely: no one in the group had looked in the slightest degree like a plain-clothes man. A secret service agent was a more probable solution: he was pretty well known amongst that fraternity. And, if so, it would require no great astuteness on the speaker’s part to connect his visit with Kalinsky.

  He frowned; the whole thing was annoying, coming as it had on top of his very successful interview with the two financiers. He felt justifiably aggrieved about it. And then an idea struck him, and he peered cautiously through the little window at the back of the taxi.

  His hotel was a quiet one north of the Park, and the street behind him was deserted. It was an ideal spot from which to see if he was being followed, and he signalled to his driver to stop. But though he waited a full minute no one came in sight, and at length he told the man to drive on. Whoever it was who had spoken to him was evidently no longer interested. And he began to wonder if he had not unduly exaggerated the significance of the incident.

  A fast open car was drawn up outside the hotel, and Veight glanced at it in some surprise. From what he had seen of his fellow-guests a hearse would have seemed a more suitable vehicle, but the mystery was solved as he entered the lounge. Seated in an arm-chair was the gigantic figure of Paul Gregoroff. And it was obvious at once that the Russian had something important to say.

  “Have you got a sitting-room,” he asked, “where we shan’t be disturbed?”

  “It’s perfectly safe here,” answered Veight. “No one sits up in this place after ten. What’s brought you up to London?”

  “Have you seen the evening papers?” cried Greg
oroff.

  “I have not.”

  “Then read that.”

  The Russian pointed to a paragraph and Veight ran his eyes down it. Then with a whistle of surprise he read it more closely.

  COUNTRY HOUSE GUTTED BY FIRE SCARCITY OF WATER HINDERS FIREMEN

  From our Special Correspondent. Cambridge.

  Yet another country house must be added to the list of those that have recently been destroyed by fire. Hartley Court, a largish residence standing in its own grounds, about three miles from Cambridge, was completely gutted in the early hours of this morning. Two fire brigades which were soon on the spot found their efforts hindered by the lack of water due to the recent drought.

  The reason of the outbreak is obscure, as the house had been empty for some days. And this fact also permitted the flames to get such a hold before they were seen from a cottage on the other side of the road that, even had the water supply been adequate, but little could have been done. There seems no doubt that defective electric wiring, resulting in a short circuit, must have been the cause of the trouble.

  Some excitement was occasioned by the discovery of human bones in the ruins. But it transpired that the owner, Doctor Belfage, had some complete skeletons in his laboratory which he used for lecturing purposes.”

  Veight put the paper down on the table and lit a cigarette.

  “How does this affect us?” he remarked thoughtfully.

  “Up to date it hasn’t,” said Gregoroff; “but that’s not saying that it won’t. Everything depends on how long the yarn about the skeletons holds good.”