The Bulldog Drummond Megapack

by H. C. McNeile

  “The very reverse.”

  “Then he can’t be Menalin under an assumed name. But since he was in the company of Menalin’s mistress, it seems probable the two men know each other. And that throws a pretty sinister light on Mr. Charles Burton. Surely our police—for, whatever I may have said about our country as a whole, they are still the finest in the world—surely, they can get a line on him.”

  “Don’t forget,” said Standish, “that it was only on Jimmy Latimer’s death that the gentleman came into the limelight at all. And, but for Colonel Talbot’s long shot, he wouldn’t have done so even then.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Gasdon.

  “And now that we know, from what you’ve told us, that he wants watching, he will certainly be watched.”

  “You say, Marie, that Major Latimer was greatly excited by the contents of the papers,” said Gasdon. “Very excited indeed. Gigantic; incredible; those were the words he used.”

  “And he was a man on whose judgment you would rely?”

  “Emphatically,” said Standish.

  “I wonder if it’s possible that they’re going to have a dip at us before our so-called rearmament takes place.”

  “Who?” cried Standish.

  Gasdon shrugged his shoulders.

  “France hates us, and only the fact that she is terrified of Germany prevents her showing it. Italy frankly detests us, and small blame to her. Germany is an armed camp. Russia—well, Russia is a problem.”

  “Not the Communist bogey, surely,” said Drummond.

  “Are you quite sure it is such a bogey?” asked Gasdon quietly. “What about France recently, and Belgium? And Spain? They’re fanatics, you know, and fanatics are dangerous men. Moreover they’ve always looked on us and our empire as the principle stronghold of all that they’re up against.”

  “Jimmy said, given the organisation, it is possible,” said Madame Pélain. “And the will to carry it through.”

  “Both could come from Menalin,” remarked Gasdon. “Mark you, I don’t say I’m right, but clearly it is something very much out of the ordinary, and Menalin is mixed up in it. And since Latimer was hurrying home it seems probable that England is involved.”

  “The idea seems almost fantastic,” said Standish thoughtfully.

  Gasdon gave a short laugh.

  “Why? Fantastic perhaps when judged by the standards of even ten years ago. But is it fantastic now? We’ve got the biggest orchard in the world to rob, and one of the smallest forces to defend it with. We should, of course, regard it as a distinctly caddish action on the aggressor’s part, and in the intervals of talking about the old school tie we should ask Honduras to apply sanctions. Damn it, man! When will our people begin to understand that because we don’t want to go to war with anyone, having got all we want already, it doesn’t follow that other nations feel the same about us. Lead me to alcohol; I get heated.”

  He beckoned to a waiter.

  “What are those immortal lines of Sir William Watson?” he continued.

  “‘Time and the ocean, and some fostering star,

  In high cabal have made us what we are.’

  “Would he—could he—have written that today? At the present moment our fostering star is ‘the voice that breathed o’er Eden’: the ocean is as much use as a sick headache compared with the air, and in the next war we shan’t have any time. However, I’ve been talking out of my turn. A desire for food is upon me. You will, I hope, all lunch with me, and we will forget such trifling matters in the joys of the chef’s excellent bouillabaisse.”

  CHAPTER V

  GLOVES OFF

  Throughout the meal they discussed the matter from every angle, and the more Drummond and Standish saw of Humphrey Gasdon the more did they like him. From casual remarks he made it was evident that he had travelled not only widely but intelligently. Moreover he knew people as well as places, which was what was wanted in their present investigation. And towards the end of lunch his audience was more than half converted.

  “There are two main questions to be answered,” was his argument. “First—is it worth while? To that my answer is—yes, if it can be done rapidly; no, if it can’t. Another war, such as the last one, dragging on for four years, would be sheer madness. But will it drag on for four years? Will there be time for us laboriously to build up our fighting forces after it has begun? We have it on the authority of Ludendorff himself that next time there will be no declaration of war beforehand. Which brings us to the other main point. Is it possible to knock us out in the first few weeks? That obviously only the experts can answer. But one does not require to be an expert to see that if it is possible, it may be worth while trying.”

  “Out-Vernes Jules Verne,” said Standish half to himself. “I wonder if you’re right, Gasdon.”

  “Lord knows!” The other drained his fin champagne. “But I’m certainly coming over to with you to see. That is if we ever get there,” he added with a laugh.

  “As bad as that, you think?” said Drummond.

  Gasdon nodded.

  “It is clear from what happened to you, Marie, that the Reds are mixed up in it. Which means rather more over here than, at present, it does in England. There, up to date, they’ve stopped short of murder. Here it’s a common occurrence. And really it’s not surprising. When you remember that the casualty list for the first four years of the U.S.S.R. was one million, eight hundred thousand dead, a few more thousand don’t cut much ice.”

  “Is that really so?” cried Drummond.

  “Certainly it is so. There it was the direct doing of the big men; here, as last night, it is an isolated job delegated by someone at the top to a local branch which obeys blindly. Do you remember the case of that White general in Paris who was reputed to have disappeared? Disappear my foot t He was murdered in broad daylight. An ambulance drove up behind him as he was strolling along, and the man beside the driver shot him from point-blank range with a gun fitted with a silencer. Before anybody had realised what had happened they had thrown the body inside and were off. That’s how he disappeared. Another case I know of was that of the editor of a very anti-Red paper. He was reputed to have died of a heart attack when drinking an aperitif at his favourite café. He certainly had a heart attack, but it was brought on by having his drink poisoned. One man engaged him in conversation, his accomplice slipped the stuff into his glass. No, no, friends; do not, I beg of you, be under any delusions. As I say it has not got so far as that in England yet, but it is only a question of time. They’ve got all the necessary organisation there. And when you are dealing with a fanatic who is prepared to sacrifice his own life, if need be, provided he gets yours, and who, in addition, knows you while you don’t know him, the thing becomes a little difficult.”

  Standish lit a cigarette; then, with his elbows on the table, he leaned forward.

  “Let us work on the assumption, Gasdon, that you are right. What is to be our plan of campaign? First of all, who is on the marked list on our side? Drummond and I, naturally; Madame; and since we’ve lunched with you I’m afraid you must join the happy band.”

  “Don’t let that give you indigestion,” said Gasdon with a grin.

  “Is there anyone else?”

  “Not over here,” said Drummond. “But in England there’s the Chief.”

  “Right. Add him in. Now, exactly what do we want to do, and how do we propose to do it?”

  “First part easy,” answered Drummond. “Get over to England.”

  “And miss out Paris?”

  “I think so,” said Drummond. “Now that we know what we do I see no object in going there. What more is there to find out in France? It doesn’t matter how Burton got on Jimmy’s tracks; all that matters is that he did. Our job is to reverse proceedings and get on to Burton. He’s the key to the situation.”

  “Make it so,” said Standish. “And now, Madame, the next point is your charming self. What are you going to do?”

  “I beg of you, Mr. Standish,
not to worry about me. Concentrate entirely on your own plans.”

  “My dear Marie, that is impossible,” said Gasdon seriously. “It is essential that we should feel that you are safe. And I do most solemnly assure you that the danger is very real.”

  “Well, what do you suggest, Humphrey?”

  “Have you any friends with a villa near here?”

  “Yes; at Mentone.”

  “Excellent. Now it is most unlikely that you were followed here. Since all your kit is still at the Metropole, they will assume that you are returning there. My suggestion, therefore, is this. That you let me drive you to your friend’s villa direct from here. I am fairly adept at the game, and I think I can spot at once if we are followed. From there you will telephone to Monsieur Lidet, but you will not give your address even to him. You will say that you will be returning in a week or a fortnight to the hotel, and give instructions for your room to be left intact. To your friends you can say as much or as little of the truth as you like. What necessaries you require your friend can obtain for you, but you yourself will lie low in the villa. Should the police make further enquiries with regard to last night, instruct Lidet to say that you are ill, and that he does not know where you are.”

  For a while she sat in silence, then; “You think that is best?”

  “We all do, Madame,” said Drummond.

  “Very well, mes amis; I will do it. And you—what of you?”

  “I would not presume to suggest a plan to you two fellows,” said Gasdon. “But if you take my most earnest advice you, too, will not return to the Metropole.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing myself,” remarked Standish. “I am certainly prepared to sacrifice my kit, such as it is.”

  “Same here,” said Drummond. “And we can post a five-hundred-franc note to Lidet from somewhere en route. Were you serious when you said you were coming over to England, Gasdon?”

  “Perfectly. If you have no objections I would like to come with you. Otherwise I will travel alone.”

  Drummond glanced at Standish, who nodded.

  “Of course we have no objections,” he said. “And it will certainly be easy to see on the run north if we are being followed.”

  “I’m afraid, Drummond, that your kit is not the only thing you’ll have to sacrifice temporarily,” said Gasdon. “What is the object in following us? Just as Latimer’s goal was England, they’ll know that yours is. And when you don’t return to the hotel, they’ll warn every port, if they haven’t done so already, to watch out, not for you, but for your car. They’re not the sort of people who would neglect such an obvious precaution as taking its number. And on the chance of your going to Paris they’ll have spies at the Porte d’Italie, and the Porte de la Gare. No, old boy, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave her in la belle France for the time. At some such place as Orleans. You see,” he went on, “what Standish said is perfectly correct. They got you taped in Cannes through Madame. But if you, or rather we, now vanish into space they must lose the trail unless we throw the car at their heads. Their spies at Boulogne or Calais don’t know us personally.”

  “Quite right,” agreed Standish. “The man speaks sense. Well, I suggest, Gasdon, that the sooner we get on with it the better. Madame, I am not going to say an obvious good-bye. In case there is anybody watching us it’s better that he should think we are just parting after lunch. But may I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you have done and told us.”

  “It was nothing,” she said sadly, “if it has helped to revenge Jimmy. Good-bye; good-bye, Captain Drummond. I won’t thank you again.”

  “And we will wait for you here, Gasdon,” said Standish.

  “Right. Sit in the bar, and keep your backs to the wall.”

  They sauntered across the room—a typical lunch party breaking up. And in the hall they paused.

  “So we dine together tonight, Madame,” said Drummond. “I will see that Monsieur Lidet excels himself.”

  “And after that the Casino,” she cried. “Au revoir.”

  “A damned plucky little woman,” said Standish as they walked into the bar.

  “And I hope a fortunate remark of mine,” said Drummond. “Did you see the gentleman in the hall who half rose as we left the dining-room, and then sat down again?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “He was behind you, but I marked him down. Strikes me, old boy, that their staff work is marvellous, but that the actual performers are not so good.”

  “Full marks, I think, to Mr. Humphrey Gasdon.”

  “Yes. Definitely good value. And a bloke of decided views. I wonder if he’s right about this Communist stunt.”

  “He’s right over one thing,” said Standish. “They’ve got the necessary organisation in the country. That I know for a certainty: factory cells, street cells, the necessary instructors, street newspapers. All of which is well known to the police. But taking it by and large, they have so far failed to make much headway. Our fellows in the main have too much common sense, I suppose. Hullo Here’s the girl friend once again. I wonder who the lucky boy is this time.”

  Madame Tomesco, alias Pilofsky, had entered the bar accompanied by a man.

  “Dark and swarthy,” muttered Drummond. “Perhaps it’s Menalin himself.”

  As the two passed their table the lady’s escort paused slightly and gave them each a cool and deliberate stare from under a pair of bushy eyebrows. He was clean-shaven with the high cheek-bones of the Slay. His nose was thick; his mouth both sensual and cruel. Not a very big man, yet he gave the impression of great physical strength. And there was a sort of feline grace in his walk as he followed the woman.

  “Menalin for a fiver,” said Standish. “And seemingly interested in our unworthy selves. I don’t know that I want him as a pet. What do you want, Johnny?”

  A small page with a newspaper on a salver had come up to the table.

  “Vous avez commande ze Daily Express, m’sieu?” said the boy.

  “I have not commanded it,” answered Standish. “Nevertheless I should hate to disappoint you, laddie.”

  He took the paper, and started fumbling in his pocket for a coin. And suddenly he stiffened; his eye had caught one of the headlines. He instantly recovered himself, tossed a coin on to the salver and put the paper on the table.

  “Show no interest, Hugh,” he said quietly. “We are being watched. They’ve got the Chief.”

  “My God!” muttered Drummond under his breath. “Let’s see.”

  Standish spread out the paper, and to all outward appearances two bored men bent forward to read it. And from a few tables away came a woman’s low laugh…

  MURDER OF ARMY OFFICER.

  AMAZING CRIME IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.

  COLONEL HENRY TALBOT SHOT IN HYDE PARK.

  One of the most sensational crimes of modern times of a nature recalling the dastardly murder of the late Field-Marshal Sir Henry Wilson, took place yesterday afternoon in Hyde Park.

  Colonel Henry Talbot, C.M.G., D.S.O., a highly-placed officer at the War Office, left Whitehall rather earlier than usual and started to walk home to his flat in Orme Square. This was his invariable custom if the weather was fine. His route was always the same; up Constitution Hill, into Hyde Park, and thence to Lancaster Gate.

  It would appear that the unfortunate officer paused on the outskirts of a crowd gathered round one of the inevitable orators near Marble Arch. Suddenly he was seen to fall to the ground. At first those near him thought he was ill, when, to their horror, they perceived blood flowing from his head.

  A constable was on the spot immediately, and it was obvious at once that the Colonel had been brutally murdered. He had been shot through the head from behind at point-blank range.

  That such a thing could happen in broad daylight, in such a place, is wellnigh inconceivable. No shot was heard, but this, of course, would be accounted for by the use of a silencer. None of the people in the vicinity had seen or heard anything suspicious, thou
gh one man—Mr. John Herbert, of Islington—said that he thought he had noticed two men getting hurriedly into a waiting taxi just after Colonel Talbot fell to the ground. But he had paid no attention and could give no description of them.

  What happened seems clear. The deceased officer, whose habit of walking home was evidently known to the murderer, must have been followed from his office. The man or men had a taxi in readiness behind them. When Colonel Talbot paused on the edge of the crowd they seized their opportunity to commit their atrocious crime, trusting to the shifting listeners to make a safe get-away. And this, unfortunately, they seem to have done.

  The crime is an inexplicable one. So far as is known Colonel Talbot had no enemies. His military record was a brilliant one. He served throughout the Egyptian campaign and the South African War, in the latter of which he was awarded the D.S.O. for conspicuous gallantry at Magersfontein. In the Great War he was twice wounded, receiving the C.M.G. and being five times mentioned in despatches.

  He leaves a widow and one son, Captain Edward Talbot, who is at present serving at Aldershot with his regiment, the Royal West Sussex.

  And once again came the low mocking laugh of a woman…

  It failed conspicuously if, by it, she hoped to make them display any emotion; she was dealing with far too old hands for that. But inwardly both men were raging with anger. That she and the man with her were responsible for the paper being brought to them was a trifle; it was the filthy murder of one of the finest men in England, and a great friend into the bargain, that got them.

  Particularly Drummond. Similar though they were in many ways there was a streak of the primitive in him that Standish lacked. And though both of them had liked Jimmy Latimer, the murder of Colonel Talbot seemed more personal He was their Chief whom they were actually serving under at the time.

  One thing, however, it emphasised—the power of the organisation they were up against. Murder in the Park in broad daylight was not a matter to be undertaken lightly. It showed an almost incredible disregard for ordinary values. As Gasdon had said, England was not France; London was not Paris.