The Bulldog Drummond Megapack

by H. C. McNeile

  ‘Don’t you worry about that end of it, Miss Porter,’ said Drummond. ‘It’s no sweat or bother at all. I was just wondering if we could improve on your scheme, and I don’t think we can. It’s simple and direct, and what could be fairer than that? Now, when do you go back?’

  ‘This afternoon by the three-fifteen.’

  ‘Then, since there is no good delaying, we’d better do it this evening. OK with you, Algy?’

  ‘OK by me.’

  ‘Then at a quarter to eight, Miss Porter, you can expect to see us on the doorstep with our tongues hanging out.’

  ‘A nice child,’ he continued to Algy, after they had put her into a taxi, ‘but for the life of me I don’t quite see what we’re going to do about it. Even if Uncle John gets the jitters at dinner and Manton eats peas with a knife, I don’t see that we’re much further on. However, if it eases her mind, it gives us a nice trip into the country. Away, hellhound—you offend me. And you may call for your Uncle Hugh at four o’clock.’

  * * * *

  The plan worked without a hitch. At half-past seven a car might have been seen to stop a few yards away from the entrance to Macklebury Hall—a car from which the two occupants immediately emerged to delve under the bonnet. And five minutes later, well satisfied with their handiwork, they turned into a long drive which led through an avenue of trees up to the house. On one side they passed stabling sufficient for a dozen horses; on the other a lake, complete with swans, lay placid in the still evening air. A house reminiscent of the old spacious days: too often now, alas, a drug upon the market.

  Their ring was answered by the butler, over whose shoulder they could see Marjorie Porter talking to a man.

  ‘My compliments to your master,’ began Drummond gravely, ‘and would you ask him…’

  ‘Algy!’ cried the girl incredulously. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘Good Lord! If it isn’t Marjorie.’ Algy waved delightedly. ‘Look, darling: the bus has died on us outside the gate. Can we ring up the local tinker, and tell him the dread news? And by the same token, meet Captain Drummond. Miss Porter.’

  ‘Of course you can ring up, Algy. Simmonds, show Mr. Longworth the telephone. And you must both stop to dinner.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you, Miss Porter,’ said Drummond. ‘It seems lucky that we broke down where we did.’

  ‘And where are you making for?’ asked the man.

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ cried the girl. ‘Mr. Manton: Captain Drummond.’

  The two men bowed slightly.

  ‘Hunstanton,’ said Drummond. ‘A few days’ golf seemed indicated.’

  He was conscious that Manton was studying him closely; he was also conscious that there was no necessity for him to return the compliment. For Manton was an almost perfect example of a type he knew well—the hard-bitten crowd who live by their wits. And some of them are charming, and some of them are not: but all of them want watching.

  ‘All set,’ cried Algy, coming back into the hall. ‘The local gear crasher is sending up a minion. I hope Mr. Greston is in good form, Marjorie.’

  ‘Not too good, I’m afraid, Algy,’ she answered. ‘I was talking to Mr. Manton about him just before you arrived. I’m very worried. I wish I could persuade him to see a doctor.’

  ‘At the moment, my dear Marjorie,’ said Manton, ‘I’m afraid you can’t. You know his views on doctors generally, and though I agree that he seems a little nervous and irritable this evening, it would only make him worse if you suggested it. I’ll just go along and tell him we’ve got guests for dinner.’

  ‘A little nervous and irritable!’ cried the girl furiously as he left the hall. ‘Captain Drummond, I don’t believe he wants my uncle to see a doctor.’

  ‘Was Mr. Greston worse when you got back?’ asked Drummond.

  ‘Yes. At least, I think so. There’s such a queer look in his eyes.’

  ‘I wonder,’ began Drummond thoughtfully, only to break off as he saw Manton returning.

  ‘My uncle wants me to apologize for him,’ he said as he joined them, ‘but he thinks he will have his dinner in his study.’

  ‘I do hope we’re not being an infernal nuisance,’ remarked Drummond to the girl.

  ‘Not a bit,’ she answered. ‘Have you told Simmonds?’ she asked Manton.

  ‘I have. And now what does anybody say to a drink? Sherry? Gin and French? Will you fellows help yourselves?’

  ‘I’d rather like to wash my hands, if I may,’ said Drummond. ‘Messing about with a car doesn’t improve them.’

  ‘Of course. How stupid of me not to have thought. I’ll show you both the way.’

  * * * *

  ‘What do you make of it, Algy?’ remarked Drummond when Manton had left them. ‘Can there be anything in the girl’s idea that Manton doesn’t want his uncle to see a doctor?’

  ‘Ask me another, old boy. He certainly doesn’t seem to want to see us.’

  ‘Or Manton doesn’t want him to.’

  ‘But what’s the motive, Hugh? What’s the great idea?’

  Drummond was whistling softly under his breath. ‘I’d very much like a glimpse of Mr. Greston,’ he said at length.

  ‘Short of gatecrashing the study, I don’t see how you’re going to get one,’ remarked Algy as he dried his hands. ‘Incidentally, what do you think of Manton?’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Drummond. ‘But I’m flummoxed the same as you, Algy. What’s the great idea? If it is Manton who doesn’t want the old man to see a doctor or to see us, what is his object? He can’t be poisoning him: the Manton breed don’t murder. Or are we both barking up the wrong tree, and making a mystery where no mystery exists? Don’t forget that we’re basing everything on what the girl has told us. And she, bless her heart, may be exaggerating without meaning to in the least.’

  ‘I don’t think she is, Hugh,’ said Algy decidedly. ‘I believe that there is some funny stuff going on. But what or why, has me guessing.’

  ‘Then what are we going to do about it? We can’t make any excuse for stopping on after dinner when the car is repaired. Moreover, I don’t see that we’re going to find out anything more if we do. We’ve already vetted Manton, and we’re not going to see the uncle.’

  ‘Let’s wait and see,’ said Algy. Something may happen. And in the meantime I require alcohol.’

  They went back into the hall to find Manton alone.

  ‘I fear,’ he remarked as they joined him with their drinks, ‘that my dear little cousin is worrying herself unnecessarily over her uncle. I suppose you know about the tragedy of his son?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Algy. ‘Very sad, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Well, there is no doubt that since then he has been a little queer and moody. Like tonight, for instance. He just felt he didn’t want to meet strangers. But it’s no case for a doctor. In fact, with a man of my uncle’s temperament, a doctor would only make matters worse.’

  ‘Quite,’ remarked Drummond. ‘Over things like that I think that a man is generally the best judge. Algy was telling me about the son while we were washing. A terrible thing. What happened to the woman?’

  ‘I don’t know at all. She must, I gather, have been a pretty poor specimen.’

  ‘I was told her name once,’ said Algy.

  ‘Yes, I heard it too,’ remarked Manton, ‘but it slips my memory. Careful: here’s my cousin.’

  The girl was coming down the stairs, and the men made way for her by the fire.

  ‘Would you get me a glass of sherry, please, Hubert?’ she said.

  ‘With pleasure,’ he answered, crossing the hall.

  And as he did so, like a flash, she handed Drummond a note, with an imperative sign for him to put it in his pocket. That she was upset about something he could see, but when Manton returned with the sherry, she was talking ordinary banalities about plays. And shortly after they went in to dinner, the note still unread.

  He got his chance over the fish. Algy, who had seen the whole thing, had corne
red Manton; and under cover of talking to the girl Hugh read the contents.

  ‘My bedroom door has been tampered with. The key won’t turn.’

  Drummond’s face was quite expressionless as he continued his dinner, though his brain was working at pressure. He realized at once that that simple little statement put everything on a very different basis. Whatever he might have thought before, by no possibility could the girl be exaggerating over such a point as that. The matter had definitely assumed a very sinister aspect.

  That Hubert Manton had been monkeying with the key for purposes the reverse of honourable he dismissed as unlikely. The gentleman was certainly not a fool, and if ever a cast iron certain raspberry was assured over tricks of that sort, the present case was it. No: he felt convinced that that was not the reason. So what was it?

  The native servant—did he supply the clue? Possibly: possibly not. The uncle? Again possibly: possibly not. And the more he thought about it, the more clear did it become to him that there was only one method of solving the problem—to let the problem solve itself after suitable precautions had been taken. And to do that it was essential that no suspicions should be aroused.

  The first difficulty was to get a word with the girl alone. The conversation had become general, but in any case he was too far away for her to attempt to say anything at the table. And it was not until the port had circulated that the problem was solved by the sudden appearance of Chang, who whispered something to his master.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Manton, rising. ‘My uncle wishes to see me about something.’

  ‘May Allah be praised,’ said Drummond as he left the room. ‘Listen: there’s not a moment to be lost. Can we get into your room from outside, Miss Porter?’

  ‘Yes. If Algy gets on your shoulders he can reach the balcony outside the window.’

  ‘Good. When you go to bed, show a light so that we shall know the room. Get undressed and go to another room. Lock yourself in. Got that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Algy, you have a married sister at Hunstanton who knows Miss Porter well. Ask Miss Porter to go over and stay with her tomorrow for a few days to play golf. Do it in front of Manton. Your sister is not on the phone, so we can’t fix it tonight. All set?’

  ‘All set.’

  ‘And you’re to accept, Miss Porter.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘That’s simply grand,’ said Algy as the door opened and Manton returned. ‘Mary will love to see you again, my pet. Come over tomorrow and bring your mallets. We’ll have some foursomes and you stop as long as you like.’

  ‘Going on a visit, Marjorie?’ remarked Manton as he sat down.

  ‘Mr. Longworth is suggesting that I should go over and stay with his married sister whom I was at school with. I’d love to, Algy.’

  ‘If only the old girl was on the phone we could have fixed it for you to come with us tonight,’ continued Algy. ‘But as it is, we’d better make it tomorrow. You don’t happen to know,’ he went on, turning to Manton, ‘if they’ve brought the bus up?’

  ‘It’s outside the door. Magneto trouble, I gather.’

  ‘Then I’d better go and pay the warrior,’ said Algy.

  ‘And we had better push on,’ remarked Drummond, ‘or Mary will be wondering what’s become of us. A thousand thanks, Miss Porter, for feeding us. And we’ll be seeing you tomorrow. Goodbye, Mr. Manton. I hope Mr. Greston will be quite recovered by the morning.’

  ‘What’s the game, Hugh?’ said Algy as they spun down the drive.

  ‘The note that girl passed me said that her door had been interfered with and she couldn’t lock it,’ answered Drummond. ‘I don’t like it, Algy. So there is only one thing to do. Take her place in her bedroom tonight and see if anything happens. By letting it be thought that she is leaving tomorrow, it may precipitate matters.’

  ‘So she wasn’t exaggerating,’ said Algy thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it’s safe leaving her there now.’

  ‘I can’t think that anything is likely to occur until the staff has gone to bed. Have you got any rope in the car? You have? Good. Then we’ll park the bus somewhere and go back to the house. And when the time comes, you get on to the balcony first, fix the rope, and I’ll swarm up.’

  They had not long to wait, and luckily the night was warm. Just after eleven had struck from a church in the distance a light went on in a room on the first floor and they saw the girl framed in the window. Then she withdrew and they could see her shadow as she moved about.

  ‘Give her ten minutes,’ muttered Drummond, ‘and then we’ll get in.’

  But ten minutes passed; fifteen; twenty, and the light still remained on, though no longer was there any sign of her shadow.

  ‘She can’t be taking all this time,’ said Drummond uneasily. ‘We’ll have to chance it, Algy. Can’t help it if she’s not in a rig to receive visitors.’

  They crossed the lawn swiftly, and Drummond hoisted Algy on to his back. And a moment later Algy was astride the parapet outside the window.

  ‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘She’s gone.’

  He paid out the rope and Drummond joined him.

  ‘Why the devil did she leave the light on?’ he muttered. And then he gave a sudden gasp. ‘My God! Look there.’

  Sticking out from the other side of her bed were her legs. She was lying on the floor in her dressing-gown, and as they dropped on their knees beside her they each gave a sigh of relief. For she was not dead, but her breathing was heavy and stentorious. And on the table beside the bed stood a tumbler of milk, half drunk.

  ‘Drugged,’ said Drummond shortly. ‘Which complicates matters a little. Not knowing the house, we can’t put her in another room.’

  ‘We’d better lift her on to the bed, anyway,’ remarked Algy.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Drummond. ‘If anything is going to happen that’s where they would expect her to be. We’ll put her in that cupboard, and then we will await developments, which are bound to occur. They can’t have doped her for nothing.’

  The cupboard was amply big enough, and they made her as comfortable as they could with cushions. Then, switching off the light, they took up their positions in the corner between the cupboard and the wall. And only just in time. Hardly had they got there when the door opened and someone came cautiously in.

  ‘Missie. Missie. Wake up. Wake up.’

  ‘Chang,’ breathed Drummond.

  ‘Missie. Wake up.’

  * * * *

  The beam of a torch flashed on the bed, and they heard a little gasp of astonishment. Then it travelled round the room, pausing for a moment on the chair where her clothes were thrown. Came a chuckle, and as silently as he had come Chang withdrew, though to their surprise he did not close the door.

  ‘We’re certainly in the front row of the stalls,’ muttered Drummond. ‘What on earth is that peculiar noise?’

  From the passage outside there came sounds as of a sack being pulled along. They came to the door and into the room. Then they heard a heave, and the creaking of the bed as something heavy was put on it. Once again came a chuckle, and the door was softly shut. Chang had departed.

  ‘This requires investigation,’ whispered Drummond, taking his own torch out of his pocket. ‘My sainted aunt!’ he muttered as the light picked up the bed. ‘Look at that.’

  Lying there, in what appeared to be a drunken stupor, was Hubert Manton.

  ‘This, my dear old Hugh,’ remarked Algy at length, ‘is beyond my form. Why should Chang deposit the unconscious body of his master on Marjorie Porter’s bed?’

  ‘I’m thinking that we shall know before the night is much older,’ said Drummond gravely. ‘Help me to put Manton on the floor. As I said, I don’t think that bed is going to be a healthy place.’

  They laid him down on the floor, so that the bed came between him and the door: then they again took up their position in the corner by the cupboard. The curtains were eddying in the faint breeze; save for that the house was sil
ent. And then suddenly a board creaked in the passage outside.

  ‘It’s coming.’

  Another creak, nearer this time; then the handle was softly turned, and the door began to open. Suddenly it was flung wide, and something bounded into the room. They heard a terrific thud on the bed, and Drummond switched on his torch. Confronting them was a huge, gaunt man holding a crowbar in his hand. His eyes were wild and staring, his face was twitching. And after blinking at the light for a second or two he twirled the crowbar round his head as if it was a walking stick and hit at the torch furiously.

  Drummond side-stepped coolly; all the instincts that go to make the perfect fighting machine were alert. And there was need for them to be: an immensely powerful madman is not a pleasant customer to handle.

  The maniac lunged again at the darkness behind the torch, and Drummond saw his chance.

  ‘Light, Algy,’ he said quietly, and dived straight at the big man’s knees, bringing him down with a crash just as Algy switched on. The crowbar flew across the floor, but the madman was not finished. He scrambled to his feet and rushed at Drummond, but at that game there could only be one result. A straight left caught him on the point of the jaw and he went down as if he had been pole-axed.

  ‘And this is the poor devil whom Manton described as being a little nervous and irritable,’ said Drummond grimly. ‘Just lash his legs, Algy, with our bit of rope: I’m taking no chances with that gentleman. And then we’ll get on with it. It seems to me that much remains to be elucidated over this night’s work.’

  ‘And it seems to me,’ remarked Algy, ‘that Chang is the man to do the elucidation. What’s the game, you black devil?’

  The native was standing in the doorway staring in amazement at the bound man. Then he glided round the bed and saw Manton. And involuntarily Drummond took a step towards him. For as he looked at his master there came into his face an expression of such rage and hatred that he almost ceased to be human. But it vanished as quickly as it came, and when he turned to the two men he was once again the impassive oriental.