The Black Gang

by Sapper

  “From unofficial inquiries I had carried out we came to the conclusion that this mysterious Black Gang was a reality, and that, further, it was intimately connected with these disappearances. But we also came to the conclusion that the ideals and objects of this gang were in every way desirable. Such a thing, of course, could not be admitted officially: the abduction of anyone is a criminal offence. But we came to the conclusion that the Black Gang was undoubtedly an extremely powerful and ably led, organisation whose object was simply and solely to fight the Red element in England. The means they adopted were undoubtedly illegal – but the results were excellent. Whenever a man appeared preaching Bolshevism, after a few days he simply disappeared. In short, a reign of terror was established amongst the terrorists. And it was to put that right I have no doubt that the Reverend Theodosius Longmoor arrived in this country.”

  Sir Bryan thoughtfully lit another cigarette.

  “To return to the island. McIver went there, and after some little difficulty located it, out of the twenty or thirty to which the description might apply. He found it far from uninhabited, just as that letter says. He found it occupied by some fifty or sixty rabid anarchists – the gentlemen who had so mysteriously disappeared – who were presided over by twenty large demobilised soldiers commanded by an ex-sergeant-major of the Guards. The sixty frenzied anarchists, he gathered, were running a state on communist lines, as interpreted by the ex-sergeant-major. And the interpretation moved even McIver to tears of laughter. It appeared that once every three hours they were all drawn up in a row, and the sergeant-major, with a voice like a bull, would bellow:

  “‘Should the ruling classes have money?’

  “Then they answered in unison – ‘No.’

  “‘Should anyone have money?’ Again they answered ‘No.’

  “‘Should everyone work for the common good for love?’ ‘’Yes.’

  “Whereat he would roar: ‘Well, in this ’ere island there ain’t no ruling classes, and there ain’t no money, and there’s dam’ little love, so go and plant more potatoes, you lop-eared sons of Beelzebub.’”

  “At which point the parade broke up in disorder.”

  Sir John was shaking helplessly.

  “This is a jest, Johnstone. You’re joking.”

  “I’m not,” answered the other. “But I think you’ll admit that the man who started the whole show – the leader of the Black Gang – is a humorist, to put it mildly, who cannot well be spared.”

  “My dear fellow, as I said before, the Cabinet is the only place for him. If only he’d export two or three of my colleagues to this island and let ’em plant potatoes I’d take off my hat to him. Tell me – do I know him?”

  Sir Bryan smiled.

  “I’m not certain: you may. But the point, Haverton, is this. We must take cognisance of the whole thing, if we acknowledge it at all. Therefore shall we assume that everything I have been telling you is a fairy story: that the Black Gang is non-existent – I may say that it will be shortly – and that what has already appeared in the papers is just a hoax by some irresponsible person? Unless we do that there will be a cause célèbre fought out on class prejudice – a most injudicious thing at the present moment. I may say that the island is shut down, and the sixty pioneers have departed to other countries. Also quite a number of those agents whose names are on the list you have have left our shores during the past few days. It is merely up to us to see that they don’t come back. But nothing has come out in the papers: and I don’t want anything to come out either.”

  He paused suddenly, as a cheerful voice was heard in the office outside.

  “Ah! here is one Captain Drummond, whom I asked to come round this morning,” he continued, with a faint smile. “I wonder if you know him.”

  “Drummond?” repeated the other. “Is he a vast fellow with an ugly face?”

  “That’s the man,” said Sir Bryan.

  “I’ve seen him at his aunt’s – old Lady Meltrose. She says he’s the biggest fool in London.”

  Sir Bryan’s smile grew more pronounced as the door opened and Hugh came in.

  “Morning, Tum-tum,” he boomed genially. “How’s the liver and all that?”

  “Morning, Hugh. Do you know Sir John Haverton?”

  “Morning, Sir John. Jolly old Cabinet merry and bright? Or did you all go down on Purple Polly at Goodwood yesterday?”

  Sir John rose a little grimly.

  “We have other things to do besides backing horses, Captain Drummond. I think we have met at Lady Meltrose’s house, haven’t we?”

  “More than likely,” said Hugh affably. “I don’t often dine there: she ropes in such a ghastly crowd of bores, don’t you know.”

  “I feel sure, Captain Drummond, that you’re an admirable judge.” Sir John turned to Sir Bryan Johnstone and held out his hand. “Well, I must be off. Good morning, Johnstone – and you’ve thoroughly roused my curiosity. I’d very much like to know who the gentleman is whom we’ve been discussing. And in the meantime I’ll look through these papers and let you know my decision in due course.”

  He bustled out of the office, and Hugh sank into a chair with a sigh of relief.

  “The old boy’s clothes seem full of body this morning, Tum-tum,” he remarked as the door closed. “Indigestion – or don’t the elastic-sided boots fit?”

  “Do you know what we have been discussing, Hugh?” said the other quietly.

  “Not an earthly, old man. Was it that new one about the girl in the grocer’s shop?”

  “We’ve been discussing the leader of the Black Gang,” said Sir Bryan, with his eyes fixed on the man sprawling in the chair opposite.

  Not by the twitch of a muscle did Drummond’s face change: he seemed engrossed in the task of selecting a cigarette.

  “You’ve been in Deauville, haven’t you, Hugh – the last few days?”

  “Quite right, old man. All among the fairies.”

  “You don’t know that a burglary has taken place at your house in London?”

  “A burglary!” Drummond sat up with a jerk. “Why the deuce hasn’t Denny told me?”

  “A very small one,” said Sir Bryan, “committed by myself, and perhaps he doesn’t know. I took – your typewriter.”

  For a few moments Hugh Drummond stared at him in silence: then his lips began to twitch.

  “I see,” he said at length. “I meant to have that defective “s” repaired.”

  “You took me in, old boy,” continued Sir Bryan, “utterly and absolutely. If it hadn’t been for one of the men at Maybrick Hall turning King’s evidence, I don’t believe I should have found out now.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?” asked Drummond after a pause.

  “Nothing. I was discussing the matter with Sir John this morning, and we both agreed that you either deserved penal servitude or a seat in the Cabinet. And since neither course commends itself to us, we have decided to do nothing. There are reasons, which you will appreciate, against any publicity at the moment. But, Hugh, the Black Gang must cease.”

  Drummond nodded.

  “Carried, nem. con., Tum-tum. It shall automatically dissolve today.”

  “And further,” continued Sir Bryan, “will you relieve my curiosity and tell me what sent Charles Latter mad?”

  “I did,” said Drummond grimly, “as I told that ass McIver over a cocktail at the Regency. He was plotting to blow up three thousand men’s employment, Tum-tum, with gun-cotton. It was at his instigation that four men were killed in Manchester as the result of another outrage. So I lashed him to his bed, and underneath him I put what he thought was a slab of gun-cotton with fuse attached. It wasn’t gun-cotton: it was wood. And he went mad.” He paused for a moment, and then continued. “Now, one for you. Why did you let Carl Peterson escape? I nearly kill
ed him that night, after I’d bayoneted the Russian.”

  “How did you know he had escaped?” demanded Sir Bryan.

  Hugh felt in his pocket and produced a note.

  “Read it,” he said, passing it across the desk.

  “It was a pity you forgot that there might be another key to the padlock, Captain Drummond,” it ran. “And Giuseppi is an old friend of mine. I quite enjoyed our single.”

  Sir Bryan returned the note without a word, and Drummond replaced it in his pocket.

  “That’s twice,” he said quietly, and suddenly the Director of Criminal Investigation, than whom no shrewder judge of men lived, saw and understood the real Drummond below the surface of inanity – the real Drunmond, cool, resourceful, and inflexible of will – the real Drummond who was capable of organising and carrying through anything and everything once he had set his mind to it.

  “That’s twice,” he repeated, still in the same quiet tone. “Next time – I win.”

  “But no more Black Gang, Hugh,” said the other warningly.

  Drummond waved a huge hand. “I have spoken, Tum-tum. A rose by any other name, perhaps – but no more Black Gang.”

  He rose and grinned at his friend.

  “It’s deuced good of you, old man, and all that…”

  The eyes of the two men met.

  “If it was found out, I should be looking for another job,” remarked Sir Bryan dryly. “And perhaps I should not get the two thousand pounds which I understand the widow of the late lamented Ginger Martin has received anonymously.”

  “Shut up,” said Drummond awkwardly.

  “Delighted, old man,” returned the other. “But the police in that district are demanding a rise of pay. She has been drunk and disorderly five times in the last week.”

  To those strong-minded individuals who habitually read the entrancing chit-chat of Mrs Tattle in The Daily Observer, there appeared the following morning a delightful description of the last big fancy-dress ball of the season held at the Albert Hall the preceding night. Much of it may be passed over as unworthy of perpetuation, but the concluding paragraph had its points of interest.

  “Half-way through the evening,” she wrote in her breezy way, “just as I was consuming an ice in one hand with the Duchess of Sussex, and nibbling the last of the asparagus in the other with the Princess of Montevideo, tastefully disguised as an umbrella-stand, we were treated to the thrill of the evening. It seemed as if suddenly there sprang up all round the room a mass of mysterious figures clothed from head to foot in black. The dear Princess grew quite hysterical, and began to wonder if it was a ‘hold up’ as she so graphically described it. In fact, for safety, she secreted the glass-headed parasol – the only remaining heirloom of the Royal House – and which formed a prominent part of her costume, behind a neighbouring palm. Whispers of the mysterious Black Gang were heard on all sides, but we were soon reassured. Belovd’st, they all carried champagne bottles! Wasn’t it too, too thrilling!! And after a while they all formed up in a row, and at a word from the leader – a huge man, my dears, puffectly ’uge – they discharged the corks in a volley at one of the boxes, which sheltered no less than two celebrities – Sir Bryan Johnstone, the chief of all the policemen, and Sir John Haverton, the Home Secretary. It is rumoured that one of the corks became embedded in Sir John’s right eye – but rumour is a lying jade, is not she? Anyway loud sounds of revelry and mirth were heard proceeding from the box, and going a little later to powder my nose I distinctly saw Sir John being taught the intricacies of the fox-trot by the huge man in the passage. Presumably the cork had by then been removed from his eye, but one never knows, does one? Anything can happen at an Albert Hall ball, especially at the end of the season.”

  Series Information

  Dates given are for year of first publication.

  'Bulldog Drummond' Series

  These Titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

  1. Bulldog Drummond 1920

  2. The Black Gang 1922

  3. The Third Round 1924

  4. The Final Count 1926

  5. The Female of the Species 1928

  6. Temple Tower 1929

  7. The Return of Bulldog Drummond 1932

  8. Knock Out 1933

  9. Bulldog Drummond At Bay 1935

  10. Challenge 1937

  'Ronald Standish' Series

  These Titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

  1. Knock Out 1933

  2. Ask For Ronald Standish 1936

  3. Challenge 1937

  'Jim Maitland'

  These Titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

  1. Jim Maitland 1933

  2. The Island of Terror 1937

  Synopses - All Titles

  Published by House of Stratus

  Ask for Ronald Standish

  Introducing debonair detective, Ronald Standish – good-looking, refined, and wealthy enough to be selective in taking cases that are of special interest to him. There are twelve tales in this compelling collection, written by the creator of Bulldog Drummond, who once more proves his mastery with the cream of detection.

  The Black Gang

  Although the First World War is over, it seems that the hostilities are not, and when Captain Hugh ‘Bulldog’ Drummond discovers that a stint of bribery and blackmail is undermining England’s democratic tradition, he forms the Black Gang, bent on tracking down the perpetrators of such plots. They set a trap to lure the criminal mastermind behind these subversive attacks to England, and all is going to plan until Bulldog Drummond accepts an invitation to tea at the Ritz with a charming American clergyman and his dowdy daughter.

  Bulldog Drummond

  ‘Demobilised officer, finding peace incredibly tedious, would welcome diversion. Legitimate, if possible; but crime, if of a comparatively humorous description, no objection. Excitement essential... Reply at once Box X10.’

  Hungry for adventure following the First World War, Captain Hugh ‘Bulldog’ Drummond begins a career as the invincible protectorate of his country. His first reply comes from a beautiful young woman, who sends him racing off to investigate what at first looks like blackmail but turns out to be far more complicated and dangerous. The rescue of a kidnapped millionaire, found with his thumbs horribly mangled, leads Drummond to the discovery of a political conspiracy of awesome scope and villainy, masterminded by the ruthless Carl Peterson.

  Bulldog Drummond At Bay

  While Hugh ‘Bulldog’ Drummond is staying in an old cottage for a peaceful few days duck-shooting, he is disturbed one night by the sound of men shouting, followed by a large stone that comes crashing through the window. When he goes outside to investigate, he finds a patch of blood in the road, and is questioned by two men who tell him that they are chasing a lunatic who has escaped from the nearby asylum. Drummond plays dumb, but is determined to investigate in his inimitable style when he discovers a cryptic message.

  Challenge

  When Colonel Henry Talbot summons Bulldog Drummond and Ronald Standish, it is to inform them of the mysterious death of one of their colleagues – Jimmy Latimer. At the time of his death, he was on a big job, and was travelling on a boat to Newhaven when he died. But there was no sign of any wound, no trace of any weapon when they found him in his cabin. What strikes Drummond and Standish is why millionaire, Charles Burton, would have been travelling on the same boat – arguably the most uncomfortable crossing he could choose and very out-of-character.

  The Dinner Club

  A fascinating collection of tales, including stories related by members of a select club consisting of an actor, a barrister, a doctor, a soldier, a writer and an ‘ordinary man’. Each member of this club is obliged to entertain his fellows to dinner from time to time, after which he relates a story connected with his profession or trade – the only penalty is a donation to a worthy charity should he
fail to keep his audience awake. Readers of these excellent stories may rest assured that there is no such danger.

  The Female of the Species

  Bulldog Drummond has slain his archenemy, Carl Peterson, but Peterson’s mistress lives on and is intent on revenge. Drummond’s wife vanishes, followed by a series of vicious traps set by a malicious adversary, which lead to a hair-raising chase across England, to a sinister house and a fantastic torture-chamber modelled on Stonehenge, with its legend of human sacrifice.

  The Final Count

  When Robin Gaunt, inventor of a terrifyingly powerful weapon of chemical warfare, goes missing, the police suspect that he has ‘sold out’ to the other side. But Bulldog Drummond is convinced of his innocence, and can think of only one man brutal enough to use the weapon to hold the world to ransom. Drummond receives an invitation to a sumptuous dinner-dance aboard an airship that is to mark the beginning of his final battle for triumph.

  The Finger of Fate

  The title story in this wry collection concerns acquaintances Staunton and Barstow, who witness a bizarre spectacle outside a bar in an Austrian village. A thin-lipped aristocrat steps down from his plush horse-drawn vehicle, and commences formidable target-practice on some playing cards – the Five of Hearts and the Five of Spades. Barstow remains utterly still during this peculiar display, and it emerges that he has witnessed this on six consecutive days – the shooter is the husband of his mistress, and he is challenging Barstow to a duel. Further stories of love, revenge, jealousy and fate complete this stirring volume.