Buldog Drummond At Bay

by Sapper

  Drummond grinned happily to himself; life seemed astoundingly good. True, at the moment, the warfare was blind, but he held one very valuable card. He was convinced that the girl had no inkling that he had got her taped. That she suspected him was obvious; the mere fact that he had acted the part of a yokel the previous night, and had lied about the broken window, was sufficient to blot his copy-book.

  “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting all this time,” said the girl when she at length appeared. “But my poor old uncle seems terribly worried.”

  “That’s not so good,” answered Drummond. “What’s the trouble? Has the vicar’s wife ratted from the tennis party?”

  But she remained dead serious.

  “Captain Drummond,” she said, “I hate to bother you. But would you be an absolute dear and take me to Norwich?”

  “Of course,” cried Drummond. “Take you anywhere you like, bless your heart. And it’s very little out of our way. Or do you want me to leave you there?”

  “No, no; I’ve just got to find out something. It won’t take me a moment.”

  “The day is yet young,” said Drummond cheerfully. “Take as many moments as you like.”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was in no mood for conversation. She was staring in front of her, and her fingers were drumming a tattoo on the armrest.

  “It’s damnable,” she burst out once. “Utterly damnable.”

  “I’m sure it is,” he remarked soothingly. “What’s the trouble?”

  But she shook her head.

  “The family skeleton,” she said bitterly. “And it’s driving my uncle into his grave.”

  And not another word was spoken until they reached Norwich.

  “Will you wait for me here,” she said as the car drew up under the shadow of the cathedral. “I’ll be as quick as I possibly can.”

  “Here you will find me,” Drummond assured her, and watched her till she was out of sight. The idea of following her had crossed his mind, only to be dismissed at once. What significance, if any, was to be attached to this unexpected change of route, at the moment was beyond him. But one thing was certain. If he was still to retain his one trump he must do nothing to make her think he suspected her. And to follow her in the broad light of day, when she clearly did not want his company, would be such an outrageous piece of bad taste that it would give him away immediately. So there was nothing for it but to possess his soul in patience until she returned, and then await further developments.

  It was twenty minutes before he saw her coming towards him, and it was obvious her mission had not been a success. Without a word she got into the car, and he started up the engine.

  “Cambridge?” he asked. “Or is there anything else you have to do here?”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve found out what I wanted to know.”

  “I fear the result is not very satisfactory,” said Drummond.

  “Satisfactory,” she cried. “I don’t know how I shall break it to my uncle.’’

  “Look here, Miss Venables,” said Drummond quietly. “I don’t want to barge in, or anything of that sort, but can I be of any assistance? I mean, it’s clear that something is up.”

  For a while she did not answer; then suddenly she seemed to make up her mind.

  “Captain Drummond, have you ever heard of Der Schlüssel Verein?”

  “The – whatever you said. Afraid I haven’t. What does it mean when it’s at home?”

  “Actually it means the Key Club.’’

  “I’m still afraid I haven’t,” said Drummond. “It sounds pretty harmless.”

  She gave a short laugh.

  “You may take it from me that the name is the only thing about it that is harmless. The Key Club is the most dangerous secret society in Europe today.”

  Drummond negotiated a cow with care.

  “The devil they are,’’ he remarked. “I thought secret societies had gone out of fashion some time ago,”

  “Then you thought wrong,” cried the girl bitterly.

  “Well, well – one lives and learns. Anyway, what do these birds mean in your young life?”

  “Nothing in mine actually,” she answered, “but a lot in my uncle’s.’’

  “Is your uncle a foreigner?”

  “Good heavens! no. He’s as English as you or I.”

  Drummond was thinking hard, though his face expressed polite interest. And suddenly it dawned on him that if he still wanted to hold that trump card of his he must, after such an opening, allude to his visitors of the previous night. To keep silent would be tantamount to admitting that he did not trust her.

  “Funny you should talk about foreigners,” he said casually. “I had a visit from two of them last night. Germans.”

  “You had,” she cried, and Drummond gave her full marks for registering amazement. “What on earth did they want with you?”

  “’Pon my soul, Miss Venables, I don’t know. They talked a great deal out of their turn, and a gentleman called Emil…”

  “Emil,” she gasped. “Was he wearing a ring with a blue stone in it?”

  “That’s the cove. Do you know him?”

  “Captain Drummond, he’s one of the big men in the Key Club.”

  “Is he now? He was throwing his weight about all right last night. Took me for a farm labourer, and I did not disillusionise him. He arrived shortly after that drunk I told you about had bunged the brick through the window. It seemed to interest him quite a lot – that brick.”

  “But I don’t understand,” she cried. “Why did you let him think you were a farm labourer?”

  “Saved bother,” answered Drummond casually. “He seemed set on it.”

  “I can’t get this straight at all,” she said. “Why should he worry about a brick?”

  “Extraordinary what some people’s hobbies are,” he remarked. “He seemed all hot and bothered about it. Waved a gun in the atmosphere, and frothed at the mouth. Of course it may have been a pool of blood in the road outside that caused the apoplexy.”

  “A pool of blood!” she echoed. “But was somebody hurt?”

  “Presumably. Blood doesn’t grow on its own. Though, of course, it may have been some animal.”

  “Didn’t you do anything to find out?” she cried.

  “My dear Miss Venables, the mist was so dense you could hardly see your hand in front of your face. Besides, Mr Emil was occupying my attention. He seemed to think I’d got a man concealed about the cottage.”

  “You mean he was chasing someone?”

  “That is undoubtedly the impression he gave me.”

  “I see,” said the girl after a long pause. “Only too clearly, unfortunately.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” remarked Drummond. “For I most certainly don’t. And if you can explain I shall be very grateful.”

  “Do you know who it was I went to see in Norwich?” she said, after another long pause.

  “Haven’t an earthly, bless you. How should I?”

  “The man whose blood was on the road. The man they were chasing.”

  “And did you see him?”

  “No. His landlady told me that two foreigners called for him late last night, and that he went away with them. They’d found him, and then I suppose he somehow escaped from them in the mist. And it was then they came to you. Oh! it will break Uncle John’s heart.”

  Drummond stared at her.

  “What’s Uncle John got to do with it?”

  “It was his son; my first cousin Harold.”

  Drummond whistled thoughtfully.

  “Was it, by Jove! And why, if it isn’t a rude question, should Mr Emil and Co. be chasing your first cousin Harold?”

  “Captain Drummond,” she said suddenly. “I’m going to trust you. Whether I’m doing right or not, I don’t know, but the whole thing has got on my nerves. And now that this has happened, and you have been mixed up in it in such an extraordinary way, I feel I just can�
��t stand it any more. Three years ago Harold went to Germany…”

  “Just a moment, Miss Venables. What sort of a bloke is Harold?”

  “A nice boy, but weak. His mother died when he was born, and Uncle John, though I’m devoted to him, has brought him up very badly. He’s spoiled him abominably all his life, with the inevitable result that Harold is a waster. Well, as I say, he went to Germany three years ago – his one great gift is that he speaks languages perfectly – and there, in some extraordinary way, he got mixed up with that devil Emil and the Key Club. In fact he became a member of the society himself.”

  “Did he? Seems strange that an Englishman was allowed to join a German secret society.”

  “So he ought to have realised,” she admitted. “But he didn’t; until it was too late. He looked on the whole thing as a sort of joke, till one fine day he discovered his mistake. You’ll understand, Captain Drummond, that neither my uncle nor I knew about it at the time; we only found it out quite recently. And though we noticed he was looking haggard and worried, he wouldn’t tell us what was the matter. And then one day I got it out of him. They were bringing pressure on him to supply them with confidential information.”

  “Hold hard a minute,” cried Drummond. “What confidential information could your cousin have access to which would be of any value to them?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain Drummond; I’m telling it badly. I forgot to say that Harold is in the Foreign Office, and so he frequently has the opportunity of seeing important documents.”

  “I get you,” said Drummond. “Please go on.”

  “A fortnight ago it came to a head. I was with my uncle at the time, and Harold suddenly arrived one evening in a pitiable condition. And to make matters worse he’d been drinking, which, to do him justice, is not a vice of his. For a time he was quite incoherent, but at last we got some sort of sense out of him. It was terrible, Captain Drummond; terrible. Apparently these devils, who had hitherto contented themselves with threatening him by letter from Germany, had arrived in this country, and were bringing pressure to bear on him in person. There was some document or other they wanted a copy of, and unless he got it for them he knew what the result would be.’’

  “Why didn’t he go to the police?”

  “Just what my uncle said to him. And then we heard the ghastly truth; he didn’t dare to. He had already sent these men certain information which he had no business to, though he swore on his Bible oath that it was of no real importance. For all that the mere fact that he’d sent anything at all was enough to brand him for life. And these brutes knew it, and were bringing the screw to bear, over something that really was vital – something that it really was traitorous to give away.

  “He was at his wits’ end, Captain Drummond. If he didn’t tell them it meant death; if he did he felt he would never hold up his head again. And so he had taken the only course open to him. Somehow or other he had managed to get three weeks leave, and he’d bolted from London. But now arose the difficulty. He couldn’t stop in my uncle’s house, because they could easily track him there. So he had to go into hiding. And we decided on the rooms in Norwich where I went today.”

  “But how did you know this had happened last night, Miss Venables?” asked Drummond.

  “My uncle told me over the telephone,” she said. “You see this tennis party has been fixed for weeks, and both my uncle and I agreed it would be unwise to postpone it. I’ve been staying with some friends for a few days, and it was when I rang him up to explain why I was late that he told me he had phoned Harold last night and again this morning, and that the only reply he could get was from the landlady to say that Harold’s bed had not been slept in. The rest you know. Somehow or other they got on his tracks, and now…”

  She was rolling her handkerchief into a ball in her hands.

  “Poor old Uncle John! He idolised Harold.”

  “I’m very sorry for both of you,” said Drummond gravely. “In fact it’s the devil and all of a business.”

  “I suppose I oughtn’t to have told you, but somehow or other you look the sort of man one can rely on.”

  “Deuced kind of you to say so, my dear,” cried Drummond genially. “But the thing that is worrying my grey matter is why your cousin should have bunged a rock through the window.”

  “I’ve been thinking of that, Captain Drummond,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you think it possible that he wrapped a piece of paper round it: some message or other, which he hoped you would get?”

  “Good Lord!” cried Drummond, “that’s a darned brainy idea. Now you mention it, that’s probably why our old friend Emil was so interested in the contents of my pockets. And to think I never thought of that.”

  He stole a glance at her: her forehead was puckered in thought. And once again he gave her full marks for her acting. How much of the Harold sob-stuff yarn was true he had no idea: but he had to admit that it was a very plausible tale, very plausibly told. Further, that if he had not seen what he had seen in the mirror; and if the mechanic had not made his illuminating remark about the oil, he would probably have believed it. And if he had believed it, there would have been no reason against passing the message on to her.

  He was growing more and more intrigued over the whole affair, and increasingly anxious to meet Uncle John. The girl by his side was obviously English: would her relative prove the same? Was he even her uncle at all? And what terms was she really on with the man called Emil? In fact only one certainty seemed to him to stand out in the confusion. They had correctly surmised what the stone had been used for, but after that they were floundering in the dark. Had he received the message, or had he not? And to find that out they were obviously prepared to go to considerable lengths.

  He pulled himself together: the girl was speaking again.

  “What’s that?” he cried. “See any sign of a piece of paper? Not a trace. There was certainly nothing wrapped round the stone when it came into the room, so if there was anything there to start with it must have fallen off earlier. In which case it might be somewhere in the garden, unless it has blown away. Pity you didn’t have your brainstorm earlier, Miss Venables: we could have had a look. For if it comes under Mrs Eskdale’s eagle eye it will instantly cease to exist. But in any event I don’t see really that it could prove of much value. What could your cousin have written which would help matters? You’ve got to remember that so far as he knew the house was occupied by a labourer.”

  “He might have found out where they were taking him to, Captain Drummond, and flung the name as a despairing SOS through the first lighted window he saw.”

  Drummond gazed at her in admiration.

  “’Pon my soul, Miss Venables,” he boomed enthusiastically, “it’s a pleasure to work with you. Now I should never have thought of that. SOS, by Jove! That’s the stuff to give the troops.”

  “If we’re going to save him,” she went on, “it’s vital we should know where they’ve taken him to as soon as possible. And I know my uncle won’t want to call in the police.”

  “What about sending a wire to Mrs Eskdale telling her to give the dustbin a once over?” said Drummond helpfully. “The old dear will think I’ve gone bughouse, but what matter.”

  “It can’t do any harm, can it?” cried the girl. “A very good idea, Captain Drummond.”

  “Splendid. We’ll stop at the first post office we come to. Incidentally, I suppose she’d better send the answer to your uncle’s house. What address shall I give her?”

  “Hartley Court is the name of the house. Just Hartley Court, Cambridge, is enough.”

  “And your uncle’s name?”

  “Meredith: he is my mother’s brother.”

  “Right,” cried Drummond. “It shall be attended to. She’s a sensible old dame, and if she finds the paper and there’s anything on it we shall know. Is that a post office ahead? It is. I won’t be long.”

  He pulled up beside the kerb, and leaving the girl sitting in the car he went inside. A fai
nt smile was twitching round his lips, and he stood for a few moments tapping his teeth with the pencil. Then he suddenly gave a little chuckle and seizing a form he began to write quickly. It was a long message, and when it was completed he reread it carefully. It was perfectly clear: Mrs Eskdale could make no mistake. He tore it off the block, removing at the same time the two next forms which he rolled into a ball and threw into the paper basket.

  “If by any chance,” he said to the man behind the counter, “any inquiries are made later in the day about this wire by anyone – it doesn’t matter who it is – you’ll be careful to say nothing, won’t you?”

  “Trust me, sir,” said the operator. “The contents of that there telegram is a secret. Not even the King of England has the right to ask to see it.”

  “Quite, quite,” cried Drummond soothingly. “But it might be put in such a way that it would seem to you that you were doing no harm. But when I tell you there’s a big bet at stake you’ll understand.”

  “Think no more about it, sir. I knows my duty, and I does it.”

  “The deed is done,” said Drummond as he got back into the car. “I’ve asked the old girl to look in the garden for a piece of paper with writing on it, and if she finds anything to wire the contents to your uncle. It should be through in a couple of hours: there’s a post office not far from her Cottage.”

  “Thank you so much,” she cried. “It’s a shame to give you all this trouble.”

  “Devil a bit, bless you. But we’d better get a move on, or your uncle will pair off the wrong people.”

  “He’s cancelled the party, so that doesn’t matter,” she said. “He told me so on the telephone: he felt too worried over Harold, so he’s put them off. For all that I would like to hurry: you see, he doesn’t know what we know.”

  “Of course not,” agreed Drummond. “I’ll stamp on the juice. I make it that we’ve got about twenty more miles to go to Cambridge itself.”

  “The house is about three miles this side,” she said: a spot where even at that moment an earnest council of war was in progress.