Buldog Drummond At Bay

by Sapper

  He rose and went to the telephone, to return a few minutes later.

  “Definitely no one,” he said. “The Yard people were a bit curious as to why I asked, but I rode ’em off. I want to be on rather firmer ground before bringing them in.”

  “Do you think the brick bunger is the Guiseppi of the piece?”

  “It’s possible. Though it makes it difficult to follow. They got him back: that you saw with your own eyes. So what more did they want?”

  “The message he threw through the window.”

  “True, old boy. But why, if he’s the Guiseppi this time, should he throw a message through the window? If he was the traitor, already badly wounded, and trying to get away with his life, why bung a cryptic and incomprehensible message into a cottage? Surely on seeing the light his first instinct would have been to come to the occupants for sanctuary.”

  “But that’s what defeats me whoever the bird was,” cried Drummond. “In any event why didn’t he come inside?”

  Standish lit a cigarette thoughtfully.

  “The point has been puzzling me ever since I first heard it from Peter,” he said. “And I can think of only one solution. We must assume that the man was sane: the message, though we can’t understand it at present, was not gibberish. This man, then, by some means which we don’t know escaped from Emil and Co., and was wounded in doing so. He knew they were utterly unscrupulous and would stick at nothing. And so he reasoned as follows: ‘If I go into that cottage and am found there they will think nothing of killing the occupants of the cottage in order to prevent the smallest chance of those occupants passing on the information which they will assume I have told them. And there goes my last hope of getting that information through. I will therefore throw a message in and go on myself in the hope that it will be found by the occupant and not by Emil and his friends.’ Which incidentally is just what happened.”

  Drummond nodded.

  “That’s so. Through a sheer fluke.”

  Standish shrugged his shoulders.

  “One has always got to take a chance,” he remarked. “It came off, and that’s all that matters. And it’s not he who worries me most: it’s the girl. I can’t place her. She tries to dope your tea; she makes every endeavour she can to get hold of the message. OK so far. Nothing inconsistent up to date. On the way back she tells you about the Key Club.”

  “Reviling the institution good and hearty,” put in Drummond.

  “That may or may not mean anything: the point is that she brought up the subject. Why? She could have put up her little fairy tale about Harold without mentioning the Key Club at all. And if she is on their side…”

  He relapsed into silence and the other two stared at him.

  “Surely she must be,” cried Drummond.

  “Something to it, Hugh,” said Darrell. “You know what that bird told us this afternoon: she was drugged as well as Mrs Eskdale.”

  “It’s this way,” said Standish. “Her actions to start with don’t tally with her later ones. To begin with she seems to be on the side of this man Emil; subsequently she seems against him.”

  “Always provided it was Emil who did the drugging,” put in Drummond.

  And at that moment the hall porter put his head round the corner.

  “One of you gentlemen named Captain Drummond?” he asked.

  “What do you want, porter?” said Drummond.

  “Telephone call from London, sir.”

  “How the devil does anyone know I’m here?” cried Drummond in surprise.

  “May be Denny, Hugh,” said Darrell. “I told him to put a call through in case the old lady came round.”

  Drummond nodded and went off to the box.

  “It’s a puzzler, Peter,” remarked Standish. “Why did that girl go back to the cottage this afternoon?”

  “All Hugh and I could arrive at was that she wanted to verify the wire,” said Darrell.

  “But why? What should have made her suspicious? She must have believed it to be genuine when she got it, or she wouldn’t have acted as she did. What made her change her mind? And stranger still. If she was allowed to receive it in the first instance without anyone bothering, why should there be this feverish excitement over her getting it repeated?”

  “Ask me another. The whole thing has got me guessing. Where does this tall bloke come in? It must have been him who stabbed that wretched devil. Is he one of this criminal bunch at the top that you were talking about? Because unless that man he killed was the world’s best actor, I’ll swear he’d never even heard of the Key Club.”

  “It oughtn’t to be difficult to get a line on him,” said Standish. “What was it, Hugh?”

  “Denny right enough,” said Drummond, rejoining them. “Nannie has recovered. It was the telegram the girl went back about. I’ve just been talking to Nannie herself.”

  “How is the old dear?” asked Darrell.

  “She’s all right. Still got the twitters a bit. It seems the girl arrived about five minutes before the men did. Nannie was upstairs changing her dress, and the girl waited in the parlour.”

  “Where presumably she read the wire as you sent it to Mrs Eskdale,” said Standish.

  “No,” answered Drummond. “I specially asked her that. The old lady had torn it up. All the girl wanted to see was the original message that had come through the window. Which put Nannie, somewhat naturally, in a quandary as she hadn’t any message. And then, before the old lady realised what was happening, the man appeared on the scene, and she remembers nothing more.”

  Standish started to pace up and down with his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

  “This beats me,” he said. “Why should the girl have wanted to see the original message? If, which is extremely unlikely, she had discovered it was Coldspur’s tip she would have realised that you had been fooling her, Hugh, from the word ‘go.’ What possible object could there be in that case of her going back to the cottage? If, on the other hand, she still believed the wire to be genuine, why bother to confirm it? You think, Peter, to make sure there was no mistake in it. Perhaps you’re right. But then – why drug her? It doesn’t make sense to me. She was allowed to handle and read the wire in the morning, and she is doped when she tries to see the original in the afternoon. By Jove! chaps, there are some mighty rum points about this show. Is this man Meredith really the girl’s uncle? Where does he stand with regard to Emil? Where do both of ’em stand with regard to Hugh’s tall friend? Are they two separate gangs, and where does the Key Club come in? Is the girl with one and against the other, or is she against them both? If so, what is her game?”

  “There’s another thing, too, that I can’t understand,” said Drummond. “No one is fonder of a thick-ear party than I am, but one doesn’t go about slaughtering people unless there’s a good reason. Why then is that tall swine so matey? Particularly with me. If they think…”

  He broke off abruptly.

  “Hullo! young feller, what do you want? Ronald – this is my friend Mr Seymour of journalistic fame.”

  The youngster gave a sheepish grin.

  “Well, sir,” he said, “I remembered what you’d said about passing on that information. So after I’d handed in the stuff to the sub-editor I went into a pub in Belmoreton. And I heard Tom the barman talking about Mrs Eskdale, and saying what a funny thing it was she’d taken to racing. So I pricked up my ears and asked a few questions. And it turned out that the man in the post office, who always has a bit on every day, had been in there at lunch and had remarked on Mrs Eskdale having sent a wire containing a racing tip. Joe wouldn’t have thought any more about it but for the fact that a stranger in the corner seemed very interested, and asked a lot of questions. The man from the post office got suspicious and shut up, but the stranger went straight away into the telephone box, and put through a long-distance call. At least Joe thought it must have been long-distance owing to the time it took.”

  “What time was this, Seymour?” said Drummond.

&
nbsp; “I suppose about midday, sir, or half-past twelve.”

  “How do you fit that in, Ronald?”

  “What time did the wire arrive at Hartley Court?” asked Standish.

  “Just about midday too,” said Drummond.

  “So that you had left Hartley Court before there was any possibility of this telephone message saying the wire was a fake reaching the other side.”

  He turned to Seymour.

  “Did your friend Tom, the potman, happen to mention any specific question the stranger had put?”

  “Apparently he was very anxious to find out whom the wire had been sent to.”

  “And did the post office man tell him?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, sir. But I know that he did say it was a Morning Leader tip, and that Coldspur was dead out of form just now.”

  Standish rubbed his hands together.

  “Things became a trifle clearer, Hugh,” he said. “They saw at once that the only person who could possibly have inspired the worthy Mrs Eskdale to send a bogus wire was you yourself. And therefore they realised you had been fooling ’em. Hence the target practice this afternoon. What, however, is not so clear – in fact this information has increased the fog – is their treatment of the girl. It’s difficult enough to see why they should have drugged her when they thought it was all genuine. But why they should do so if they knew it was a fake is beyond me. If what Seymour tells us is correct – and from the activity over there this afternoon I’m sure it is – they must have known there was no message at all at the cottage.”

  “So must the girl,” objected Darrell.

  “I wonder,” said Standish slowly. “I wonder. Supposing she didn’t know anything about it: supposing she believed the wire to be genuine. She goes back to the cottage to make sure, and for some reason or other that action arouses their suspicions. Alternatively, suppose they don’t want her to find out the message is a dud… I know it’s difficult to follow, but when you come across an apparently inexplicable fact, you must be prepared to accept an equally inexplicable solution. If it fits… In short, have we a parallel with the Guiseppi case? Is this girl the counterpart of Johnstone? If so…”

  He paused and his face was grave.

  “You mean she may be in danger,” said Drummond.

  “Exactly. And I don’t like it. Not one little bit. Men who indulge in gun practice on an open road are not likely to entertain many scruples over a mere girl. Look here, Seymour,” he continued, “you’d better get back, and do exactly what Captain Drummond told you. You did excellently in bringing us this information; it’s most valuable.”

  The youngster’s face flushed with pleasure and Drummond smiled at him.

  “You shall have your scoop, young feller,” he said. “Keep your ears open and your mouth shut. A good boy,” he went on, as the roar of a motor bicycle announced his departure. “He may prove useful. What’s the next move, sergeant-major? So far as I can see, everything we’ve done up to date has been a waste of time.”

  “Let’s adjourn to the abode of drink,” answered Standish, “where in the intervals of lowering a couple we might hear some local gossip.”

  The three men crossed the lounge and entered the bar, which was deserted.

  “Good evening, bright eyes,” said Drummond. “Will you with your own fair hands decant some sherry?”

  “Dry or sweet?” asked the barmaid.

  “Dry, darling. Tell me, have you ever in the course of your peregrinations round the smiling countryside gone past a house called Hartley Court?”

  “Hartley Court,” cried the girl, “belongs to Doctor Belfage.”

  “I had an idea that a man called Meredith was living there at present,” said Drummond.

  “Very likely. The doctor often lets it to the racing set. Two and six, please! At least, I suppose he didn’t ought to be called a doctor no more.”

  “Dear, dear,” cried Drummond. “Has he blotted his copy-book?”

  “Not half he hasn’t. Got struck off the register about a year ago. Fair scandal there was, I can tell you.”

  “How very reprehensible,” remarked Drummond.

  “Nasty little man he was, too,” continued the girl. “I wouldn’t have had him near me: him and his beastly animals. Had a sort of zoo, he did. Taken ’em with him to his other house.”

  “And where might that be?” asked Drummond idly.

  “Good gracious me,” muttered the girl. “Talk of the devil…”

  A short, stout man had entered the bar. His face was round and puffy; his appearance oily and smug.

  “Good evening, my dear,” he said, washing his hands with invisible soap. “I think – yes, I think – a little drop of auntie’s ruin with some Angostura bitters in it. Been a lovely day, gentlemen.”

  “Very,” answered Drummond curtly, and glanced at Standish, whose face was expressionless.

  In the lapel of Doctor Belfage’s coat was a small bronze key.

  Chapter 7

  “Funny, isn’t it,” remarked the barmaid, “that you should have been saying… Now then, clumsy, look where you’re putting your great fat hands.”

  “A thousand apologies, my dear,” cried Standish, picking up the glass he had knocked over. “Let’s have the other half. It is strange, sir,” he continued affably, “that just before you came in we were remarking on the fact that outside the Navy one so rarely sees the good homely pink gin being drunk. Cocktails, yes: gin and French: sherry.”

  He rambled on, and the barmaid after one quick look of surprise took her cue.

  “And, by the way, sir,” Standish was saying, “if it’s not an impertinent question on my part, may I ask if that badge you are wearing in your coat has any special significance?”

  “It certainly has, sir,” answered the other. “It is the badge of a society to which I belong, and a meeting of which I am actually attending tonight.”

  “Indeed,” said Standish politely. “Some local organisation, I suppose?”

  “Far from it, I assure you. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say that its ramifications extend all over the world. The Key Club, sir, so called because it symbolises the unlocking of the door into an improved world. Many of the undergraduates here belong to it; there is no entrance fee, and membership is open to all regardless of social position.”

  “Most interesting,” remarked Standish. “Some time I must make further inquiries about it.”

  “Would you care to come to the meeting this evening – you and your friends?” asked the doctor. “There will be no difficulty about it at all. Strictly speaking each member is allowed only one guest, but I can easily arrange for other people to sponsor two of you.”

  “That is very good of you,” said Standish. “Where is the meeting being held?”

  “At a house of mine called Hartley Court. It is at present let, but the tenant is a keen member of the Key Club himself.”

  He glanced at his watch.

  “We shall just be in nice time if we start now,” he continued. “The house is about three miles out of Cambridge.”

  He looked at them inquiringly, and Drummond shook his head.

  “I’m afraid I shan’t be able to avail myself of your kind offer,” he remarked. “I’ve got to be pushing off for London shortly. But why don’t you two fellows go? It ought to be rather interesting.”

  “Peter can’t very well,” said Standish. “You’ve got that bloke coming in at ten, old boy.”

  “So I have,” cried Darrell. “Forgotten all about him till you mentioned it.”

  “But I’d like to come very much,” said Standish, lighting a cigarette. “I suppose it won’t be a very late show?”

  “About eleven o’clock. And then we have an informal talk, with light refreshments. Well, good night, gentlemen.” He bowed to Drummond and Darrell. “I’m sorry you can’t come.”

  The door closed behind him and Standish, and immediately the barmaid became agog with excitement.

  “What’s
the game?” she cried. “What are you boys up to? Be sports and tell. I played up over that pink gin.”

  “You did indeed, my dear,” said Drummond. “And I’d tell you like a shot what we were up to if I knew myself. I mean it, really; I promise you.”

  “Tell that to the marines,” she scoffed. “Why didn’t you want that little horror to know you’d been asking me about Hartley Court? Him and his improved world! I nearly gave the show away then by laughing. Look here,” she said shrewdly, “is there something crooked on? Are you guys detectives?”

  “We are not,” laughed Drummond. “But…”

  He paused as a page-boy came into the bar with a letter.

  “Given me by a gent, sir, what’s just left.”

  Drummond opened it, and found a hastily scrawled note from Standish.

  Safer neither of you come: even Peter might be recognised. Don’t know if clumsy trap or pure coincidence. Be on hand outside. Keep that barmaid’s mouth shut. Am taking Peter’s car. RS.

  He read it and handed it to Darrell.

  “No, my dear,” he said, “we are not detectives. At the same time, you can take it from me that there is a bit more in this than meets the eye. And I want you, please, to promise me something. It’s really very important. I want you to promise that you won’t say a word about it to a soul. There’s a big bet on, and if you keep quiet there’s a spot of money in it for me, and a fiver in it for you.”

  “A fiver! Big boy, for a fiver an oyster would deafen you compared to me. For all that, I wish you’d tell.”

  “Honest, kid, there’s nothing to tell as yet. Thumbs crossed. Later on there may be lots, and you’re for the front row of the stalls… A bit rum, Peter,” he went on thoughtfully, “having a debagged doctor in a moral uplift society.”

  “Probably joined before he got the bird,” said Darrell. “May have been useful to him in his practice.”

  “I’ve seen other guys wearing that little key,” announced the barmaid. “Undergraduates mostly. I thought it was some University club. Pretty pimply-looking lot they were.”

  “Do you know where that little man lives now?” asked Drummond.