Buldog Drummond At Bay

by Sapper

  And even as he spoke the door closed with an ominous clang.

  For a space they all stood motionless staring at it; then Drummond deposited the woman on the table and crossed the room.

  “Trapped,” he said at length. “By all that’s holy! What complete, utter, congenital fools we are. A steel door with a Yale lock.”

  The woman started to whimper again, and with a short laugh Drummond returned to her, and taking out his knife he cut her free.

  “Well, my dear,” he remarked, “that appears to have torn it for the moment. This delightful apartment doesn’t seem to go in for windows, and nothing short of a ton of dynamite would break down that door.”

  “It is terrible,” she moaned. “Terrible. This is, how you say, ze doctor’s room where he do things to people. And ze walls, no noise go through.”

  “Soundproof, is it,” said Standish curtly. “Still, there must be some ventilation somewhere. By the way, this isn’t your pal, is it, Hugh?”

  “Great Scott! no,” said Drummond. “What’s the trouble, my dear? Why had they lashed you up?”

  “Because I find out things zey do not want me to know. Because I say I will tell ze policemen.”

  “What sort of things?” cried Drummond eagerly.

  “Zey have ze men captured – prisonniers. But what does it mattaire?” she burst out wildly. “We are prisonniers ourselves. And ze big man he is a devil. He will kill us all.”

  Drummond patted her on the shoulder reassuringly, and produced his revolver.

  “We may have something to say about that,” he said. “Now listen, mam’selle, do you know who these men are who are prisoners?”

  “No, m’sieur, non. I do not know. One, he is old; the other is of your age. But I do not know who zey are.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “In a big house, m’sieur.” She passed her hand over her forehead. “A big house… M’sieur, I feel so funny.”

  “So do I, by gad!” cried Gregson. “I feel as if I was tight.”

  Drummond sat down suddenly in a chair; he was feeling tight, too. He looked at Standish, and two Standishes were swaying by the wall. Came the sound of a fall behind him, and he tried to turn his head. But he could not, and even as he made a last desperate effort the two Standishes collapsed and lay still.

  His revolver was still within reach, and he tried to pick it up. But his arm would not move: it felt as if it was bound to his side with iron bands. He tried one leg: the same result. So he gave it up, and just sat there inert and helpless.

  He could think, though sluggishly; he could see, though his vision was blurred. And after a while he became aware of a very faint, sweet smell. Gas, he thought hazily; some sort of paralysing gas.

  Suddenly he realised that a man was bending over Standish, a man with a hood over his head. He was doing something to Standish’s hands and feet, and just then he found he was being attended to also. And the amazing thing was that though he could see his hands being lifted and put together, though he could see rope being lashed round them, he could feel absolutely nothing. It was as if his whole body had gone to sleep.

  The men disappeared and Drummond lost count of time. Like a drunken man he stared at Standish lying motionless on the floor, and wondered dully what had happened to the other two. And then, starting in his feet and fingers and spreading gradually up his legs and arms, the most agonising pins and needles set in. It was the return of feeling, but while it lasted he felt as if he was going to burst out of his skin. At length it was over; he found he could turn his head. But he also found that his ankles had been lashed to the legs of the chair, though he had been totally unaware of the fact.

  “Are you all right, Hugh?”

  Standish was regarding him from the floor.

  “I think so,” said Drummond. “How are the others?”

  “I’m OK,” came Darrell’s voice from behind his chair. “But Gregson’s still a bit woozy. The lady appears to have deserted us.”

  “They carted her out,” said Standish, “after they’d lashed me up. Boys, we deserve kicking. We’ve fallen head foremost into one of the most palpable traps I’ve ever thought of, and if what that woman said is right and this room is soundproof, so far as I can see we’re likely to remain in it.”

  “Do you think she was a wrong ’un?” said Drummond.

  “I’m thinking it doesn’t matter much. Right or wrong, she baited the cage all right, and when we suckers were nicely inside they shut the door.”

  “Where did the damned stuff come from?”

  “I don’t know. But there’s a ventilator high up in the wall behind you, and that’s presumably where it’s gone. And since the air seems clear now there must be some inlet. The point is, what the devil are we going to do? Can anybody move?”

  “I can’t for one,” said Drummond. “What’s the time? How long were we under?”

  “Ask me another,” answered Standish. “I should say about half an hour. Look out; the door is opening.”

  “Put them in a row,” came a deep voice that Drummond instantly recognised as Gregoroff’s. The man who had driven the car the previous afternoon was with him, and the Spaniard, and a moment or two later they were joined by Emil Veight.

  “That one,” said Gregoroff, pointing to Darrell, “was with Drummond this afternoon at the cottage. Who are these other two?”

  “I seem to recognise your face,” remarked Veight to Standish. “Who are you?”

  “That is a matter of supreme indifference to everyone except myself,” said Standish casually.

  “Been doing any more shooting, Pansyface?” asked Drummond pleasantly.

  For a second Gregoroff’s eyes rested on him; then they passed on.

  “And that fourth one, who doesn’t seem to have quite recovered. He wasn’t with them at the hotel. However, it is of no consequence.”

  His glance came back to Drummond.

  “It is strange, is it not, how frequently the simplest traps are the most efficacious,” he remarked. “Though I must confess I hardly thought I should bag four of you. By the way, where is the car you stole from me?”

  “I swapped it for some peppermint bull’s-eyes,” answered Drummond with a grin.

  The other’s face remained as mask-like as ever, and he lit a cigarette with great deliberation.

  “You are an extremely foolish man, Captain Drummond,” he said. “I suppose you realise that the four of you are completely in our power.”

  “At the moment it looks like it,” yawned Drummond.

  “I suppose you further realise that you have been annoying me. And I dislike being annoyed. However, since, owing to your unbelievable stupidity, you have afforded us a very valuable test on a matter we are interested in, we have decided to spare your lives under certain conditions. Last night, when you were in your cottage, a stone was thrown through your window. Wrapped round that stone was a message. What was that message? Your chances of life depend entirely on your giving me the correct answer.”

  “Is that so?” said Drummond quietly. “Let us get this matter clear. Assuming for the moment that there was a message wrapped round the stone, and that I tell you its contents, am I to understand that you will release us and that we are free to go?”

  “My dear Captain Drummond,” said Gregoroff with a pitying smile, “you always seem to judge other people’s mentality by your own. You must remember that your veracity on the subject of messages is under a definite cloud. No; you will not be free to go. You are far too much of a nuisance when you’re at large. And so you will remain here until we have finished what we came over to do in this country. It is for you to decide whether your residence in this charming room is for that period or for – perhaps ever is too strong a word, but shall we say for some months or even years? I trust I make myself quite clear. If you give me the correct message, I will give you my promise to notify the authorities where you are to be found. It may not be for some days, but you are four strong men and
a little fasting will do you no harm. In fact, I should think you ought easily to last a fortnight, and I can guarantee to have finished by then. If, on the other hand, you do not give me the correct message, I shall not notify the authorities, with results that may, I fear, prove most unpleasant for you. In fact, as I said, it may be months before you are found. You realise, don’t you, that this room is to all intents and purposes soundproof. You further realise that it is impossible to open that door without the key or suitable tools. And so you see your position.”

  “You’ve overlooked one small point,” remarked Drummond. “The people at the hotel know we’re here.”

  “Apart from the fact that if that was the truth you certainly wouldn’t have mentioned it,” said Gregoroff, “do you really think that that affects matters? Of course you’ve been here, Captain Drummond, and you’ve left. One of my minions will specially inquire for you at the Royal, and will mention that you left here before midnight. I assure you everything has been thought of.”

  “And so you propose to stop on in this house while we starve in here,” said Drummond.

  “Wrong once more,” remarked Gregoroff genially. “When we leave you tonight, we lock up the house and go – elsewhere. So you will be all by yourselves.”

  “Unpleasant for Meredith when we are found.”

  “Why? Unknown to him, you must have returned to the house, and in the course of your unjustifiable exploration shut yourselves in here by mistake. An accident, a terrible accident and a parallel, my dear fellow, to that delightful old tale which I seem to remember. Wasn’t it called the ‘Mistletoe Bough’? About a charming girl playing hide-and-seek who popped into a chest, and being unable to open it from the inside, remained there so long that she died on the rest of the party.”

  “With her feet and hands lashed together!” sneered Drummond.

  “Captain Drummond, you positively pain me. Before we desert you we shall unloose one of you, who will then perform the same office for the rest. You will be perfectly free to move about; to shout, if you wish to, as much as you like. In fact, the only point which you have to decide is the duration of your visit. Is it to be for a few days only, in which case the ill-effects will not be lasting; or do you propose to be foolish?”

  Drummond stared at him thoughtfully; the situation was only too clear. Of the four of them, prisoners in that room, there was only one whose disappearance was likely to cause any comment – Humphrey Gregson. As a serving soldier his absence would be noticed very quickly, but even if it was, what then? He could be traced as far as the Royal; after that the trail vanished. Worse still, if the two undergraduates who had followed them did complain to the police, and gave the number of Gregson’s car, the trail was leading directly away from Hartley Court.

  “I cannot afford to wait all night, Captain Drummond.” Gregoroff was speaking again. “I will give you another two minutes in which to decide. And please be under no delusions. If it was not for the fact that I want to know the contents of that message, I should leave you here to starve like the rats that you are without the smallest compunction. In case, too, that you have hopes in another direction, your two cars will not remain where they are at present.”

  Still Drummond said nothing: his brain was racing feverishly to try and see some loophole of escape. His eyes sought Standish, who shrugged his shoulders.

  “Seems to me they’ve got two to one the better of us, Hugh,” he said.

  “An excellent judge of odds,” remarked Gregoroff.

  “If I do give you the contents of that message,” said Drummond, “what guarantee have we got that you’ll keep your word?”

  “None,” answered Gregoroff calmly. “But, then, you’re hardly in a position to demand guarantees, are you? You’ve just got to chance it.”

  “Very good,” said Drummond after a pause. “I will chance it. And I hope for your sake that the contents of the message mean more in your young life than they do in mine. For none of us has been able to make head or tail of it. It runs as follows: ‘Rosemary BJCDOR.’”

  “Where was the message when I searched you?” demanded Veight.

  “Where I found it afterwards: between the two window-sashes.”

  “And where is it now?”

  “In my head; I burnt it.”

  For a few moments the German and Gregoroff conferred together in low tones; then the Russian swung round on Drummond.

  “Rosemary BJCDOR,” he repeated. “And you don’t know what it means?”

  “I do not,” said Drummond. “It is presumably a code of some sort.”

  Again the two whispered together, and Drummond glanced at Standish. And Standish was studying the Spaniard with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

  “You have no idea who the writer is?” said Gregoroff.

  “Not the slightest,” answered Drummond.

  “Why did you cause that fake message to be sent?”

  “My merry disposition,” said Drummond calmly. “I don’t like you or any of your friends, so I thought I’d have a spot of fun at your expense.”

  “How many other people know of this message?”

  “So far as I know, only the police at Belmoreton. I told them when I reported the death of the wretched bloke who was murdered at the cottage.”

  Gregoroff turned to the chauffeur.

  “Verify that tomorrow,” he said curtly. “And now, Captain Drummond, one or two more questions. What do you know of the girl Doris Venables?”

  “Nothing at all, except that she’s no beginner at telling the tale.”

  “I have no doubt in my own mind, Paul,” remarked the German, “that her story was the truth. What is of more interest is that I have at last remembered who that man is.”

  He pointed to Standish.

  “You were in the British War Office on the Intelligence side. Your name is Standish. How did you get mixed up in this?”

  “That again is a matter of supreme indifference to everyone except me,” answered Standish.

  Emil Veight whispered to the Russian, who gave a low whistle of surprise.

  “That puts a different complexion on matters,” he remarked. “I thought we were only dealing with meddling fools. Are you still at the War Office, Mr Standish?”

  “I am not.”

  “But you were there a year ago. Things become clearer. So your attendance at that meeting tonight, even if not professional, was at any rate inspired by inside knowledge.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” said Standish. “I attended the meeting of the Key Club at the invitation of Doctor Belfage.”

  “And then remained in the garden spying with your three friends. What did you hear at the meeting that caused you to do that?”

  “Nothing,” remarked Standish. “We heard a woman scream.”

  “Twenty minutes after the meeting was over,” said the Russian harshly. “You lie, damn you! That scream was the bait to catch you, if you were there. And I knew you were there. Why? I’ll tell you. Because you wanted to find out things that don’t concern you.”

  “My dear Hugh,” drawled Standish, “the man is a veritable genius. How does he think of it?”

  “I don’t know, old lad,” answered Drummond. “Must have some asset, I suppose, to make up for his ghastly shooting.”

  Gregoroff stared at him in silence. And the utter lack of concern in Drummond’s face seemed suddenly to madden the Russian.

  “You damned Englishman,” he said at length. “And you really imagined you could come blundering in on my plans with impunity! Well, you’ve learned your lesson.” He turned to the Spaniard. “Cortez, pick up that revolver and search them all for guns.”

  He waited whilst his order was carried out; then he threw back his head and laughed.

  “You fools,” he cried. “You unutterable fools! And did you really imagine you were going to get away? Here you are, and here you remain till you die. You won’t be able to expedite matters by shooting yourselves; you�
�ll just die the slow, agonising death of starvation. Don’t sneer at me, damn you.”

  With all his strength he struck Drummond in the mouth.

  “You’ll die,” he shouted. “And my only regret is that I shall not be here to see it.”

  The man was beside himself with rage. A strange red light was glowing in his eyes, and his teeth were bared in a snarl.

  “And now I am going. I shall leave the light on, so that you may watch one another growing weaker and weaker. Untie that one.”

  He pointed to Gregson, and the Spaniard cut the ropes that bound him.

  “How long to Horsebridge?” he asked Veight.

  “Two hours,” answered the German.

  “Goodbye and good luck.” Gregoroff from the door bowed ironically. “I fear I’ve spoilt your beauty somewhat, Captain Drummond, but it will be all the same in a fortnight or so. And I owed you one for stealing my car. Not quite so chatty as usual? Well, well – it’s quite understandable.”

  And with one final mocking laugh the door clanged to behind them.

  “One man and one man only has done that to me before.” Drummond broke the long silence. “And later I killed him. You’d better unlash us, Cabbageface.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t give him the real message, Hugh,” said Darrell.

  “I thought you blokes wouldn’t mind, and I was certain the swine would have crossed us, anyway.”

  Drummond rose and stretched himself.

  “Is there any way out, chaps?”

  “If this room is to all intents soundproof,” answered Darrell quietly, “and it must be, or he wouldn’t have left us here – none, so far as I can see. It will be days before anyone starts looking for us at all, and then they won’t dream of trying an empty house. What do you say, Ronald?”

  “That I ought to be dropped into boiling oil,” answered Standish. “That my brain would shame a louse. Who is A5, Humphrey?”

  “Ginger Lovelace. What’s stung you, Ronald?”

  “That Spaniard wasn’t a Spaniard, but a Mexican,” was his unexpected answer.

  The other three stared at him in amazement.

  “What the devil has that got to do with it?” cried Drummond.