Buldog Drummond At Bay

by Sapper

  “There’s no good shamming, young woman,” said Gregoroff harshly. “We know you’re not asleep.”

  There was no answer; only the deep-measured breathing of someone under the influence of drugs.

  “If you go on pretending,” said Veight, bending over her, “I’ll rip the bedclothes off. I thought that would do the trick,” he added with a short laugh, as she made an involuntary movement.

  “Now, Miss Doris Venables, are you going to be sensible or shall we have to take drastic measures?”

  “How dare you come into my room!” she cried furiously. “Go at once.”

  “Shall we cut out the innocent-virgin stuff?” said Veight calmly. “We are in your room and we intend to stay here until you’ve answered a few questions, and answered them to our satisfaction.”

  He bent over and stared into her eyes.

  “There’s no dope in her at all,” he remarked to Gregoroff. “Go and get that miserable bungler Belfage, and bring him here.”

  “It might be as well, Veight, to question her first. We can get hold of him afterwards.”

  “All right,” agreed the German. “Now, my girl, are you going to stop in bed, or would you prefer to put on a dressing-gown and get up?”

  “I’ll get up if you’ll leave the room.”

  “We will avert our gaze, Miss Venables,” said Veight ironically. “Is this what you want?”

  He picked up a wrap lying on a chair, and tossed it on to the bed.

  “Now hurry, please; we have no time to waste.”

  He turned his back, and a moment or two later she spoke.

  “What are these questions you want to ask me?”

  “Good,” said Veight. “I am glad you are going to see reason. And really – I must compliment you on your appearance. A most enchanting picture.”

  “Will you kindly ask your questions and go?” she remarked icily. “I find your presence in my room quite insufferable.”

  “Then the sooner you answer, and the more truthful those answers are, the quicker you will be rid of us. What were you doing at the window a few minutes ago?”

  “Looking out. I woke up, and seeing it was a lovely morning I got out of bed.”

  “Who was the man you were looking for?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see any man. Why should I? I don’t even know where I am.”

  “I’m afraid, Miss Venables, our visit is going to be a long one. If you remember, I laid stress on your answers being truthful. You are not being truthful. Who was the man who was hiding in the undergrowth on the other side of the lake?”

  “I tell you I didn’t even know there was a man there, much less who he was.”

  “I fear, Gregoroff, that we shall have to adopt other measures with this young lady; measures, my dear, that you will not appreciate. For the moment, however, we will let that question drop, and turn to another. Ever since I have had the pleasure of knowing you, you have posed as an ardent member of the Key Club. Why?”

  “Because I am one.”

  Veight raised protesting hands.

  “You really must not go on in this stupid way. You are no more a member of that fatuous institution than I am. What I want to know is why you pretend to be.”

  “I tell you I am one,” she cried. “You can believe it or not as you like.”

  “I suppose you’ll ask me next to believe that you are a friend of Meredith’s – a man with a criminal record, who has served a sentence for forgery.”

  She gave a slight start.

  “I didn’t know that,” she said.

  “You do now. Why did you go back to Captain Drummond’s cottage that afternoon?”

  “To make sure the message telegraphed by Mrs Eskdale was correct.”

  “And why did you want to make sure of that? I am waiting for an answer, Miss Venables,” he added after a pause.

  “I thought she might have made a mistake.”

  “Really! And if she had – what then? You, with a quickness for which I congratulate you, got rid of that man Drummond on the pretext that the message was a cipher giving the name of the place where your mythical cousin Harold had been taken to. You also, and on one of the few times in our acquaintance, quite truthfully told me that you thought it was the address of our headquarters in code. Why did you want that address? Whom did you wish to trace there?”

  “I tell you, I–”

  “Finding things a little difficult to answer, are we? Should I be very wide of the mark, Miss Venables, if I suggested to you that in the hurry of the moment you had not taken a copy of that wire, and that when I tore it up you couldn’t remember the contents? And that that was why you went back to the cottage? Thank you, you needn’t answer. I see I am right.”

  For a while he stared at her thoughtfully.

  “I must confess you arouse my curiosity, young woman,” he said at length. “Are you in the service of the British Government?”

  “I am not,” she answered promptly.

  “Then if that is the truth you are playing a lone hand. Once again I ask you, why?”

  She shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

  “I have already told you, Herr Veight, that you are quite wrong. I really cannot go on repeating myself; it’s too boring.”

  “So,” said Veight softly, and at that moment Doctor Belfage entered the room, bringing with him a strong odour of spirits. He had pulled on a dirty dressing-gown over his pyjamas, and a two days’ growth of stubble adorned his chin.

  “Thought I heard voices,” he muttered foolishly.

  “You drunken swine,” snarled Veight. “You were told to keep this girl under the influence of morphia, weren’t you? Well, look at her.”

  “Gave her a shot last night,” stammered the doctor.

  “Shot be damned!” cried Veight furiously. “You were too full of whisky to know what you were doing. And what’s the result? We found her trying to signal to somebody outside. And that’s your doing, you miserable fool.”

  “Signalling? My God! Whom to?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. And that’s what I’m going to find out. Now look here, my girl, I’ve had enough of this fooling. You were anxious to find out where our headquarters were. Well, you have. They are here. And now you are going to sample what goes on in them. Up to date we haven’t worried about you; you have been kept quiet. Now, entirely owing to that wretched bungler, we have got to worry about you.”

  The girl rose to her feet, and faced him fearlessly.

  “How long have I been here, you brute?”

  “Three or four days,” answered Veight. “A nice rest cure.”

  “And what are you going to do with me?”

  “Apply a little suasion. Show you some of the sights of the house. Unless you tell us who that was outside.”

  “I tell you I don’t know,” she cried. “And if I did I wouldn’t tell you. Don’t touch me.” Her voice rose. “Don’t dare to put your beastly hands on me.” She backed to the window. “I swear I’ll jump out if you do.”

  And even as she spoke a sudden change came over her face, and she gave a little choking cry.

  “Tommy. Tommy darling. What have they done to you?”

  Standing in the doorway was a man with a chalk-white face. A dirty bandage was round his head, and he was swaying dangerously on his feet.

  “Doris,” he whispered. “I thought I heard your voice, dearest.”

  Heedless of the other three she went to him and flung her arms round his neck.

  “You devils!” she cried fiercely, as she led him towards the bed. “Sit down, darling. You oughtn’t to have got up.”

  “Things become a little clearer,” said Veight with interest. “I see you know Captain Lovelace, shall we say – fairly intimately.”

  “I’m engaged to him,” cried the girl defiantly.

  “Most romantic.” The German lit a cigarette. “At last we are beginning to understand things a
little better. So it was to help him that you pretended to belong to the Key Club.”

  “It was,” said the soldier weakly. “And if you’ve got a spark of decency or manhood left in you, you’ll let her go.”

  “Much more clearly,” continued Veight. “That’s why you wanted the message: you guessed he’d be here. It proves one thing, however, Gregoroff. You got Lovelace in time; he has passed on nothing. Tell me,” he turned to the soldier, “as a mere matter of interest, what you meant by that strange message you threw through the window of the cottage. ‘Rosemary BJCDOR.’ It doesn’t make sense to me, though of course it’s a code.”

  Ginger Lovelace stared at him.

  “Rosemary,” he muttered. “I don’t understand… I…” And suddenly he grew silent, and passed his hand over his forehead. “I can’t remember… It’s all a sort of dream…”

  “Poor darling,” said the girl, putting her arm round his shoulders.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Veight. “I only asked out of curiosity.”

  “Let him go back to bed,” she cried.

  “All in good time, Miss Venables,” remarked Veight. “It wasn’t I who asked him to get up, you must remember. And there are one or two things to be decided first.”

  “Have you still got that poor devil downstairs?” said Lovelace.

  “We have. He is proving a little stubborn. But it won’t be much longer now. And the quicker it is the better for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My dear Lovelace, I have no personal animosity to you. I can honestly say that I am delighted to see you are well enough to get up, and I hope that you and this charming lady will enjoy many years of happiness together. But when you insisted on butting into our plans you left us no alternative but to keep you quiet. And had you not tried to get away in the fog your head would not be so painful now.”

  “Cut out all that bunk,” said the soldier. “What are you going to do with us?”

  “Again render you harmless until we have done what we came to do, and then you will both be free to do whatever you like.”

  “More dope?”

  “More dope.”

  “Can’t you let Miss Venables go?”

  “Really, Lovelace, you pain me. Let the girl who is engaged to you go! No, no, my dear fellow. You will both remain here as the guests of the estimable Mr Hoskins for a few more days, and then let the marriage bells ring out.”

  “What the devil is all this about?”

  Meredith had entered the room unperceived.

  “Ask that damned doctor,” said Gregoroff savagely. “Let’s get on with it, Veight. I’m sick of this. Fetch a syringe, Belfage.”

  “I don’t understand,” cried Meredith as the doctor shuffled out of the room.

  “That swine is so sodden with drink that he doesn’t know if he’s coming or going,” said Veight. “He forgot to give the girl an injection last night, and we found her looking out of the window. Now then, Belfage, stick it into his arm.”

  With shaking fingers the doctor inserted the needle, and a few moments later Lovelace fell back on the bed unconscious, while the girl watched them with eyes like those of a tigress.

  “You brutes!” she kept on muttering. “You brutes!”

  “Quite so, my dear,” said Veight calmly. “It may interest you to know, Meredith, that these two are engaged to be married, which accounts for much that was obscure. However, we needn’t go into that now. As I told you, we found her looking out of the window, and there was a man hiding in the undergrowth on the other side of the lake.”

  “What’s that?” Meredith gave a violent start.

  “Miss Venables’ explanation up to date has not, I regret to say, entirely satisfied me. And so I propose to see if we can’t get another. I think that the spectacle of our friend downstairs might open her mouth.”

  “You say there was a man watching the house?” said Meredith uneasily.

  “There was a man hidden in the bushes,” answered Veight, “who bolted when he heard us coming, and presumably he wasn’t bird’s-nesting.”

  “My God!” muttered Meredith. “Whom can it have been?”

  “That is what I should like to find out. Come along, young woman, and you shall see the effects of another drug we keep in the medicine cupboard – one that is specially suitable for people who won’t talk.”

  “Where are you taking me to?” she cried, shrinking back.

  “Down below. You were so very anxious to find out where this house was that you must really see all over it now you are here. Hurry up,” he added curtly, “you’ve wasted too much of my time already.”

  He took her roughly by the arm and forced her towards the door.

  “You’ll find it rather damp and a little gloomy; but don’t be afraid – we shall be with you.”

  He half dragged, half carried her across the hall to a heavy door studded with nails which was fastened with two bolts.

  “The old dungeons, my dear. Perhaps you have heard of Bonivard in Chillon Castle. We have a modern edition for you here.”

  He drew back the bolts, and the girl gave a little cry as he opened the door. Stone stairs led down into the darkness, and a wave of dank, mildewed air came up from below and hit her in the face.

  “After you,” said Veight with elaborate politeness, and slowly, a step at a time, she went down. Water dripped on her head from the ceiling; the walls were wringing wet when her hands touched them. At first she could see nothing; but at length the place began to take outline in the dim light that filtered through a tiny window high up. A big buttress stuck out from the wall on one side, and from behind it came a rustling of straw as if an animal was moving about.

  Suddenly she screamed; something had run over her bare foot.

  “Only a rat, Miss Venables,” said Veight. “There are several, and they are big ones. Who was it who was hiding in the bushes?”

  “I tell you I don’t know,” she cried wildly. “O God, what’s that?”

  A strange moaning noise was coming from the other side of the buttress, and Veight led her forward.

  “Our Bonivard,” he murmured.

  Lying on the ground was a man who gave a cry of fear when he saw them. She could just see his face, his twitching lips, his terrified eyes, and his hands plucking aimlessly at the air. And then a chain rattled; he was tied up to a ring in the wall.

  “The gentleman after whom you used to ask so glibly,” said Veight. “When would he give way? Do you remember?”

  “What have you done to him?” she asked through dry lips.

  “They’re murdering me,” came a choking voice. “I’m going mad.”

  “No, no, my dear Waldron. Not murder. The very instant you decide to speak, all this will stop.”

  “You inhuman devil,” cried the girl, and Veight laughed.

  “The funny thing, Miss Venables, is that it isn’t me at all. The saintly owner of the house is responsible for this. And he, I assure you, is an Englishman.”

  “That drug; what is that ghastly drug?” moaned the prisoner.

  “Haven’t they told you?” asked Veight. “It is not a nice one, Waldron, and its result in time will be to send you mad. It is, Miss Venables, a Mexican drug called Marijuana. You see before you the result. It instils such fear into the mind of the taker that he ceases to be a man. He is mad with terror over nothing at all; his brain refuses to function; his will power goes. And finally he finishes up in a suicide’s grave or a lunatic asylum.”

  His eyes were boring into her.

  “Mr Waldron would like a companion here: another soldier. Who was it who was hiding in the bushes?”

  “I tell you I don’t know,” she cried. “I swear I don’t.”

  “Still obstinate. I think I had better send for Captain Lovelace.”

  “No, no,” she moaned. “I beg of you don’t. I’m telling you the truth, Herr Veight.”

  “What is all this?” A deep voice came from behind her. “What are you
doing here?”

  “You have not yet been introduced to your host, have you, Miss Venables?” said Veight. “This is Mr Hoskins, who is responsible for this.”

  “You vile brute,” said the girl. “Why are you torturing him?”

  “You to say that!” Hoskins’ voice shook with rage. “You who belong to our order! Are you not aware that this vile man you see before you has invented a new and deadly form of gas for use in war. Until he tells me his formula he remains where he is.”

  He turned on Waldron.

  “Speak, you wretch, speak. What is your gas? Tell me, that all the world may know.”

  And somewhere, someone laughed. It came from above their heads, and Veight swung round tensely.

  “Who was that?” he muttered. “Who was that who laughed?”

  “Aye! Who was that who laughed?” cried Hoskins. “There are men, Herr Veight, in this very house who mock at our ideals; who would, if they could, use this man’s foul secret for their own ends. I have heard them talking, but they do not know me. Now, you devil man, will you speak? Or shall I send for another injection?”

  “Send and be damned,” said Waldron weakly. “You wretched traitor to your country.”

  “Country! What is country? It is country that produces war. Go, Veight, and get the doctor. Tell him this man will still not speak.”

  “All right.” Veight’s voice came from the direction of the staircase. “Keep the girl there till I come back.”

  Sick and faint with horror of the thing, she was leaning against the buttress. In front of her the wild-eyed old owner of the house was muttering to himself fanatically; a few feet away Waldron stirred restlessly on his straw. And at that moment a hand touched her shoulder. A scream stillborn died on her lips, for a voice was whispering in her ear out of the darkness behind her.

  “A friend, Doris. Tell Waldron to pretend to give the formula away, and gain time.”

  Then silence, and her brain working overtime. Who was it who had spoken, and how came he there? What she had said to Veight was the literal truth with regard to the man outside. She had awakened in a strange room with the light pouring in at the window, and had naturally gone to look out; no one could have been more genuinely surprised than she had been at his accusation. But now she knew there were men on the watch; knew that someone had actually got into the house – someone who knew her name.