by Sapper
“‘Thank heavens! Tommy, here’s a bar, at any rate,’ said one of them. ‘I say, barman, what have you got?’
“Well, I had a bit of a liver, and I disliked being called barman.
“‘Several bottles of poison,’ I answered, ‘and the hell of a temper.’
“The second one laughed, and after a moment or two the other joined in.
“‘I don’t wonder at the latter commodity,’ he said. ‘This is a ghastly hole.’
“‘I wouldn’t deny it,’ I answered. ‘What, if I may ask, has brought you here?’
“‘Oh, we’ve had a small breakdown, and the skipper came in here to repair it. We’ve just come ashore to have a look round.’
“I glanced through the window, and noticed for the first time that a steam yacht was lying off the shore. She was a real beauty – looked about a thousand tons – and I gave a sigh of envy.
“‘You’re not in want of a barman, by any chance, are you?’ I said. ‘If so, I’ll swim out and chance the sharks.’
“‘’Fraid we’ve got everything in that line,’ he answered. ‘But select the least deadly of your poisons, and join us.’
“And it was as I was pulling down the gin and vermouth that Jimmy Mainwaring came into the bar. He got about halfway across the floor, and then he stopped dead in his tracks. And I guess during the next two seconds you could have heard a pin drop.
‘So this is where you’ve hidden yourself,’ said the smaller of the two men – the one who had done most of the talking. ‘I don’t think we’ll trouble you for those drinks, barman.’
“Without another word he walked out of the place – and after a moment or two the other man started to follow him. He hesitated as he got abreast of Jimmy, and then for the first time Mainwaring spoke: ‘Is she here?’
“‘Yes,’ answered the other. ‘On board the yacht. There’s a whole party of us.’
“And with that he stepped into the street and joined his pal. With a perfectly inscrutable look on his face Jimmy watched them as they walked through the glaring sun and got into the small motorboat that was waiting alongside the quay. Then he came up to the bar.
“‘An artistic touch, doubtless, on the part of Fate,’ he remarked, quietly. ‘But a little unnecessary.’
“And I guess I metaphorically took off my hat to him at that moment. What he’d done, why he was there, I neither knew nor cared; all that mattered to me was the way he took that last rotten twist of the surgeon’s knife. Not by the quiver of an eyelid would you have known that anything unusual had happened: he drank his three double gins at exactly the same rate as every other morning. And then he too swung out of the bar, and went back to his office in McAndrew’s warehouse, leaving me to lie down on my bed and sweat under the mosquito curtains, while I wondered at the inscrutable working out of things. Was it blind, the Fate that moved the pieces; or was there some definite pattern beyond our ken? At the moment it seemed pretty blind and senseless; later on – well, you’ll be able to form your own opinion.
“You know how quickly darkness falls in those latitudes. And it was just before sunset that I saw a boat shoot away from the side of the yacht and come full speed for the shore. I remember I wondered casually who was the mug who would leave a comfortable yacht for Nwambi, especially after the report of it that must have been given by our two morning visitors. And then it struck me that, whoever it might be, he was evidently in the deuce of a hurry. Almost before the boat came alongside a man sprang out and scrambled up the steps. Then at a rapid double he came sprinting towards me as I stood at the door of the bar. It was the smaller of the two men who had been ashore that morning, and something was evidently very much amiss.
“‘Where is she?’ he shouted, as soon as he came within earshot. ‘Where’s my wife, you damned scoundrel?’
“Seeing that he was quite beside himself with worry and alarm, I let the remark go by.
“‘Steady!’ I said, as he came gasping up to me. ‘I haven’t got your wife; I haven’t even seen her.’
“‘It’s that card-sharper!’ he cried. ‘By God! I’ll shoot him like a dog, if he’s tried any monkey tricks!’
“‘Dry up, and pull yourself together,’ I said angrily. ‘If you’re alluding to Jimmy Mainwaring–’
“And at that moment Jimmy himself stepped out of his office and strolled across the road.
“‘You swine, you cursed card cheat – where’s Sylvia?’
“‘What the devil are you talking about?’ said Jimmy, and his voice was tense.
“‘She came ashore this afternoon, saying she would return in an hour,’ said the other man. ‘I didn’t know it at the time, Mr – er – Mainwaring, I believe you call yourself. The boat came back for her, and she was not there. That was four hours ago. Where is she?’
“He was covering Jimmy with his revolver as he spoke.
“‘Four hours ago, Clavering! Good heavens! man – put down your gun. This isn’t a time for amateur theatricals.’ He brushed past him as if he was non-existent and came up to me. ‘Did you see Lady Clavering?’
“‘Not a trace,’ I answered, and the same fear was in both of us.
“‘Did she say what she was coming on shore for?’ He swung round on the husband.
“‘To have a look round,’ answered Clavering, and his voice had altered. No longer was he the outraged husband; he was a frightened man relying instinctively on a bigger personality than himself.
“‘If she’s not about here, she must have gone inland,’ said Jimmy, staring at me. ‘And it’ll be dark in five minutes.’
“‘My God!’ cried Clavering, ‘what are we to do? She can’t be left alone for the night. Lost – in this cursed country! She may have hurt herself – sprained her ankle.’
“For a moment neither of us answered him. Even more than he did we realise the hideous danger of a white woman alone in the bush inland. There were worse dangers than snakes and wild animals to be feared. And it was as we were standing there staring at one another, and afraid to voice our thoughts, that one of McAndrew’s native boys came down the street. He was running and out of breath; and the instant he saw Jimmy he rushed up to him and started gabbling in the local patois. He spoke too fast for me to follow him, and Clavering, of course, couldn’t understand a word. But we both guessed instinctively what he was talking about and we both watched Jimmy’s face. And as we watched it I heard Clavering catch his breath sharply.
“At last the boy finished, and Jimmy turned and looked at me. On his face was a look of such cold malignant fury that the question which was trembling on my lips died away, and I stared at him speechlessly.
“The dagos have got her,’ he said, very softly. ‘Don Pedro Salvas is, I fear, a foolish man.’
“Clavering gave a sort of hoarse cry, and Jimmy’s face softened.
“‘Poor devil,’ he said. ‘Your job is going to be harder than mine. Go back to your yacht – get all your men on shore that you can spare – and if I’m not back in four hours, wait for dawn and then strike inland over the swamp. Find Pedro Salvas’ house – and hang him on the highest tree you can find.’
“Without another word he swung on his heel and went up the street at a long, steady lope. Twice Clavering called after him, but he never turned his head or altered his stride – and then he started to follow himself. It was I who stopped him, and he cursed me like a child – almost weeping.
“‘Do what he told you,’ I said. ‘You’d never find your way; you’d be worse than useless. I’ll go with him: you get back and bring your men ashore.”
“And with that I followed Jimmy. At times I could see him, a faint white figure in the darkness, as he dodged through that fever-laden swamp; at times I found myself marvelling at the condition of the man, bearing in mind his method of living. Steadily, tirelessly, he forged ahead, and
when he came to the foothills I hadn’t gained a yard on him.
“And then I began wondering what was going to happen when he reached Salvas’ bungalow, and by what strange mischance the girl had met the owner. That it was revenge I was certain; he had recognised her from the picture, and I remember thinking how bitter must have been his hatred of Mainwaring to have induced him to run such an appalling risk. For the risk was appalling, even in that country of strange happenings.
“I don’t think that Jimmy troubled his head over any such speculations. In his mind there was room for only one thought – an all-sufficient thought – to get his hands on Pedro Salvas. I don’t think he even knew that I was behind him, until after it was over and the curtain was falling on the play. And then he had no time for me.”
Merton gave a short laugh that had in it a touch of sadness.
“A good curtain it was, too,” he continued, quietly. “I remember I made a frantic endeavour to overtake him as he raced up to the house, and then, because I just couldn’t help myself, I stopped and watched – fascinated. The window of the big living room was open, and the light blazed out. I suppose they had never anticipated pursuit that night. Leaning up against the wall was the girl, with a look of frozen horror on her face, while seated at the table were Pedro Salvas and three of his pals. And they were drinking.
“It all happened very quickly. For one second I saw Jimmy Mainwaring framed in the window – then he began shooting. I don’t think I’ve mentioned that he could shoot the pip out of the ace of diamonds nine times out of ten at twenty yards, and his madness did not interfere with his aim. And that night he was stark, staring mad. I heard three shots – so close together that only an artist could have fired them out of the same revolver and taken aim; I saw the three friends of Pedro Salvas collapse limply in their chairs. And then there was a pause; I think Jimmy wanted to get at him with his hands.
“But it was not to be. Just for a moment the owner of the bungalow had been so stupefied at the sudden appearance of the man he hated that he had simply sat still, staring; but only for a moment. The movement of his arm was so quick that I hardly saw it; I only noticed what seemed to be a streak of light which shot across the room. And then I heard Jimmy’s revolver again – the tenth, the hundredth of a second too late. He’d drilled Pedro Salvas through the heart all right – I watched the swine crumple and fall with the snarl still on his face – but this time the knife wasn’t sticking in the wall.
“She got to him first,” went on Merton, thoughtfully. “His knees were sagging just as I got to the window, and she was trying to hold him up in her arms. And then between us we laid him down, and I saw that the end was very near. There was nothing I could do; the knife was clean into his chest. The finish of the journey had come to the man who could not get drunk. And so I left them together, while I mounted guard by the window with a gun in each hand. It wasn’t a house to take risks in.
“He lived, I think, for five minutes, and of those five minutes I would rather not speak. There are things which a man may tell, and things which he may not. Sufficient be it to say that he may have cheated at cards or he may not – she loved him. If, indeed, he had committed the unforgivable sin amongst gentlemen all the world over, he atoned for it. And she loved him. Let us leave it at that.
“And when it was over, and the strange, bitter spirit of the man who called himself Jimmy Mainwaring had gone out on the unknown road, I touched her on the shoulder. She rose blindly and stumbled out into the darkness at my side. I don’t think I spoke a word to her, beyond telling her to take my arm. And after a while she grew heavier and heavier on it, until at last she slipped down – a little unconscious heap of sobbing girlhood.”
Merton paused and lit a cigarette with a smile.
“So that is how it was ordained that I should carry the Lady Sylvia Clavering, slung over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, for three miles. I remember staggering into the village to find myself surrounded by men from the yacht. I handed her over to her distracted husband, and then I rather think I fainted myself. I know I found myself in my own bar, with people pouring whisky down my throat. And after a while they cleared off, leaving Clavering alone with me. He began to stammer out his thanks, and I cut him short.
“‘No thanks are due to me,’ I said. ‘They’re due to another man whom you called a card cheat – but who was a bigger man than either you or I are ever likely to be.’
“‘Was?’ he said, staring at me.
“‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘He’s dead.’
“He stood there silently for a moment or two; then with a queer look on his face he took off his hat.
“‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘He was a bigger man than me.’ ”
Merton got up and pressed the bell.
“I’ve never seen him from that day to this,” he said, thoughtfully. “I never saw his wife again until tonight. And I’ve never filled in the gaps in the story. Moreover, I don’t know that I want to.”
A waiter came over to his chair.
“You’ll join me? Two whiskies-and-sodas, please, waiter – large ones.”
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’ Drumm
ond 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.