by Sapper
“I have often wondered why they ever let you leave school,” he remarked. “Your brain is even smaller than the ten-bob helping of caviare they gave me at the Majestic last night. You don’t really think it’s a footling discovery, do you? You don’t really think people run about the streets of London pressing two hundred and fifty thousand pounds on comparative strangers for fun?”
“Oh! I suppose the old bean has spotted a winner right enough,” conceded Algy grudgingly.
“Now, look here,” said Drummond quietly. “I don’t profess to know anything about diamonds or the diamond market. But if what you say is correct – if the Professor can manufacture a stone worth at current prices ten thousand pounds for a fiver – you don’t require to know much about markets to see that diamonds will be on a par with bananas as soon as the process is known.
“Further, you don’t require to know much about markets to see that such a state of affairs would be deuced unpopular with quite a lot of people. If you’ve got all your money in diamonds and wake up one bright morning to read in the paper that a diamond weighing half a ton has just been manufactured for three and sixpence, it’s going to make the breakfast kipper look a bit jaded.”
“I know all that, old boy,” said Algy a bit wearily. “But they’re just additional reasons for the old ass taking the money. Then everyone would be happy. Only he’s so confoundedly pigheaded. Why, when I sort of suggested after dinner last night during the nut-mastication period that he could do a lot with the boodle – help him no end with his albumenised chicken seed, and all that – he got quite stuffy.”
“‘My dear boy,’ he said, ‘you don’t understand. To offer a scientist money to suppress a discovery of possibly far-reaching importance is not only an insult to him, but it is also an insult to science. I would not suppress this for a million pounds.’
“Then he forgot to pass the port, and the meeting broke up in disorder.”
Hugh nodded thoughtfully.
“I’m afraid they will suppress it for him,” he said gravely.
Algy stared at him.
“How do you mean, suppress it for him?” he demanded at length.
“I haven’t an idea,” answered Drummond. “Not even the beginning of one. But people have fallen in front of tube trains before now; people have been accidentally killed by a passing car–”
“But, good heavens, man,” cried Algy dazedly, “you don’t mean to say that you think someone will murder the poor old fruit.”
Drummond shrugged his shoulders. “Your future father-in-law has it in his power to completely ruin large numbers of extremely wealthy men. Apparently with the best will in the world he proposes to do so. He has butted into a huge vested interest, and, as far as I can make out from what you’ve told me, he quite fails to realise the fact.” He lit a cigarette thoughtfully.
“But what the devil are we to do, Hugh?” said Algy, now very serious himself. “I tell you it will be impossible to make him accept that money. He’s as docile as a sheep in some ways, but once he does stick his toes in over anything, a bag of gunpowder won’t shift him.”
“Well, if he really is determined to go through with it, it may be necessary to get him away and keep a watchful eye on him till he gets it off his chest at the Royal Society. That’s to say if he’ll come. Once it’s out – it’s out, and the reasons for doing away with him will largely have disappeared.”
“Yes; but I say, old man – murder!” Algy harked back to his original point. “Don’t you think that’s a bit over the odds?”
Hugh laughed grimly. “You’ve lived the quiet life too long, Algy. There are stakes at issue now which strike me as being a deuced sight bigger than anything we played for with dear old Carl Peterson. Bigger at any rate financially.”
An almost dreamy look came into his eyes, and he sighed deeply. “Those were the days, Algy – those were the days. I’m afraid we shall never have them again. Still – if what I’m afraid of is correct, we might have a bit of fun, looking after the old man. Dull, of course, but better than nothing.” He sighed again, and helped himself to more beer.
“Now you trot off, and lunch with Brenda. Don’t tell her anything about what I’ve said. I shall make one or two discreet inquiries this afternoon, and this evening I will bring the brain to bear over the fish and chips.”
“Right, old man,” cried Algy, rising with alacrity. “Deuced good of you and all that. I’d hate the dear old bird to take it in the neck. His port is pretty putrid, I admit – but still–”
He waved his stick cheerfully, and a few seconds later Hugh watched him walking at speed down Brook Street. And long after Algy had disappeared he was still standing at the window staring into the street.
Hugh Drummond laid no claim to being brilliant. His brain, as he frequently remarked, was of the “also-ran” variety. But he was undoubtedly the possessor of a very shrewd common sense, which generally enabled him to arrive at the same result as a far more brilliant man and, incidentally, by a much more direct route.
He was, it may be said, engaged in trying to arrive at what he called in military parlance, the general idea. He did it by a process of reasoning which at any rate had the merit of being easy to follow.
First, Algy, though a fool and partially demented, was not a liar. Therefore the story he had just listened to was true.
Second, the bloke who had turned a deep magenta, though possibly a liar, was certainly not a fool. If he had made his money in diamonds, he couldn’t be, at any rate, as far as diamonds were concerned.
Third, since he had offered Professor Goodman no less than a quarter of a million to suppress the secret, he had evidently got a jolt in a tender spot.
Fourth, here was the great query: just how tender was that spot?
He had spoken glibly about markets to Algy, but he realised only too well that he actually knew nothing about diamonds. He recalled dimly that they were found in mines near Kimberley; beyond that his knowledge of the subject was limited to the diamond engagement ring he had bought for Phyllis. And having reached that point in his deliberations, he decided that before coming to any definite conclusion it would be well to take some expert advice on the matter.
He rose and pressed the bell: Toby Sinclair was the very man. In the intervals of backing losers, that bright particular star graced a city firm with his presence – a firm which dealt in precious stones on the wholesale side.
“Denny,” he said, as his servant came in, “ring up Mr Sinclair in the city and ask him to come and lunch with me at the club today. Tell him it’s very important.”
And five minutes later he was strolling in the same direction as that taken by Algy, but at a more leisurely rate. His face was still contorted with thought; he periodically stopped abruptly and glared into space. How big was the jolt? Was it really big enough to justify the fears he had expressed to Algy, or was he exaggerating things in his own mind? He ruminated on the point over a cocktail in the Regency; he was still ruminating as he passed into St. James’s Square on the way to his club.
To reach it he had to pass the doors of Professor Goodman’s club, and as he walked slowly on the cause of all his profound mental activity – the worthy Professor himself – hove into sight. Drummond paused: it seemed to him that something had happened. For the Professor was muttering wildly to himself, while periodically he shook his fist in the air.
“Morning, Professor,” he remarked affably. “Been stung by a bee, or what?”
The Professor stopped abruptly and stared at him.
“It’s you, Drummond, is it,” he said. “I’ve just received a most scandalous letter – perfectly scandalous. A threat, sir – an anonymous threat. Read it.”
He held out a common-looking envelope which he handed to Drummond. But that worthy only took it mechanically; his eyes – shrewd and thoughtful – were looking ov
er the Professor’s shoulder. A man had come hurriedly round King Street, only to pause with equal suddenness and stare into an area below.
“I suppose, Professor,” he remarked quietly, still holding the letter in his hand, “that you know you’re being followed.”
“I know I’m being what?” barked the Professor. “Who is following me?”
Drummond slightly raised his voice.
“If you turn round you will see an unpleasant specimen of humanity gazing into the basement of that house. I allude to the bird with the large ears, who is beginning to go a little red about the tonsils.”
With a snarl the man swung on his heel and came towards them.
“Are you talking about me, damn you?” he said, addressing Drummond.
“I am,” remarked Drummond dispassionately. “Mushrooms growing well down below there?” The man looked somewhat disconcerted. “Now, who told you to follow Professor Goodman?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the man surlily.
“Dear me!” remarked Drummond mildly. “I should have thought the question was sufficiently clear even to a person of your limited intelligence. However, if it will save you any bother, the Professor is lunching with me at my club – that one over there with the warrior in uniform outside the door – and will, probably be leaving about three. So you can either run away and play marbles till then, or you can stay here and watch the door.”
He put his hand through the Professor’s arm, and gently propelled him towards the club, leaving the man scratching his head foolishly.
“But, my dear fellow,” mildly protested the Professor, “this is very kind of you. I’d no idea I was lunching with you.”
“No more had I,” answered Hugh genially. “But I think it’s a jolly sort of idea, don’t you? We’ll get a table in the window and watch our friend earning his pay outside, while we toy with a bit of elusive Stilton.”
“But how do you know the man was following me, Drummond?” said the Professor excitedly. “And if he was, don’t you think I ought to tell the police?”
Gently but firmly Drummond piloted him up the steps of his club.
“I have an unerring instinct in such matters, Professor,” he remarked. “And he was very bad at it – very bad. Now we will lower a Martini a-piece, and I will read this threatening missive of yours.”
The Professor sank into a chair and blinked at Hugh through his spectacles. He had had a trying morning, and there was something very reassuring about this large and imperturbable young man whom he knew was his future son-in-law’s greatest friend. And as he watched him reading the typewritten piece of paper, strange stories which he had heard of some of Drummond’s feats in the past came back to him. They had been told him by Algy and one or two by Brenda, but he had not paid any great attention to them at the time. They were not very much in his line, but now he felt distinctly comforted as he recalled them. To have his life threatened was a new experience for the worthy Professor, and one not at all to his liking. It had interfered considerably with his work that morning, and produced a lack of mental concentration which he found most disturbing.
The letter was short and to the point.
“Unless you accept the two hundred and fifty thousand pounds recently offered to you, you will be killed.”
The Professor leaned forward as Drummond laid the sheet of paper on the table.
“I must explain, Drummond,” he began, but the other interrupted him.
“No need to, Professor. Algy came round to see me this morning, and he told me about your discovery.”
He again picked up the paper and glanced at it.
“You have no idea, I suppose, who can have sent this?”
“None,” said the Professor. “It is utterly inconceivable that Sir Raymond Blantyre should have stooped to such a thing. He, as Algy probably told you, is the man who originally offered me this sum to suppress my discovery. But I refuse to believe for a moment that he would ever have been guilty of such a vulgar threat.”
Drummond regarded him thoughtfully.
“Look here, Professor,” he said at length, “it seems to me that you are getting into pretty deep water. How deep I don’t quite know. I tell you frankly I can’t understand this letter. If, as you say, it is merely a vulgar threat, it is a very stupid and dangerous thing to put on paper. If, on the other hand, it is more than a threat – if it is an actual statement of fact – it is even more incredibly stupid and dangerous.”
“A statement of fact,” gasped the Professor. “That I shall be killed if I don’t suppress my discovery!”
He was blinking rapidly behind his spectacles, and Drummond smiled.
“A statement of fact as far as the writer of this epistle is concerned,” he remarked. “No more than that, Professor, I hope. In fact we must take steps to ensure that it is no more than that. But this letter, on top of your being followed, shows that you’re in the public eye, so to speak.”
“But I don’t understand, Drummond,” said the Professor feebly.
“No more do I,” answered Hugh. “However, that will make it all the jollier when we do. And it is possible that we may get a bit nearer the mark today at lunch. A fellow of the name of Sinclair is joining us – he’s a pal of Algy’s too – and he’s in a big diamond merchant’s office down in the city. He’s a knowledgeable sort of bird, and we’ll pump him. I don’t want you to say a word as to your discovery – not a word. We’ll just put the case to him as an academic one, and we’ll get his actual opinion on it.”
“But I know their opinion about it already,” said the Professor peevishly. “And I tell you that nothing is going to stop me announcing my discovery in ten days’ time before the Royal Society.”
Drummond drained his cocktail.
“That’s the spirit, Professor,” he cried cheerily. “But for all that we may just as well see where we are. Here is Sinclair now: don’t forget – not a word.”
He rose as Toby Sinclair came up.
“Morning, Toby. Do you know Professor Goodman? He is the misguided man who is allowing Algy to marry into his family.”
“Morning, sir,” said Sinclair with a grin. “Well, old man – a cocktail, a rapid lunch, and I must buzz back. I tell you things are moving with some celerity in our line, at present. And as the bright boy of the firm, my time is fully occupied.”
He lit a cigarette and Hugh laughed.
“With a Lunar Guide and the Sportsman. Quite so, old boy – I know.”
“No, really, Hugh,” said Toby seriously, “the old office has not been the usual rest-cure just lately. Strong men have rushed in and out and conferred behind locked doors, and the strain has been enormous. Made one quite dizzy to see them. However, it’s been better the last two or three days, ever since old Blantyre came back from Switzerland.”
Drummond adroitly kicked the Professor’s leg.
“And who is old Blantyre?” he remarked carelessly, “and why does he go to Switzerland?”
“Sir Raymond Blantyre is the head of the syndicate to which our firm belongs, though why he went to Switzerland I haven’t any idea. All I can tell you is that he went out there looking like nothing on earth, and came back two days later smiling all over his face.”
“Speaks well for the Swiss air,” said Hugh dryly. “However, let’s go and inspect the menu.”
He led the way towards the dining-room, and his expression was thoughtful. If, as he had been given to understand, Sir Raymond Blantyre was now facing immediate ruin, it was a little difficult to see why he should be smiling all over his face. It showed, at any rate, a resignation to Fate which was beyond all praise. Unless, of course, something had happened in Switzerland… But, then, what could have happened? Had he gone over there to dispose of his stock before the crash came? He felt very vague as to wh
ether it would be possible to do such a thing. Anyway, it mightn’t be a bad idea to find out where he had been to in Switzerland. Just for future reference; in case anything happened.
“Yes – a deuced good advertisement for the Swiss air, old man,” he repeated, after they had sat down. “Where did he go to?”
“You seem very interested in his wanderings,” said Toby with a laugh. “As a matter of fact, I believe he went to Montreux, but since he was only there a day, the air can’t have had much to do with it.”
Hugh glanced through the window; the man who had been following the Professor was still loitering about the corner of the square. And the frown on his face grew more pronounced. It beat him – the whole thing beat him completely. Especially the threatening letter…
“You’re marvellously merry and bright this morning, old boy.” Toby broke off his desultory conversation with the Professor and regarded Hugh with the eye of an expert. “I don’t think you can have been mother’s angel-boy last night. Anyway, what is this important thing you wanted to see me about?”
With an effort his host pulled himself together.
“I was thinking, Toby,” he remarked, “and you know what an awful effect that always has on my system. Look here, diamonds are a pretty good thing, aren’t they, as a birthday present for Phyllis?”
Toby stared at him.
“I think they’re a very good thing,” he remarked. “Why?”
“No danger of them losing their value?”
“None whatever. The output is far too carefully controlled for that.”
“But supposing someone came along and manufactured them cheap?”
Toby laughed. “You needn’t worry about that, old man. It has been done in the past and the results cost more than the genuine article.”
“Yes, but supposing it did happen,” persisted Hugh. “Supposing a process was discovered by which big stones – really big stones – could be made for a mere song – what then?”
Toby shrugged his shoulders.
“The discoverer of the process could ask practically what he liked to suppress it,” he answered.