The Third Round

by Sapper

  “So you hadn’t got concussion?” said the other. His voice was steadier now; he was thinking desperately.

  “You’ve hit it, Carl. I recovered from my concussion on the floor of your room, and listened with interest to your plans for my future. And having a certain natural gift for lying doggo, I utilised it. But if it’s any gratification to you, I can assure you that I very nearly gave myself away when I found who it was you had upstairs. You will doubtless be glad to hear that by this time Professor Goodman is restored to the bosom of his family.”

  A strangled noise came from behind him, and he turned round to find Sir Raymond Blantyre in a partially choking condition.

  “Who did you say?” he demanded thickly.

  “Professor Goodman,” repeated Drummond, and his voice was icy. “I haven’t got much to say to you, Sir Raymond – except that you’re a nasty piece of work. Few things in my life have afforded me so much pleasure as the fact that you were swindled out of half a million. I wish it had been more. For the man who carried this coup through one can feel a certain unwilling admiration; for you, one can feel only the most unmitigated contempt.”

  “How dare you speak like that!” spluttered the other, but Drummond was taking no further notice of him.

  “That was your second error, Carl. You ought to have come into the motor-boat. I assure you I had a dreadful time dragging that poor old chap underneath it, as you crossed our stern. His knowledge of swimming is rudimentary.”

  “So that was it, was it?” said Blackton slowly. His nerve had completely recovered, and he lit a cigar with ease. “ I really think it is for me to congratulate you, my dear Drummond. Apart, however, from this exchange of pleasantries – er – what do we do now?”

  “You say that Professor Goodman is still alive?” Sir Raymond had found his voice again. “Then who – who was buried?”

  “Precisely,” murmured Drummond. “The one detail in particular in which I am interested. Who was the owner of the boot? Or shall I say who was the owner of the foot inside the boot, because the boot was undoubtedly the Professor’s?”

  “The point seems to me to be of but academic interest,” remarked Mr Blackton in a bored voice. “Nil nisi bonum – you know the old tag. And I can assure you that the foot’s proprietor was a tedious individual. No loss to the community whatever.”

  And suddenly a light dawned on Sir Raymond Blantyre.

  “Great heavens! it was poor Lewisham.”

  Absorbed as he had been by other things, the strange disappearance of his indiscreet fellow-director, the peculiar radiogram from mid-Atlantic and subsequent silence, had slipped from his mind. Now it came back, and he stared at Blackton with a sort of fascinated horror. The reason for Lewisham’s visit to Professor Goodman was clear, and he shuddered uncontrollably.

  “It was Lewisham,” he repeated dully.

  “I rather believe it was,” murmured Blackton, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “As I said before, the point is of but academic interest.” He turned again to Drummond. “So Professor Goodman is restored to his family once more. I trust he has suffered no ill-effects from his prolonged immersion.”

  “None at all, thank you,” answered Drummond. “Somewhat naturally, he is angry. In fact, for a mild and gentle old man, he is in what might be described as the devil of a temper.”

  “But if he’s back in London,” broke in Sir Raymond excitedly, “what about his secret? It will be given to the world, and all this will have been in vain.”

  Mr Blackton thoughtfully studied the ash on his cigar, while Drummond stared at the speaker. And then for one fleeting instant their eyes met. Sworn enemies though they were, for that brief moment they stood on common ground – unmitigated contempt for the man who had just spoken.

  “From many points of view, Sir Raymond, I wish it could be given to the world,” said Drummond. “I can think of no better punishment for you, or one more richly deserved. Unfortunately, however, you can set your mind at rest on that point. Professor Goodman no longer possesses his notes on the process.”

  “Precisely,” murmured Mr Blackton. “It struck me that one copy was ample. So I destroyed his.”

  “But for all that,” continued Drummond, noting the look of relief that spread over Sir Raymond’s face, “I don’t think you’re going to have a fearfully jolly time when you return to London. In fact, if I may offer you a word of advice, I wouldn’t return at all.”

  “What do you mean?” stammered the other.

  “Exactly what I say, you damned swine,” snapped Drummond. “Do you imagine you can instigate murder and sudden death, and then go trotting into the Berkeley as if nothing had happened? You’re for it, Blantyre; you’re for it – good and strong. And you’re going to get it. As I say, the Professor is angry and he’s obstinate – and he wants your blood. My own impression is that if you get off with fifteen years, you can think yourself lucky.”

  Sir Raymond plucked at his collar feverishly.

  “Fifteen years! My God!” Then his voice rose to a scream. “But it was this villain who did it all, I tell you, who murdered Lewisham, who...”

  With a crash he fell back in the chair where Drummond had thrown him, and though his shaking lips still framed words, no sound came from them. Blackton was still critically regarding the ash on his cigar; Drummond had turned his back and was speaking again.

  “Yes, Carl,” he was saying, “the Professor and I will deal with Sir Raymond. Or if anything should happen to me, then the Professor is quite capable of doing it himself.”

  “And what do you anticipate should happen to you?” asked Blackton politely.

  “Nothing, I trust. But there is one thing which I have never done in the past during all our games of fun and laughter. I have never made the mistake of underrating you.”

  Blackton glanced at him thoughtfully.

  “We appear,” he murmured, “to be approaching the sixpence in the plum-pudding.”

  “We are,” returned Drummond quietly. “Sir Raymond is the Professor’s portion; you are mine.”

  A silence settled on the room – a silence broken at length by Blackton. His blue eyes never left Drummond’s face; the smoke from his cigar rose into the air undisturbed by any tremor of his hand.

  “I am all attention,” he remarked.

  “There is not much to say,” said Drummond. “But what there is, I hope may interest you. If my memory serves me aright, there was one unfailing jest between us in the old days. Henry Lakington did his best to make it stale before he met with his sad end; that unpleasant Count Zadowa let it trip from his tongue on occasions; in fact, Carl, you yourself have used it more than once. I allude to the determination expressed by you all at one time or another to kill me.”

  Blackton nodded thoughtfully.

  “Now you speak of it, I do recall something of the sort.”

  “Good,” continued Drummond. “And since no one could call me grudging in praise, I will admit that you made several exceedingly creditable attempts. This time, however, the boot is on the other leg: it’s my turn to say – snap. In other words, I am going to kill you, Carl. At least, lest I should seem to boast, I’m going to have a damned good attempt – one that I trust will be even more creditable than yours.”

  Once again a silence settled, broken this time by an amused laugh from the girl.

  “Adorable as ever, my Hugh,” she murmured. “And where shall I send the wreath?”

  “Mademoiselle,” answered Drummond gravely, “I propose to be far more original than that. To do your – er – father – well, we won’t press that point – to do Carl justice, his attempts were most original. You were not, of course, present on the evening at Maybrick Hall, when that exceedingly unpleasant Russian came to an untimely end. But for the arrival of the Black Gang, I fear that I should have been th
e victim – and Phyllis. However, let me assure you that I have no intention whatever of doing you any harm. But I should like you to listen – even as Phyllis had to listen – while I outline my proposals. Carl ran over his that night for my benefit, and I feel sure he would have fallen in with any proposals I had to make. Similarly, believe me, I shall be only too charmed to do the same for him.”

  Sir Raymond Blantyre sat up and pinched himself. Was this some strange jest staged for his special benefit? Was this large young man who spoke with a twinkle in his eyes the jester? And glancing at the two men, he saw that there was no longer any twinkle, and that Blackton’s face had become strangely drawn and anxious. But his voice when he spoke was calm.

  “We appear to be in for an entertaining chat,” he murmured.

  “I hope you will find it so,” returned Drummond gravely. “But before we come to my actual proposal, I would like you to understand quite clearly what will happen if you refuse to fall in with it. Outside in the passage, Carl, are two large, stolid Swiss gendarmes: men of sterling worth, and quite unbribable. They don’t know why they are there at present; but it will not take long to enlighten them. Should you decide, therefore, to decline my suggestion, I shall be under the painful necessity of requesting them to step in here, when I will inform them of just so much of your past history as to ensure your sleeping for the next few nights in rather less comfortable quarters. Until, in fact, extradition papers arrive from England. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” answered the other. “That will occur if I do not fall in with your suggestion. So let us hear the suggestion.”

  “It took a bit of thinking out,” admitted Drummond. “I haven’t got your fertile brain, Carl, over these little matters. Still, I flatter myself it’s not bad for a first attempt. I realised somewhat naturally the drawbacks to shooting you on sight – besides, it’s so bad for the carpet. At the same time I have come to the unalterable conclusion that the world is not big enough for both of us. I might – you will justly observe – hand you over anyway to those stolid warriors outside. And since you would undoubtedly be hanged, the problem would be solved. But unsatisfactorily, Carl – most unsatisfactorily.”

  “We are certainly in agreement on that point,” said the other.

  “We have fought in the past without the police; we’ll finish without them. And having made up my mind to that, it became necessary to think of some scheme by which the survivor should not suffer. If it’s you – well, you’ll get caught sooner or later; if it’s me, I certainly don’t propose to suffer in any way. Apart from having just bought weight-carrying hunters for next winter, it would be grossly unfair that I should.”

  He selected a cigarette with care and lit it.

  “It was you, Carl, who put the idea into my head,” he continued, “so much of the credit is really yours. Your notion of making my death appear accidental that night at Maybrick Hall struck me as excellent. Worthy undoubtedly of an encore. Your death, Carl – or mine – will appear accidental, which makes everything easy for the survivor. I hope I’m not boring you.”

  “Get down to it,” snarled Blackton. “Don’t play the fool, damn you!”

  “As you did, Carl, that night at Maybrick Hall.” For a moment the veins stood out on Drummond’s neck as the remembrance of that hideous scene came back to him; then he controlled himself and went on. “At first sight it may seem absurd – even fanciful – this scheme of mine; but don’t judge it hastily, I beg you. Know anything about glaciers, Carl?”

  He smiled at the look of blank amazement on the other’s face.

  “Jolly little things, my dear fellow, if you treat ’em the right way. But dangerous things to play tricks with. There are great cracks in them, you know – deep cracks with walls of solid ice. If a man falls down one of those cracks, unless help is forthcoming at once, he doesn’t live long, Carl; in fact, he dies astonishingly quickly.”

  Blackton moistened his lips with his tongue.

  “People fall down these cracks accidentally sometimes,” continued Drummond thoughtfully. “In fact there was a case once – I won’t vouch for its truth – but I’m sure you’d like to hear the story. It occurred on the glacier not far from Grindelwald – and it’s always tickled me to death. It appears that one of the local celebrities went out to pick edelweiss or feed the chamois or something equally jolly, and failed to return. He’d gone out alone, and after a time his pals began to get uneasy. So they instituted a search party, and in due course they found him. Or rather they saw him. He had slipped on the edge of one of the deepest crevasses in the whole glacier, and there he was about fifty feet below them wedged between the two walls of ice. He was dead, of course – though they yodelled at him hopefully for the rest of the day. A poor story, isn’t it, Carl? – but it’s not quite finished. They decided to leave him there for the night, and return next day and extract him. Will you believe it, Mademoiselle, when they arrived the following morning, they couldn’t get at him. The old glacier had taken a heave forward in the night, and there he was wedged. Short of blasting him out with dynamite he was there for keeps. A terrible position for a self-respecting community, don’t you think? To have the leading citizen on full view in a block of ice gives visitors an impression of carelessness. Of course, they tried to keep it dark; but it was useless. People came flocking from all over the place. Scientists came and made mathematical calculations as to when he’d come out at the bottom. Every year he moved on a few more yards; every year his widow – a person now of some consequence – took her children to see father, and later on her grandchildren to see grandfather. Forty years was the official time – and I believe he passed the winning-post in forty-one years three months: a wonderful example of pertinacity and dogged endurance.” Drummond paused hopefully. “That’s a pretty original idea, Carl, don’t you think?”

  Sir Raymond gave a short, almost hysterical laugh, but there was no sign of mirth on the faces of the other two.

  “Am I to understand,” said Blackton harshly, “that you propose that one or other of us should fall down a crevasse in a glacier? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.”

  “Don’t say that,” answered Drummond. “It’s no more ridiculous than braining me with a rifle butt, as you intended to do once. And a great deal less messy. Anyway, that is my proposal. You and I, Carl, will go unarmed to a glacier. We will there find a suitably deep crevasse. And on the edge of that crevasse” – his voice changed suddenly – “we will fight for the last time, with our bare hands. It will be slippery, which is to your advantage, though the fact that I am stronger than you cannot be adjusted at this late hour. It’s that – or the police, Peterson: one gives you a chance, the other gives you none. And if, as I hope, you lose – why, think of your triumph. The leading detectives of four continents will be dancing with rage on the top of the ice watching you safely embalmed underneath their feet.”

  “I refuse utterly,” snarled the other. “It’s murder – nothing more nor less.”

  “A form of amusement you should be used to,” said Drummond. “However, you refuse. Very good. I will now send for the police.”

  He rose and went to the door, and Blackton looked round desperately.

  “Wait,” he cried. “Can’t we – can’t we come to some arrangement?”

  “None. Those are my terms. And there is one other that I have not mentioned. You said that two copies of the Professor’s notes were excessive. I agree – but I go farther: one is too much; that process is altogether too dangerous. If the police take you – it doesn’t matter; but if you accept my terms, you’ve got to hand that copy over to me now. And I shall burn it. I don’t mind running the risk of being killed; but if I am, you’re not going to get away with the other thing too.” Drummond glanced at his watch. “I give you half a minute to decide.”

  The seconds dragged by and Blackton stared in front of him.
Plan after plan flashed through his mind, only to be dismissed as impossible. He was caught – and he knew it. Once the police had him, he was done for utterly and completely. They could hang him ten times over in England alone. Moreover, anything in the nature of personal violence under present circumstances was out of the question. Powerful though he was, at no time was he a match for Drummond in the matter of physical strength; but here in the Palace Hotel it was too impossible even to think of. Almost as impossible as any idea of bribery.

  He was caught: not only had this, his greatest coup, failed, but his life was forfeit as well. For he was under no delusions as to what would be the result of the fight on the glacier.

  He heard the snap of a watch closing.

  “Your half-minute is up, Peterson.” Drummond’s hand was on the door. “And I must say – I thought better of you.”

  “Stop,” said the other sullenly. “I accept.”

  Drummond came back into the room slowly.

  “That is good,” he remarked. “Then – first of all – the notes of Professor Goodman’s process.”

  Without a word Blackton handed over two sheets of paper, though in his eyes was a look of smouldering fury.

  “You fool!” he snarled, as he watched them burn to ashes. “You damned fool!”

  “Opinions differ,” murmured Drummond, powdering the ash on the table. “And now to discuss arrangements. We start early tomorrow morning by car. I have been to some pains to examine the timetable – I mention this in case you should try to bolt. There is nothing that will do you any good either in the Lausanne direction or towards Italy. Behind you have the mountain railways, which don’t run trains at night; in front you have the lake. Below, two very good friends of mine are waiting to assist if necessary – though I can promise you they will take no part in our little scrap. But you’re such an elusive person, Peterson, that I felt I could take no chances. To the best of my ability I’ve hemmed you in for the few hours that remain before we start. And then you and I will sit on the back seat and discuss the view. I feel the precautions seem excessive, but I have not the advantage of a specially prepared house – like you have always had in the past.”