Bulldog Drummond

by Sapper

  ‘Oh, no! Mr Potts,’ said Peterson with a thoughtful smile; ‘I can assure you, you won’t. The distressing malady from which you have recently been suffering will again have you in its grip. My friend, Mr Lakington, is an expert on that particular illness. It renders you quite unfit for business.’

  For a while there was silence, and the millionaire stared round the room like a trapped animal.

  ‘I refuse!’ he cried at last. ‘It’s an outrage against humanity. You can do what you like.’

  ‘Then we’ll start with a little more thumbscrew,’ remarked Peterson, strolling over to the desk and opening a drawer. ‘An astonishingly effective implement, as you can see if you look at your thumb.’ He stood in front of the quivering man, balancing the instrument in his hands. ‘It was under its influence you gave us the first signature, which we so regrettably lost. I think we’ll try it again…

  The American gave a strangled cry of terror, and then the unexpected happened. There was a crash as a pane of glass splintered and fell to the floor close beside Lakington; and with an oath he sprang aside and looked up.

  ‘Peep-bo,’ came a well-known voice from the skylight. ‘Clip him one over the jaw, Potts, my boy, but don’t you sign.’

  CHAPTER 8

  In Which He Goes to Paris for a Night

  Drummond had acted on the spur of the moment. It would have been manifestly impossible for any man, certainly of his calibre, to have watched the American being tortured without doing something to try to help him. At the same time the last thing he had wanted to do was to give away his presence on the roof. The information he had obtained that night was of such vital importance that it was absolutely essential for him to get away with it somehow; and, at the moment, his chances of so doing did not appear particularly bright. It looked as if it was only a question of time before they must get him.

  But as usual with Drummond, the tighter the corner, the cooler his head. He watched Lakington dart from the room, followed more slowly by Peterson, and then occurred one of those strokes of luck on which the incorrigible soldier always depended. The girl left the room as well.

  She kissed her hand towards him, and then she smiled.

  ‘You intrigue me, ugly one,’ she remarked, looking up, ‘intrigue me vastly. I am now going out to get a really good view of the Kill.’

  And the next moment Potts was alone. He was staring up at the skylight, apparently bewildered by the sudden turn of events, and then he heard the voice of the man above speaking clearly and insistently.

  ‘Go out of the room. Turn to the right. Open the front door. You’ll see a house through some trees. Go to it. When you get there, stand on the lawn and call “Phyllis”. Do you get me?’

  The American nodded dazedly; then he made a great effort to pull himself together, as the voice continued: ‘Go at once. It’s your only chance. Tell her I’m on the roof here.’

  With a sigh of relief he saw the millionaire leave the room; then he straightened himself up, and proceeded to reconnoitre his own position. There was a bare chance that the American would get through, and if he did, everything might yet be well. If he didn’t – Hugh shrugged his shoulders grimly and laughed.

  It had become quite light, and after a moment’s indecision Drummond took a running jump, and caught the ridge of the sloping roof on the side nearest the road. To stop by the skylight was to be caught like a rat in a trap, and he would have to take his chance of being shot. After all, there was a considerable risk in using firearms so near a main road, where at any time some labourer or other early riser might pass along. Notoriety was the last thing which Peterson desired, and if it got about that one of the pastimes at The Elms was potting stray human beings on the roof, the inquiries might become somewhat embarrassing.

  It was as Hugh threw his leg over the top of the roof, and sat straddleways, leaning against a chimney stack, that he got an idea. From where he was he could not see The Larches, and so he did not know what luck the American had had. But he realised that it was long odds against his getting through, and that his chief hope lay in himself. Wherefore, as has just been said, he got an idea – simple and direct; his ideas always were. It occurred to him that far too few unbiased people knew where he was; it further occurred to him that it was a state of affairs which was likely to continue unless he remedied it himself. And so, just as Peterson came strolling round a corner of the house, followed by several men and a long ladder, Hugh commenced to sing. He shouted, he roared at the top of his very powerful voice and all the time he watched the men below with a wary eye. He saw Peterson look nervously over his shoulder towards the road, and urge the men on to greater efforts, and the gorgeous simplicity of his manoeuvre made Hugh burst out laughing. Then, once again, his voice rose to its full pitch, as he greeted the sun with a bellow which scared every rook in the neighbourhood.

  It was just as two labourers came to investigate the hideous din that Peterson’s party discovered the ladder was too short by several yards.

  Then with great rapidity the audience grew. A passing milkman; two commercial travellers who had risen with the lark and entrusted themselves and their samples to a Ford car; a gentleman of slightly inebriated aspect, whose trousers left much to the imagination; and finally more farm labourers. Never had such a tit-bit of gossip for the local pub been seen before in the neighbourhood; it would furnish a topic of conversation for weeks to come. And still Hugh sang and Peterson cursed; and still the audience grew. Then, at last, there came the police with notebook all complete, and the singer stopped singing to laugh.

  The next moment the laugh froze on his lips. Standing by the skylight, with his revolver raised, was Lakington, and Hugh knew by the expression on his face that his finger was trembling on the trigger. Out of view of the crowd below he did not know of its existence, and, in a flash, Hugh realised his danger. Somehow Lakington had got up on the roof while the soldier’s attention had been elsewhere; and now, his face gleaming with an unholy fury, Lakington was advancing step by step towards him with the evident intention of shooting him.

  ‘Good morrow, Henry,’ said Hugh quietly. ‘I wouldn’t fire if I were you. We are observed, as they say in melodrama. If you don’t believe me,’ his voice grew a little tense, ‘just wait while I talk to Peterson, who is at present deep in converse with the village constable and several farm labourers.’

  He saw doubt dawn in Lakington’s eyes, and instantly followed up his advantage.

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t like the notoriety attendant upon a funeral, Henry dear; I’m sure Peterson would just hate it. So, to set your mind at rest, I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  It is doubtful whether any action in Hugh Drummond’s life ever cost him such an effort of will as the turning of his back on the man standing two yards below him, but he did it apparently without thought. He gave one last glance at the face convulsed with rage, and then with a smile he looked down at the crowd below.

  ‘Peterson,’ he called out affably, ‘there’s a pal of yours up here – dear old Henry. And he’s very annoyed at my concert. Would you just speak to him, or would you like me to be more explicit? He is so annoyed that there might be an accident at any moment, and I see that the police have arrived. So – er–’

  Even at that distance he could see Peterson’s eyes of fury, and he chuckled softly to himself. He had the whole gang absolutely at his mercy, and the situation appealed irresistibly to his sense of humour.

  But when the leader spoke, his voice was as suave as ever: the eternal cigar glowed evenly at its normal rate.

  ‘Are you up on the roof, Lakington?’ The words came clearly through the still summer air.

  ‘Your turn, Henry,’ said Drummond. ‘Prompter’s voice off – “Yes, dear Peterson, I am here, even upon the roof, with a liver of hideous aspect.” ’

  For one moment he thought he had gone too far, and that Lakington, in his blind fury, would shoot him then and there and chance the consequences. But with a mighty effort t
he man controlled himself, and his voice, when he answered, was calm.

  ‘Yes, I’m here. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing,’ cried Peterson, ‘but we’ve got quite a large and appreciative audience down here, attracted by our friend’s charming concert, and I’ve just sent for a large ladder by which he can come down and join us. So there is nothing that you can do – nothing.’ He repeated the word with a faint emphasis, and Hugh smiled genially.

  ‘Isn’t he wonderful, Henry?’ he murmured. ‘Thinks of everything; staff work marvellous. But you nearly had a bad lapse then, didn’t you? It really would have been embarrassing for you if my corpse had deposited itself with a dull thud on the corns of the police.’

  ‘I’m interested in quite a number of things, Captain Drummond,’ said Lakington slowly, ‘but they all count as nothing beside one – getting even with you. And when I do…’ He dropped the revolver into his coat pocket, and stood motionless, staring at the soldier.

  ‘Ah! when!’ mocked Drummond. ‘There have been so many “whens”, Henry dear. Somehow I don’t think you can be very clever. Don’t go – I’m so enjoying my heart-to-heart talk. Besides, I wanted to tell you the story about the girl, the soap, and the bath. That’s to say, if the question of baths isn’t too delicate.’

  Lakington paused as he got to the skylight.

  ‘I have a variety of liquids for bathing people in,’ he remarked. ‘The best are those I use when the patient is alive.’

  The next instant he opened a door in the skylight which Hugh had failed to discover during the night, and, climbing down a ladder inside the room, disappeared from view.

  ‘Hullo, old bean!’ A cheerful shout from the ground made Hugh look down. There, ranged round Peterson, in an effective group, were Peter Darrell, Algy Longworth, and Jerry Seymour. ‘Birds’ nestin’?’

  ‘Peter, old soul,’ cried Hugh joyfully, ‘I never thought the day would come when I should be pleased to see your face, but it has! For Heaven’s sake get a move on with that blinking ladder; I’m getting cramp.’

  ‘Ted and his pal, Hugh, have toddled off in your car,’ said Peter, ‘so that only leaves us four and Toby.’

  For a moment Hugh stared at him blankly, while he did some rapid mental arithmetic. He even neglected to descend at once by the ladder which had at last been placed in position. ‘Ted and us four and Toby’ made six – and six was the strength of the party as it had arrived. Adding the pal made seven; so who the deuce was the pal?

  The matter was settled just as he reached the ground. Lakington, wild-eyed and almost incoherent, rushed from the house, and, drawing Peterson on one side, spoke rapidly in a whisper.

  ‘It’s all right,’ muttered Algy rapidly. ‘They’re halfway to London by now, and going like hell if I know Ted.’

  It was then that Hugh started to laugh. He laughed till the tears poured down his face, and Peterson’s livid face of fury made him laugh still more.

  ‘Oh, you priceless pair!’ he sobbed. ‘Right under your bally noses. Stole away. Yoicks!’ There was another interlude for further hilarity. ‘Give it up, you two old dears, and take to knitting. Miss one and purl three, Henry my boy, and Carl in a nightcap can pick up the stitches you drop.’ He took out his cigarette case. ‘Well, au revoir. Doubtless we shall meet again quite soon. And, above all, Carl, don’t do anything in Paris which you would be ashamed of my knowing.’

  With a friendly wave he turned on his heel and strolled off, followed by the other three. The humour of the situation was irresistible; the absolute powerlessness of the whole assembled gang to lift a finger to stop them in front of the audience, which as yet showed no sign of departing, tickled him to death. In fact, the last thing Hugh saw, before a corner of the house hid them from sight, was the majesty of the law moistening his indelible pencil in the time-honoured method, and advancing on Peterson with his notebook at the ready.

  ‘One brief interlude, my dear old warriors,’ announced Hugh, ‘and then we must get gay. Where’s Toby?’

  ‘Having his breakfast with your girl,’ chuckled Algy. ‘We thought we’d better leave someone on guard, and she seemed to love him best.’

  ‘Repulsive hound!’ cried Hugh. ‘Incidentally, boys, how did you manage to roll up this morning?’

  ‘We all bedded down at your girl’s place last night,’ said Peter, ‘and then this morning, who should come and sing carols but our one and only Potts. Then we heard your deafening din on the roof, and blew along.’

  ‘Splendid!’ remarked Hugh, rubbing his hands together, ‘simply splendid! Though I wish you’d been there to help with that damned gorilla.’

  ‘Help with what?’ spluttered Jerry Seymour.

  ‘Gorilla, old dear,’ returned Hugh, unmoved. ‘A docile little creature I had to kill.’

  ‘The man,’ murmured Algy, ‘is indubitably mad. I’m going to crank the car.’

  II

  ‘Go away,’ said Toby, looking up as the door opened and Hugh strolled in. ‘Your presence is unnecessary and uncalled for, and we’re not pleased. Are we, Miss Benton?’

  ‘Can you bear him, Phyllis?’ remarked Hugh with a grin. ‘I mean, lying about the house all day?’

  ‘What’s the notion, old son?’ Toby Sinclair stood up, looking slightly puzzled.

  ‘I want you to stop here, Toby,’ said Hugh, ‘and not let Miss Benton out of your sight. Also keep your eyes skinned on The Elms, and let me know by phone to Half Moon Street anything that happens. Do you get me?’

  ‘I get you,’ answered the other, ‘but I say, Hugh, can’t I do something a bit more active? I mean, of course, there’s nothing I’d like better than to…’ He broke off in mild confusion as Phyllis Benton laughed merrily.

  ‘Do something more active!’ echoed Hugh. ‘You bet your life, old boy. A rapid one-step out of the room. You’re far too young for what’s coming now.’

  With a resigned sigh Toby rose and walked to the door.

  ‘I shall have to listen at the keyhole,’ he announced, ‘and thereby get earache. You people have no consideration whatever.’

  ‘I’ve got five minutes, little girl,’ whispered Hugh, taking her into his arms as the door closed. ‘Five minutes of Heaven… By Jove! But you look great – simply great.’

  The girl smiled up at him.

  ‘It strikes me, Master Hugh, that you have failed to remove your beard this morning.’

  Hugh grinned.

  ‘Quite right, kid. They omitted to bring me my shaving water on to the roof.’

  After a considerable interval, in which trifles such as beards mattered not, she smoothed her hair and sat down on the arm of a chair.

  ‘Tell me what’s happened, boy,’ she said eagerly.

  ‘Quite a crowded night.’ With a reminiscent smile he lit a cigarette. And then quite briefly he told her of the events of the past twelve hours, being, as is the manner of a man, more interested in watching the sweet colour which stained her cheeks from time to time, and noticing her quickened breathing when he told her of his fight with the gorilla, and his ascent of the murderous staircase. To him it was all over and now finished, but to the girl who sat listening to the short, half-clipped sentences, each one spoken with a laugh and a jest, there came suddenly the full realisation of what this man was doing for her. It was she who had been the cause of his running all these risks; it was her letter that he had answered. Now she felt that if one hair of his head was touched, she would never forgive herself.

  And so when he had finished, and pitched the stump of his cigarette into the grate, falteringly she tried to dissuade him. With her hands on his coat, and her big eyes misty with her fears for him, she begged him to give it all up. And even as she spoke, she gloried in the fact that she knew it was quite useless. Which made her plead all the harder, as is the way of a woman with her man.

  And then, after a while, her voice died away, and she fell silent. He was smiling, and so, perforce, she had to smile too. Only their eyes spoke those
things which no human being may put into words. And so, for a time, they stood…

  Then, quite suddenly, he bent and kissed her.

  ‘I must go, little girl,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve got to be in Paris tonight. Take care of yourself.’

  The next moment he was gone.

  ‘For God’s sake take care of her, Toby!’ he remarked to that worthy, whom he found sitting disconsolately by the front door. ‘Those blighters are the limit.’

  ‘That’s all right, old man,’ said Sinclair gruffly. ‘Good huntin’!’

  He watched the tall figure stride rapidly to the waiting car, the occupants of which were simulating sleep as a mild protest at the delay; then, with a smile, he rose and joined the girl.

  ‘Some lad,’ he remarked. ‘And if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Benton, I wouldn’t change him if I was you. Unless, of course,’ he added, as an afterthought, ‘you’d prefer me!’

  III

  ‘Have you got him all right, Ted?’ Hugh flung the question eagerly at Ted Jerningham, who was lounging in a chair at Half Moon Street, with his feet on the mantelpiece.

  ‘I’ve got him right enough,’ answered that worthy, ‘but he don’t strike me as being Number One value. He’s gone off the boil. Become quite gaga again.’ He stood up and stretched himself. ‘Your worthy servant is with him, making hoarse noises to comfort him.’

  ‘Hell!’ said Hugh, ‘I thought we might get something out of him. I’ll go and have a look at the bird. Beer in the corner, boys, if you want it.’

  He left the room, and went along the passage to inspect the American. Unfortunately Jerningham was only too right: the effects of last night’s injection had worn off completely, and the wretched man was sitting motionless in a chair, staring dazedly in front of him.

  ‘’Opeless, sir,’ remarked Denny, rising to his feet as Hugh came into the room. ‘He thinks this ’ere meat juice is poison, and he won’t touch it.’

  ‘All right, Denny,’ said Drummond. ‘Leave the poor blighter alone. We’ve got him back, and that’s something. Has your wife told you about her little adventure?’