by Sapper
“Well – it’s over now. Mr Burton has arrived sooner than I thought he would. Are you ready, Captain Drummond?”
And just for the fraction of a second Hugh Drummond’s mouth went dry.
“Delightful of you to ask me,” he said after a short pause. “I take it that it doesn’t much matter whether I am or not.”
“I’m sorry that it is necessary,” remarked Stangerton quietly. “Unlash his legs.”
So they were going to move him, and for an instant wild hope surged up in his breast. Anyway, it was better than being killed like a trussed pig.
He got stiffly to his feet, and stood swaying slightly. “Up the stairs, please,” said Stangerton. “Two of you come with him.”
He found himself in the hall. At the foot of the stairs Burton was talking earnestly to Menalin, and Stangerton joined them. The matter under discussion was evidently important: the words “urgent” and “vital” caught his ear, as he glanced idly round.
He felt a curious sense of detachment – almost of unreality – now that the end had come. On a table by an open window lay a large hypodermic syringe: beside it stood a blue medicine bottle. And even as he stared at them curiously, it happened. Like lightning a hand shot in from outside holding a similar bottle, which it substituted for the first.
Drummond felt his mouth opening: the thing had been so quick that he could hardly believe his eyes. Who did the hand belong to? The men guarding him had seen nothing: the other three were far too engrossed in their conversation to have noticed. Who did the hand belong to? What did it mean? And the wild hope he had felt in the cellar below came surging back again.
“We must get off at once.” He heard Burton’s voice from across the hall. “Will you tell Dorina? I’ll get this done, and then we’ll have our inspection. Now Captain Drummond, I’m sorry matters should have come to this, but I understand Mr Menalin has explained the situation to you.”
He picked up the bottle and the syringe.
“I can assure you of one thing: it is perfectly painless. You will just fall asleep. Unlash his wrists and roll up that sleeve.”
His mind a seething medley of conflicting thoughts, Drummond felt the prick of a needle in his arm. And then his brain grew ice-cold. He must act – act for his hope of life.
“You will just fall asleep.”
Burton’s words rang in his ears: so be it – he would.
“Lay him on the floor,” came Burton’s order, and the two guards put him down.
Act – act for his life. And for more than his life: for the possibility of defeating them after all. So he stared at Burton with a sneer on his face, then let his eyes close, only to force them open again with a great effort. Closed again: opened. And then at last they did not open…
“Good,” said Burton quietly. “Now the other two.”
“How long before he’s dead?” asked Stangerton.
“It varies. He’s a very powerful man, so that in his case it may be ten minutes. But he’ll never wake again. Have you told Dorina?”
“Yes.” It was Menalin speaking. “She’ll be ready in half an hour. And she doesn’t want to come to the island.”
“Half an hour will just give us comfortable time,” said Burton.
Came the sound of footsteps descending into the cellar, and still Drummond lay motionless, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Of ill effects he felt no trace; whatever it was that was in the second bottle was harmless.
And now there began a period of tension which well-nigh drove him crazy. For there had dawned on him a scheme so utterly gorgeous in its simplicity that he could scarcely lie still in his excitement. If only he could do it…
From the cellar came the sound of voices, but he did not know if they were all down there, or whether someone had been left on guard. He dared not open his eyes, though the temptation to do so was almost overwhelming. He must wait…wait…
Suddenly he felt that someone was bending over him, and a voice whispered “Drummond.” He looked up; it was Talbot.
“Got a gun?” he whispered and Talbot shook his head. “Then hide yourself and stand by to help.”
He closed his eyes and listened. No time now to wonder how Talbot had got there; no time for anything but his plan…
The minutes dragged on leaden feet; a clock nearby ticked maddeningly. And then came a sentence from the cellar.
“The damned dope doesn’t seem to have had any effect on this crazy guy. Go and see how the big stiff is getting on.”
Drummond smiled inwardly; Algy, being delirious, would naturally have shown no reaction to a harmless injection. Then he braced himself; the moment had come. Steps were ascending the stairs; one of the guards was stooping over him and he had held his breath.
“This one’s a goner,” the man sang out, and the words died away in a strangled scream of terror. For the goner had wrenched the gun from his hand, and had him by the throat in a grip of such ferocity that his eyes were starting from his head. And the next instant he was rushed backwards to the top of the cellar stairs.
The two men below were staring in amazement; amazement which turned to terror as they looked up.
“Shoot,” howled one. “He’s got a gun.”
Two shots rang out, and Drummond felt them thud into the back of the man he held. And then two more, and from Drummond’s side there came a quick gasp. For Talbot was standing there, and Talbot was no mean shot himself. And Talbot had seen two faces cease to be faces as a bullet crashed home in each. Drummond had shot to kill…
His grip relaxed on the man he held, who toppled over and fell like a sack to the floor below. And for one moment Drummond stood motionless, his head thrown back. Then he gave a bellow of triumph; he had done it. For the shaft was mined, and in front of him was the switch-board.
It was the third key he pressed that did it. From far off there came a dull rumble that seemed to shake the house, followed by a terrific blast of air that swept from the entrance of the tunnel. Then silence – save for Algy’s delirious muttering…
“Quick,” cried Drummond. “Follow me.”
He raced from the house with Talbot behind him, and made for the edge of the cliff. There – the first time he had seen it from the outside – lay the island of Varda, its red cliffs rising sheer from the water. And halfway between it and the mainland there floated a mass of dirt and timber, which still eddied lazily in the oily swell.
“Trapped,” said Drummond quietly. “Like rats. I wonder if they’ll bolt.”
But that they were never destined to see. Suddenly the whole island seemed to split open in front of them. A sheet of flame shot into the sky; rocks, chairs, bedsteads, men and portions of men were hurled upwards and outwards to finish finally in a sea that now boiled angrily as tons of stuff fell into it.
Appalled, yet fascinated they watched, until the last echo had died away; the last traces had vanished beneath the water. From out to sea came the wail of a siren – for the day was misty; above their heads ten thousand gulls screamed discordantly. And over what had once been the Island of Varda there drifted sluggishly a pink cloud…
CHAPTER 17
A Double Toast
And so it ended in failure – that monstrous and diabolical plot. What caused the ammonal in the island cavern to explode must remain for ever uncertain. One man and one man only was saved and his mind was deranged. He was picked up in the sea clinging to a baulk of wood. And sometimes in the night he would wake and shriek – “Don’t shoot. For God’s sake, don’t shoot. You’ll kill us all” – till he lay back exhausted and drenched with sweat.
And it may well be that in that dark cave, the lights extinguished, the tunnel blown in, blind panic reigned. Men fought and screamed; guns were drawn. And some chance bullet found its target in the high explosive. But as I say it will never be known.
Of the woman Dorina, no trace was ever seen again. When Drummond and Talbot returned to the house her car had gone; only the one in which Burton had come from Birchington Towers remained – the one in which Talbot had travelled, hidden in the boot.
For he, in accordance with Drummond’s orders, had been on the watch when the telephone call from Stangerton came through. And he had overheard it. He had seen Burton’s preparations, and had managed to get hold of a similar bottle which he filled with water. Then with a tremendous effort he had squeezed himself into the boot, and thus had he come at the crucial moment to Hooting Carn.
So that there may be some who will say that it is he to whom the principal credit should be given; that save for him Drummond would have died. Others may claim that, save for Ronald Standish’s message about the Island of Varda, the scheme would have succeeded. As for me, I prefer Hugh Drummond’s own opinion.
It was expressed at a dinner party he gave three weeks later – a party I was privileged to attend. Ronald had returned; Humphrey Gasdon had come over from Paris. Ginger Lawson was there, and Talbot; Algy with his arm in a sling – Peter still very shaky. And two others, who sat, one on each side of their host.
The port had gone round, and suddenly Drummond rapped on the table, and stood up.
“Gentlemen,” he said quietly, “there is only one possible toast tonight, and that is a double one. To the girl who walked on the Downs, and to the girl who walked in her sleep.”
Endnote
[1] Author’s Note – In view of the tension that still exists in the European situation today, it has been considered advisable to suppress Menalin’s reply. But it should not be difficult for the reader to fill the gap.
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’ Drummond 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.
The Final Count
When Robin Gaunt, inventor of a terrifyingly powerful weapon of chemical warfare, goes missing, the police suspect that he has ‘sold out’ to the other side. But Bulldog Drummond is convinced of his innocence, and can think of only one man brutal enough to use the weapon to hold the world to ransom. Drummond receives an invitation to a sumptuous dinner-dance aboard an airship that is to mark the beginning of his final battle for triumph.
The Finger of Fate
The title story in this wry collection concerns acquaintances Staunton and Barstow, who witness a bizarre spectacle outside a bar in an Austrian village. A thin-lipped aristocrat steps down from his plush horse-drawn vehicle, and commences formidable target-practice on some playing cards – the Five of Hearts and the Five of Spades. Barstow remains utterly still during this peculiar display, and it emerges that he has witnessed this on six consecutive days – the shooter is the husband of his mistress, and he is challenging Barstow to a duel. Further stories of love, revenge, jealousy and fate complete this stirring volume.
The Island of Terror
When intrepid adventurer, Jim Maitland, returns to England for a brief visit, he meets a charming young woman named Judy Draycott, who solicits his help in a perilous matter. She relates the story of her brother, Arthur – drifting in South America until he meets an old sailor who, on his deathbed, tells him about a hoard of buried treasure. When Arthur is shot during an attempt to return to London, Maitland persuades his cousin, Percy, to accompany him to Lone Tree Island, where the treasure is allegedly buried. B
ut what can they do with only half a map? And can they evade the undesirables on their trail?
Jim Brent
A soldier with a death wish is the subject of the title story in this inspiring collection of First World War experiences. Jim Brent, serving in Belgium with the Royal Engineers, has his heart broken when his sweetheart announces she is to marry someone else. He becomes instantly fearless and suggests a wild scheme to blow up a bridge – which could very well cost him his life.
Jim Maitland
Immaculate, charming, fearless wanderer, Jim Maitland, has a peculiar code of morals and an unforgettable character. Our enthusiastic narrator, Leyton, meets the legendary Maitland on the Island of Tampico – a flawless jewel in a sapphire sea, with more vice than the slums of a city – and leaps at the chance to accompany this charismatic man on his spontaneous travels.
John Walters
In the ranks of North Sussex – Number Three Platoon – serves a man whose physical stature is imposing, but whose mental state is said to be inert at best. This is the story of his remarkable awakening, one hot day in May, as he serves in the trenches of the front line. Other fascinating stories follow in this convincing commentary of wartime experience.
Knock Out
Ronald Standish – the charming, occasional detective who accepts cases when they take his fancy – receives a frantic phone call from a friend, who works for the Secret Service, asking for help. But when the line suddenly goes dead, Standish rushes round to his friend’s Hampstead abode, and is horrified to find him dead, with the receiver still in his hand and a horrific wound to his eye. When Standish teams up with Bulldog Drummond, the tangled political web surrounding this murder and the fearsome risks in pursuing the perpetrators are met head on.