Knock Out

by Sapper

  “Keep your eyes skinned,” said Drummond promptly, “especially on Pendleton. You see, he fills a dual role. Not only is he running round with Corinne, but he’s one of the big men in the other show. And early knowledge of his intentions should prove amazingly useful. Also see if by chance you can find out anything about this man Demonico. I can tell you nothing except that he is completely bald, and has a revolting-looking pair of hands with fingers like talons and highly polished nails. Tonight he was wearing dark glasses, but that may have been as a disguise. If Peter is right, and we’ve put the Old Hall out of commission for them, he will probably make his headquarters in London. And, of course, it would be of immense value to know where they are.”

  Daphne Frensham got up.

  “Very well, Captain Drummond,” she said, “I’ll do it. But if I’m to turn up on time tomorrow I’ll have to be getting along now or I shall get no sleep at all.”

  “Look here, Miss Frensham,” said Drummond, “do you mind if I make a suggestion? I am not going to the window to see, but I’m quite certain that if I did I should perceive the same bloke lurking outside who was there when I came back. Now Denny can easily rouse his wife, and I’m sure she can rig you out for the night. Then tomorrow I will smuggle you out of the house at the back by an exit which even the wariest of watchers would miss. You see, I don’t want to run the smallest chance of your being followed to your own place and then from there to Miss Moxton’s flat. If that happened the whole show would be given away.”

  “But won’t it be an awful bother?” she said.

  “Good Lord! no. Denny is quite used to little trifles of that sort.”

  He rang the bell, and after a few moments his servant appeared.

  “There you are, Miss Frensham,” he said after he had given the necessary instructions. “Mrs Denny will fit you up with all you want. Good night, and tell her what time you want calling.

  “A good girl that,” he continued as the door closed behind her. “By Jove! you chaps, this is a funny show. I didn’t enlarge too much on it in front of her, but there’s no doubt we’re dealing with something we’ve never struck before in the shape of Corinne Moxton. She’s like one of those cases one reads about in abstruse medical treatises. Abnormal, and it takes ’em all ways. With her the obsession is to see ghastly sights. It’s the only way she can get any excitement. Think of a woman watching that blighter with spikes on his hands trying to tear my throat out, as her evening’s entertainment.”

  “The amazing thing to me is that the men should have stood for it,” said Darrell. “They wanted you out of it, Hugh: why did they run such a risk?”

  “The lady decided that she wanted her spot of fun,” said Drummond. “In addition to that, they probably thought I hadn’t a hope, and to be quite candid, but for that tin of petrol, I hadn’t. Sooner or later we’d have had to come to close quarters, and then that blighter must have got me. And even after I’d laid him out, if you and Algy and the rest of the bunch hadn’t turned up when you did I’d have been for the long drop. I was a sitting target for anyone with a gun in the gallery.”

  “It was the only possible thing to do, old boy, after hearing what that girl had to say,” said Darrell. “Wake up, Algy, you hog, and finish your beer: it’s time we pushed off. By the way, Hugh, I suppose you’ll tell the police about the Old Hall?”

  “I shall. And about Demonico. But I shan’t mention Pendleton and Corinne. That card we’ll keep up our sleeves. Night, night, chaps, and many thanks for rolling up.”

  He waited till the front door slammed behind them: then he went to the window and looked out cautiously. So far as he could see the street was deserted save for the two men who had just gone, but he stood watching for a considerable time to make sure. Then he returned and flung another log on the fire.

  It was a peculiarity of Drummond that he wanted far less sleep than an ordinary individual, and at the moment he felt singularly wide awake. So, lighting a cigarette, he threw himself into an easy-chair, and picked up Algy Longworth’s scribbled notes. They represented the situation as he saw it, but there was one characteristic omission which, being entirely personal, he had not mentioned. It was his own position in the matter.

  In the course of his life he had made many mistakes, but under-estimating his adversary had never been one of them. And Drummond was under no delusions in this case. Whatever might have been his position relative to Standish at the time of the conversation overheard by Daphne Frensham, the events of the night had altered things considerably. He was now more of a menace to the other side, because he had seen Demonico and Standish had not. In any event, Standish for the time being had disappeared and was therefore safe, whilst Drummond had returned to his usual haunts in London.

  He was so accustomed to taking his life in his hands that the thought did not worry him unduly. At the same time he had a rooted objection to being scuppered without getting a run for hismoney. And therein lay the danger. Given a large, well-disciplined, and absolutely unscrupulous gang it was not difficult to dispose of a man in London with complete safety. And as he saw it, getting him out of the way was so vital to them that they would not even worry about the complete safety. It was essential to Demonico that he should be silenced, and silenced before the inquest.

  He grinned faintly, and lit another cigarette: this was like old times. And then the grin faded: there was one big difference that he had forgotten. If Standish was right there was more in this show than in those previous ones: there was a definite threat to the country. As against that Standish was free, and if anything happened to him Standish could carry on. But for all that nothing was going to happen to him if he could possibly avoid it.

  The trouble was that he was moving in the dark: he did not know from what direction danger was going to come. It would not be from Demonico himself, or even from Pendleton: some underling would be deputed for the job. And that underling would know Drummond whilst Drummond would not know the underling. Dare he therefore run the risk of being killed before passing on his information to Scotland Yard? What about ringing them up now and asking them to send round one of their big men? If he said it was concerned with the Sanderson affair someone would be bound to come. And his finger was actually on the dial when a sudden sound behind him made him swing round.

  Standing between the curtains was a man. He was tall and clean-shaven, and he was apparently unarmed, for both his hands were thrust in his trouser pockets.

  “Good evening, Captain Drummond,” he said quietly. “May I have a short talk with you?”

  “How the devil did you get in?” demanded Drummond, staring at him.

  “Through the open window,” answered the other with a faint smile. “I thought it would attract less attention than ringing the bell and disturbing the house.”

  “You seem,” said Drummond, “a moderately cool customer. What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “The Sanderson affair, of course. Do you mind if I sit down?”

  In silence Drummond pointed to a chair.

  “If you’ve got anything of interest to say,” he remarked curtly, “I am prepared to listen. Otherwise you’ll leave by the way you entered, and the first thing that hits the pavement will be your ear.”

  “I think you will find it quite interesting,” said the stranger, “I have come to tell you the name of the man who killed him.”

  Chapter 7

  Drummond eyed him dispassionately. The man appeared to be a gentleman, and seemed perfectly at ease. He had crossed his legs, and was calmly leaning back in his chair as if his unusual mode of entry and his last remark were the most ordinary things in the world.

  “That,” agreed Drummond, “will undoubtedly prove interesting. But may I first ask why it is I who am thus honoured and not the police, and secondly, why you should choose this ungodly hour?”

  “Certainly,” said the oth
er. “My reason for not going to the police is a very simple one. The police have no idea that I am in England at present, and to be quite candid, I prefer that state of affairs to continue. I have come to you because your name was in all the papers, and there is only one Captain Drummond in the telephone book, whereas there are several Standishes. Lastly, the ungodly hour is due to causes beyond my control. I couldn’t come before, and it would have been dangerous for you if I had postponed my visit a moment longer than necessary.”

  “Dangerous for me!” echoed Drummond. “Why?”

  “Because,” said his visitor gravely, “a rat surrounded by terriers is a far healthier insurance proposition than you are unless you vanish and stay put. In fact, it was to make you realise that, almost as much as to tell you the other thing, that decided me to come and see you.”

  “Deuced kind of you,” remarked Drummond. “And your simile is most edifying. You propose, I take it, to blow the gaff, an operation not unattended with danger to yourself. Why this touching solicitude for my safety?”

  “Because there has been quite enough murder done,” said the other. “I came into this show, for reasons into which we need not enter, but I did not bargain for wholesale killing. And you’re the next on the list after tonight’s effort down in Sussex.”

  “I confess,” murmured Drummond, “that some such idea has already occurred to me. But before we go any farther, since we are having this heart-to-heart talk, what is this show into which you came?”

  “All in due course,” said the visitor, “though I will be as brief as I can. I’ve got to be away from here before it is light to ensure my own safety. Now, in the first place are you aware that the members of this gang communicate with one another by cipher?”

  “I am,” answered Drummond. “Do you know the key?”

  “Of course I do,” said the other, rising and going over to the desk. “If I may take a piece of paper I’ll put you wise. Come over here, Captain Drummond, and you shall see for yourself. It’s simple, but at the same time unless you know the trick it is well-nigh impossible to discover it.”

  He drew a fountain-pen from his pocket.

  “Is that the Sporting Life over there? That will do: thank you.”

  He opened the paper out on the desk.

  “Now take any pencil or pen,” he continued, “provided the pencil has a sharp point. The first thing you have to do is to look along it, as I’m doing now, selecting the left-hand column of the centre page. Now use this pen of mine – I’ll hold it for you – and look. Get your eye quite close to it.”

  And then occurred an amazing interruption, which left even Drummond gaping stupidly. He was just bending down to focus his eye to the pen, when the pen disappeared and his visitor, cursing dreadfully, leaped to his feet, wringing a hand from which blood was spouting freely.

  “What the devil is it?” cried Drummond. “What’s happened to your hand?”

  But the other, like a man bereft of his senses, was staring at the pen lying on the carpet.

  “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “I don’t understand.”

  And at that moment there came from the pavement outside the sound of a laugh.

  Drummond swung round and dashed to the window: a man was running up the street.

  “Hi! you,” he shouted, but the man took no notice and vanished round a corner.

  “So,” he said, coming back into the room, “it would seem that your visit here has been found out. And it strikes me, my friend, that you now join me in the rat and terrier parallel. Somebody got you through the open window.”

  The other did not answer: he was watching Drummond with terror in his eyes.

  “Pull yourself together, man,” went on Drummond contemptuously. “You’ve only been plugged through the hand. I’ll get something to bind it up with: you’re ruining my carpet. Stop over in that corner: you’re quite safe. I’ll have a look out of one of the other rooms and see if anyone else is there.”

  He crossed the hall, and going into the dining-room peered cautiously out of the window: the street was empty. Then, still marvelling at the extraordinary incident, he went upstairs for iodine and some clean handkerchiefs. Presumably the man had been followed, and had been shot as a traitor with one of the silent guns such as Standish and he had captured the previous afternoon. Luckily for him the firer had not killed him, but had only given him a very painful wound in the hand. It undoubtedly showed, however, that things wanted watching: there was a rapidity of action about the other side which was distinctly disconcerting.

  “Here we are,” he said, opening the study door, only once again to stand staring foolishly. For the room was empty: his visitor had gone.

  “Well, I’m blowed,” muttered Drummond to himself. “Have I dreamed the bally thing? Why’s the blighter hopped it?”

  But the question remained unanswered. A trail of blood leading to the window showed that he had left by the same way that he had come, but except for that no trace remained of his mysterious visitor. Even the pen with which he had been demonstrating the cipher had disappeared.

  Drummond closed the window thoughtfully: the whole thing was beyond him. What on earth could have induced the man, knowing there was danger outside, to go and run his head into it deliberately? Had his terror temporarily unhinged his brain? Nothing else could account for such an act of suicidal folly. Just as things were becoming interesting, too.

  However, it could not be helped. The man had gone, all his secrets untold: there seemed to be nothing for it now but to follow everyone else’s example and go to bed. And his hand was actually on the switch of the light when the telephone bell began to ring. He picked up the receiver: was it his late visitor calling him up to explain his sudden departure? It was not: to his surprise he heard Standish’s voice at the other end of the wire.

  “Cuckoo,” it came, “just to dispel any doubts. Standish speaking. I want you to obey me implicitly. Leave the house as soon as you can, and it is absolutely essential that you should shake off any watcher who may be there. You must not be followed. Make arrangements to remain away for at least a week, probably more. Get your servant to tell Darrell what has happened, in case we want to get in touch with him, so that he will be on the look-out. Got me so far?”

  “I have,” said Drummond.

  “When you leave,” continued Standish, “make your way to the Marble Arch, and walk along Oxford Street on the south side. It will be light by then, and you will see a stationary car facing west. Number ZZ 234: make, Bugatti; I’ll be waiting for you inside. And, for God’s sake, old boy, watch your step.”

  He rang off, and Drummond replaced the receiver. This was action such as he liked, but what was he to do about Daphne Frensham? She complicated matters to a certain extent, but the complication had to be faced, and faced quickly. He switched off the light: he would have to speak to her.

  He went rapidly to Denny’s quarters and beat him up.

  “Denny,” he said, “get your wife out of bed, and ask her to go and wake Miss Frensham. I don’t want lights going on all over the house, so she’d better take a candle. She is to tell Miss Frensham that I want a few words with her. I’ll be in my dressing-room. Tell your wife and then come upstairs to me.

  “Now,” he continued, when Denny rejoined him, “pay attention. I am disappearing for at least a week. Either get Mr Darrell round here and tell him, or go and see him yourself. Do not write it, or speak over the telephone to him. Do you follow?”

  “Yes, sir. Any address, sir?”

  “I can’t tell you, for I don’t know. Ah! there she is.”

  A knock had come on the door and Drummond opened it. Daphne Frensham was standing there with Mrs Denny behind her.

  “A thousand apologies, my dear,” said Drummond, “for pulling you out of bed like this, but further developments have taken place. I�
�ve got to leave here, and so you will have to do your get-away on your own this morning. Now it has suddenly dawned on me that it is Sunday: things have moved so hectically these last few hours that I’d forgotten the fact. I suppose you don’t go to Miss Moxton on the Sabbath, do you?”

  “No,” said the girl. “I don’t.”

  “Splendid: that makes it easy. In the first place you can have your sleep out. Then I want Mrs Denny to rig you up in some togs which will make you look as if you were the housemaid going for her day out. Can you do that, Mrs Denny?”

  “Yes, sir; I can manage that.”

  “Your own clothes,” continued Drummond, “can be done up in a parcel and posted to you on Monday by Denny. But you must appear to be one of the maidservants when you leave this house: that is essential. Another point arises. You are almost certain to be accosted by a man when you start off: at least, I shall be very much surprised if you are not. Do not be angry with him, or give him a clip on the jaw. Far from it: encourage him. And when he, as he will do, leads the conversation round to me, let him understand that, so far as you know, I have left suddenly for the Continent. Then shake him off – if he thinks you’re one of the servants, he won’t follow you – and make your way back to your own flat by a round-about route. Is that all clear?”

  “Quite. But where are you going?”

  “I don’t know myself,” said Drummond with a smile. “Now there’s one thing more. If you find out anything in the course of the next week pass it on to Peter Darrell. Good night, bless you: sleep well. Things are moving.”

  He watched her cross the passage and go back to her own rooms; then he turned once more to Denny.

  “Don’t forget that: I’ve gone to Paris, except to Mr Darrell. Give me my razor and toothbrush, and I must be off.”

  Drummond took his revolver from the drawer and loaded it: then he changed rapidly into a rougher suit.