Knock Out

by Sapper

  “And don’t forget another thing, Denny. No telephone message purporting to come from me will be genuine unless you hear the word – Cuckoo.”

  He slipped the gun into his pocket and crammed a cap on his head.

  “I’m going out the back way: lock up after me.”

  The passage led into some mews, and for a time Drummond stood in the shadow, reconnoitring. It was just dawn, and in the cold, grey light the place seemed deserted. After a while, skirting along under cover of the wall, he reached the street. Still he saw no one, and at length he decided that everything was all right. He turned and started briskly for the Marble Arch.

  The morning was chilly, and he turned up the collar of his coat. So far as he could see he had made the arrangements fool-proof at his end. Provided that Daphne Frensham played up and acted her part well, she was safe. No one would worry over a maid on her Sunday out. Peter was fixed; Denny was fixed; everything, in fact, was all right except for that confounded interruption which had cost him the key to the cipher.

  He swung into Oxford Street: a hundred yards ahead of him he saw the car. And immediately afterwards Standish got out of it and beckoned to him to hurry.

  “I think it’s OK,” he said as Drummond came up, “but I shan’t feel safe until we’re well out of Town. Keep an eye skinned behind to make sure we’re not followed.”

  They drove all out till they reached the Great West By-pass, and then Drummond gave the all clear: there was no sign of anything in sight.

  “Where are we bound for?” he enquired.

  “There is a pub I know in the New Forest,” said Standish, “where the cooking is excellent and the port passing fair. Also it’s not too far from London.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Drummond. “Well, well, old lad, I’m deuced relieved to see you. I was afraid they’d got you at the Old Hall.”

  “They darned nearly did,” remarked Standish. “But nothing like as near as you ran it.”

  “What do you know about that?” said Drummond in some surprise. “You couldn’t see what happened in the squash court.”

  “I’m not alluding to what happened in the squash court,” answered Standish, “though I’d like to hear about that later. I’m alluding to what happened in your study not an hour ago. Sorry I couldn’t stop when you shouted after me.”

  “What the blazes are you talking about?” cried Drummond, staring at him in amazement.

  “Only that in another half-second Number Four would have got you just as he got Sanderson. By Gad! old boy, it was a close thing.”

  “But,” Drummond positively stuttered, “was it you who shot him through the hand just as he was going to give me the key to the cipher?”

  “Cipher my foot,” said Standish with a short laugh. “I don’t blame you a bit, Drummond: that’s the way he must have caught Sanderson. Some clever conjurer’s patter to get you to put your eye to the end of that so-called fountain-pen, which is really one of the most diabolical weapons that has ever been constructed. The ink on Sanderson’s desk ought to have put me wise to it, because I’ve heard of this contrivance before. It’s an American invention, and is, when you boil down to it, extremely simple. It looks exactly like a fountain-pen: it has a nib, and it can be written with. But instead of the ink reservoir there is a hollow steel tube covered at one end by a thin plug to make it appear solid. At the other end is a tiny cartridge and bullet, and the bullet is fired by operating the lever which in a genuine pen one uses for filling purposes. It is, in short, a tiny gun, but amply powerful enough to penetrate through a soft thing like an eye into the brain.”

  “My sainted aunt!” said Drummond slowly. “It would seem then, old boy, that I have to thank you for my jolly old well-being and all that sort of tripe.”

  “You have to thank the fact that I happened to be carrying that spring gun, and remembered about the pen just in time. Didn’t you see how amazed he looked after I’d hit him, when he saw that the pen was still intact? The first thought that had naturally come into his head was that something had gone wrong with the mechanism of his beastly contraption, and that it had burst in his hand. Then he saw it hadn’t, heard me laugh, and knew he’d been shot from outside.”

  “Great Scott!” cried Drummond, “that explains what was puzzling me. I thought he’d been hit by one of his own gang, and I couldn’t understand why, that being the case, I found he’d bolted when I came down with handkerchiefs and iodine. Of course, he knew the shot had not been fired by his own people. But tell me, old boy, why didn’t you shout out to me? I’d have nobbled the swine.”

  “I’ll tell you frankly,” said Standish gravely. “I was frightened.”

  “Frightened!” echoed Drummond. “What of?”

  “Our not being able to disappear and hide. I’ll go into that more fully later, but that was the reason. I dared not plug him through the head and kill him, though he richly deserved it, and with that weapon in his hand nothing would have been said if I had. But it would have entailed our remaining in London, and getting in touch with the police. The same objection applied if I called out to you, and we’d held him prisoner. Again, the police would have had to be called in, and we should have been detained in Town. And I didn’t dare risk it. We’ll get the swine later, but at present there are far more important things to tackle, and you and I have got to tackle ’em. And to do so successfully we’ve got to lie hidden for a time. For I tell you, Drummond, speaking with all seriousness, our lives at the present moment are not worth the snap of a finger. We have butted into an enormous coup. What that coup is I don’t know, but we’ve got to find out. And it’s coming off within the next week, so we haven’t too much time.”

  “How do you know that?” demanded Drummond.

  “From the scraps of conversation I overheard from my captors, while waiting my turn in the squash court,” said Standish with a grin. “After you’d gone into the house I remained where you left me for a considerable time, until I began to get really uneasy. So I decided to go and investigate, and as luck would have it I ran full tilt into a whole bunch of them. It was hopeless from the word ‘go,’ but I gave a shout so as to let you know.”

  “I heard you,” said Drummond, “but I was locked in and could do nothing.”

  “There was nothing to be done in any case, old boy: there must have been at least twenty of ’em. They trussed me up and gagged me, and chucked me into an outhouse, where three or four of them mounted guard. And it was from remarks they made that I gathered they none of them expected to be in England more than another ten days, which shows that the coup, whatever it is, is coming shortly. From their accents and conversation generally I put them down as American and Irish gunmen, and quite obviously they were a bunch of toughs who would stick at nothing. Every now and then a new one would drift in: your late visitor – Number Four – came in two or three times.

  “About twenty minutes after they’d got me something occurred which evidently surprised them. Did any woman appear on the scene?”

  “Corinne Moxton and dear Richard,” said Drummond.

  “I wondered if it was her. In any case her arrival caused a change of plan as far as you were concerned.”

  “Bless her kindly heart,” said Drummond grimly.

  “Something spicy was to be staged for her, apparently in the squash court. And what was more, as they were at pains to inform me, when you were disposed of I was to be the next item on the programme. What happened to you in there?”

  Briefly Drummond told him and Standish whistled.

  “A merry little piece of work – our Corinne,” he exclaimed as Drummond finished. “What an extraordinary kink for a woman to have. However, the rest you know. I heard Peter and the boys arrive, and for a time there was some deliberation as to whether they should have a pitched battle or not. But orders must have come through from the boss, because the
whole lot just vanished. Whether they scattered and lay doggo in the grounds, or what they did, I don’t know: I was having a whole-time job trying to get free. Then I heard you shouting my name, so I knew that you had survived the entertainment in the squash court. But I was still gagged and couldn’t answer. And then when at last I did get free you had all gone. Providentially, however, I found that a car had been overlooked by the opponents in their hurried departure, and getting into it I trod on the gas, stopping only to retrieve the gun which I had left in the bushes. Then I came round to see you and fortunately arrived in the nick of time. But what has been puzzling me is what was the reason of Peter’s opportune arrival?”

  “That had me guessing too,” said Drummond, and then he told Standish of Daphne Frensham.

  “Are you sure she is to be trusted?” remarked Standish when he finished.

  “As sure as one can be over anything in a show of this sort,” answered Drummond. “And the fact remains that but for her getting into touch with Peter neither you nor I would be sitting in this car at the present moment.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Standish.

  “There’s another thing too,” went on Drummond. “She doesn’t know where I’m going to: I didn’t know myself when I left. But she’s all right, old boy: I’m certain of it. And she should prove an invaluable ally sitting, as she will be, right in the heart of the enemies’ country.”

  “This man Demonico – you say he was bald.”

  “As a billiard ball. With repulsive hands manicured like a woman’s.”

  “I’m trying to tape him,” said Standish thoughtfully. “I’ve got a fairly extensive acquaintance with international crooks, but he seems a new one on me.”

  “A dangerous customer, if I’m any judge,” remarked Drummond.

  “My dear fellow, they’re a dangerous gang. I think you’re perfectly right about Corinne Moxton: she’s in it simply to gratify her sadistic tendencies, and is, in reality, the least dangerous, even if the most unpleasant, of the whole bunch. Pendleton is on a different footing. He – if what Miss Frensham told you is correct – is obviously mixed up in their bigger schemes. In fact, that was clear when they drugged me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t second-in-command, with this man Demonico the boss. But what is agitating my grey matter at the moment is what sort of a coup they can be proposing to pull off that necessitates keeping a young army of low-class riff-raff about the place. If one could only get a line on the type of thing they’ve got in view. It can’t be high-class burglary: all those men are capable of is smash-and-grab or a hold-up in a shop. If it’s political, as poor old Sanderson said, what do they want ’em all for? They’re not the slightest use for any delicate work.”

  “I suppose it couldn’t be a question of abducting someone: kidnapping him, and holding him prisoner,” said Drummond thoughtfully.

  “That’s certainly a possibility. There are quite a number of people who would like to see the Prime Minister out of the way, and Legrange and Daly are two of them. At the same time, even if they were planning such a fantastic scheme as kidnapping Dermot, what can they want that number of men for? There’s another thing too that I gathered from their remarks: a lot of them have only just arrived in the country. Recently arrived: leaving in a week. It all points, old boy, to some very big coup for which these ruffians have been specially brought over. And the devil of it is I can’t even begin to imagine what it can be.”

  “We’ve got to solve that cipher somehow,” said Drummond. “By the way, did I tell you that Daphne Frensham has a hunch that it may be something to do with the day of the week. Apparently Pendleton… Great Scott!”

  He broke off suddenly, and Standish glanced at him.

  “What’s stung you?” he asked.

  “Do you remember,” answered Drummond slowly, “that bit of paper we found in Sanderson’s desk? Wait a minute: I’m trying to get it exactly. ‘Day of the week backwards. If two, omit first.’ That was it, wasn’t it?”

  “As near as makes no odds,” agreed Standish. “What about it?”

  “Only that that also points to the key being dependent on the day of the week. Pendleton’s annoyance when he found he’d been trying to solve a Wednesday message under the impression it was Tuesday: the fact that we made complete gibberish of yesterday’s message, which was Saturday, simply and solely because we were using letters obtained from Friday’s code; and last but not least, that apparently nonsensical sentence in Sanderson’s desk – surely those three things taken together make it almost a certainty.”

  “I believe you’re right, old boy,” said Standish thoughtfully. “It undoubtedly supplies a meaning to what you say was a nonsensical sentence. At the same time I don’t know that it puts us much forrader.”

  “I know,” said Drummond gloomily. “That’s what Peter said. Still, it’s something to be on the right lines: it might help you. Personally I’m hopeless. The simplest crossword sends me into a muck sweat, and a child can outwit me with the most footling riddle. But a brainy feller like you ought to be able to cough up something.”

  “I’ll have a shot,” said Standish, “but I won’t promise anything. And if I can’t make it out I know a bloke in London who probably can. The devil of it is, you see, that the messages will almost certainly be short ones. Further, since the majority of the members of the gang have only recently arrived, not many are likely to have been sent. And so, even if we got a lot of back papers, you would be lucky if you found more than two Tuesday codes, or two Fridays. Which is awkward. For though it is quite true that any cipher invented by man can be solved by man, it is essential to have a lot of it to work on. And that is just what we shan’t get. Still – we can but have a dip at it.”

  They drove in silence for some miles. A watery sun that gave no heat gleamed fitfully through the flying clouds, and a strong desire for breakfast grew in both men.

  “Eggs and bacon, laddie,” said Drummond cheerfully. “Lots of coffee, and then little Willie proposes to hit the hay.”

  “Only about another twenty miles,” cried Standish. “And I can do with a bit of shut-eye myself. Do you think you killed that blighter in the squash court?”

  Drummond grinned happily.

  “I’m afraid I did,” he said, “because I should very much like to have had a further chat with him. I wonder whose great brain thought of those spikes. Demonico’s presumably. By the way, did you hear any gup about Gulliver? Why did they do him in?”

  Standish shook his head.

  “No: I didn’t hear his name mentioned. Talking out of his turn, I suppose, or a small token of their respect and esteem for letting me get away.”

  “There’s another point that arises,” said Drummond after a while. “What about this inquest tomorrow? We are two of the principal witnesses.”

  “Leave that to me, old boy. I’ll fix it with McIver and Co.: the police can be very discreet when they want to. Tomorrow’s affair will be merely a matter of form, and then an adjournment for a week. I shall tell ’em about the Old Hall, of course, and your pal Demonico.”

  “What about that swab Pendleton and Corinne?”

  “I think it’s best to put all the cards on the table: they can be trusted not to act precipitately. We must do it, old boy: it would be unpardonable if these swine pulled their game off because we said nothing about them.”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Drummond, “I was on the point of ringing them up myself just as Number Four arrived.”

  “I shall tell McIver that you and I are going to lie doggo for a while. And I’ll tell him why. He’s a sensible chap, and if I give him the situation from our point of view he’ll see it at once.”

  “It goes against the grain running away from that bunch of toughs,” said Drummond gloomily.

  “I agree: it does. But it would go a darned sight more against the grain
to get plugged from behind by some unknown man. And that, old lad, would have been our portion for a certainty if we’d stopped on in London.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” agreed Drummond, as Standish swung the car off the road up to the entrance of an hotel. “Anyway, let’s hope the staff is up: my stomach is flapping against my backbone. What’s this pub? The Falconbridge Arms. Seems good to me.”

  And it is not too much to say that the sum of ten thousand pounds would willingly have been paid by the occupants of a room in Sir Richard Pendleton’s Harley Street residence for the information contained in Drummond’s last few sentences. It was the doctor’s consulting room, and Sir Richard himself was seated at his desk. Opposite him Number Four, his hand bound up, sprawled sullenly in a chair: whilst, huddled over the fire, crouched a figure whose completely bald head proclaimed him as Demonico. And the prevalent atmosphere was one of tension.

  “It’s no good putting that stuff over on me.” Number Four was speaking. “I tell you I had that sucker as stone cold as I had Sanderson. He was just putting his eye to it when that pal of his got me through the window.”

  “You’ve said all that before,” snarled Demonico. “The plain fact remains that you bungled the thing hopelessly.”

  “I bungled, did I?” answered the other, white with anger. “What about you down at the Old Hall? That was a pretty piece of work, wasn’t it? A howling success, I should say. You had ’em both for the asking, and then you let ’em get away, just because you wanted to put up a peep-show for that blasted woman.”

  Pendleton’s fist crashed on the desk.

  “If you make another remark like that,” he said thickly, “I’ll smash your face in.”

  “Will you indeed, Sir Richard Sawbones?” snarled Number Four. “I agree it’s about all you are capable of – hitting a man with one arm. I tell you – I’m fed up with this. Who has done all the dangerous work up to date? I have. And what have you done, you damned pill pusher? Gone messing round the place to little parties and things with that tow-haired…”