‘The situation might become dangerous for Miss Drummer,’ Dr. Morelle declared, ‘if we fail to proceed with the utmost caution.’
‘Damn lucky you happened to be around,’ Neil Fulton said to him.
‘Yes,’ agreed Drummer fervently. ‘If you hadn’t been invited along this evening I don’t know whom I should have turned to.’
‘If only there was something I could do,’ the film actor exclaimed, ‘but I can’t even think. I feel just as if I’d been hit on the head with a sledgehammer.’
‘There is a way in which you might be of assistance.’
Fulton turned eagerly to Dr. Morelle. ‘How? What can I do?’
‘Answer one or two questions.’
Neil Fulton hesitated, and a faintly guarded expression appeared at the back of his eyes. He said:
‘I don’t see how anything I can tell you will be of much use.’
‘I recall many instances when a seemingly unimportant detail has provided a vital clue.’
Dr. Morelle’s tone was smooth, but Miss Frayle wondered if there wasn’t a hint of suspicion in his voice. Could it be he suspected the young film-actor himself of being implicated in Doone Drummer’s disappearance?
‘You mentioned just now,’ the Doctor was saying, ‘how Miss Drummer lent you a key of her flat.’
‘Yes.’
‘When exactly did she give you the key?’
‘At lunch,’ the other said promptly.
‘It was you, then, Doone was lunching with today,’ Harvey Drummer said.
Fulton nodded. ‘We went up to Hampstead to see a film-writer I know. Doone had an idea for a film. There was a part in it which was just what I always wanted to play. I took her up to see this chap and we discussed it over lunch at his house. I had to leave afterwards to get down to the studio.’
‘And the name of your friend?’
‘Leo Rolf. Lives in Heath Lane, Hampstead Village. He’ll confirm what I’ve just told you.’
Dr. Morelle caught the sting in the other’s voice, and replied urbanely:
‘I am merely seeking some hint which, while it might have escaped you, could perhaps be the first piece in the puzzle I am trying to solve.’
‘I realise that.’
‘It was during this lunch,’ Dr. Morelle went on, ‘that you arranged with Miss Drummer to come back here this evening instead of going to her party?’
‘That’s why she gave me the key.’
‘Did you make this arrangement in the presence of your friend at Hampstead?’
Neil Fulton nodded. ‘Leo made some silly joke about it.’
‘What sort of silly joke?’
‘Oh . . .’ Fulton looked vague. ‘It was just a remark typical of his sophisticated sense of humour.’
‘I see.’ Dr. Morelle paused for a moment. ‘And when you left your sophisticated friend’s house Miss Drummer remained behind.’
‘That’s right. They went on discussing her film idea over coffee.’
‘And that was the last time you saw her?’
‘Yes,’ the other said uneasily, his face clouding over.
‘Have you seen this Leo Rolf since?’
‘No. I was going to talk to Doone about him this evening to know if they decided anything about this film story.’
‘When you left them together at his home in Hampstead you went straight to the film studio where you remained?’
‘Till I finished,’ the film-actor said emphatically, ‘and came on here.’
‘Where did you purchase the flowers?’
Miss Frayle’s eyes behind her spectacles widened as she waited for Fulton to extricate himself from the trap into which Dr. Morelle had neatly lured him.
‘I didn’t,’ was the answer, accompanied by a glimmer of a smile. ‘They’ve been used in a scene we filmed this afternoon, and I scrounged them for Doone.’
Dr. Morelle took his time, tapping the ash off his Le Sphinx before he observed:
‘You have, of course, appreciated one small fact which my questions have already brought to light?’ He waited for Fulton’s response. There was none forthcoming, and he went on: ‘We have established that your friend is, according to what we have so far ascertained, the last person to see Miss Drummer before she disappeared.’
There was a little movement from Harvey Drummer. Both he and Miss Frayle stared at Neil Fulton with renewed interest.
‘It could certainly look that way. I’ll ’phone him at once in case he can tell us something.’
‘Do, by all means,’ Dr. Morelle said.
The other crossed purposefully to the telephone. Taking a small diary from his inside pocket he found the entry he wanted. He lifted the receiver and dialled.
Miss Frayle could hear the distant burr-burr. Harvey Drummer was tense with anxiety as he waited for the ringing to be answered. Dr. Morelle, on the other hand, dragged at his cigarette and gazed abstractedly round the room.
‘Doesn’t seem to be any reply,’ Fulton said. ‘May have got a dinner date or something.’ He gave it a few more moments, then, shaking his head, replaced the receiver.
‘You’ve no idea where he may be?’ Drummer asked.
‘Not the faintest.’
‘He wasn’t by any chance invited to the party?’ Miss Frayle put in quickly.
‘No, I’m sure of that. Doone or Leo would surely have mentioned it at lunch.’
‘I certainly don’t recall hearing his name,’ Drummer said.
‘I suppose I could ’phone round the various restaurants where he might be,’ Fulton suggested. ‘I’m trying to think,’ he went on with a frown of concentration, ‘of any of his friends I know who could tell me where he is. There was some club he was a member of, too. But the name of it’s gone.’
Dr. Morelle stirred. Carefully he stubbed out his cigarette and observed quietly. ‘I fear you may be attaching too much importance to him. Unless, of course,’ with a look at Fulton, ‘you have any grounds for suspecting that he might be implicated in this affair.’
‘Good heavens, no! If you knew Leo you’d realise that was too fantastic.’
‘That being so,’ Dr. Morelle said smoothly, ‘it seems we can assume that he and Miss Drummer concluded their discussion and she made her departure in a perfectly ordinary way.’
‘I feel sure of it,’ Neil Fulton agreed.
After a moment’s pause Dr. Morelle continued: ‘We might acquaint this man at the earliest possible moment of what has transpired,’ he said. ‘In case he is able to suggest a further clue.’
‘I’ll give you his ’phone number,’ Fulton said promptly. ‘You can get in touch with him yourself any time.’
‘That would be advisable. Miss Frayle will make a note of it.’
Miss Frayle was perched on the arm of a chair scribbling down the number from Fulton’s diary, when the telephone rang again. She gave a startled exclamation, and only just saved herself from losing her balance. She looked up to see Dr. Morelle’s sardonic eye fastened upon her. She tried unsuccessfully to stop herself blushing with embarrassment.
‘Shall I answer it?’ Harvey Drummer said anxiously, ‘or would it be better if you —’
Dr. Morelle, however, had already picked up the receiver.
‘Is that Dr. Morelle?’ a voice said over the wire.
The Doctor at once recognised it as the voice that had spoken to him before. The same curiously muffled tone. The same suggestion that the speaker was deliberately disguising his voice. But this time the caller knew he was Dr. Morelle.
Even as the Doctor wondered how the other was aware of his identity, the voice said:
‘Don’t be shy, Doctor. I know it’s you. Surprised? May be even more surprises heading your way if you don’t watch out.’
Dr. Morelle made no reply. He was quite prepared to let the other do all the talking at this stage. His turn would, no doubt, come later.
‘Who is it?’ Harvey Drummer at his elbow asked quickly.
Dr. Morelle covered the receiver wit
h his hand. ‘Our friend again,’ he said.
‘The kidnapper?’ Fulton exclaimed.
He and Miss Frayle had also moved nearer. They could catch the blurred mutter of the speaker at the other end. Dr. Morelle was listening intently.
‘So Drummer’s called you in instead of the police?’ the voice mocked him. ‘I do hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to be so foolish as to try to discover who I am? Or where Miss Drummer is? You will have read the note I left behind for her father — this is a further warning, that unless he does exactly as he’s told I shall go ahead and carry out my threat.’
‘What’s he saying?’ Drummer whispered.
Dr. Morelle motioned him to silence.
‘I’m simply acting on Mr. Drummer’s behalf,’ he said into the ’phone. ‘This has come as a great shock to him and he sought my help. I have, in fact, dissuaded him from calling the police, in favour of obeying your instructions.’
Despite the fever of excitement which was gripping her, Miss Frayle couldn’t help catching a note in the Doctor’s voice which she never remembered having heard before. That sarcastic bite, that cutting edge, was tempered now with a soothing quality, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. She realised he was, of course, anxious that the kidnapper’s suspicions should remain completely lulled. All the same, this was a new facet of his personality which he had never presented to her before.
‘Good for you,’ the voice was saying in Dr. Morelle’s ear, ‘and now get this. If he is prepared to do as I say tell him to put an advert, in the Personal Column of the Evening Globe. Just say he’d like to hear about his daughter. That’s all. To-morrow’s issue. Evening Globe. Remember?’
‘I have already made a mental note of what you say.’
‘Then he’ll hear from me how much I want and how it’s to be handed over. And don’t forget, Dr. Morelle, no funny business. I’m sure we understand each other.’
The speaker hung up.
After a moment Dr. Morelle replaced the receiver, an enigmatic expression on his gaunt face.
Chapter Five – The Photograph
The man had used a handkerchief over the mouthpiece of the telephone to muffle his voice. He unwrapped it from the receiver and pushed it into his pocket. He pulled off a pair of black, silk gloves, folded them carefully and slipped them into another pocket. He stood motionless and massaged a smooth-shaven chin thoughtfully. His eyes were flat and expressionless. He might have been ’phoning the grocer for all the emotion he showed.
He touched his tie with the tips of his fingers. It was an automatic movement. It betrayed the tension he was putting on his nerves, but there was nothing else to show he was in any way keyed-up. His hands were well-kept and curiously muscular, the muscle between each thumb and index finger making a hard bulge. He could hear his heart beating. Steady, slow, rhythmically.
Suddenly his head jerked round. His eyes narrowed, and with a swift movement he went to the door and pulled it open.
No one.
He relaxed, a little sigh hissing between his clenched teeth. He knew it was almost impossible for anyone to have been out there listening, but it had been risky. He had taken a chance, however small, making the call from here. It was just one of these little risks, he knew, that could trip him. But there wasn’t anyone there so it was all right. No one had been listening outside the door.
He crossed back into the room. His gaze went over it, took in the telephone and round about it. He made sure his handkerchief and gloves were safe in his pockets. He closed the door and started back towards that other room he had left a few minutes before. He paused involuntarily as he realised it was only a few minutes and not some immeasurable eon ago. That was the way your nerves played tricks on you. That was the way you knew the strain bit into your resources. The tricks your nerves played on you, like making you feel you’d taken hours over a small thing like a ’phone call.
He gave a little shrug and walked on again unhurriedly.
*
‘You think I ought to do exactly what he says, Doctor?’
Dr. Morelle looked up from the telephone book and nodded.
‘It is vital to appear to agree with his requests,’ he said emphatically, ‘not only so that he will refrain from any precipitate action which might imperil your daughter’s safety —’
‘We mustn’t run any risk of that,’ Drummer said quickly, his voice heavy with apprehension.
‘But at the same time,’ Dr. Morelle continued, ‘to lull him into a feeling of security.’
It was a few minutes after the man who claimed to have kidnapped Doone Drummer had rung off.
Dr. Morelle had spoken to the telephone exchange in an effort to trace the number from which the caller had spoken. As he had anticipated, the only information he had obtained was that the call must have come from a dialling telephone which was impossible to check. Dr. Morelle’s conjecture that he was pitting himself against no amateur bungler but a cunning and subtly resourceful adversary, was further strengthened.
‘I must say, I should have thought —’ began Neil Fulton, only to break off and chew his lower lip moodily.
‘What were you going to say?’ Miss Frayle asked.
The other hesitated, throwing a look at the Doctor before he went on:
‘I should have thought — and I say it with due respect to Dr. Morelle — that in spite of this blighter’s threats we could have gone to the police.’
‘No!’ Drummer turned to Dr. Morelle. ‘I agree with what you say. To go to Scotland Yard would risk Doone’s life.’
Dr. Morelle closed the telephone book and moved towards them. He said to Miss Frayle:
‘The number is Circus 1000. Perhaps you would obtain it for Mr. Drummer.’ With a glance at the film-actor he said to Drummer: ‘Since you are fully agreeable to my plan —’
‘I am. Definitely.’
Dr. Morelle inclined his head. ‘Then there remains no more to be said on that score. Unless,’ he turned to Fulton, ‘you feel your responsibility for the young woman is greater than her father’s.’
There was a short silence, during which Miss Frayle, looking up from dialling the number which she had been given, observed Neil Fulton to appear uncomfortable for the first time since his appearance on the scene.
‘I — I like her very much,’ he finally blurted out. ‘That’s all.’
He’s madly in love with her, of course, Miss Frayle decided at once. She was energetically weaving highly-coloured romances of the film-actor’s love, at first unrequited, for the best-selling novelist, when her speculations were interrupted by a voice over the wire.
‘Evening Globe. Classified Ads.’
‘Mr. Drummer,’ Miss Frayle said.
Drummer crossed quickly to the ’phone with the slip of paper he carried. The man at the other end was suitably impressed when Drummer guardedly explained to him the vital urgency of the advertisement, and he began to read it out. It had been carefully worded under Dr. Morelle’s guidance. After a few minutes he replaced the receiver.
‘That’s that,’ he said. ‘In the Personal Column to-morrow all right. They can have my cheque in the morning.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Then all we do is wait.’ It was as if he were about to sag at the knees, and then by a great effort pulled himself together. ‘I suppose I, anyway, should be getting back to my house — all those people there. If anyone asks, I’d better say Doone’s been taken ill. Eh, Doctor?’
‘Yes.’ He had been eyeing the other carefully. ‘And I think,’ he said, ‘I might prescribe a slight sedative for you. It will achieve no good purpose for you to spend a sleepless night.’
‘Thank you. Afraid I’ll need something like that. I imagine you and Miss Frayle won’t be returning to the party now.’
The Doctor shook his head.
‘I’d better be getting along home too,’ Neil Fulton said. ‘Been about as much use as a sick-headache,’ he added despairingly. ‘But there just doesn’t seem anything I can do — devil�
��s got us right where he wants us.’ He chewed his lower lip again. ‘Like to ’phone you in the morning,’ he said to Drummer, who gave him a nod. ‘Just in case you’ve got any news.’
As they started towards the door Dr. Morelle suddenly murmured in Fulton’s ear:
‘In answer to a question I put to you just now, you expressed a regard for Miss Drummer which it occurs to me was somewhat inadequate.’
Fulton wheeled on him with an involuntary exclamation. ‘What d’you mean?’
The Doctor regarded him with the faintest hint of amusement touching the corner of his mouth. It struck Miss Frayle that it must be decidedly ironic amusement, however, and she promptly felt a surge of sympathy for the young man.
‘I was merely pondering the possibility,’ Dr. Morelle said coolly, ‘of your cherishing a slightly deeper affection for her.’
‘I’m damned if I see what it’s got to do with you,’ the other flared up.
‘You force me to remind you that I am attempting to solve the mystery of Miss Drummer’s disappearance. I am therefore entitled to any information concerning her.’ And Dr. Morelle’s jaws closed with a snap.
‘Are you in love with her?’ Harvey Drummer fired at Fulton point blank.
Neil Fulton paused for a moment. The smoke curled up from Dr. Morelle’s cigarette. Miss Frayle’s eyes were like saucers behind her horn-rims, as she waited with breathless expectancy for the reply, for she was certain she knew what it would be. It flashed across her mind that of all the characters Neil Fulton had portrayed on the screen, none could have been placed in a more dramatic scene than that in which he now found himself. Inconsequentially she wondered if he was automatically making mental notes of the situation to utilise for a future screen part.
‘I suppose I am — well — just a bit crazy about her,’ Fulton said slowly. ‘Not that I mean a thing in her life,’ he added.
‘Doone isn’t in love with you?’ Drummer asked.
‘Not yet, anyway.’ Smiling ruefully.
‘What makes you feel your affection is unrequited?’ Dr. Morelle queried.
‘How d’you know when it’s raining? Besides, I’ve an idea there’s someone else.’
Dr. Morelle and the Drummer Girl Page 3
