Dr. Morelle and the Drummer Girl

by Ernest Dudley

  ‘Wouldn’t it be an idea to ’phone again to see if he’s back?’ Fulton had suggested.

  But the Doctor preferred to make it a surprise visit.

  And so they had quitted the flat, quiet now, the atmosphere melancholy almost in the darkening shadows, and the air heavy with the scent of flowers. In silence they walked to the Park Lane end of Dark Lantern Street, their footsteps echoing sharply on the worn cobble-stones. Harvey Drummer had hurried away to his house; Neil Fulton, who lived in Kensington, had gone on his way saying he would pick up a taxi.

  Hailing a taxi for himself and Miss Frayle, Dr. Morelle maintained on the way back to Harley Street a deep silence.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like me to come with you?’ Miss Frayle had ventured to ask.

  Still silence.

  She had put the question to him again, and he had roused himself out of the reverie into which he had apparently fallen, replying that he preferred to go on to Hampstead alone.

  ‘It is possible that I may have to wait some considerable time before this man’s return.’

  Miss Frayle had subsided. She had felt rebuffed somehow, finding it difficult to believe it was her welfare he was considering, deciding instead that he did not wish the contemplative mood which he was so obviously enjoying to be interrupted by her company.

  When they had reached 221B, Harley Street, he had observed that he hoped to be back within two hours, and she was to hold herself in readiness to take notes which he would, doubtless, require to dictate to her.

  She had watched his taxi disappear into the gloom with a troubled frown, conscious of the vast difference between her emotions now and only a short while earlier when she had left with him for the party in Park Lane. Then she had felt full of excited anticipation at the prospect of meeting so many famous and interesting people, including the glamorous Doone Drummer, about whom she had read so much, and whose photographs in the magazines and newspapers she had admired so enthusiastically.

  She had not expected that she was on her way to be pitchforked into one more of those dark mysteries with which it seemed the Doctor was forever to find himself involved. Another tortuous drama whose end it was impossible to foresee. Most of all she never in all her wildest dreams imagined that she was due to encounter a situation which was to present Dr. Morelle in a totally new light — as a man who inspired the secret admiration of a lovely and celebrated young woman. A young woman, moreover, with whom he himself obviously had more than a nodding acquaintance.

  Miss Frayle heaved a profound sigh as she turned the key in the lock and went into the house.

  She was not to know that while she was indulging herself in irrational suspicions that Dr. Morelle was interesting himself in the case simply on account of Doone Drummer, the Doctor, hunched in the corner of his taxi, was fuming over the fact that, merely through accepting an invitation to attend some futile party he now found himself investigating a case of kidnapping. He scowled irritably in the darkness as he realised how this would interfere with his new thesis upon the psychological aspects of recidivism, with which work he was most busily engaged.

  Dr. Morelle had also stopped the taxi at the beginning of Heath Lane. His decision to walk the rest of the way was not however based on the same reason which had inspired Leo Rolf earlier that evening. The Doctor had been little concerned with the view, delightful as it was, across the Heath; his aim was to make his visit as much of a surprise as possible. He had a high regard for the value of surprise on occasions of this sort.

  He had stalked briskly up the dark and shadowed grove, with the lamplight showing up the trees, the ferrule of his swordstick striking metallic taps from the pavement. Outside the house that was withdrawn a little from those on either side, he had paused for a moment. With a feeling of hopeful satisfaction he had observed that the lights were on. It seemed probable that Leo Rolf was now at home. He had mounted the few steps and rung the bell.

  Leo Rolf stared at the tall, dark shadowy figure before him.

  ‘Dr. Morelle,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Name’s familiar.’

  ‘A Mr. Neil Fulton is responsible for this unexpected call,’ Dr. Morelle said evenly. ‘He thought it was possible you might be of assistance to me.’

  ‘Neil Fulton, eh?’ There was a little pause while the other stood there indecisively. ‘Won’t you come in?’

  As the door closed behind them Dr. Morelle said:

  ‘He telephoned you earlier, but there was no reply.’

  ‘I’ve not long been in.’

  Rolf took Dr. Morelle’s hat and stick and then led the way through to the room in which he had been sitting before the bell rang.

  ‘Where did you meet Neil? Could you use a drink? This is bourbon, but there’s Scotch or whatever you’d like.’

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’

  ‘He was in my first play,’ the other went on. ‘Cigarette? American — don’t know if you like ’em.’

  ‘If you will permit me I prefer my own brand.’

  Dr. Morelle took out the slim, gold cigarette-case and Rolf lit his cigarette for him, eyeing him curiously from beneath lowered lids. He had heard vaguely of the Doctor’s exploits in the field of criminology, and he was trying to figure out what possible errand, as a result of an acquaintance with Fulton, could have brought him unannounced up to Hampstead tonight.

  ‘I met Fulton at Miss Doone Drummer’s flat this evening,’ Dr. Morelle said.

  ‘Really? Delightful girl. Made a terrific success with that book of hers — what’s it called? The Friendly Enemy. Haven’t read it. Don’t go in for novels much — but she’s certainly got away with it. She was here to lunch, you know, with Neil. Completely unspoiled, in spite of all the publicity she’s had. Don’t you think,’ he went on with mounting enthusiasm, ‘she’s one of the loveliest women you’ve ever met?’ Dr. Morelle nodded absently, and the other went on: ‘I suppose you were at the party her father was throwing for her?’

  ‘I was there. As it happens her publishers also publish my works.’

  ‘So you’re a writer, too,’ Rolf said, taking a gulp from his glass.

  ‘I have a number of volumes to my credit,’ the Doctor murmured with an air of assumed modesty.

  ‘Fiction?’

  ‘Decidedly not.’

  Rolf gave a laugh. ‘Scientific stuff. Bit heavy in the going, eh?’

  ‘That,’ retorted Dr. Morelle icily, ‘is a matter of opinion.’

  But the other merely laughed again.

  ‘So you went back to her flat afterwards?’ he queried conversationally.

  ‘I went back to her flat,’ Dr. Morelle said, ‘but not with Miss Drummer. You see,’ pausing to give the other time to shoot him a quizzical glance, ‘the young woman failed to arrive at her father’s house.’

  Rolf’s eyes fastened on him in a hard concentrated stare.

  ‘Didn’t turn up? Why was that?’ His brows met in a frown for a moment and then he said: ‘What’s happened? Hasn’t been taken ill, I hope? Or an accident?’

  Dr. Morelle shook his head.

  ‘Neither of those contingencies was responsible for her non-arrival,’ he said. He went on coolly: ‘She has, in point of fact, been kidnapped.’

  Leo Rolf’s jaw sagged in astonishment.

  ‘Kidnapped,’ he gulped. ‘What the devil d’you mean?’

  ‘‘Kidnapped’’ — the Doctor quoted — ‘‘to steal, to carry off illegally.’’

  ‘But,’ the other protested, ‘this is London. Not — not New York or Chicago. Things like that don’t happen here.’

  ‘Not with altogether the same regularity, I concede. But such crimes are committed even in this part of the world on occasion, I assure you.’

  ‘Even so, who the hell would dream up such a thing about Doone Drummer?’

  ‘That is something I am endeavouring to discover,’ Dr. Morelle replied quietly.

  The other flopped into a chair, disbelief still plain on his face. ‘It’s fantastic,’ he mu
ttered, ‘absolutely fantastic. You’re sure,’ he said, ‘that is what’s happened to her? I mean, you don’t think it could be an accident? Or lost memory, or something?’ And then a look of inspiration breaking over his face he exclaimed suddenly: ‘A publicity stunt. Surely, isn’t that it? She’s just disappeared for a publicity stunt.’

  ‘All those possibilities have been taken into consideration and regretfully rejected. You see,’ Dr. Morelle proceeded, ‘I have been in conversation with the kidnapper —’

  ‘What!’

  ‘On two occasions. Over the telephone, of course.’

  The other pushed his hand through his hair. ‘This is getting more and more preposterous,’ he muttered.

  ‘Not so preposterous as all that.’

  Leo Rolf, his face masking a dozen conflicting thoughts, got to his feet and paced up and down. Then he stood and swung round.

  ‘But what’s the idea?’

  ‘What is usually the motive for kidnapping someone?’

  ‘You mean they seriously think they’re going to hold the girl to ransom? Nonsense!’ Rolf expostulated. ‘They’d never get away with it. They know they’d never get away with it.’

  ‘They appear to have every intention of attempting to do so.’

  ‘When you spoke to this kidnapper what did he say? — I presume it was a man.’

  Dr. Morelle eyed him for a fraction of a moment.

  ‘The voice certainly sounded as if it belonged to a man,’ he said slowly. ‘He informed me to advise her father not to contact the police if he wanted to see her again. Also to place an advertisement in the Evening Globe implying we are willing to do business with him, whereupon he would communicate to us the amount of the ransom he will demand, and when and how it is to be paid.’

  ‘It’s like something out of a second feature,’ the other said. ‘The cheapest movie.’

  ‘The situation possesses a certain melodramatic flavour, I grant you.’

  ‘So what happens now? You aren’t going to the police? Her old man’s going to pay up?’

  There was a pause before Dr. Morelle replied:

  ‘That is the impression we are endeavouring to create.’

  Rolf glanced at the saturnine features, veiled for a moment in a cloud of cigarette-smoke.

  ‘You mean,’ Rolf said, ‘you’re out to trap him?’

  Dr. Morelle inclined his head.

  ‘You appreciate, of course,’ he said, thrusting his lean jaw forward, ‘that my visit is, in the circumstances, therefore of a strictly confidential nature.’

  The other nodded emphatically.

  ‘But of course. I was about to ask you why you’d taken the trouble to tell me all this. After all,’ he went on, ‘I met her for the first time today. As I expect Fulton told you, she’d got some idea for a film which she thought I might help her with. I probably know less about her than you do.’

  ‘That may be the case,’ Dr. Morelle agreed. ‘On the other hand, however, you happen to possess one advantage over me.’

  ‘I get it,’ the other cut in. ‘You’re going to say I was the last person to see her before she vanished into the blue.’

  ‘So far as we know,’ Dr. Morelle added.

  It was at that moment that the ’phone rang.

  Chapter Eight – Wrong Number?

  The shrill jangle bounced off the walls of the softly-lit room and quivered convulsively on the air hazy with the smoke from their cigarettes. Leo Rolf gave a frown at the telephone, and then with a muttered: ‘Excuse me,’ he crossed to it and lifted the receiver.

  Dr. Morelle watched his brow wrinkle in deeper lines as the other listened for a moment, and then said:

  ‘What number d’you want?’

  The caller spoke very quietly. Dr. Morelle couldn’t make out from the murmured reply he caught whether it was a man or a woman speaking.

  ‘Afraid this isn’t it. You’ve got the wrong number.’

  There was a slight pause then Rolf cradled the receiver and moved back towards the Doctor. With a little shrug he said:

  ‘Just a wrong number. Or,’ he added as an after-thought, ‘could be someone wanting to know if I was in. You know, this gag housebreakers are supposed to use to check if there’s anyone at home? If there is they pretend it’s a wrong number and keep away, if the coast is clear they nip along and bust in.’ He grimaced. ‘See how you’ve got my mind working.’

  ‘It is indeed a method practised by burglars to aid them in selecting their victims,’ the Doctor nodded. ‘What is termed, I am given to understand, in underworld jargon as ‘Casing a joint’.’

  Rolf raised a humorously quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘I can see, Doctor, you’ve been around,’ he said.

  ‘I have, in fact, published what is accepted to be a fully comprehensive glossary of thieves’ slang,’[2] was Dr. Morelle’s reply.

  ‘Sounds as if it might make amusing reading — I must look out for it. But, to get back to what we were discussing,’ he went on. ‘You were going to tell me, weren’t you, I’m the very last guy to have seen Doone Drummer before she disappeared — so far as you know, that is?’

  ‘Precisely. Which is the reason for intruding myself upon you without warning this evening.’

  ‘No intrusion at all, my dear Doctor.’ Leo Rolf was mixing himself another drink. His manner had become more easy and relaxed. ‘Sure you won’t join me?’ Dr. Morelle again declined the invitation and the other said, his gaze on the rich, liquid amber that sparkled in his glass: ‘Only thing is I can’t exactly figure out how I’m going to prove of any help. I mean, I can’t tell you any more than you must have learned already from Neil Fulton.’

  He paused for a drink and looked at Dr. Morelle over the rim of his glass. The Doctor said nothing, merely waited for Rolf to continue.

  ‘For instance, you know she came to lunch with him. We chatted about this and that, her book, my experiences in Hollywood, the film Fulton’s working on at the moment, and so on. After lunch he had to dash, get off down to the studio, couldn’t wait for coffee — we’d taken rather longer over lunch than we’d realised, matter of fact. He left us to talk round this film idea of hers. We discussed it over coffee. It was quite a bright idea. We kicked it around for an hour or so, and then she pushed off.’

  ‘You employ a servant, I imagine?’ Dr. Morelle asked.

  The other nodded.

  ‘A Mrs. Fowler. Comes in and gets my breakfast and stays to fix lunch. Took her over with the house. Been here about ten years. If I ask her specially she comes in and organises dinner,’ he added. ‘Don’t think I’d cast her for a kidnapping rôle.’

  Dr. Morelle’s expression indicated he was in agreement with this judgment. Then:

  ‘About what time did Miss Drummer take her departure?’

  ‘Just on three o’clock. I asked her if I could ’phone for a taxi for her. She said no, she didn’t mind walking, and anyhow she’d be sure to get one all right on the way.’

  Dr. Morelle drew at his cigarette and exhaled slowly. He was already realising the disadvantage he was under of not being able to enlist police-aid. If only he were free to ring up his old friend, Inspector Hood, all the resources of Scotland Yard would have immediately been brought to bear upon the case. A prompt check-up on every taxi-cab driver in London, for instance, so that almost inevitably the driver who had picked up Doone Drummer would have been found, questioned and his information acted upon accordingly.

  With an increased feeling of frustration Dr. Morelle knew it would be impossible for him, operating on his own, to conduct any such large-scale inquiry. However, he consoled himself, there was the possibility that the girl had not, in fact, succeeded in obtaining a taxi. She might have been followed by the kidnapper on foot, or in his car, perhaps, and spirited away on some pretext. Or some cunningly contrived bogus message could have lured her to a place where her captor was waiting in readiness for her.

  ‘I watched her turn the corner,’ Rolf was saying, ‘and t
hat was the last I saw of her. Not very helpful, am I? But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  ‘You have no recollection of anything she said which might in any way provide the smallest clue as to her possible whereabouts? No one she mentioned, whom she intended visiting? No appointment planned for this afternoon, or this evening?’

  Rolf thought for a moment, then he shook his head.

  ‘Not a thing I can think of,’ he said finally. ‘I seem to be under the impression she was going back to her flat, and then there was this party later on.’

  ‘She made no reference to any particular guest whom she was expecting at this party?’ Dr. Morelle persisted.

  ‘I can’t remember anyone,’ the other said, frowning thoughtfully. ‘Like I told you, Doctor, I just don’t seem to have an idea about this fantastic business that’s of any help.’

  Silently Dr. Morelle tapped the ash off his cigarette. Then he threw in the question: ‘Have you any knowledge regarding her relationship with Neil Fulton?’

  Rolf’s gaze was a trifle narrowed.

  ‘You don’t suspect him of being implicated, surely?’

  ‘I have no information about him except what he has himself elected to impart,’ was the reply in calculated tones. ‘Which was to the effect that he is a film-actor, that he had known the young woman for a short time, also that while his feelings towards her are somewhat warm they are not necessarily reciprocated.’

  ‘Which is enough to make you think he’s gone and kidnapped her?’

  ‘I am not in the habit of jumping to conclusions.’ The Doctor’s voice was like a whip-lash, and Rolf stirred a little uneasily.

  ‘Sorry if I sounded as if I was trying to be funny,’ he apologised. ‘But this is something new in my life, and I find myself slightly out of my depth.’

  ‘It is not inconceivable that he may be in some way implicated in Miss Drummer’s disappearance. The facts are that next to you, he was the last to see her. You have corroborated his story so far as it goes; I have only his word at the moment as to his actions between the time he left here and his arrival at the film-studio. The possibility cannot yet be ruled out that during that time he could have abducted the young woman and carried her off to a place of hiding.’