by Sapper
“I just lost my head and bolted. And then when one of them fired–” He broke off and stared round the room. “What is this house?”
“Merridale Hall,” said Drummond quietly. “Now out with it, young feller. What have you been up to? Pinching boodle or what?”
“I wish it was only that.” He lit another cigarette feverishly, and Drummond waited in silence. If he was trying to bring himself up to the point of telling his story, it would be better to let him do it in his own way. “God! What a fool I’ve been.”
“You’re not the first person to say that,” Drummond remarked. “But in what particular line have you been foolish?”
His curiosity was increasing now that any question of money was ruled out. However poor a specimen Marton might be, there must be something pretty seriously wrong to produce such a result on his nerves. So once again he waited, but after a while the other shook his head.
“I can’t tell you,” he muttered. “I daren’t.”
“You damned young fool,” said Drummond contemptuously, losing his patience. “What on earth is there to be frightened of? Your affairs don’t interest me in the slightest, but you’ve made a confounded nuisance of yourself this afternoon, and frankly I’ve had enough of you. So unless you can pull yourself together and cease quivering like a frightened jelly, you’d better push on to wherever you’re going.”
He had no intention whatever of turning him out of the house, but it struck him that the threat might produce some coherence in the other. And his surprise was all the greater at the unexpected answer he received. For the youngster for the first time pulled himself together and spoke with a certain quiet dignity.
“I’m sorry, Captain Drummond,” he said. “And I apologise for the exhibition I’ve made of myself. I know my nerves are all to hell, and though it was my fault in the beginning, it hasn’t been entirely so since. And so, if I might ask you for a whisky and soda, I’ll be getting on.”
“Now,” said Drummond cheerily, “you’re beginning to talk. I was trying to get you into some semblance of coherence, that’s all. There can be no question whatever of your leaving tonight: you’d be lost in this fog in half a minute. And I know that my pal Jerningham, whose house this is, will agree with me when he gets back – that is, if he gets back at all: with this weather he’ll very likely stay the night in Plymouth. So here’s a drink, young feller, and again I tell you candidly that if you’re wise you won’t bottle this thing up anymore. Whatever it is, I won’t give you away, and, unless it’s something dirty, I may be able to help you.”
Marton drained his glass, and into his eyes there came a look of dawning hope.
“Good Lord!” he cried, “if only you could. But I’m afraid it’s beyond anyone: I’ve got to go through with it myself. Still, it will be an awful relief to get it off my chest. Do you go much to London?”
“I live there,” said Drummond.
“And do you go about a good deal?”
“I trot round,” remarked the other with a faint smile, “the same as most of us do.”
“Have you ever run across a woman called Comtessa Bartelozzi?”
Drummond thought for a moment, and then shook his head.
“Not that I know of: she’s a new one on me. Hold hard a minute: we’ll have the other half-section before you go on.”
He rose and crossed to the side table, carrying Marton’s glass and his own. So there was a woman in the situation, was there? Name of Bartelozzi. Sounded a bit theatrical: might be real – might be false. And as for the title, Comtessas grew like worms in a damp lawn. In fact, he was so occupied with his thoughts and the mixing of two drinks, that he failed to see the hard hatchet face of a man that for one second was pressed against the window. And Marton, who had his back to it also, sat on in ignorance that, in that fleeting instant, every detail of the room had been taken in by the silent watcher outside.
“Now then,” said Drummond, returning with the glasses, “we’ve got as far as the Comtessa Bartelozzi. Is she the nigger or rather negress in the wood pile?”
“If only I’d never met her!” said the other. “I was introduced to her one night at the Embassy, and… Great Scot! what’s that?”
From outside had come the sound of a crash. It was some distance away, but in the still air it was clearly audible. And it was followed almost immediately by a flood of vituperation and loud shouts of ‘Hugh.’ Drummond grinned gently, and going to the window opened it.
“Hullo! Peter,” he shouted. “What has happened, little one?”
“That perishing, flat-footed idiot Ted has rammed the blinking gate-post,” came an answering shout. “We’ve taken two and a half hours to get here from Plymouth, most of the time in the ditch, and now the damned fool can’t even get into his own drive.”
The voice was getting nearer.
“What’s Ted doing, Peter?” demanded Drummond.
“Sitting in the car drinking whisky out of my flask. Says that God doesn’t love him, and that he won’t play anymore.”
Peter Darrell loomed out of the fog and came up to the window.
“Hullo!” he muttered, “who is the boy friend?”
“We’ll go into that after,” said Drummond. “Does Ted propose to sit there the whole night?”
“He says he wants you to come down and help,” answered Darrell. “The car is half stuck, and you can barely see your hand in front of your face.”
“All right, I’ll come. You wait here, Marton, and carry on with your yarn later.”
“Bring a torch, old boy,” went on Darrell. “Not that it’s much use, but it might help to pilot him up the drive.”
“There’s one in the hall,” said Drummond. “I’ll get it. And, Marton, you’ll find cigarettes in the box there.”
He got the torch and joined Darrell outside. And as they disappeared into the mist, their feet crunching on the gravel, two dim figures crouching near the wall began to creep slowly towards the open window. Their footsteps were noiseless in the earth of the flowerbed that bordered the wall, and the youngster sat on in utter ignorance of the fate that was threatening him. A good sort, this Captain Drummond, he reflected: was it possible that he would be able to help him? And even as the dawn of hope began in his mind there came a sound from behind him. He swung round in his chair: his jaw dropped: wild terror shone in his eyes. Not a yard away stood the man he had seen only once before – but that once had been enough.
He gave a hoarse, choking cry and tried to get up. And as he moved he felt his neck held in a vice-like grip. He struggled feebly, staring into the cruel, relentless eyes of his assailant. And then there came a roaring in his ears: the room spun round until at length everything grew black.
“Take his hat, Steve, and then give me a hand with the young swine. Those guys may be back at any moment.”
“Have you killed him?” asked the second man.
“No. But we’ll have to carry him. I guess it’s the first time I’ve been thankful for this darned fog.”
And a few moments later the only moving thing in the smoking-room was the mist that eddied in through the open window, whilst all unconscious of what had happened, Drummond and Darrell were groping their way down the drive.
“All sorts of excitement here, Peter,” said Drummond. “There is an escaped murderer wandering about at large – ”
“We heard in Plymouth that a convict had got away. Poor devil! I’d sooner be tucked up in my cell than wandering about this bit of the country on a night like this.”
“And then the arrival of that youth.”
“He seems a rather leprous-looking mess, old boy.”
“Nothing to what he was when he first appeared. He’s just beginning to tell me the secret of his young life. Evidently got into the deuce of a hole somehow, and probably wants the seat of his p
ants kicked good and hearty. However, Ted will have to give him a shake down: can’t turn him out in this fog. And we’ll hear what the worry is.”
“Doesn’t sound a particularly absorbing evening’s entertainment,” remarked Darrell dubiously.
“Probably not,” agreed Drummond. “But there’s just a bare possibility it might lead to some amusement. And, by Gad! Peter, anything would be welcome these days.”
“A drink most emphatically would be,” said the other. “Here is the car.”
The sidelights suddenly showed up a yard in front of them, and Darrell demanded his flask.
“Finished, dear old lad,” came Jerningham’s voice happily. “Quite, quite finished. What an infernal time you’ve been! Now if you’ll both push hard I’ll get her into reverse, and we ought to do it!”
The wheels skidded on the greasy turf, but with Drummond’s great strength to help they at length got her into the road.
“The gate is open, Ted,” he said. “Wait a moment now until I mark the right-hand pillar with the torch.”
He stood beside it, throwing the light down on the ground, and as he did so a piece of paper lying at his feet caught his eye. It was clean and looked like a letter, and almost mechanically he picked it up and put it in his pocket as the car went slowly past him. Then, leaving Darrell to shut the gate, he piloted Jerningham up the drive until they got to the house.
“Parker can put her away,” remarked the owner, getting out. “Jove! old boy, we’ve had an infernal drive.”
“I thought you’d probably stop in Plymouth, Ted,” said Drummond.
“It wasn’t too bad when we started,” said the other, “was it, Peter? Let’s get into the smoking-room, and I’ll ring for someone to get your kit.”
“Wait a moment, Ted,” said Drummond. “There’s a visitor.”
“A visitor! Who the devil has rolled up on an evening like this?”
“Fellow by the name of Marton,” went on Drummond, lowering his voice. “He’s a pretty mangy piece of work, and he’s in a state of mortal terror over something or other. He’d just begun telling me about it when you arrived. I’ll tell you the beginning of the thing later on, but treat him easy now. He’s as frightened as a cat with kittens.”
He opened the smoking-room door.
“Now then, Marton, here’s the owner–”
He broke off abruptly: the room was empty. And for a while the three of them stared round in silence.
“Have you got ’em again, Hugh?” demanded Jerningham.
“No. I can vouch for the boy friend,” said Darrell. “I saw him.”
Drummond stepped into the hall, and shouted. And the only result was the arrival of the butler.
“Jennings, have you seen a young gentleman lying about anywhere?” he asked.
“No, sir,” said the butler, looking slightly bewildered. “What sort of a young gentleman?”
“Any sort, you old fathead,” said Jerningham, and once again Drummond shouted ‘Marton’ at the top of his voice.
They waited, and at length Jerningham spoke.
“Your young friend has apparently hopped it, old boy,” he remarked. “And if, as you say, he’s a bit of a mess I shouldn’t think he’s much loss. Get Mr Darrell’s kit out of the car, Jennings, and tell Parker to put her in the garage.”
He led the way back into the smoking-room and Drummond followed slowly. To the other two the matter was a trifling one: a youngster whom neither of them had met had come and gone. But to him the thing was much more puzzling. Even if Marton’s terror had finally proved groundless, it had been very real to him. And so what had induced him to leave a place where he knew he was safe? And why had they not met him going down the drive?
“There’s something damned funny about this, you chaps,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you the whole tale.”
They listened in silence as he ran over the events of the afternoon, and when he’d finished, Jerningham shrugged his shoulders.
“It seems pretty clear to me, old boy,” he remarked. “When you left him and he began to think things over he came to the conclusion that he’d been talking out of his turn. He realised that, having once started, it would be difficult for him not to continue. Possibly, too, what he might have been prepared to tell to you alone he funked giving tongue to before a bunch of us. And so he decided to beat it while the going was good, which would get him out of his dilemma. And that answers your query about not meeting him as we came up the drive. Naturally he didn’t want to be seen, so he just stood a couple of yards in on the grass as we went past. In this fog we’d never have spotted him.”
“That answers it, Ted, I agree,” said Drummond. “And yet I’m not satisfied. Don’t know why, but there it is. By the same token, do either of you blokes know this Comtessa Bartelozzi?”
They both shook their heads.
“Not guilty,” said Darrell. “Did he give any description of her?”
“No,” answered Drummond. “He’d only just started to tell his little piece when you arrived.”
“Anyway,” said Jerningham, “I don’t see that there is anything to be done. He’s not here, and that’s an end of it. And the point that now arises is what the deuce we’re going to do tonight. I’d ring up the doctor and ask him round for a rubber, but I doubt if he’d get here. What are you staring at, Hugh?”
Drummond had his eyes riveted on a spot on the carpet, and suddenly he bent down and touched it with his fingers. Then he gave a low whistle and straightened up.
“I knew I was right,” he said quietly. “It’s earth. And more there – and there. Somebody has been in through the window, Ted.”
“By Jove! he’s right,” said Darrell, peering at the marks on the floor.
“And look at those two close by the chair Marton was sitting in. Whoever it was who came in stood by that chair.”
“Come here,” called out Darrell, who, with the electric torch in his hand, was leaning out of the window. “There are footmarks all along the flowerbed.”
“Let’s get this clear,” said Jerningham. “You’re certain those marks weren’t there before?”
“Of course I’m not,” cried Drummond. “I don’t spend my time examining your bally carpet. But that mud is still damp. Well, I was asleep here after lunch until young Marton arrived, and all that time the window was shut. In fact, it was never opened till I heard Peter shouting.”
“What about the two warders?”
“Neither of them ever went near the window. Nor did Marton. Lord! man, it’s as clear as be damned. It’s a definite trail from the window to the chair the youngster was sitting in.”
“There’s no sign of a struggle,” said Darrell.
“Why should there have been one?” demanded Jerningham. “It may have been some bloke he knew with whom he toddled off all friendly like.”
“Seems to me there are two pretty good objections to that,” said Drummond. “In the first place, how did anyone know he was here? Secondly, if it was a pal who, by some extraordinary fluke, arrived at the window, why did he bother to come into the room? Why not just call out to him?”
He shook his head gravely.
“No, chaps: as I see it, there’s only one solution that fits. The visitor was Morris – the escaped convict. He was lying hidden in the garden and seized his chance when he saw Marton alone.”
“By Jove! that’s possible,” said Darrell thoughtfully.
“But, damn it – why should he go off with a bally convict?” demanded Jerningham.
“Probably Morris dotted him one over the head,” said Drummond. “Then dragged him outside, and, hidden by the fog, stripped him. It’s the very point the warders mentioned: the first thing an escaped man does is to try to get civilian clothes.”
“Then in that case the w
retched bloke is probably lying naked in the shrubbery,” cried Jerningham. “We’d better have a search-party; though our chances of finding him, unless we walk on top of him, are a bit remote.”
“Doesn’t matter: we must try,” said Drummond. “Got any lanterns, Ted?”
“I expect Jennings can produce something,” answered the other. “Though I’m afraid it’s pretty hopeless.”
He rang the bell, and as he did so there came from outside the sound of footsteps on the drive. All three stared at the window expectantly: was this Marton coming back? But it was one of the warders who materialised out of the mist, to be followed a moment or two later by his mate.
“Beg your pardon, gentlemen,” he said, “but as I was passing I thought I’d let you know that Morris was seen about a quarter of a mile from here an hour ago. So warn your servants to keep the windows shut and the doors bolted.”
“I’m rather afraid it’s a bit late, officer,” said Drummond. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, Morris has been here within the last quarter of an hour. And those” – he pointed to the marks of mud – “are his tracks.”
“But what were you doing, sir?”
“Helping Mr Jerningham to get his car out of the ditch. You remember that youngster who was here? Well, I left him in this room, and when I came back he was gone. And the only possible solution that I can think of is that Morris laid him out in order to get his clothes. We’re just going to have a search through the grounds now.”
“I’ve told Jennings to get lanterns,” said Jerningham.
“Possibly you’re right, sir,” said the warder. “He’d seize a chance like that. But there is another thing that may have happened: the young gentlemen may have joined his friends.”
“What friends?” demanded Drummond.
“Well, sir, just after me and my mate left you this afternoon and got into the main road we ran into two gentlemen walking along. So we stopped them and warned them about Morris. One of them, a great, big, powerful-looking man he was, began to laugh.
“‘Thank you, officer,’ he says. ‘But if this guy Morris tries any funny stuff with me he won’t know whether it was a steam hammer or a motor lorry that hit him.’
