The Return Of Bulldog Drummond

by Sapper

  “I don’t think, Hugh, that you’ve been very clever this time. In fact, dear friend, I am terribly disappointed in you. That you should walk straight into one of the most palpable traps imaginable is a sign of deplorably weakening intellect. Did you really believe that anyone in their senses would take on that unmitigated buffoon Longworth to do anything except scare crows? But happening to be behind the scenes when he arrived that day, I realised he might be of assistance to me. And so I told Penton to engage him.

  “That little man Tredgold is a good actor, isn’t he? Quite good enough, anyway, to deceive poor Algy. And I must say he has played his part very well. A few mysterious references to dope, and your idiot friend rose like a fish. And so did you didn’t you, Hugh?

  “However, to proceed. You will have guessed by now that your present unpleasant predicament is very largely due to a system of electrical wiring. Your progress along the passage was marked by lights in the office upstairs. As you came to each door in turn a bulb went out: as you shut the door it went on again. And so your arrival in the room where you now find yourself was timed by us to a second. It would have been a pity to turn on the electric gramophone too soon.

  “And now, because a record does not go on for ever, I must come to the point. Can you guess why I have taken the trouble to do all this? I think you can, Drummond, damn you! For years now I have had at the bottom of my mind one idea only. At times I have been occupied with other things, but ever and always has that main object of my life been with me – revenge on you. And now it is coming. Like the fly, you have walked straight into my parlour, and this time there is no escape. I could weep that I shall not be there actually to see it, but I am in the building, Drummond, alone with my imagination. And shortly I shall visualise you sweating with fear as you claw vainly for a way out.

  “Did you hear that ticking noise when you first came in? What did you think it was, you fool – a clock? Guess again, Drummond, guess again. Go and look in the right-hand corner opposite the door. The only hour that that clock will ever mark is the second that sends you to eternity. It’s a bomb, Drummond, and what are you going to do with it? Throw it out of the window? There is no window? Throw it through the door? You cannot open the door. You’re alone with it, locked up, in that room.

  “The others don’t know that I’ve put it there, Drummond: they only think that you’ve been lured into your prison as a punishment for your unwarranted interference. They might have been frightened of the consequences of murdering you, but I’m not. As you hear these words I am sitting in an ecstasy of anticipation knowing that the aim of my life is about to be accomplished. I don’t care if the building is blown sky high; I don’t care if the things around you are scattered to the four winds of Heaven; I don’t care who is killed so long as you die screaming for mercy. I may be mad, Drummond: perhaps I am. But that isn’t going to help you much, is it? You’ve got ten minutes to live, and during those ten minutes you can ask yourself who has won in the long run, you or I.”

  The voice ceased, though the scraping of the machine still continued, and Hugh Drummond, putting his hand to his forehead, found that it was wet with perspiration. And then abruptly the gramophone itself stopped: the only sound was the monotonous ticking in the right-hand corner opposite the door.

  He switched his torch in that direction, and cursed himself savagely when he found the beam was shaking. There it was – a harmless-looking brown box, and for a while he stared at it, his mind a blank. What was he going to do? Was there anything to do?

  He was under no delusions, though the whole thing seemed like some monstrous nightmare. He knew, none better, that she was capable of anything where he was concerned, that to kill him she would willingly run the risk of being tried for murder herself.

  With a tremendous effort he pulled himself together: he was not going under without some sort of fight. Feverishly he tore off his coat and trousers, and wrapped them as tightly as he could round the bomb: working like a maniac, he piled packages of dope against it to try and minimise the force of the explosion. Then, seizing more packages, he hurled them in a heap near the opposite corner with the idea of taking what cover he could behind them. And then, with nothing further to do to occupy his mind, the full horror of the situation came over him.

  He glanced at his wrist-watch: two minutes of life left. God! what a fool he had been. He ought to have spotted that it was a trap all along. And yet as he looked back he could think of nothing definite which should have given it away. Tredgold – curse the little swine! – was a good actor: when he laid his hands on him next time…

  His jaw set grimly: he’d forgotten. There wasn’t going to be a next time. It was the end. In the bottom of his heart he knew that his feeble precautions were utterly useless: he knew that he had a minute left to live. And for a few seconds his nerve broke, and he raved like a madman. Then, with iron control, he got himself in hand again. Even if he was going out alone – like a rat in a trap, with no one to see – he’d go out decently.

  He craved for a cigarette, but his case was in the pocket of his coat now wrapped round the bomb. There was no time to get it: even that solace was denied him. And suddenly, such can be the reactions of the human mind, he began to laugh. That the show which a little while before he had regarded as the most boring of his career should have turned out to be the one when he was to meet his death struck him as humorous. But the laughter soon died, and with another glance at his watch he lay down behind the heap of packages.

  He waited tensely, muscles braced for the shock. Now that the end had come, he felt strangely calm: anyway, it would be quick. One second – two – three, and then from the corner opposite came a little pouf, followed by a strong smell of burning cloth.

  Cautiously he raised his head: smoke was issuing from the pile surrounding the bomb. And at first his brain refused to function. What had happened? He stared at it foolishly, and then, with a sudden mad revulsion of feeling, he understood. The bomb had failed to explode.

  With a shout of triumph he jumped up and dashed across the room. He hurled the packages away, and was just unwrapping his coat and trousers when roars of laughter came from behind him. He straightened up and swung round: Hardcastle and Slingsby were standing in the open doorway.

  “Wal,” said Hardcastle, “if that don’t beat cockfighting! Natalie, darling,” he called over his shoulder, “I don’t think you can come in. Captain Drummond is hardly dressed to receive ladies.”

  “So I see you believed it, my friend,” she said quietly, as she joined the others. “I think your last ten minutes has equalised our score a little.”

  A cold, overmastering rage took hold of Drummond, though he said no word. Never in the course of his life had he found himself in such an utterly ignominious position. He realised it all now: the whole thing had been a leg-pull from beginning to end. There never had been a bomb – merely a box with a clock ticking inside it and some inflammable powder of sorts. And, to add insult to injury, the only things that had caught fire and were still smouldering were his trousers.

  “A much-needed lesson, Drummond,” she continued, still in the same quiet voice. “But I must confess that in my wildest dreams I never anticipated seeing you look such a complete fool as you do at the present moment.”

  She turned away, and he scrambled into his clothes. Damn the woman! She was right: never had he felt such a complete fool. But his voice as he answered her was quite normal.

  “I quite admit you’ve scored this time,” he remarked. “But you seem to have overlooked one small point. What do you propose to do about these?”

  He picked up one of the packages, and again the two men began to laugh.

  “Say, Captain,” said Hardcastle, “you surely are the colour of the green, green grass. Why, you poor sap, you don’t suppose, do you, that if that was really dope we were going to lead you to it? Open it and see. It’s castor su
gar: I guess the grocery department at Harrods thought we were starting a wholesale store. But we had to get something that would get you into the room and away from the door. Even you might have thought it funny at finding nothing but a gramophone and a bomb on the floor.”

  The muscles of Drummond’s face tightened: fooled again. Fooled all along the line from the word “Go.”

  “As I said before, you’re certainly one up on this evening’s entertainment,” he said quietly. “However, there will doubtless be other rounds in the game.”

  Hardcastle’s expression grew ugly.

  “Look here, young man,” he said, “we’ve had enough of you. If you give us any further trouble by butting in, you won’t get off so easily next time. You keep clear of us, or it will be the worse for you.”

  Drummond smiled genially.

  “I have an affection for you, Tom,” he remarked, “that borders on madness. And you may rest assured that whilst you honour our shores with your presence I shall never be far from your side. You see, I’ve got to get back the price of this pair of trousers somehow. By the way, is the door at the other end open? Because if so I will now leave you.”

  “It’s open,” said Hardcastle. “And if you take my advice, Drummond, you’ll say goodbye and not au revoir. We’ve been kind to you this time, and let you off with making the most unholy fool of yourself. Next time, should you be so foolish as to let there be a next time, the bomb may be real.”

  “A thousand thanks, Tom, for your remarks. But, as Irma knows, I’m one of those people who just can’t take advice.”

  Filming was over when he got outside, and one of the first people he saw was Algy Longworth, who was hanging about near the door.

  “Careful, Hugh,” he said warningly. “Sir Edward has gone back to London, so Hardcastle may be anywhere.”

  “As you say, he may,” answered Drummond grimly. “You don’t happen to know where Mr Tredgold is, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact I haven’t seen him for the last half-hour. Why?”

  “I want a few words with Mr Tredgold. And when I do have a few words with him Mr Tredgold’s mother won’t know her baby boy for a week.”

  “Good Lord! old man, what’s happened?”

  “We’ve been stung, Algy: stung as we’ve never been stung before. And I’m sore as hell about it. The whole thing, my dear boy, was a plant from beginning to end. Irma was here the day you came, and it was because of her that you were engaged. Then, at her instigation, Tredgold fooled you with the sole object of getting me into the most ignominious position I’ve ever been in in my life. And, by Gad! they succeeded.”

  They were strolling towards Drumrnond’s car, and he briefly told Algy what had occurred.

  “Just think of it,” he concluded. “Me standing there in my shirt and pants, while they split their sides with laughter. Gosh! Algy, I could kick myself.”

  “I’m awfully sorry, old boy,” said the other contritely. “It is more my fault than yours. But it never dawned on me that Tredgold was lying. I thought he was a foul little reptile, but I could have sworn he was speaking the truth.”

  Drummond laughed shortly.

  “Don’t worry: it doesn’t matter. But you may take it from me, old lad, that I have known a pleasanter quarter of an hour than the one I spent down in that damned room.”

  He stopped suddenly and whistled under his breath.

  “Great Scott!” he cried, “I hadn’t thought of that. This show has driven everything else out of my head.”

  “What’s stung you?” said Algy.

  “Marton – young Marton. We thought we’d got the reason why they killed him, and we haven’t.”

  They stared at one another in silence: it was only too true. Since there never had been any question of drugs, and the whole thing had proved a ramp, obviously they would have to look elsewhere for the solution of that mystery. But the point was – where?

  “Is your girl still here, Algy?” said Drummond.

  “No, she’s taken the bus back to Town.”

  “Then let’s get a move on in mine, and we’ll try and think things out on the way up. Because I’m damned if this bunch is going to get away with it as easily as this. Confound my trousers: there’s the dickens of a draught coming through the seat.”

  He swung the car round, and headed for London. He drove slowly, engrossed in thought, and Algy Longworth, after a glance at his profile, was silent too.

  “There are a lot of little points, Algy,” he said at length, “which, now that I look back in the light of this new development, seem to me to stand out.”

  “Such as?” demanded his companion.

  “To start with, I overheard Penton and the Comtessa talking at the studio this morning.”

  “What’s that? How the devil did you overhear them?”

  Drummond laughed.

  “I forgot I hadn’t told you. Henry Johnson, at your service.”

  “Well, I’m blowed!” cried the other. “You old devil!”

  “In the course of their conversation a remark occurred which I now know applied to me: at the time I wasn’t sure. Penton said, ‘It’s risky: damned risky. Why bring him here at all?’ Now what was there risky in their performance of tonight?”

  “They might have thought you’d give someone a thick ear.”

  “Weak, old boy: very weak. Let’s go a bit further. The work here finishes tomorrow, doesn’t it? after which exteriors are going to be taken down at Glensham House. Now you have to act tomorrow; after that you’re not wanted. Well, it’s going to be a little awkward for them if you don’t turn up.”

  “Granted. And I certainly shan’t.”

  “That we’ll see about: let’s stick to the point. Why should they make it awkward for themselves unnecessarily? They could have soaked me tomorrow just as easily as tonight.”

  “It was the fact that Sir Edward was here that made ’em choose this evening.”

  “A perfectly sound reason if Tredgold had been speaking the truth. But he wasn’t: he was in the plot. And so it would have been just as simple for him to cough up some other yarn which would have made tomorrow night the most suitable one.”

  “I don’t quite get what you’re driving at, Hugh.”

  “Just this. Was the whole of this elaborate hoax perpetrated merely to give me ten minutes’ hell? If so, why choose tonight, when tomorrow would have been better?”

  The other stared at him curiously: it seemed to him such an unimportant point. But he knew of old that Drummond did not harp on unimportant points.

  “What else can it have been designed for?” he demanded.

  “If I knew that I’d have solved the problem, Algy. Can it be that they wanted to be sure I should be out of the way tonight?”

  “Why should they? Nothing happened of the smallest interest. We took a couple of scenes, which Sir Edward watched. Then apparently he felt chilly and went back to London with that secretary fellow. Travers did the lorry scene, and then came back, and that concluded the entertainment. Frankly, old boy, I think you’re making a mystery where no mystery exists. Don’t forget that Tredgold’s bluff all the way through has been very good, and his reason for choosing tonight was a very convincing one. He might not have been able to get anything like such a good excuse for tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, Algy,” said Drummond at length. “And yet every instinct I possess tells me you’re wrong.”

  “Am I to go there tomorrow?”

  “Certainly. And Henry Johnson will be there too. My debt to Mr Tredgold will have to wait.”

  But if he thought he was going to discover anything more, he was doomed to disappointment. Once again the same scenes were re-enacted, with Travers playing the millionaire’s part, and since he had not seen them the previous day, he watched
them for something better to do. Only Haxton was there: none of the Hardcastle gang put in an appearance. And after a while he again began to ask himself whether the whole thing wasn’t a mare’s nest.

  For the film was a good one, especially this bit in the country house, where, having failed to move the financier to pity, the hero and a friend drug the glass of sherry which, according to invariable custom, he always drinks at half-past seven. He falls unconscious on the floor, and from behind the curtains the two men emerge. They bind him and gag him, and then, as they are on the point of removing him, steps are heard outside. There is just time to bundle the body into a large cupboard and dart back behind the curtains, when the door opens and his wife comes in. The room is empty: it is her chance to recover the letters.

  He watched part of the walk through; then, wandering round behind one of the wings, he came on Travers, being freed from his bonds. Haxton’s approving remarks could be heard, but it struck him that the actor was nervous and irritable, and after chancing a facetious remark which was met with a snarl, he moved away.

  “Once more, boys,” came Haxton’s voice, “and then we’ll shoot. Well done, old man,” as Travers appeared, “you were fine. It’s the last scene: we won’t bother about the lorry bit again. I’ve seen the run through, and last night’s was bully.”

  He strolled across the studio to where Algy and the girl were sitting, and after a cautious look round he spoke in his natural voice.

  “I believe you’re right, Algy,” he said. “We’re on a dud.”

  “What a marvellous disguise, Captain Drummond!” cried the girl. “I wouldn’t believe Algy when he told me.”

  “All wasted,” he grunted despondently. “I suppose he’s told you about last night’s little show.”

  She nodded.

  “It must have been a ghastly experience. I haven’t seen that little brute Tredgold here today.”

  “Nor have I,” said Drummond grimly. “Something heavy would have connected with him if I had. Hullo! They’ve finished. I say, I’m awfully sorry that you two should have wasted your time like this.”