Bulldog Drummond

by Sapper

  ‘Well,’ he asked, ‘have you got the old woman?’

  ‘Bound and gagged in the kitchen,’ answered one of them laconically. ‘Are you going to do this crow in?’

  The speaker looked at the unconscious men with hatred in his eyes.

  ‘They encumber the earth – this breed of puppy.’

  ‘They will not encumber it for long,’ said Lakington softly. ‘But the one in the window there is not going to die quite so easily: I have a small unsettled score with him…’

  ‘All right; he’s in the car.’ A voice came from outside the window, and with a last look at Hugh Drummond, Lakington turned away.

  ‘Then we’ll go,’ he remarked. ‘Au revoir, my blundering young bull. Before I’ve finished with you, you’ll scream for mercy. And you won’t get it…’

  Through the still night air there came the thrumming of the engine of a powerful car. Gradually it died away and there was silence. Only the murmur of the river over the weir broke the silence, save for an owl which hooted mournfully in a tree near by. And then, with a sudden crack, Peter Darrell’s head rolled over and hit the arm of his chair.

  CHAPTER 6

  In Which a Very Old Game Takes Place on the Hog’s Back

  A thick grey mist lay over the Thames. It covered the water and the low fields to the west like a thick white carpet; it drifted sluggishly under the old bridge which spans the river between Goring and Streatley. It was the hour before dawn, and sleepy passengers, rubbing the windows of their carriages as the Plymouth boat express rushed on towards London, shivered and drew their rugs closer around them. It looked cold…cold and dead.

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the vapour rose, and spread outwards up the wooded hills by Basildon. It drifted through the shrubs and rose bushes of a little garden, which stretched from a bungalow down to the water’s edge, until at length wisps of it brushed gently round the bungalow itself. It was a daily performance in the summer, and generally the windows of the lower rooms remained shut till long after the mist had gone and the sun was glinting through the trees on to the river below. But on this morning there was a change in the usual programme. Suddenly the window of one of the downstair rooms was flung open, and a man with a white haggard face leant out drawing great gulps of fresh air into his lungs. Softly the white wraiths eddied past him into the room behind – a room in which a queer, faintly sweet smell still hung – a room in which three other men lay sprawling uncouthly in chairs, and two dogs lay motionless on the hearthrug.

  After a moment or two the man withdrew, only to appear again with one of the others in his arms. And then, having dropped his burden through the window on to the lawn outside, he repeated his performance with the remaining two. Finally he pitched the two dogs after them, and then, with his hand to his forehead, staggered down to the water’s edge.

  ‘Holy smoke!’ he muttered to himself, as he plunged his head into the cold water; ‘talk about the morning after!… Never have I thought of such a head.’

  After a while, with the water still dripping from his face, he returned to the bungalow and found the other three in varying stages of partial insensibility.

  ‘Wake up, my heroes,’ he remarked, ‘and go and put your great fat heads in the river.’

  Peter Darrell scrambled unsteadily to his feet. ‘Great Scott! Hugh,’ he muttered thickly, ‘what’s happened?’

  ‘We’ve been had for mugs,’ said Drummond grimly.

  Algy Longworth blinked at him foolishly from his position in the middle of a flowerbed.

  ‘Dear old soul,’ he murmured at length, ‘you’ll have to change your wine merchants. Merciful Heavens! is the top of my head still on?’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Algy,’ grunted Hugh. ‘You weren’t drunk last night. Pull yourself together, man; we were all of us drugged or doped somehow. And now,’ he added bitterly, ‘we’ve all got heads, and we have not got Potts.’

  ‘I don’t remember anything,’ said Toby Sinclair, ‘except falling asleep. Have they taken him?’

  ‘Of course they have,’ said Hugh. ‘Just before I went off I saw ’em all in the garden and that swine Lakington was with them. However, while you go and put your nuts in the river, I’ll go up and make certain.’

  With a grim smile he watched the three men lurch down to the water; then he turned and went upstairs to the room which had been occupied by the American millionaire. It was empty, as he had known it would be, and with a smothered curse he made his way downstairs again. And it was as he stood in the little hall saying things gently under his breath that he heard a muffled moaning noise coming from the kitchen. For a moment he was nonplussed; then, with an oath at his stupidity, he dashed through the door. Bound tightly to the table, with a gag in her mouth, the wretched Mrs Denny was sitting on the floor, blinking at him wrathfully…

  ‘What on earth will Denny say to me when he hears about this!’ said Hugh, feverishly cutting the cords. He helped her to her feet, and then forced her gently into a chair. ‘Mrs Denny, have those swine hurt you?’

  Five minutes served to convince him that the damage, if any, was mental rather than bodily, and that her vocal powers were not in the least impaired. Like a dam bursting, the flood of the worthy woman’s wrath surged over him; she breathed a hideous vengeance on everyone impartially. Then she drove Hugh from the kitchen, and slammed the door in his face.

  ‘Breakfast in half an hour,’ she cried from inside – ‘not that one of you deserves it.’

  ‘We are forgiven,’ remarked Drummond, as he joined the other three on the lawn. ‘Do any of you feel like breakfast? Fat sausages and crinkly bacon.’

  ‘Shut up,’ groaned Algy, ‘or we’ll throw you into the river. What I want is a brandy-and-soda – half a dozen of ’em.’

  ‘I wish I knew what they did to us,’ said Darrell. ‘Because, if I remember straight, I drank bottled beer at dinner, and I’m damned if I see how they could have doped that.’

  ‘I’m only interested in one thing, Peter,’ remarkedDrummond grimly, ‘and that isn’t what they did to us. It’s what we’re going to do to them.’

  ‘Count me out,’ said Algy. ‘For the next year I shall be fully occupied resting my head against a cold stone. Hugh, I positively detest your friends…’

  It was a few hours later that a motor car drew up outside that celebrated chemist in Piccadilly whose pick-me-ups are known from Singapore to Alaska. From it there descended four young men, who ranged themselves in a row before the counter and spoke no word. Speech was unnecessary. Four foaming drinks were consumed, four acid drops were eaten, and then, still in silence, the four young men got back into the car and drove away. It was a solemn rite, and on arrival at the Junior Sports Club the four performers sank into four large chairs, and pondered gently on the vileness of the morning after. Especially when there hadn’t been a night before. An unprofitable meditation evidently, for suddenly, as if actuated by a single thought, the four young men rose from their four large chairs and again entered the motor car.

  The celebrated chemist whose pick-me-ups are known from Singapore to Alaska gazed at them severely.

  ‘A very considerable bend, gentlemen,’ he remarked.

  ‘Quite wrong,’ answered the whitest and most haggard of the row. ‘We are all confirmed Pussyfoots, and have been consuming non-alcoholic beer.’

  Once more to the scrunch of acid drops the four young men entered the car outside; once more, after a brief and silent drive, four large chairs in the smoking-room of the Junior Sports Club received an occupant. And it was so, even until luncheon time…

  ‘Are we better?’ said Hugh, getting to his feet, and regarding the other three with a discerning eye.

  ‘No,’ murmured Toby, ‘but I am beginning to hope that I may live. Four Martinis and then we will gnaw a cutlet.’

  II

  ‘Has it struck you fellows,’ remarked Hugh, at the conclusion of lunch, ‘that seated round this table are four officers who fought with some distinction
and much discomfort in the recent historic struggle?’

  ‘How beautifully you put it, old flick!’ said Darrell.

  ‘Has it further struck you fellows,’ continued Hugh, ‘that last night we were done down, trampled on, had for mugs by a crowd of dirty blackguards composed largely of the dregs of the universe?’

  ‘A veritable Solomon,’ said Algy, gazing at him admiringly through his eyeglass. ‘I told you this morning I detested your friends.’

  ‘Has it still further struck you,’ went on Hugh, a trifle grimly, ‘that we aren’t standing for it? At any rate, I’m not. It’s my palaver this, you fellows, and if you like… Well, there’s no call on you to remain in the game. I mean – er–’

  ‘Yes, we’re waiting to hear what the devil you do mean,’ said Toby uncompromisingly.

  ‘Well – er,’ stammered Hugh, ‘there’s a big element of risk – er – don’t you know, and there’s no earthly reason why you fellows should get roped in and all that. I mean – er – I’m sort of pledged to see the thing through, don’t you know, and–’ He relapsed into silence, and stared at the tablecloth, uncomfortably aware of three pairs of eyes fixed on him.

  ‘Well – er–’ mimicked Algy, ‘there’s a big element of risk – er – don’t you know, and I mean – er – we’re sort of pledged to bung you through the window, old bean, if you talk such consolidated drivel.’

  Hugh grinned sheepishly.

  ‘Well, I had to put it to you fellows. Not that I ever thought for a moment you wouldn’t see the thing through – but last evening is enough to show you that we’re up against a tough crowd. A damned tough crowd,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘That being so,’ he went on briskly, after a moment or two, ‘I propose that we should tackle the blighters tonight.’

  ‘Tonight!’ echoed Darrell. ‘Where?’

  ‘At The Elms, of course. That’s where the wretched Potts is for a certainty.’

  ‘And how do you propose that we should set about it?’ demanded Sinclair.

  Drummond drained his port and grinned gently.

  ‘By stealth, dear old beans – by stealth. You – and I thought we might rake in Ted Jerningham, and perhaps Jerry Seymour, to join the happy throng – will make a demonstration in force, with the idea of drawing off the enemy, thereby leaving the coast clear for me to explore the house for the unfortunate Potts.’

  ‘Sounds very nice in theory,’ said Darrell dubiously, ‘but…’

  ‘And what do you mean by a demonstration?’ said Longworth. ‘You don’t propose we should sing carols outside the drawing-room window, do you?’

  ‘My dear people,’ Hugh murmured protestingly, ‘surely you know me well enough by now to realise that I can’t possibly have another idea for at least ten minutes. That is just the general scheme; doubtless the mere vulgar details will occur to us in time. Besides it’s someone else’s turn now.’ He looked round the table hopefully.

  ‘We might dress up or something,’ remarked Toby Sinclair, after a lengthy silence.

  ‘What in the name of Heaven is the use of that?’ said Darrell witheringly. ‘It’s not private theatricals, nor a beauty competition.’

  ‘Cease wrangling, you two,’ said Hugh suddenly, a few moments later. ‘I’ve got a perfect cerebral hurricane raging. An accident… A car… What is the connecting link… Why, drink. Write it down, Algy, or we might forget. Now, can you beat that?’

  ‘We might have some chance,’ said Darrell kindly, ‘if we had the slightest idea what you were talking about.’

  ‘I should have thought it was perfectly obvious,’ returned Hugh coldly. ‘You know, Peter, your worry is that you’re too quick on the uptake. Your brain is too sharp.’

  ‘How do you spell connecting?’ demanded Algy, looking up from his labours. ‘And, anyway, the damn pencil won’t write.’

  ‘Pay attention, all of you,’ said Hugh. ‘Tonight, some time about ten of the clock, Algy’s motor will proceed along the Godalming–Guildford road. It will contain you three – also Ted and Jerry Seymour, if we can get ’em. On approaching the gate of The Elms, you will render the night hideous with your vocal efforts. Stray passers-by will think that you are tight. Then will come the dramatic moment, when, with a heavy crash, you ram the gate.’

  ‘How awfully jolly!’ spluttered Algy. ‘I beg to move that your car be used for the event.’

  ‘Can’t be done, old son,’ laughed Hugh. ‘Mine’s faster than yours, and I’ll be wanting it myself. Now – to proceed. Horrified at this wanton damage to property, you will leave the car and proceed in mass formation up the drive.’

  ‘Still giving tongue?’ queries Darrell.

  ‘Still giving tongue. Either Ted or Jerry or both of ’em will approach the house and inform the owner in heartbroken accents that they have damaged his gatepost. You three will remain in the garden – you might be recognised. Then it will be up to you. You’ll have several men all round you. Keep ’em occupied – somehow. They won’t hurt you; they’ll only be concerned with seeing that you don’t go where you’re not wanted. You see, as far as the world is concerned, it’s just an ordinary country residence. The last thing they want to do is to draw any suspicion on themselves – and, on the face of it, you are merely five convivial wanderers who have looked on the wine when it was red. I think,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘that ten minutes will be enough for me…’

  ‘What will you be doing?’ said Toby.

  ‘I shall be looking for Potts. Don’t worry about me. I may find him; I may not. But when you have given me ten minutes – you clear off. I’ll look after myself. Now is that clear?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said Darrell, after a short silence. ‘But I don’t know that I like it, Hugh. It seems to me, old son, that you’re running an unnecessary lot of risk.’

  ‘Got any alternative?’ demanded Drummond.

  ‘If we’re all going down,’ said Darrell. ‘Why not stick together and rush the house in a gang?’

  ‘No go, old bean,’ said Hugh decisively. ‘Too many of ’em to hope to pull it off. No, low cunning is the only thing that’s got an earthly of succeeding.’

  ‘There is one other possible suggestion,’ remarked Toby slowly. ‘What about the police? From what you say, Hugh, there’s enough in that house to jug the whole bunch.’

  ‘Toby!’ gasped Hugh. ‘I thought better of you. You seriously suggest that we should call in the police! And then return to a life of toping and ease! Besides,’ he continued, removing his eyes from the abashed author of this hideous suggestion, ‘there’s a very good reason for keeping the police out of it. You’d land the girl’s father in the cart, along with the rest of them. And it makes it so devilish awkward if one’s father-in-law is in prison!’

  ‘When are we going to see this fairy?’ demanded Algy.

  ‘You, personally, never. You’re far too immoral. I might let the others look at her from a distance in a year or two.’ With a grin he rose, and then strolled towards the door. ‘Now go and rope in Ted and Jerry, and for the love of Heaven don’t ram the wrong gate.’

  ‘What are you going to do yourself?’ demanded Peter, suspiciously.

  ‘I’m going to look at her from close to. Go away, all of you, and don’t listen outside the telephone box.’

  III

  Hugh stopped his car at Guildford station and, lighting a cigarette, strolled restlessly up and down. He looked at his watch a dozen times in two minutes; he threw away his smoke before it was half finished. In short he manifested every symptom usually displayed by the male of the species when awaiting the arrival of the opposite sex. Over the telephone he had arranged that SHE should come by train from Godalming to confer with him on a matter of great importance; SHE had said she would, but what was it? He, having no suitable answer ready, had made a loud buzzing noise indicative of a telephone exchange in pain, and then rung off. And now he was waiting in that peculiar condition of mind which reveals itself outwardly in hands that are rather too warm, and feet that are
rather too cold.

  ‘When is this bally train likely to arrive?’ He accosted a phlegmatic official, who regarded him coldly, and doubted the likelihood of its being more than a quarter of an hour early.

  At length it was signalled, and Hugh got back into his car. Feverishly he scanned the faces of the passengers as they came out into the street, until, with a sudden quick jump of his heart, he saw her, cool and fresh, coming towards him with a faint smile on her lips.

  ‘What is this very important matter you want to talk to me about?’ she demanded, as he adjusted the rug round her.

  ‘I’ll tell you when we get out on the Hog’s Back,’ he said, slipping in his clutch. ‘It’s absolutely vital.’

  He stole a glance at her, but she was looking straight in front of her, and her face seemed expressionless.

  ‘You must stand a long way off when you do,’ she said demurely. ‘At least if it’s the same thing as you told me over the phone.’

  Hugh grinned sheepishly.

  ‘The Exchange went wrong,’ he remarked at length. ‘Astonishing how rotten the telephones are in Town these days.’

  ‘Quite remarkable,’ she returned. ‘I thought you weren’t feeling very well or something. Of course, if it was the Exchange…’

  ‘They sort of buzz and blow, don’t you know,’ he explained helpfully.

  ‘That must be most fearfully jolly for them,’ she agreed. And there was silence for the next two miles…

  Once or twice he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in every detail of the sweet profile so near to him. Except for their first meeting at the Carlton, it was the only time he had ever had her completely to himself, and Hugh was determined to make the most of it. He felt as if he could go on driving for ever, just he and she alone. He had an overwhelming longing to put out his hand and touch a soft tendril of hair which was blowing loose just behind her ear; he had an overwhelming longing to take her in his arms, and… It was then that the girl turned and looked at him. The car swerved dangerously…