THE COMPLETE BULLDOG DRUMMOND SERIES (10 Novels in One Edition). H. C. McNeile / Sapper
went some distance down the street to call a taxi for Mrs. Drummond to go to the Ritz..."
His words died away, as he stared in amazement at the expression on his master's face.
"What the devil is it, Hugh?" cried Ted Jerningham.
"He called a taxi, you say?" muttered Drummond. "The man who came here called a taxi?"
"Yes, sir," answered Denny. "He was leaving the house at the same time, and as there was none in sight he said he'd send one along at once."
"And Mrs. Drummond went in the taxi he sent?"
"Certainly, sir," said Denny in surprise. "To the Ritz, to join you. I gave the order myself to the driver."
The veins were standing out on Drummond's forehead, and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to hit his servant. Then with an effort he controlled himself, and sank back in his chair with a groan.
"It's all right, Denny," he said hoarsely. "It's not your fault: you couldn't have known. But—what a fool I've been! All this time wasted, when I might have been doing something."
"But what on earth's happened?" cried Algy.
"She never turned up at the Ritz, Algy: Phyllis never turned up for lunch. At first I thought she was late, and we waited. Then I thought she'd run into some pal and had gone to feed somewhere else. And then, what with talking to Peterson, and later that hunchback, I forgot all about her."
"But, good heavens, Hugh, what do you mean?" said Ted. "You don't think that—"
"Of course I think it. I know it. They've got her: they've kidnapped her. Right under my nose." He rose and began to pace up and down the room with long, uneven strides, while the others watched him anxiously.
"That damned girl heard me say that she was coming to lunch, and just after that she went upstairs. And Peterson, being Peterson, took a chance—and he's pulled it off."
"Ring up Scotland Yard, man," cried Toby Sinclair.
"What the devil am I to tell them? They'd think I was off my head. And I've got no proof that Peterson is at the bottom of it. I haven't even got any proof that would convince them that Longmoor is Peterson."
Algy Longworth stood up, serious for once in a way. "There's no time now to beat about the bush, Hugh. If they've got Phyllis there's only one possible thing that you can do. Go straight to Bryan Johnstone and put all your cards on the table. Tell him the whole thing from A to Z—conceal nothing. And then leave the matter in his hands. He won't let you down."
For a moment or two Hugh faced them undecided. The sudden danger to Phyllis seemed to have robbed him temporarily of his power of initiative; for the time he had ceased to be the leader.
"Algy's right," said Jerningham quietly. "It doesn't matter a damn what happens to us, you've got to think about Phyllis. We'll get it in the neck—but there was always that risk."
"I believe you're right," muttered Hugh, looking round for his hat. "My brain's all buzzing, I can't think—"
And at that moment the telephone bell rang on his desk.
"Answer it, Ted," said Hugh.
Jerningham picked up the receiver.
"Yes—this is Captain Drummond's house. No—it's not him speaking. Yes—I'll give him any message you like. Who are you? Who? Mr. Longmoor at the Ritz. I see. Yes—he told me you had lunched with him to-day. Oh! yes, certainly."
For a while Ted Jerningham stood holding the receiver to his ear, and only the thin, metallic voice of the speaker at the other end broke the silence of the room. It went on, maddeningly indistinct to the three men crowding round the instrument, broken only by an occasional monosyllable from Jerningham. Then with a final—"I will certainly tell him," Ted laid down the instrument.
"What did he say, Ted?" demanded Hugh agitatedly.
"He sent a message to you, old man. It was approximately to this effect—that he was feeling very uneasy because your wife had not turned up at lunch, and that he hoped there had been no accident. He further went on to say that since he had parted from you a most peculiar piece of information had come to his knowledge, which, incredible though it might appear, seemed to bear on her failure to turn up at the Ritz. He most earnestly begged that you should go round and see him at once—because if his information was correct any delay might prove most dangerous for her. And lastly, on no account were you to go to the police until you had seen him."
For a while there was silence in the room. Drummond, frowning heavily, was staring out of the window; the others, not knowing what to say, were waiting for him to speak. And after a while he swung round, and they saw that the air of indecision had gone.
"That simplifies matters considerably," he said quietly. "It reduces it to the old odds of Peterson and me."
"But you'll go to the police, old man," cried Algy. "You won't pay any attention to that message. He'll never know that you haven't come straight to him."
Drummond laughed shortly. "Have you forgotten the rules so much, Algy, that you think that? Look out of the window, man, only don't be seen. There's a fellow watching the house now—I couldn't go a yard without Peterson knowing. Moreover I'm open to a small bet that he knew I was in the house when he was talking to Ted. Good heavens! No. Peterson is not the sort of man to play those monkey-tricks with. He's got Phyllis, the whole thing is his show. And if I went to the police, long before they could bring it home to him, or get her back—she'd be—why—"—and once again the veins stood out on his forehead—"Lord knows what the swine wouldn't have done to her. It's just a barter at the present moment—the diamonds against her. And there's going to be no haggling. They win the first round—but there are a few more on the horizon."
"What are you going to do?" said Ted.
"Exactly what he suggests," answered Hugh. "Go round and see him at the Ritz—now, at once. I shan't take the diamonds with me, but there will be no worry over the exchange as far as I'm concerned. It's just like his dirty method of fighting to go for a girl," he finished savagely.
"You don't think they've hurt Mrs. Drummond, sir," said Denny anxiously.
"If they have, they'll find the remains of an elderly parson in Piccadilly," returned Hugh, as he slipped a small revolver into his pocket. "But I don't think so. Carl is far too wise to do anything so stupid as that. He's tried with the hunchback and failed, now he's trying this. And he wins." He crossed to the door and opened it. "In case I don't come back by six, the diamonds are in my sponge bag in the bathroom—and go straight to Scotland Yard. Tell Tum-tum the whole yarn."
With a brief nod he was gone, and a moment later he was in the street. It was almost deserted, and he waited on the pavement for the loitering gentleman who came obsequiously forward. "Taxi, sir?"
A convenient one—an almost too convenient one—came to a standstill beside them, and Hugh noticed a quick look flash between the driver and the other man. Then he took stock of the taxi, and behold it was not quite as other taxis. And in his mind arose an unholy desire. As has been said, the street was nearly deserted, and it was destined to become even more deserted. There was a crash of breaking glass and the loiterer disappeared through one window of the machine.
Hugh stared at the astounded driver.
"If you say one word, you appalling warthog," he remarked gently, "I'll throw you through the other."
It was a happy omen, and he felt better as he walked towards the Ritz. Simple and direct—that was the game. No more tortuous intrigues for him; hit first and apologise afterwards. And he was still in the same mood when he was shown into the sitting-room where the Reverend Theodosius Longmoor was busily working on Austrian famine accounts. He rose as Hugh entered, and his daughter, still knitting busily, gave him a charming girlish smile.
"Ah! my dear young friend," began Mr. Longmoor, "I see you've had my message."
"Yes," answered Hugh affably, "I was standing next door to the fellow you were talking to. But before