The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
Then the door closed, and he followed his guide up the stairs.
The house was beautifully furnished. Hugh was no judge of art, but even his inexperienced eye could see that the prints on the walls were rare and valuable. The carpets were thick, and his feet sank into them noiselessly; the furniture was solid and in exquisite taste. And it was as he reached the top of the stairs that a single deep-noted clock rang a wonderful chime and then struck the hour. The time was just three o’clock.
The girl opened the door of a room and switched on the light. Then she faced him smiling, and Hugh looked at her steadily. He had no wish whatever for any conversation, but as she was standing in the centre of the doorway it was impossible for him to get past her without being rude.
“Tell me, you ugly man,” she murmured, “why you are such a fool.”
Hugh smiled, and, as has been said before, Hugh’s smile transformed his face.
“I must remember that opening,” he said. “So many people, I feel convinced, would like to say it on first acquaintance, but confine themselves to merely thinking it. It establishes a basis of intimacy at once, doesn’t it?”
She swayed a little towards him, and then, before he realised her intention, she put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t you understand,” she whispered fiercely, “that they’ll kill you?” She peered past him half fearfully, and then turned to him again. “Go, you idiot, go—while there’s time. Oh! if I could only make you understand; if you’d only believe me! Get out of it—go abroad; do anything—but don’t fool around here.”
In her agitation she was shaking him to and fro.
“It seems a cheerful household,” remarked Hugh, with a smile. “May I ask why you’re all so concerned about me? Your estimable father gave me the same advice yesterday morning.”
“Don’t ask why,” she answered feverishly, “because I can’t tell you. Only you must believe that what I say is the truth—you must. It’s just possible that if you go now and tell them where you’ve hidden the American you’ll be all right. But if you don’t—” Her hand dropped to her side suddenly. “Breakfast will be at nine, my Hugh: until then, au revoir.”
He turned as she left the room, a little puzzled by her change of tone. Standing at the top of the stairs was Peterson, watching them both in silence…
II
In the days when Drummond had been a platoon commander, he had done many dangerous things. The ordinary joys of the infantry subaltern’s life—such as going over the top, and carrying out raids—had not proved sufficient for his appetite. He had specialised in peculiar stunts of his own: stunts over which he was singularly reticent; stunts over which his men formed their own conclusions, and worshipped him accordingly.
But Drummond was no fool, and he had realised the vital importance of fitting himself for these stunts to the best of his ability. Enormous physical strength is a great asset, but it carries with it certain natural disadvantages. In the first place, its possessor is frequently clumsy: Hugh had practised in France till he could move over ground without a single blade of grass rustling. Van Dyck—a Dutch trapper—had first shown him the trick, by which a man goes forward on his elbows like a snake, and is here one moment and gone the next, with no one the wiser.
Again, its possessor is frequently slow: Hugh had practised in France till he could kill a man with his bare hands in a second. Olaki—a Japanese—had first taught him two or three of the secrets of his trade, and in the intervals of resting behind the lines he had perfected them until it was even money whether the Jap or he would win in a practice bout.
And there were nights in No Man’s Land when his men would hear strange sounds, and knowing that Drummond was abroad on his wanderings, would peer eagerly over the parapet into the desolate torn-up waste in front. But they never saw anything, even when the green ghostly flares went hissing up into the darkness and the shadows danced fantastically. All was silent and still; the sudden shrill whimper was not repeated.
Perhaps a patrol coming back would report a German, lying huddled in a shell-hole, with no trace of a wound, but only a broken neck; perhaps the patrol never found anything. But whatever the report, Hugh Drummond only grinned and saw to his men’s breakfasts. Which is why there are in England today quite a number of civilians who acknowledge only two rulers the King and Hugh Drummond. And they would willingly die for either.
The result on Drummond was not surprising: as nearly as a man may be he was without fear. And when the idea came to him as he sat on the edge of his bed thoughtfully pulling off his boots, no question of the possible risk entered into his mind. To explore the house seemed the most natural thing in the world, and with characteristic brevity he summed up the situation as it struck him.
“They suspect me anyhow: in fact, they know I took Potts. Therefore even if they catch me passage-creeping, I’m no worse off than I am now. And I might find something of interest. Therefore, carry on, brave heart.”
The matter was settled; the complete bench of bishops headed by their attendant satellites would not have stopped him, nor the fact that the German front-line trench was a far safer place for a stranger than The Elms at night. But he didn’t know that fact, and it would have cut no more ice than the episcopal dignitaries, if he had…
It was dark in the passage outside as he opened the door of his room and crept towards the top of the stairs. The collar of his brown lounge coat was turned up, and his stockinged feet made no sound on the heavy pile carpet. Like a huge shadow he vanished into the blackness, feeling his way forward with the uncanny instinct that comes from much practice. Every now and then he paused and listened intently, but the measured ticking of the clock below and the occasional creak of a board alone broke the stillness.
For a moment his outline showed up against the faint grey light which was coming through a window half-way down the stairs; then he was gone again, swallowed up in the gloom of the hall. To the left lay the room in which he had spent the evening, and Drummond turned to the right. As he had gone up to bed he had noticed a door screened by a heavy curtain which he thought might be the room Phyllis Benton had spoken of—the room where Henry Lakington kept his ill-gotten treasures. He felt his way along the hall, and at length his hand touched the curtain—only to drop it again at once. From close behind him had come a sharp, angry hiss…
He stepped back a pace and stood rigid, staring at the spot from which the sound had seemed to come—but he could see nothing. Then he leaned forward and once more moved the curtain. Instantly it came again, sharper and angrier than before.
Hugh passed a hand over his forehead and found it damp. Germans he knew, and things on two legs, but what was this that hissed so viciously in the darkness? At length he determined to risk it, and drew from his pocket a tiny electric torch. Holding it well away from his body, he switched on the light. In the centre of the beam, swaying gracefully to and fro, was a snake. For a moment he watched it fascinated as it spat at the light angrily; he saw the flat hood where the vicious head was set on the upright body; then he switched off the torch and retreated rather faster then he had come.
“A convivial household,” he muttered to himself through lips that were a little dry. “A hooded cobra is an unpleasing pet.”
He stood leaning against the banisters regaining his self-control. There was no further sound from the cobra; seemingly it only got annoyed when its own particular domain was approached. In fact, Hugh had just determined to reconnoitre the curtained doorway again to see if it was possible to circumvent the snake, when a low chuckle came distinctly to his ears from the landing above.
He flushed angrily in the darkness. There was no doubt whatever as to the human origin of that laugh, and Hugh suddenly realised that he was making the most profound fool of himself. And such a realisation, though possibly salutary to all of us at times, is most unpleasant.
For Hugh Drummond, who, with all his lack of conceit, had a very good idea of Hugh Drummond’s capabilities, to be at an absolute disadvantage—to be laughed at by some dirty swine whom he could strangle