The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
girl smiled up at him.
“It strikes me, Master Hugh, that you have failed to remove your beard this morning.”
Hugh grinned.
“Quite right, kid. They omitted to bring me my shaving water on to the roof.”
After a considerable interval, in which trifles such as beards mattered not, she smoothed her hair and sat down on the arm of a chair.
“Tell me what’s happened, boy,” she said eagerly.
“Quite a crowded night.” With a reminiscent smile he lit a cigarette. And then quite briefly he told her of the events of the past twelve hours, being, as is the manner of a man, more interested in watching the sweet colour which stained her cheeks from time to time, and noticing her quickened breathing when he told her of his fight with the gorilla, and his ascent of the murderous staircase. To him it was all over and now finished, but to the girl who sat listening to the short, half-clipped sentences, each one spoken with a laugh and a jest, there came suddenly the full realisation of what this man was doing for her. It was she who had been the cause of his running all these risks; it was her letter that he had answered. Now she felt that if one hair of his head was touched, she would never forgive herself.
And so when he had finished, and pitched the stump of his cigarette into the grate, falteringly she tried to dissuade him. With her hands on his coat, and her big eyes misty with her fears for him, she begged him to give it all up. And even as she spoke, she gloried in the fact that she knew it was quite useless. Which made her plead all the harder, as is the way of a woman with her man.
And then, after a while, her voice died away, and she fell silent. He was smiling, and so, perforce, she had to smile too. Only their eyes spoke those things which no human being may put into words. And so, for a time, they stood…
Then, quite suddenly, he bent and kissed her.
“I must go, little girl,” he whispered. “I’ve got to be in Paris tonight. Take care of yourself.”
The next moment he was gone.
“For God’s sake take care of her, Toby!” he remarked to that worthy, whom he found sitting disconsolately by the front door. “Those blighters are the limit.”
“That’s all right, old man,” said Sinclair gruffly. “Good huntin’!”
He watched the tall figure stride rapidly to the waiting car, the occupants of which were simulating sleep as a mild protest at the delay; then, with a smile, he rose and joined the girl.
“Some lad,” he remarked. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Benton, I wouldn’t change him if I was you. Unless, of course,” he added, as an afterthought, “you’d prefer me!”
III
“Have you got him all right, Ted?” Hugh flung the question eagerly at Ted Jerningham, who was lounging in a chair at Half Moon Street, with his feet on the mantelpiece.
“I’ve got him right enough,” answered that worthy, “but he don’t strike me as being Number One value. He’s gone off the boil. Become quite gaga again.” He stood up and stretched himself. “Your worthy servant is with him, making hoarse noises to comfort him.”
“Hell!” said Hugh, “I thought we might get something out of him. I’ll go and have a look at the bird. Beer in the corner, boys, if you want it.”
He left the room, and went along the passage to inspect the American. Unfortunately Jerningham was only too right: the effects of last night’s injection had worn off completely, and the wretched man was sitting motionless in a chair, staring dazedly in front of him.
“’Opeless, sir,” remarked Denny, rising to his feet as Hugh came into the room. “He thinks this ’ere meat juice is poison, and he won’t touch it.”
“All right, Denny,” said Drummond. “Leave the poor blighter alone. We’ve got him back, and that’s something. Has your wife told you about her little adventure?”
His servant coughed deprecatingly.
“She has, sir. But, Lor’ bless you, she don’t bear no malice.”
“Then she’s one up on me, Denny, for I bear lots of it towards that gang of swine.” Thoughtfully he stood in front of the millionaire, trying in vain to catch some gleam of sense in the vacant eyes. “Look at that poor devil; isn’t that enough by itself to make you want to kill the whole crowd?” He turned on his heel abruptly, and opened the door. “Try and get him to eat if you can.”
“What luck?” Jerningham looked up as he came back into the other room.
“Dam’ all, as they say in the vernacular. Have you blighters finished the beer?”
“Probably,” remarked Peter Darrell. “What’s the programme now?”
Hugh examined the head of his glass with a professional eye before replying.
“Two things,” he murmured at length, “fairly leap to the eye. The first is to get Potts away to a place of safety; the second is to get over to Paris.”
“Well, let’s get gay over the first, as a kick-off,” said Jerningham, rising. “There’s a car outside the door; there is England at our disposal. We’ll take him away; you pad the hoof to Victoria and catch the boat train.”
“It sounds too easy,” remarked Hugh. “Have a look out of the window, Ted, and you’ll see a man frightfully busy doing nothing not far from the door. You will also see a racing-car just across the street. Put a wet compress on your head, and connect the two.”
A gloomy silence settled on the assembly, to be broken by Jerry Seymour suddenly waking up with a start.
“I’ve got the Stomach-ache,” he announced proudly. His listeners gazed at him unmoved.
“You shouldn’t eat so fast,” remarked Algy severely. “And you certainly oughtn’t to drink that beer.”
To avert the disaster he immediately consumed it himself, but Jerry was too engrossed with his brain-storm to notice.
“I’ve got the Stomach-ache,” he repeated, “and she ought to be ready by now. In fact I know she is. My last crash wasn’t a bad one. What about it?”
“You mean…?” said Hugh, staring at him.
“I mean,” answered Jerry, “that I’ll go off to the aerodrome now, and get her ready. Bring Potts along in half an hour, and I’ll take him to the Governor’s place in Norfolk. Then I’ll take you over to Paris.”
“Great!—simply great!” With a report like a gun Hugh hit the speaker on the back, inadvertently knocking him down. Then an idea struck him. “Not your place, Jerry; they’ll draw that at once. Take him to Ted’s; Lady Jerningham won’t mind, will she, old boy?”
“The mater mind?” Ted laughed. “Good Lord, no; she gave up minding anything years ago.”
“Right!” said Hugh. “Off you go, Jerry. By the way, how many will she hold?”
“Two beside me,” spluttered the proud proprietor of the Stomach-ache. “And I wish you’d reserve your endearments for people of your own size, you great, fat, hulking monstrosity.”
He reached the door with a moment to spare, and Hugh came back laughing.
“Verily—an upheaval in the grey matter,” he cried, carefully refilling his glass. “Now, boy, what about Paris?”
“Is it necessary to go at all?” asked Peter.
“It wouldn’t have been if the Yank had been sane,” answered Drummond. “As it is, I guess I’ve got to. There’s something going on, young fellahs, which is big; and I can’t help thinking one might get some useful information from the meeting at the Ritz tonight. Why is Peterson hand-in-glove with