The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
my congratulations,” he said at length, in a low voice which, despite himself, shook a little. “You are the first man who has ever done that, and I shall treasure the memory of that blow.”
“I’d hate it to be a lonely memory,” remarked Lakington. “So here’s another, to keep it company.” Again he struck him, then with a laugh he turned on his heel. “My compliments to Miss Benton,” he said to a man standing near the door, “and ask her to be good enough to come down for a few minutes.”
The veins stood out on Drummond’s forehead at the mention of the girl, but otherwise he gave no sign; and, in silence, they waited for her arrival.
She came almost at once, a villainous-looking blackguard with her, and as she saw Hugh she gave a pitiful little moan and held out her hand to him.
“Why did you come, boy?” she cried. “Didn’t you know it was only a forgery—that note?”
“Ah! was it?” said Hugh softly. “Was it, indeed?”
“An interesting point,” murmured Lakington. “Surely if a charming girl is unable—or unwilling—to write to her fiancé, her father is a very suitable person to supply the deficiency. Especially if he has been kindly endowed by Nature with a special aptitude for—er—imitating writing.”
Mr. Benton, who had been standing outside the door, came lurching into the room.
“Quite ri’, Laking—Laking—ton,” he announced solemnly. “Dreadful thing to sep—separate two young people.” Then he saw Drummond, and paused, blinking foolishly. “Whash he all tied up for li’ that?”
Lakington smiled evilly.
“It would be a pity to lose him, now he’s come, wouldn’t it?” The drunken man nodded two or three times; then a thought seemed to strike him, and he advanced slowly towards Hugh, wagging a finger foolishly.
“Thash reminds me, young fellah,” he hiccoughed gravely, “you never asked my consent. You should have asked father’s consent. Mosh incon—inconshiderate. Don’t you agree with me, Mishter Peterson?”
“You will find the tantalus in the dining-room,” said Peterson coldly. “I should say you require one more drink to produce complete insensibility, and the sooner you have it the better.”
“Inshensibility!” With outraged dignity the wretched man appealed to his daughter. “Phyllis, did you hear? Thish man says I’sh in—inebri…says I’sh drunk. Gratui…tous inshult…”
“Oh, father, father,” cried the girl, covering her face with her hands. “For pity’s sake go away! You’ve done enough harm as it is.”
Mr. Benton tacked towards the door, where he paused, swaying.
“Disgraceful,” he remarked solemnly. “Rising generation no reshpect for elders and bettersh! Teach ’em lesson, Lakington. Do ’em all good. One—two—three, all ranged in a—in a row. Do ’em good—” His voice tailed off, and, after a valiant attempt to lean against a door which was not there, he collapsed gracefully in a heap on the floor.
“You vile hound,” said Phyllis, turning like a young tigress on Lakington. “It’s your doing entirely, that he’s in that condition.”
But Lakington merely laughed.
“When we’re married,” he answered lightly, “we’ll put him into a really good home for inebriates.”
“Married!” she whispered tensely. “Married! Why, you loathsome reptile, I’d kill myself before I married you.”
“An excellent curtain,” remarked Lakington suavely, “for the third act of a melodrama. Doubtless we can elaborate it later. In the meantime, however”—he glanced at his watch—“time presses. And I don’t want to go without telling you a little about the programme, Captain Drummond. Unfortunately both Mr. Peterson and I have to leave you for tonight; but we shall be returning tomorrow morning—or, at any rate, I shall. You will be left in charge of Heinrich—you remember the filthy Boche?—with whom you had words the other night. As you may expect, he entertains feelings of great friendship and affection for you, so you should not lack for any bodily comforts; such as may be possible in your present somewhat cramped position. Then tomorrow, when I return, I propose to try a few experiments on you, and, though I fear you will find them painful, it’s a great thing to suffer in the cause of science… You will always have the satisfaction of knowing that dear little Phyllis will be well cared for.” With a sudden, quick movement, he seized the girl and kissed her before she realised his intention. The rope round Drummond creaked as he struggled impotently, and Lakington’s sneering face seemed to swim in a red glow.
“That is quite in keeping, is it not,” he snarled “to kiss the lady, and to strike the man like this—and this—and this?…” A rain of blows came down on Drummond’s face, till, with a gasping sigh, the girl slipped fainting to the floor.
“That’ll do, Lakington,” said Peterson, intervening once again. “Have the girl carried upstairs, and send for Heinrich. It’s time we were off.”
With an effort Lakington let his hand fall to his side, and stood back from his victim.
“Perhaps for the present, it will,” he said slowly. “But tomorrow—tomorrow, Captain Drummond, you shall scream to Heaven for mercy, until I take out your tongue and you can scream no more.” He turned as the German came into the room. “I leave them to you, Heinrich,” he remarked shortly. “Use the dog-whip if they shout, and gag them.”
The German’s eyes were fixed on Hugh gloatingly.
“They will not shout twice,” he said in his guttural voice. “The dirty Boche to it himself will see.”
II
“We appear,” remarked Hugh quietly, a few minutes later, “to be in for a cheery night.”
For a moment the German had left the room, and the three motionless, bound figures, sitting grotesquely in their chairs, were alone.
“How did they get you, Toby?”
“Half a dozen of ’em suddenly appeared,” answered Sinclair shortly, “knocked me on the head, and the next thing I knew I was here in this damned chair.”
“Is that when you got your face?” asked Hugh.
“No,” said Toby, and his voice was grim. “We share in the matter of faces, old man.”
“Lakington again, was it?” said Hugh softly. “Dear Heavens! if I could get one hand on that…” He broke off and laughed. “What about you, Algy?”
“I went blundering in over the way, old bean,” returned that worthy, “and some damn fellow knocked my eye-glass off. So, as I couldn’t see to kill him, I had to join the picnic here.”
Hugh laughed, and then suddenly grew serious.
“By the way, you didn’t see a man chewing gum on the horizon, did you, when I made my entrance? Dog-robber suit, and face like a motor-mascot.”
“Thank God, I was spared that!” remarked Algy.
“Good!” returned Hugh. “He’s probably away with it by now, and he’s no fool. For I’m thinking it’s only Peter and him between us and—” He left his remark unfinished, and for a while there was silence. “Jerry is over in France still, putting stamp-paper on his machine; Ted’s gone up to see that Potts is taking nourishment.”
“And here we sit like three well-preserved specimens in a bally museum,” broke in Algy, with a rueful laugh. “What’ll they do to us, Hugh?”
But Drummond did not answer, and the speaker, seeing the look on his face, did not press the question.
Slowly the hours dragged on, until the last gleams of daylight had faded from the skylight above, and a solitary electric light,