The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
the half-open door, it was evident that the German had found other and more congenial company. At length he appeared carrying a tray with bread and water on it, which he placed on a table near Hugh.
“Food for you, you English swine,” he remarked, looking gloatingly at each in turn. “Herr Lakington the order gave, so that you will be fit tomorrow morning. Fit for the torture.” He thrust his flushed face close to Drummond’s and then deliberately spat at him.
Algy Longworth gave a strangled grunt, but Drummond took no notice. For the past half-hour he had been sunk in thought, so much so that the others had believed him asleep. Now, with a quiet smile, he looked up at the German.
“How much, my friend,” he remarked, “are you getting for this?” The German leered at him.
“Enough to see that you tomorrow are here,” he said.
“And I always believed that yours was a business nation,” laughed Hugh. “Why, you poor fool, I’ve got a thousand pounds in notes in my cigarette-case.” For a moment the German stared at him; then a look of greed came into his pig-eyes.
“You hof, hof you?” he grunted. “Then the filthy Boche will for you of them take care.”
Hugh looked at him angrily.
“If you do,” he cried, “you must let me go.”
The German leered still more.
“Natürlich. You shall out of the house at once walk.”
He stepped up to Drummond and ran his hands over his coat, while the others stared at one another in amazement. Surely Hugh didn’t imagine the swine would really let him go; he would merely take the money and probably spit in his face again. Then they heard him speaking, and a sudden gleam of comprehension dawned on their faces.
“You’ll have to undo one of the ropes, my friend, before you can get at it,” said Hugh quietly.
For a moment the German hesitated. He looked at the ropes carefully; the one that bound the arms and the upper part of the body was separate from the rope round the legs. Even if he did undo it the fool Englishman was still helpless, and he knew that he was unarmed. Had he not himself removed his revolver, as he lay unconscious in the hall? What risk was there, after all? Besides, if he called someone else in he would have to share the money.
And, as he watched the German’s indecision, Hugh’s forehead grew damp with sweat… Would he undo the rope? Would greed conquer caution?
At last the Boche made up his mind, and went behind the chair. Hugh felt him fumbling with the rope, and flashed an urgent look of caution at the other two.
“You’d better be careful, Heinrich,” he remarked, “that none of the others see, or you might have to share.”
The German ceased undoing the knot, and grunted. The English swine had moments of brightness, and he went over and closed the door. Then he resumed the operation of untying the rope; and, since it was performed behind the chair, he was in no position to see the look on Drummond’s face. Only the two spectators could see that, and they had almost ceased breathing in their excitement. That he had a plan they knew; what it was they could not even guess.
At last the rope fell clear, and the German sprang back.
“Put the case on the table,” he cried, having not the slightest intention of coming within range of those formidable arms.
“Certainly not,” said Hugh, “until you undo my legs. Then you shall have it.”
Quite loosely he was holding the case in one hand; but the others, watching his face, saw that it was strained and tense.
“First I the notes must have.” The German strove to speak conversationally, but all the time he was creeping nearer and nearer to the back of the chair. “Then I your legs undo, and you may go.”
Algy’s warning cry rang out simultaneously with the lightning dart of the Boche’s hand as he snatched at the cigarette-case over Drummond’s shoulder. And then Drummond laughed a low, triumphant laugh. It was the move he had been hoping for, and the German’s wrist was held fast in his vicelike grip. His plan had succeeded.
And Longworth and Sinclair, who had seen many things in their lives, the remembrance of which will be with them till their dying day, had never seen and are never likely to see anything within measurable distance of what they saw in the next few minutes. Slowly, inexorably, the German’s arm was being twisted, while he uttered hoarse, gasping cries, and beat impotently at Drummond’s head with his free hand. Then at last there was a dull crack as the arm broke, and a scream of pain, as he lurched round the chair and stood helpless in front of the soldier, who still held the cigarette-case in his left hand.
They saw Drummond open the cigarette-case and take from it what looked like a tube of wood. Then he felt in his pocket and took out a matchbox, containing a number of long thin splinters. And, having fitted one of the splinters into the tube, he put the other end in his mouth.
With a quick heave they saw him jerk the German round and catch his unbroken arm with his free left hand. And the two bound watchers looked at Hugh’s eyes as he stared at the moaning Boche, and saw that they were hard and merciless.
There was a sharp, whistling hiss, and the splinter flew from the tube into the German’s face. It hung from his cheek, and even the ceaseless movement of his head failed to dislodge it.
“I have broken your arm, Boche,” said Drummond at length, “and now I have killed you. I’m sorry about it; I wasn’t particularly anxious to end your life. But it had to be done.”
The German, hardly conscious of what he had said owing to the pain in his arm, was frantically kicking the Englishman’s legs, still bound to the chair; but the iron grip on his wrists never slackened. And then quite suddenly came the end. With one dreadful, convulsive heave the German jerked himself free, and fell doubled up on the floor. Fascinated, they watched him writhing and twisting, until at last, he lay still… The Boche was dead…
“My God!” muttered Hugh, wiping his forehead. “Poor brute.”
“What was that blow-pipe affair?” cried Sinclair hoarsely.
“The thing they tried to finish me with in Paris last night,” answered Hugh grimly, taking a knife out of his waistcoat pocket. “Let us trust that none of his pals come in to look for him.”
A minute later he stood up, only to sit down again abruptly, as his legs gave way. They were numbed and stiff with the hours he had spent in the same position, and for a while he could do nothing but rub them with his hands, till the blood returned and he could feel once more.
Then, slowly and painfully, he tottered across to the others and set them free as well. They were in an even worse condition than he had been; and it seemed as if Algy would never be able to stand again, so completely dead was his body from the waist downwards. But, at length, after what seemed an eternity to Drummond, who realised only too well that should the gang come in they were almost as helpless in their present condition as if they were still bound in their chairs, the other two recovered. They were still stiff and cramped—all three of them—but at any rate they could move; which was more than could be said of the German, who lay twisted and rigid on the floor with his eyes staring up at them—a glassy, horrible stare.
“Poor brute!” said Hugh again, looking at him with a certain amount of compunction. “He was a miserable specimen—but still…” He shrugged his shoulders. “And the contents of my cigarette-case are half a dozen gaspers, and a ten-bob Bradbury patched together with stamp paper!”
He swung round on his heel as if dismissing the matter, and looked at the other two.
“All fit now? Good! We’ve got to think what we’re going to do, for we’re not out of the wood yet by two or three miles.”
“Let’s get the door open,” remarked Algy, “and explore.”
Cautiously they swung it open, and stood motionless.