The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
M.C., I may as well deal with you now. Then it will be your friend’s turn. I am going to cut the ropes, and carry you, while you’re so numbed that you can’t move, to the bath. Then I shall drop you in, Captain Drummond, and when afterwards, you pray for death, I shall mercifully spare your life—for a while.”
He slashed at the ropes behind the chair, and the four men craned forward expectantly.
“There,” snarled Lakington. “I’m ready for you, you young swine.”
And even as he spoke, the words died away on his lips, and with a dreadful cry he sprang back. For with a dull, heavy thud the body of the dead German Heinrich rolled off the chair and sprawled at his feet.
“My God!” screamed Lakington. “What has happened? I—I—”
He rushed to the bell and pealed it frantically, and with a smile of joy Hugh watched his frenzied terror. No one came in answer to the ring, and Lakington dashed to the door, only to recoil into the room with a choking noise in his throat. Outside in the hall stood four masked men, each with a revolver pointing at his heart.
“My cue,” muttered Hugh. “And you understand, fellows, don’t you?—he’s my meat.”
The next moment he had disappeared down the ladder, and the three remaining watchers stared motionless at the grim scene. For Lakington had shut the door and was crouching by the table, his nerve utterly gone. And all the while the puffed, bloated body of the German sprawled on the floor…
Slowly the door into the hall opened, and with a scream of fear Lakington sprang back. Standing in the doorway was Hugh Drummond, and his face was grim and merciless.
“You sent for your chauffeur, Henry Lakington,” he remarked quietly. “I am here.”
“What do you mean?” muttered Lakington thickly.
“I drove you back from Laidley Towers tonight,” said Hugh with a slight smile. “The proper man was foolish and had to be killed.” He advanced a few steps into the room, and the other shrank back. “You look frightened, Henry. Can it be that the young swine’s wits are, after all, better than yours?”
“What do you want?” gasped Lakington, through dry lips.
“I want you, Henry—just you. Hitherto, you’ve always used gangs of your ruffians against me. Now my gang occupies this house. But I’m not going to use them. It’s going to be just—you and I. Stand up, Henry, stand up—as I have always stood up to you.” He crossed the room and stood in front of the cowering man.
“Take half—take half,” he screamed. “I’ve got treasure—I’ve…”
And Drummond hit him a fearful blow on the mouth.
“I shall take all, Henry, to return to their rightful owners. Boys”—he raised his voice—“carry out these other two, and undo them.”
The four masked men came in, and carried out the two chairs. “The intimidated rabbit, Henry, and the kindly gentleman you put to guard Miss Benton,” he remarked as the door closed. “So now we may regard ourselves as being alone. Just you and I. And one of us, Lakington—you devil in human form—is going into that bath.”
“But the bath means death,” shrieked Lakington—“death in agony.”
“That will be unfortunate for the one who goes in,” said Drummond, taking a step towards him.
“You would murder me?” half sobbed the terrified man.
“No, Lakington; I’m not going to murder you.” A gleam of hope came into the other’s eyes. “But I’m going to fight you in order to decide which of us two ceases to adorn the earth; that is, if your diagnosis of the contents of the bath is correct. What little gleam of pity I might have possessed for you has been completely extinguished by your present exhibition of nauseating cowardice. Fight, you worm, fight; or I’ll throw you in!”
And Lakington fought. The sudden complete turning of the tables had for the moment destroyed his nerve; now, at Drummond’s words, he recovered himself. There was no mercy on the soldier’s face, and in his inmost heart Lakington knew that the end had come. For strong and wiry though he was, he was no match for the other.
Relentlessly he felt himself being forced towards the deadly liquid he had prepared for Drummond, and as the irony of the thing struck him, the sweat broke out on his forehead and he cursed aloud. At last he backed into the edge of the bath, and his struggles redoubled. But still there was no mercy on the soldier’s face, and he felt himself being forced farther and farther over the liquid until he was only held from falling into it by Drummond’s grip on his throat.
Then, just before the grip relaxed and he went under, the soldier spoke once:
“Henry Lakington,” he said, “the retribution is just.”
Drummond sprang back, and the liquid closed over the wretched man’s head. But only for a second. With a dreadful cry, Lakington leapt out, and even Drummond felt a momentary qualm of pity. For the criminal’s clothes were already burnt through to the skin, and his face—or what was left of it—was a shining copper colour. Mad with agony, he dashed to the door, and flung it open. The four men outside, aghast at the spectacle, recoiled and let him through. And the kindly mercy which Lakington had never shown to anyone in his life was given to him at the last.
Blindly he groped his way up the stairs, and as Drummond got to the door the end came. Someone must have put in gear the machinery which worked on the fifth step, or perhaps it was automatic. For suddenly a heavy steel weight revolving on an arm whizzed out from the wall and struck Lakington behind the neck. Without a sound he fell forward, and the weight unchecked, clanged sullenly home. And thus did the invention of which he was proudest break the inventor’s own neck. Truly, the retribution was just…
“That only leaves Peterson,” remarked the American coming into the hall at that moment, and lighting a cigar.
“That only leaves Peterson,” agreed Drummond. “And the girl,” he added as an afterthought.
CHAPTER XII
In Which the Last Round Takes Place
I
It was during the next hour or two that the full value of Mr. Jerome K. Green as an acquisition to the party became apparent. Certain other preparations in honour of Peterson’s arrival were duly carried out, and then arose the question of the safe in which the all-important ledger was kept.
“There it is,” said Drummond, pointing to a heavy steel door flush with the wall, on the opposite side of the room to the big one containing Lakington’s ill-gotten treasure. “And it doesn’t seem to me that you’re going to open that one by pressing any buttons in the wall.”
“Then, Captain,” drawled the American, “I guess we’ll open it otherwise. It’s sure plumb easy. I’ve been getting gay with some of the household effects, and this bar of soap sort of caught my eye.”
From his pocket he produced some ordinary yellow soap, and the others glanced at him curiously.
“I’ll just give you a little demonstration,” he continued, “of how our swell cracksmen over the water open safes when the owners have been so tactless as to remove the keys.”
Dexterously he proceeded to seal up every crack in the safe door with the soap, leaving a small gap at the top unsealed. Then round that gap he built what was to all intents and purposes a soap dam.
“If any of you boys,” he remarked to the intent group around him, “think of taking this up as a means of livelihood, be careful of this stuff.” From another pocket he produced an india-rubber bottle. “Don’t drop it on the floor if you want to be measured for your coffin. There’ll just be a boot and some bits to bury.”
The group faded away, and the American laughed.
“Might I ask what it is?” murmured Hugh politely from the neighbourhood of the