The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
is just what we want to find out,” replied Sir Bryan. “As far as we can see at the moment they are not criminals in the accepted sense of the word. They flogged two of the men who were there last night, and there are no two men in England who more richly deserved it. They kidnapped two others, one of whom was the man we particularly wanted. Then to wind up, they planted Flash Jim as I’ve told you, let the others go, and brought McIver and all his men back to McIver’s house, where they left them to cool on the pavement.”
For a moment there was silence, and then Hugh began to shake with laughter.
“But how perfectly priceless!” he spluttered when he was able to speak once more. “Old Algy will burst a blood-vessel when I tell him: you know, Algy, Tumkins, don’t you—that bird with the eye-glass, and the funny-looking face?”
Inspector McIver frowned heavily. All along he had doubted the wisdom of telling Drummond anything: now he felt that his misgivings were confirmed. What on earth was the good of expecting such an obvious ass to be of the smallest assistance? And now this raucous hilarity struck him as being positively indecent. But the Chief had insisted: the responsibility was his. One thing was certain, reflected McIver grimly. Algy, whoever he was, would not be the only one to whom the privilege of bursting a blood-vessel would be accorded. And before very long it would be all round London—probably in the papers. And McIver particularly did not want that to happen. However, the next instant Sir Bryan soothed some of his worst fears.
“Under no circumstances, Hugh,” he remarked gravely, “is Algy to be given a chance of bursting any blood-vessel. You understand what I mean. What I have said to you this afternoon is for you alone—and no one else. We know it: Flash Jim and Co. know it.”
“And the jolly old masked sportsmen know it,” said Hugh.
“Quite,” remarked Sir Bryan. “And that’s a deuced sight too many already. We don’t want any more.”
“As far as I am concerned, my brave Tumkins,” cried the other, “the list is closed. Positively not another participator in the State secret. But I still don’t see where I leap in and join the fray.”
“This way, old boy,” said Sir Bryan. “McIver is a very strong man, and yet he was picked up last night as he himself says as if he was a baby, by one of these masked men who, judging from a note he wrote, is presumably the leader of the gang. And so we deduce that this leader is something exceptional in the way of strength.”
“By Gad! that’s quick, Tumkins,” said Hugh admiringly. “But then you always did have the devil of a brain.”
“Now you are something very exceptional in that line, Hugh,” continued the other.
“Oh! I can push a fellah’s face if it’s got spots and things,” said Hugh deprecatingly.
“And what I want to know is this. If we give you warning would you care to go with McIver the next time he has any job on, where he thinks it is likely this gang may turn up? We have a pretty shrewd idea as to the type of thing they specialise in.”
Hugh passed his hand dazedly over his forehead. “Sort of mother’s help you mean,” and McIver frowned horribly. “While the bird biffs McIver, I biff the bird. Is that the notion?”
“That is the notion,” agreed Sir Bryan. “Of course you’ll have to do exactly what McIver tells you, and the whole thing is most unusual. But in view of the special features of the case…What is it, Miss Forbes?” He glanced up at his secretary, who was standing in the doorway, with a slight frown.
“He insists on seeing you at once. Sir Bryan.” She came forward with a card, which Sir Bryan took.
“Charles Latter.” The frown deepened. “What the deuce does he want?”
The answer was supplied by the gentleman himself, who appeared at that moment in the doorway. He was evidently in a state of great agitation and Sir Bryan rose.
“I am engaged at the moment, Mr. Latter,” he said coldly.
“My business won’t take you a minute. Sir Bryan,” he cried. “But what I want to know is this. Is this country civilised or is it not? Look at what I received by the afternoon post.”
He handed a sheet of paper to the other, who glanced at it casually. Then suddenly the casual look vanished, and Sir Bryan sat down at his desk, his eyes grim and stem. “By the afternoon post, you say.”
“Yes. And there have been too many disappearances lately!”
“How did you know that?” snapped the chief, staring at him.
For a moment Latter hesitated and changed colour. “Oh! everyone knows it,” he answered, trying to speak casually.
“Everyone does not know it,” remarked Sir Bryan quietly. “However, you did quite right to come to me. What are your plans during the next few days?”
“I am going out of London tomorrow to stay with Lady Manton near Sheffield,” answered Latter. “A semi-political house party. Good heavens! What’s that?” With a snort Hugh sat up blinking.
“So sorry, old lad,” he burbled. “I snored: know I did. Late hours are the devil, aren’t they?” He heaved himself out of his chair, and grinned pleasantly at Latter, who frowned disapprovingly.
“I don’t go in for them myself. Well, Sir Bryan.”
“This matter shall be attended to, Mr. Latter. I will see to it. Good afternoon. I will keep this note.”
“And who was that little funny-face?” said Hugh as the door closed behind Mr. Latter.
“Member of Parliament for a north country constituency,” answered Sir Bryan, still staring at the piece of paper in his hand. “Lives above his income. Keenly ambitious. But I thought he was all right.”
The other two stared at him in surprise. “What do you mean, sir?” asked McIver at length.
“Our unknown friends do not think so, Mac,” answered the chief, handing his subordinate the note left by Latter. “They are beginning to interest me, these gentlemen.”
“You need a rest, Charles Latter,” read McIver slowly. “We have established a home for people like you where several of your friends await you. In a few days you will join them.”
“There are two things which strike one, McIver,” remarked Sir Bryan thoughtfully, lighting cigarette. “First and most important: that message and the one you found this morning were written on the same typewriter—the letter ‘s’ is distorted in each case. And, secondly, Mr. Charles Latter appears to have inside information concerning the recent activities of our masked friends which it is difficult to see how he came by. Unless “—he paused and stared out of the window with a slight frown—”unless they are far more conversant with his visiting list than I am.”
McIver’s great jaw stuck out as if made of granite. “It proves my theory, sir,” he grunted, “but if these jokers try that game on with Mr. Latter they won’t catch me a second time.”
A terrific blow on the back made him gasp and splutter. “There speaks my hero—boy,” cried Hugh. “Together we will outwit the knaves. I will write and cancel a visit: glad of the chance. Old Julia Manton—face like a horse: house at Sheffield: roped me in, Tumkins—positively stunned me with her verbosity. Ghastly house—but reeks of boodle.”
Sir Bryan looked at him surprised. “Do you mean to say you are going to Lady Manton’s?”
“I was. But not now. I will stick closer than a brother to Mr. McIver.”
“I think not, old man. You go. If you’d been awake you’d have heard Latter say that he was going there too. You can be of use sooner than I thought.”
“Latter going to old Julia?” Hugh stared at him amazed. “My dear old Tum-tum, what a perfectly amazing coincidence.”
CHAPTER