The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
start as recognition came to him. This was the enormous individual who had snored in Sir Bryan Johnstone’s office the previous afternoon. Evidently somebody connected with the police, reflected Mr. Latter, and glancing at Drummond’s vast size he began to feel more reassured than he had for some time. A comforting sort of individual to have about the premises in the event of a brawl: good man—Sir Bryan. This man looked large enough to cope even with that monstrous black apparition, the thought of which still brought a shudder to his spine.
Drummond was still looking at him, but there was no trace of recognition in his eyes. Evidently they were to meet as strangers before the house-party: quite right too, when some of the guests themselves might even be members of this vile gang.
“It depends on circumstances outside my control,” Drummond was saying. “But if you can do with me for a few days…”
“As long as you like, Mr. Drummond,” answered Lady Manton. “And now let me introduce you to my guests.”
It was not until just before dinner that Mr. Latter had an opportunity of a few private words with Drummond. They met in the hall, and for the moment no one else was within earshot.
“You were in Sir Bryan Johnstone’s office yesterday,” said the M.P. hoarsely. “Are you connected with the police?”
“Intimately,” answered Hugh. “Even now, Mr. Latter, you are completely surrounded by devoted men who are watching and guarding you.”
A gratified smile spread over the other’s face, though Drummond’s remained absolutely expressionless.
“And how did you get here, Mr. Drummond?”
“By car,” returned Hugh gravely.
“I mean into the house-party,” said Mr. Latter stiffly.
“Ah!” Hugh looked mysterious. “That is between you and me, Mr. Latter.”
“Quite: quite. I am discretion itself.”
“Until two hours ago I thought I was the biggest liar in the world: now I know I’m not. Our hostess has me beat to a frazzle.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” cried Latter, amazed.
“There are wheels within wheels, Mr. Latter,” continued Hugh still more mysteriously. “A network of intrigue surrounds us. But do not be afraid. My orders are never to leave your side.”
“Good God, Mr. Drummond, do you mean to say…?”
“I mean to say nothing. Only this one thing I will mention.” He laid an impressive hand on Latter’s arm. “Be very careful what you say to that man with the mutton-chop whiskers and the face like a sheep.”
And the startled M.P. was too occupied staring suspiciously at the worthy Sheffield magnate and pillar of nonconformity who had just descended the stairs with his hostess to notice a sudden peculiar shaking in Drummond’s shoulders as he turned away.
Mr. Charles Latter was not a pleasant specimen of humanity even at the best of times, and that evening he was not at his best. He was frightened to the core of his rotten little soul, and when a constitutional coward is frightened the result is not pretty. His conversational efforts at dinner would have shamed a boy of ten, and though he made one or two feeble efforts to pull himself together, it was no good. Try as he would his mind kept reverting to his own position. Over and over again he went on weighing up the points of the case until his brain was whirling. He tried to make out a mental balance sheet where the stock was represented by his own personal safety, but there was always that one unknown factor which he came up against—the real power of this mysterious gang.
Coming up in the train he had decided to curtail his visit as much as possible. He would carry through what he had been told to do, and then, having pocketed his thousand, he would leave the country for a few months. By that time the police should have settled matters. And he had been very lucky. It had proved easy to find the man Delmorlick, and once he had been found, the other more serious matter had proved easy too. Delmorlick had arranged everything, and had brought three other men to meet him in a private room at one of the smaller hotels.
Like all the Count’s schemes, every detail was perfect, and once or twice exclamations of amazement interrupted him as he read on. Every possible eventuality was legislated for, and by the time he had finished reading Delmorlick’s eyes were glowing with the enthusiasm of a fanatic.
“Magnificent,” he had cried, rising and going to the window. “Another nail in the coffin of Capital. And, by heaven! a big one.”
He had stood there, his head covered with a shock of untidy hair, staring with sombre eyes at the street below. And beside him had stood one of the other men. After a while Latter joined them, and he too for a moment had looked down into the street where little knots of men lounged round doorways with their hands in their pockets, and the apathy of despair on their faces. A few women here and there mingled with them, but there was no laughing or jesting—only the sullenness of lost hope. The hope that had once been theirs of work and plenty was dead; there was nothing for them to do—they were just units in the vast army of unemployed. Occasionally a man better dressed and more prosperous than the others would detach himself from one group and go to another, where he would hold forth long and earnestly. And his listeners would nod their heads vigorously or laugh sheepishly as he passed on.
For a few moments Delmorlick had watched in silence. Then with a grave earnestness in his voice he had turned to Latter.
“We shall win, Mr. Latter, I tell you. That,” with a lean forefinger he pointed to the man outside, “is going on all over England, Scotland and Ireland. And the fools in London prate of economic laws and inflated currencies. What does an abstract cause matter to those men; they want food.”
He had glanced at Delmorlick, to find the eyes of the other man fixed on him gravely. He had hardly noticed it at the time—he had been too anxious to get away; now, as he sat at dinner, he found strangely enough that it was the other man’s face which seemed to have made the biggest impression on his mind. A new arrival in the place, so Delmorlick had told him—but red-hot for the cause of freedom and anarchy.
He made some vague remark to his neighbour and once more relapsed into moody silence. So far, so good; his job was done—he could leave tomorrow. He would have left that afternoon but for the fact that he had sent his baggage up to Drayton House, and it would have looked strange. But he had already arranged for a wire to be sent to him from London the following morning, and for the night—well, there were Drummond and the police. Decidedly, on points he appeared to be in a winning position—quite a comfortable position. And yet—that unknown factor…Still, there was always Drummond; the only trouble was that he couldn’t quite place him. What on earth had he meant before dinner? He glanced across the table at him now: he was eating salted almonds and making love to his hostess.
“A fool,” reflected Mr. Latter, “but a powerful fool. If it was necessary, he’d swallow anything I told him.”
And so, towards the end of dinner, aided possibly by his host’s very excellent vintage port, Mr. Charles Latter had more or less soothed his fears. Surely he was safe in the house, and nothing would induce him to leave it until he went to the station next morning. No thought of the abominable crime he had planned only that afternoon disturbed his equanimity; as has been said, he was not a pleasant specimen of humanity.
Charles Latter was unmoral rather than immoral: he was a constitutional coward with a strong liking for underhand intrigue, and he was utterly and entirely selfish. In his way he was ambitious: he wanted power, but, though in many respects he was distinctly able, he lacked that essential factor—the ability to work for it. He hated work: he wanted easy results. And to obtain lasting results is not easy, as Mr. Latter gradually discovered. A capability for making flashy speeches covered with a veneer of cleverness is an undoubted asset, but it is an asset the value of which has been gauged to a nicety by the men who count. And so as time went on, and the epoch-making day when he had been returned to Parliament faded into the past, Mr. Latter realised himself for what he was—a thing of no account. And