The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
of pure terror. Count Zadowa, alias Mr. Atkinson, shut the door behind him and staggered into the sunlit street.
CHAPTER XIII
In Which Hugh Drummond and the Reverend Theodosius Have a Little Chat
“Come up, boys,” laughed Hugh. “The fog of war is lifting slowly.”
He led the way back into the study, and the other three followed him.
“That object, Ted, you will be pleased to hear, is the humorist who threw the bomb at us last night.”
“The devil it was,” cried Jerningham. “I hope you gave him something for me. Incidentally, how did he run you to earth here?”
“Things have moved within the last two or three hours,” answered Drummond slowly. “Who do you think is stopping at the Ritz at the present moment? Who do you think lunched with Peter and me today? Why—Peterson, my buckos—no more and no less.”
“Rot!” said Toby Sinclair incredulously.
“No more and no less. Peterson himself—disguised as a clergyman called Longmoor. And with him is dear Irma encased in woollen garments. And it was Irma who spotted the whole thing. I never recognised her, and she was sitting next to Peter and me in the lounge when we were discussing things. Of course, they’re mixed up with that swab I’ve just kicked down the stairs—in fact, we’ve bolted the fox. The nuisance of it is that by putting two and two together they’ve spotted me as the leader of our bunch. How I don’t quite know, but they indubitably have. They also think I’ve got those diamonds: hence the visit of the hunchback, who did not know they were in the desk when he bunged the bomb. In fact, things are becoming clearer all the way round.”
“I’m glad you think so,” remarked Algy. “I’m dashed if I see it.”
Drummond thoughtfully filled himself a glass of beer from the cask in the corner.
“Clearer, Algy—though not yet fully luminous with the light of day. Between Peterson and those diamonds there is, or was, a close and tender connection. I’ll eat my hat on that. Between Peterson and the hunchback there is also a close connection—though I have my doubts if it’s tender. And then there’s me tripping lightly like the good fairy…Hullo! What’s this?”
He had opened his desk as he spoke, and was now staring fixedly at the lock.
“It’s been forced,” he said grimly. “Forced since this morning. They’ve been over this desk while I’ve been out. Push the bell, Ted.”
They waited in silence till Denny appeared in answer to the ring.
“Someone has been in this room, Denny,’” said Drummond. “Someone has forced this desk since half-past eleven this morning.”
“There’s been no one in the house, sir,” answered Denny, “except the man who came about the electric light.”
“Electric grandmother,” snapped his master. “You paralytic idiot, why did you leave him alone?”
“Well, sir, Mrs. Drummond was in the house at the time—and the servants were all round the place.” Denny looked and felt aggrieved, and after a while Drummond smiled.
“What sort of a man was it, you old fathead?”
“A very respectable sort of man,” returned Denny with dignity. “I remarked to Mrs. Denny how respectable he was, sir. Why, he actually went some distance down the street to call a taxi for Mrs. Drummond to go to the Ritz…”
His words died away, as he stared in amazement at the expression on his master’s face.
“What the devil is it, Hugh?” cried Ted Jerningham.
“He called a taxi, you say?” muttered Drummond. “The man who came here called a taxi?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Denny. “He was leaving the house at the same time, and as there was none in sight he said he’d send one along at once.”
“And Mrs. Drummond went in the taxi he sent?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Denny in surprise. “To the Ritz, to join you. I gave the order myself to the driver.”
The veins were standing out on Drummond’s forehead, and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to hit his servant. Then with an effort he controlled himself, and sank back in his chair with a groan.
“It’s all right, Denny,” he said hoarsely. “It’s not your fault: you couldn’t have known. But—what a fool I’ve been! All this time wasted, when I might have been doing something.”
“But what on earth’s happened?” cried Algy.
“She never turned up at the Ritz, Algy: Phyllis never turned up for lunch. At first I thought she was late, and we waited. Then I thought she’d run into some pal and had gone to feed somewhere else. And then, what with talking to Peterson, and later that hunchback, I forgot all about her.”
“But, good heavens, Hugh, what do you mean?” said Ted. “You don’t think that—”
“Of course I think it. I know it. They’ve got her: they’ve kidnapped her. Right under my nose.” He rose and began to pace up and down the room with long, uneven strides, while the others watched him anxiously.
“That damned girl heard me say that she was coming to lunch, and just after that she went upstairs. And Peterson, being Peterson, took a chance—and he’s pulled it off.”
“Ring up Scotland Yard, man,” cried Toby Sinclair.
“What the devil am I to tell them? They’d think I was off my head. And I’ve got no proof that Peterson is at the bottom of it. I haven’t even got any proof that would convince them that Longmoor is Peterson.”
Algy Longworth stood up, serious for once in a way. “There’s no time now to beat about the bush, Hugh. If they’ve got Phyllis there’s only one possible thing that you can do. Go straight to Bryan Johnstone and put all your cards on the table. Tell him the whole thing from A to Z—conceal nothing. And then leave the matter in his hands. He won’t let you down.”
For a moment or two Hugh faced them undecided. The sudden danger to Phyllis seemed to have robbed him temporarily of his power of initiative; for the time he had ceased to be the leader.
“Algy’s right,” said Jerningham quietly. “It doesn’t matter a damn what happens to us, you’ve got to think about Phyllis. We’ll get it in the neck—but there was always that risk.”
“I believe you’re right,” muttered Hugh, looking round for his hat. “My brain’s all buzzing, I can’t think—”
And at that moment the telephone bell rang on his desk.
“Answer it, Ted,” said Hugh.
Jerningham picked up the receiver.
“Yes—this is Captain Drummond’s house. No—it’s not him speaking. Yes—I’ll give him any message you like. Who are you? Who? Mr. Longmoor at the Ritz. I see. Yes—he told me you had lunched with him today. Oh! yes, certainly.”
For a while Ted Jerningham stood holding the receiver to his ear, and only the thin, metallic voice of the speaker at the other end broke the silence of the room. It went on, maddeningly indistinct to the three men crowding round the instrument, broken only by an occasional monosyllable from Jerningham. Then with a final—”I will certainly tell him,” Ted laid down the instrument.
“What did he say, Ted?” demanded Hugh agitatedly.
“He sent a message to you, old man. It was approximately to this effect—that he was feeling very uneasy because your wife had not turned up at lunch, and that he hoped there had been no accident. He further went on to say that since he had parted from you a most peculiar piece of information had come to his knowledge, which, incredible though it might appear, seemed to bear on