The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
was a long, straight corridor, a replica of the one below, and he turned in the direction in which he knew her room must lie. And he had only taken a couple of steps when he stopped abruptly, peering ahead with eyes that strove to pierce the darkness. For it seemed to him that there was something in the passage—something darker than its surroundings. He pressed against the wall absolutely motionless, and as he stood there with every sense alert, and his arms hanging loosely forward ready for any emergency, he heard a tapping on one of the doors just ahead of him. It was Phyllis signalling with her parasol as she had said, and he took a step forward. And at that moment something sprang out of the darkness, and he found himself fighting for his life.
For a second or two he was at a disadvantage, so completely had he been taken by surprise, then the old habits returned. And not a moment too soon; he was up against an antagonist who was worthy of him. Two hands like iron hooks were round his neck, and the man who gets that grip first wins more often than not. His own hands shot out into the darkness, and then for the first time in his life he felt a stab of fear. For he couldn’t reach the other man: long though his arms were, the other man’s were far longer, and as his hands went along them he could feel the muscles standing out like steel bars. He made one supreme effort to force through to his opponent’s throat and it failed; with his superior reach he could keep his distance. Already Drummond’s head was beginning to feel like bursting with the awful pressure; round his throat, and he knew he must do something at once or lose. And just in time he remembered his clasp-knife. It went against his grain to use it; never before had he fought an unarmed man with a weapon—and as far as he could tell this man was unarmed. But it had to be done and done quickly.
With all his force he stabbed sideways at the man’s left arm. He heard a snarl of pain, and the grip of one of the hands round his throat relaxed. And now the one urgent thing was to prevent him shouting for help. Like a flash Drummond was on him, one hand on his mouth and the other gripping his throat with the grip he had learned from Osaki the Jap in days gone by, and had never forgotten. And because he was fighting to kill now he wasted no time. The grip tightened; there was a dreadful worrying noise as the man bit into his thumb—then it was over. The man slipped downwards on to the floor, and Drummond stood drawing in great mouthfuls of air.
But he knew there was no time to lose. Though they had fought in silence, and he could still hear the monotonous thud and the beat of the engine, at any moment someone might come upstairs. And to be found with a dead man at one’s feet in a strange house is not the best way of securing a hospitable welcome. What to do with the body—that was the first insistent point. There was no time for intricate schemes; it was a question of taking risks and chancing it. So for a moment or two he listened at the door of the room opposite that on which he had heard Phyllis tapping, and from which the man had sprung at him—then he gently opened it. It was a bedroom and empty, and without further hesitation he dragged his late opponent in, and left him lying on the floor. By the dim light from the uncurtained window, he could see that the man was almost deformed, so enormous was the length of his arms. They must have been six inches longer than those of an average man, and were almost as powerful as his own. And as he saw the snarling, ferocious face upturned to his, he uttered a little prayer of thanksgiving for the presence of his clasp-knife. It had been altogether too near a thing for his liking.
He closed the door and stepped across the passage, and the next moment Phyllis was in his arms.
“I thought you were never coming, old man,” she whispered. “I was afraid the brutes had caught you.”
“I had a slight difference of opinion with a warrior outside your door,” said Hugh, grinning. “Quite like old times.”
“But, my dear,” she said, with sudden anxiety in her voice, “you’re sopping wet.”
“Much water has flowed under the bridge, my angel child, since I last saw you, and I’ve flowed with it.” He kissed her on the right side of her mouth, then on the left for symmetry, and finally in the middle for luck. Then he grew serious. “No time for hot air now, old thing; let’s have a look at this jolly old chain effect of yours. Once we’re out of here, you shall tell me everything and I’ll eat several pounds of mud for having been such an unmitigated idiot as to let these swine get hold of you.”
He was examining the steel chain as he spoke, and gradually his face grew grave. He didn’t seem to have gained much after all by breaking in; Phyllis was just as much a prisoner as ever. The chain, which was about six feet long, was fastened at one end to a big staple in the wall and at the other to a bracelet which encircled his wife’s right wrist. And the bracelet could only be opened with a key. Any idea of breaking the chain or pulling out the staple was so preposterous as not to be worth even a moment’s thought; so everything depended on the bracelet. And when he came to examine it more carefully he found that it had a Yale lock.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, and she watched him anxiously.
“Can’t you get it undone, boy?” she whispered.
“Not if I stopped here till next Christmas, darling,” he answered heavily.
“Well, get out of the window and go for the police,” she implored.
“My dear,” he said still more heavily, “I had, as I told you, a little difference of opinion with the gentleman outside the door—and he’s very dead.” She caught her breath sharply. “A nasty man with long arms who attacked me. It might be all right, of course—but I somehow feel that this matter is beyond the local constable, even if I could find him. You see, I don’t even know where we are.” He checked the exclamation of surprise that rose to her lips. “I’ll explain after, darling, let’s think of this now. If only I could get the key; if only I knew where it was even.”
“A foreigner came in about an hour ago,” answered his wife. “He had it then. And he said he’d come again tonight.”
“He did, did he?” said Hugh slowly. “I wonder if it’s my friend the Italian. Anyway, kid, it’s the only chance. Did he come alone last time?”
“Yes: I don’t think there was anyone with him. I’m sure there wasn’t.”
“Then we must chance it,” said Hugh. “Say something; get him into the room and then leave him to me. And if for any reason he doesn’t come I’ll have to leave you here and raise the gang.”
“Wouldn’t it be safer, boy, to do that now?” she said imploringly. “Suppose anything happened to you.”
“Anything further that happens to me tonight, old thing,” he remarked grimly, “will be as flat as a squashed pancake compared to what’s happened already.”
And then because she saw his mind was made up, and she knew the futility of arguing under those conditions, she sat on the bed beside him to wait. For a while they sat in silence listening to the monotonous thudding noise which went ceaselessly on; then because he wanted to distract her mind he made her tell him what had happened to her. And in disjointed whispers, with his arm round her waist, she pieced together the gaps in the story. How the man had come about the electric light, and then had offered to fetch her a taxi he knew already from Denny. She had got in, never suspecting anything, and told him to drive to the Ritz—and almost at once she had begun to feel faint. Still she suspected nothing, until she tried to open one of the windows. But it wouldn’t open, and the last thing she remembered before she actually fainted was tapping on the glass to try to draw the driver’s attention. Then when she came to, she found to her horror that she was not alone. A man was in the car with her, and they were out of London in the country. Both windows were wide open, and she asked him furiously what he was doing in her car. He smiled, and remarked that so far he was not aware he had sold it, but he was always open to an offer. And it was then that she realised for the first time exactly what had happened.
The man told her quite frankly that she hadn’t fainted at all, but had been rendered unconscious by a discharge of gas down the speaking-tube; that acting under orders he was taking her to a house in the country where she would have to remain for how long he was unable to say, and further if she made a sound or gave any trouble he would gag her