The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile "Sapper". Sapper
Such a thing, of course, could not be admitted officially: the abduction of anyone is a criminal offence. But we came to the conclusion that the Black Gang was undoubtedly an extremely powerful and ably led organisation whose object was simply and solely to fight the Red element in England. The means they adopted were undoubtedly illegal—but the results were excellent. Whenever a man appeared preaching Bolshevism, after a few days he simply disappeared. In short, a reign of terror was established amongst the terrorists. And it was to put that right I have no doubt that the Reverend Theodosius Longmoor arrived in this country." Sir Bryan thoughtfully lit another cigarette. "To return to the island. McIver went there, and after some little difficulty located it, out of the twenty or thirty to which the description might apply. He found it far from uninhabited, just as that letter says. He found it occupied by some fifty or sixty rabid anarchists—the gentlemen who had so mysteriously disappeared—who were presided over by twenty large demobilised soldiers commanded by an ex-sergeant-major of the Guards. The sixty frenzied anarchists, he gathered, were running a state on communist lines, as interpreted by the ex-sergeant-major. And the interpretation moved even McIver to tears of laughter. It appeared that once every three hours they were all drawn up in a row, and the sergeant-major, with a voice like a bull, would bellow:
"'Should the ruling classes have money?'
"Then they answered in unison—' No.'
"'Should anyone have money?'
"Again they answered 'No.'
"'Should everyone work for the common good for love?'
"'Yes.'
"Whereat he would roar: 'Well, in this 'ere island there ain't no ruling classes, and there ain't no money, and there's dam' little love, so go and plant more potatoes, you lop-eared sons of Beelzebub.'
"At which point the parade broke up in disorder."
Sir John was shaking helplessly.
"This is a jest, Johnstone. You're joking."
"I'm not," answered the other. "But I think you'll admit that the man who started the whole show—the leader of the Black Gang—is a humorist, to put it mildly, who cannot well be spared."
"My dear fellow, as I said before, the Cabinet is the only place for him. If only he'd export two or three of my colleagues to this island and let 'em plant potatoes I'd take off my hat to him. Tell me—do I know him?" Sir Bryan smiled.
"I'm not certain: you may. But the point, Haverton, is this. We must take cognisance of the whole thing, if we acknowledge it at all. Therefore shall we assume that everything I have been telling you is a fairy story: that the Black Gang is non-existent—I may say that it will be shortly—and that what has already appeared in the papers is just a hoax by some irresponsible person? Unless we do that there will be a cause celebre fought out on class prejudice—a most injudicious thing at the present moment. I may say that the island is shut down, and the sixty pioneers have departed to other countries. Also quite a number of those agents whose names are on the list you have have left our shores during the past few days. It is merely up to us to see that they don't come back. But nothing has come out in the papers: and I don't want anything to come out either."
He paused suddenly, as a cheerful voice was heard in the office outside.
"Ah! here is one Captain Drummond, whom I asked to come round this morning," he continued, with a faint smile. "I wonder if you know him."
"Drummond?" repeated the other. "Is he a vast fellow with an ugly face?"
"That's the man," said Sir Bryan.
"I've seen him at his aunt's—old Lady Meltrose. She says he's the biggest fool in London."
Sir Bryan's smile grew more pronounced as the door opened and Hugh came in.
"Morning, Tum-tum," he boomed genially. "How's the liver and all that?"
"Morning, Hugh. Do you know Sir John Haverton?"
"Morning, Sir John. Jolly old Cabinet merry and bright? Or did you all go down on Purple Polly at Goodwood yesterday?"
Sir John rose a little grimly. "We have other things to do besides backing horses, Captain Drummond. I think we have met at Lady Meltrose's house, haven't we?"
"More than likely," said Hugh affably. "I don't often dine there: she ropes in such a ghastly crowd of bores, don't you know."
"I feel sure, Captain Drummond, that you're an admirable judge." Sir John turned to Sir Bryan Johnstone and held out his hand. "Well, I must be off. Good morning, Johnstone—and you've thoroughly roused my curiosity. I'd very much like to know who the gentleman is whom we've been discussing. And in the meantime I'll look through these papers and let you know my decision in due course."
He bustled out of the office, and Hugh sank into a chair with a sigh of relief.
"The old boy's clothes seem full of body this morning. Tum-tum," he remarked as the door closed. "Indigestion—or don't the elastic-sided boots fit?"
"Do you know what we have been discussing, Hugh?" said the other quietly.
"Not an earthly, old man. Was it that new one about the girl in the grocer's shop?"
"We've been discussing the leader of the Black Gang," said Sir Bryan, with his eyes fixed on the man sprawling in the chair opposite.
Not by the twitch of a muscle did Drummond's face change: he seemed engrossed in the task of selecting a cigarette.
"You've been in Deauville, haven't you, Hugh—the last few days?"
"Quite right old man. All among the fairies."
"You don't know that a burglary has taken place at your house in London?"
"A burglary!" Drummond sat up with a jerk. "Why the deuce hasn't Denny told me?"
"A very small one," said Sir Bryan, "committed by myself, and perhaps he doesn't know. I took—your typewriter."
For a few moments Hugh Drummond stared at him in silence: then his lips began to twitch. "I see," he said at length. "I meant to have that defective 's' repaired."
"You took me in, old boy," continued Sir Bryan, "utterly and absolutely. If it hadn't been for one of the men at Maybrick Hall turning King's evidence, I don't believe I should have found out now."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Drummond after a pause.
"Nothing. I was discussing the matter with Sir John this morning, and we both agreed that you either deserved penal servitude or a seat in the Cabinet. And since neither course commends itself to us, we have decided to do nothing. There are reasons, which you will appreciate, against any publicity at the moment. But, Hugh, the Black Gang must cease."
Drummond nodded. "Carried, nem. con; Tum-tum. It shall automatically dissolve to-day."
"And further," continued Sir Bryan, "will you relieve my curiosity and tell me what sent Charles Latter mad?"
"I did," said Drummond grimly, "as I told that ass McIver over a cocktail at the Regency. He was plotting to blow up three thousand men's employment, Tum-tum, with gun-cotton. It was at his instigation that four men were killed in Manchester as the result of another outrage. So I lashed him to his bed, and underneath him I put what he thought was a slab of gun-cotton with fuse attached. It wasn't gun-cotton: it was wood. And he went mad." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "Now, one for you. Why did you let Carl Peterson escape? I nearly killed him that night, after I'd bayoneted the Russian."
"How did you know he had escaped?" demanded Sir Bryan.
Hugh felt in his pocket and produced a note.
"Read it," he said, passing it across the desk.
"It was a pity you forgot that there might be another key to the padlock, Captain Drummond," it ran. "And Giuseppi is an old friend of mine. I quite enjoyed our single."
Sir Bryan returned the note without a word, and Drummond replaced it in his pocket.