The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile "Sapper". Sapper

The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile


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the young man cheerfully. "I was one of the four fellows there with Drummond."

      "It vos stupid of me to haf forgotten," remarked the German, breathing an inward sign of relief. "But so many were there, that must be my excuse."

      He escaped into the church, and Algy Longworth made no further attempt to detain him. Without thought, and as a mere matter of politeness, he had spoken to the Professor on seeing him, to be greeted with the blank stare of complete non-recognition.

      And now the German had concurred in his statement that there had been five of them in the room during the interview, whereas only Hugh and he himself had been present. The short service was drawing to a close, and Algy, who had not heard a word, still stared thoughtfully at the back of the Professor's head, two pews in front.

      He had noted the nods of greeting from several distinguished looking old gentlemen as the German had entered the church; but five instead of two! Surely it was incredible that any man, however absent-minded and engrossed in other things, should have made such a mistake as that. Even poor old Goodman himself had not been as bad as that. Besides, he personally had spoken not once but several times to the German during the interview. He couldn't have forgotten so completely.

      But the fact remained that after the service was over, Professor Scheidstrun chatted for some time with several other elderly men, who had apparently had no doubts as to his identity. In fact it was impossible to believe that the man was not what he professed to be, especially as he too, remembering what Hugh had said, had laid his hand on the German's arm outside the church and felt it. It was skinny and thin—and yet five instead of two! That was the thing that stuck in his gizzard.

      If only he could think of some test question which would settle the matter! But he couldn't, and even if he had been able to there was no further chance of asking it. Professor Scheidstrun completely ignored his existence, and finally drove away without speaking to him again.

      And it was a very puzzled young man who finally returned to Brook Street to find Hugh Drummond sunk in the depths of depression. He listened in silence to what Algy had to say, and then he shook his head.

      "My dear old man," he said at length, "it cuts no ice. It's funny, I know. If you or I went round to have a buck with a fellow, we should remember whether the isolation was complete or whether we were crushed to death in the mob. But with these scientific blokes It's altogether different. He probably has completely forgotten the entire incident. And yet, Algy, the conviction is growing on me that I've been had for a mug. Somehow or other they've handed us the dirty end. I confess it's difficult to follow. I'm convinced that the man today in Tootem's office is the genuine article. And if he is it's almost impossible to believe that poor old Goodman's death was anything but an accident. Then where's the catch? That's what I've been trying to puzzle out for the last three hours, and I'm just where I was when I started."

      "You think that German is going to do what he said? Go back and carry on with Goodman's discovery?"

      "I don't know what else to think."

      "Then I'll tell you one thing, Hugh," said Algy thoughtfully. "You'd have a death from heat—apoplexy if old Blantyre knew it. And he was showing no signs of a rush of blood to the face at the funeral today."

      Drummond sat up and stared at his friend. "Which means either that he doesn't know anything about it and believes that the secret died with Goodman; or else, Algy, he's got at Scheidstrun. Somehow or other he's found out about that letter, and he's induced the German to part with the notes."

      He rose and paced up and down the room.

      "Or else—Great Scott! Algy, can it be possible that the whole thing has been carefully worked from beginning to end? Blantyre went over to Switzerland—Toby told me that. He went over looking like a sick headache and came back bursting with himself."

      Drummond's face was hard.

      "If I thought that that swine had deliberately hired the German to murder poor old Goodman..." His great hands were clenched by his side, as he stared grimly out of the window.

      "I made a fool of myself this morning," he went on after a while. "I suppose I've got Carl Peterson on the brain. But there are other swine in the world, Algy, beside him. And if I could prove..."

      "Quite," remarked Algy. "But how the devil can you prove anything?"

      Suddenly Drummond swung round. "I'm going round to see Blantyre now," he said decisively. "Will you come?"

      VII. — IN WHICH DRUMMOND TAKES A

       TELEPHONE CALL AND REGRETS IT

       Table of Content

      Half an hour later Algy and he walked through the unpretentious door that led to the office of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate, to be greeted with a shout of joy from Toby Sinclair emerging from an inner room.

      "You have come to ask me to consume nourishment at your expense," he cried. "I know it. I accept. I will also dine this evening."

      "Dry up, Toby," grunted Hugh. "Is your boss in?"

      "Sir Raymond? Yes—why?"

      "I want to see him," said Hugh quietly.

      "My dear old man, I'm sorry, but it's quite out of the question," answered Toby. "There's a meeting of the whole syndicate on at the present moment upstairs, and..."

      "I want to see Sir Raymond Blantyre," interrupted Hugh. "And, Toby, I'm going to see Sir Raymond Blantyre. And if his darned syndicate is there, I'll see his syndicate as well."

      "But, Hugh, old man," spluttered Toby, "be reasonable. It's an important business meeting, and..."

      Hugh laid his hands on Toby's shoulders and grinned.

      "Toby, don't waste time. Trot along upstairs—bow nicely, and say 'Captain Drummond craves audience'. And when he asks what for, just say, 'In connection with an explosion which took place at Hampstead.' And of a sudden it seemed as if a strange tension had come into Toby Sinclair's room. For Toby was one of those who had hunted with Hugh in days gone by, and he recognised the look in the big man's eyes. Something was up—something serious, that he knew at once. And certain nebulous, half-formed suspicions which he had vigorously suppressed in his own mind stirred into being.

      "What is it, old man?" he asked quietly.

      "I'll know better after the interview, Toby," answered the other. "But one thing I will tell you now. It's either nothing at all, or else your boss is one of the most blackguardly villains alive in London today. Now go up and tell him."

      And without another word Toby Sinclair went. Probably not for another living man would he have interrupted the meeting upstairs. But the habits of other days held; when Hugh Drummond gave an order, it was carried out.

      A minute later he was down again. "Sir Raymond will see you at once, Hugh," and for Toby Sinclair his expression was thoughtful. For the sudden silence that had settled on the room of directors as he gave the message had not escaped his attention. And the air of carefully suppressed nervous expectancy on the part of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate did not escape Drummond's attention either as he entered, followed by Algy Longworth.

      "Captain Drummond?" Sir Raymond Blantyre rose, and indicated a chair with his hand. "Ah! and Mr Longworth surely. Please sit down. I think I saw you in the distance at the funeral today. Now, Captain Drummond, perhaps you will tell us what you want as quickly as possible, as we are in the middle of a rather important meeting."

      "I will try to be as short as possible, Sir Raymond," said Drummond quietly. "It concerns, as you have probably guessed, the sad death of Professor Goodman, in which I, personally, am very interested. You see, the Professor lunched with me at my club on the day of his death."

      "Indeed," murmured Sir Raymond politely.

      "Yes—I met him in St James's Square, where he'd been followed."

      "Followed,"


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