The British Mysteries Edition: 14 Novels & 70+ Short Stories. Sapper
"I have broken your arm, Boche," said Drummond at length, "and now I have killed you. I'm sorry about it: I wasn't particularly anxious to end your life. But it had to be done."
The German, hardly conscious of what he had said owing to the pain in his arm, was frantically kicking the Englishman's legs, still bound to the chair; but the iron grip on his wrists never slackened. And then quite suddenly came the end. With one dreadful, convulsive heave the German jerked himself free, and fell doubled up on the floor. Fascinated, they watched him writhing and twisting, until, at last, he lay still.... The Boche was dead....
"My God!" muttered Hugh, wiping his forehead. "Poor brute."
"What was that blow-pipe affair?" cried Sinclair hoarsely.
"The thing they tried to finish me with in Paris last night," answered Hugh grimly, taking a knife out of his waistcoat pocket. "Let us trust that none of his pals come in to look for him."
A minute later he stood up, only to sit down again abruptly, as his legs gave way. They were numbed and stiff with the hours he had spent in the same position, and for a while he could do nothing but rub them with his hands, till the blood returned and he could feel once more.
Then, slowly and painfully, he tottered across to the others and set them free as well. They were in an even worse condition than he had been; and it seemed as if Algy would never be able to stand again, so completely dead was his body from the waist downwards. But, at length, after what seemed an eternity to Drummond, who realised only too well that should the gang come in they were almost as helpless in their present condition as if they were still bound in their chairs, the other two recovered. They were still stiff and cramped—all three of them—but at any rate they could move; which was more than could be said of the German, who lay twisted and rigid on the floor, with his eyes staring up at them—a glassy, horrible stare.
"Poor brute!" said Hugh again, looking at him with a certain amount of compunction. "He was a miserable specimen—but still..." He shrugged his shoulders. "And the contents of my cigarette-case are half a dozen gaspers, and a ten-bob Bradbury patched together with stamp paper!"
He swung round on his heel as if dismissing the matter, and looked at the other two.
"All fit now? Good! We've got to think what we're going to do, for we're not out of the wood yet by two or three miles."
"Let's get the door open," remarked Algy, "and explore."
Cautiously they swung it open, and stood motionless. The house was in absolute silence; the hall was deserted.
"Switch out the light," whispered Hugh. "We'll wander round."
They crept forward stealthily in the darkness, stopping every now and then to listen. But no sound came to their ears; it might have been a house of the dead.
Suddenly Drummond, who was in front of the other two, stopped with a warning hiss. A light was streaming out from under a door at the end of a passage, and, as they stood watching it, they heard a man's voice coming from the same room. Someone else answered him, and then there was silence once more.
At length Hugh moved forward again, and the others followed. And it was not until they got quite close to the door that a strange, continuous noise began to be noticeable—a noise which came most distinctly from the lighted room. It rose and fell with monotonous regularity; at times it resembled a brass band—at others it died away to a gentle murmur. And occasionally it was punctuated with a strangled snort....
"Great Scott!" muttered Hugh excitedly, "the whole boiling bunch are asleep, or I'll eat my hat."
"Then who was it who spoke?" said Algy. "At least two of 'em are awake right enough."
And, as if in answer to his question, there came the voice again from inside the room.
"Wal, Mr. Darrell, I guess we can pass on, and leave this bunch."
With one laugh of joyful amazement Hugh flung open the door, and found himself looking from the range of a yard into two revolvers.
"I don't know how you've done it, boys," he remarked, "but you can put those guns away. I hate looking at them from that end."
"What the devil have they done to all your dials?" said Darrell, slowly lowering his arm.
"We'll leave that for the time," returned Hugh grimly, as he shut the door. "There are other more pressing matters to be discussed."
He glanced round the room, and a slow grin spread over his face. There were some twenty of the gang, all of them fast asleep. They sprawled grotesquely over the table, they lolled in chairs; they lay on the floor, they huddled in corners. And, without exception, they snored and snorted.
"A dandy bunch," remarked the American, gazing at them with satisfaction. "That fat one in the corner took enough dope to kill a bull, but he seems quite happy." Then he turned to Drummond. "Say now, Captain, we've got a lorry load of the boys outside; your friend here thought we'd better bring 'em along. So it's up to you to get busy."
"Mullings and his crowd," said Darrell, seeing the look of mystification on Hugh's face. "When Mr. Green got back and told me you'd shoved your great mutton-head in it again, I thought I'd better bring the whole outfit."
"Oh, you daisy!" cried Hugh, rubbing his hands together, "you pair of priceless beans! The Philistines are delivered into our hands, even up to the neck." For a few moments he stood, deep in thought; then once again the grin spread slowly over his face. "Right up to their necks," he repeated, "so that it washes round their back teeth. Get the boys in, Peter; and get these lumps of meat carted out to the lorry. And, while you do that, we'll go upstairs and mop up."
III
Even in his wildest dreams Hugh had never imagined such a wonderful opportunity. To be in complete possession of the house, with strong forces at his beck and call, was a state of affairs which rendered him almost speechless.
"Up the stairs on your hands and knees," he ordered, as they stood in the hall. "There are peculiarities about this staircase which require elucidation at a later date."
But the murderous implement which acted in conjunction with the fifth step was not in use, and they passed up the stairs in safety.
"Keep your guns handy," whispered Hugh. "We'll draw each room in turn till we find the girl."
But they were not to be put to so much trouble. Suddenly a door opposite opened, and the man who had been guarding Phyllis Benton peered out suspiciously. His jaw fell, and a look of aghast surprise spread over his face as he saw the four men in front of him. Then he made a quick movement as if to shut the door, but before he realised what had happened the American's foot was against it, and the American's revolver was within an inch of his head.
"Keep quite still, son," he drawled, "or I guess it might sort of go off."
But Hugh had stepped past him, and was smiling at the girl who, with a little cry of joyful wonder, had risen from her chair.
"Your face, boy," she whispered, as he took her in his arms, regardless of the other, "your poor old face! Oh! that brute, Lakington!"
Hugh grinned.
"It's something to know, old thing," he remarked cheerily, "that anything could damage it. Personally I have always thought that any change in it must be for the better."
He laughed gently, and for a moment she clung to him, unmindful of how he had got to her, glorying only in the fact that he had. It seemed to her that there was nothing which this wonderful man of hers couldn't manage; and now, blindly trusting, she waited to be told what to do. The nightmare was over; Hugh was with her....
"Where's your father, dear?" he asked her after a little pause.
"In the dining-room, I think," she answered with a shiver, and Hugh nodded gravely.
"Are there any cars outside?" He turned to the American.
"Yours,"