The British Mysteries Edition: 14 Novels & 70+ Short Stories. Sapper
answered that worthy, still keeping his eyes fixed on his prisoner's face, which had now turned a sickly green.
"And mine is hidden behind Miss Benton's greenhouse unless they've moved it," remarked Algy.
"Good," said Hugh. "Algy, take Miss Benton and her father up to Half Moon Street—at once. Then come back here."
"But, Hugh——" began the girl appealingly.
"At once, dear, please." He smiled at her tenderly, but his tone was decided. "This is going to be no place for you in the near future." He turned to Longworth and drew him aside. "You'll have a bit of a job with the old man," he whispered. "He's probably paralytic by now. But get on with it, will you? Get a couple of the boys to give you a hand."
With no further word of protest the girl followed Algy, and Hugh drew a breath of relief.
"Now, you ugly-looking blighter," he remarked to the cowering ruffian, who was by this time shaking with fright, "we come to you. How many of these rooms up here are occupied—and which?"
It appeared that only one was occupied—everyone else was below.... The one opposite.... In his anxiety to please, he moved towards it; and with a quickness that would have done even Hugh credit, the American tripped him up.
"Not so blamed fast, you son of a gun," he snapped, "or there sure will be an accident."
But the noise he made as he fell served a good purpose. The door of the occupied room was flung open, and a thin, weedy object clad in a flannel nightgown stood on the threshold blinking foolishly.
"Holy smoke!" spluttered the detective, after he had gazed at the apparition in stunned silence for a time. "What, under the sun, is it?"
Hugh laughed.
"Why, it's the onion-eater; the intimidated rabbit," he said delightedly. "How are you, little man?"
He extended an arm, and pulled him into the passage, where he stood spluttering indignantly.
"This is an outrage, sir," he remarked; "a positive outrage."
"Your legs undoubtedly are," remarked Hugh, gazing at them dispassionately. "Put on some trousers—and get a move on. Now you"—he jerked the other man to his feet—"when does Lakington return?"
"Termorrow, sir," stammered the other.
"Where is he now?"
The man hesitated for a moment, but the look in Hugh's eyes galvanised him into speech.
"He's after the old woman's pearls, sir—the Duchess of Lampshire's."
"Ah!" returned Hugh softly. "Of course he is. I forgot."
"Strike me dead, guvnor," cringed the man, "I never meant no 'arm—I didn't really. I'll tell you all I know, sir. I will, strite."
"I'm quite certain you will," said Hugh. "And if you don't, you swine, I'll make you. When does Peterson come back?"
"Termorrow, too, sir, as far as I knows," answered the man, and at that moment the intimidated rabbit shot rapidly out of his room, propelled by an accurate and forcible kick from Toby, who had followed him in to ensure rapidity of toilet.
"And what's he doing?" demanded Drummond.
"On the level, guvnor, I can't tell yer. Strite, I can't; 'e can." The man pointed at the latest arrival, who, with his nightdress tucked into his trousers, stood gasping painfully after the manner of a recently landed fish.
"I repeat, sir," he spluttered angrily, "that this is an outrage. By what right..."
"Dry up," remarked Hugh briefly. Then he turned to the American. "This is one of the ragged-trousered brigade I spoke to you about."
For a while the three men studied him in silence; then the American thoughtfully transferred his chewing-gum to a fresh place.
"Wal," he said, "he looks like some kind o' disease; but I guess he's got a tongue. Say, flop-ears, what are you, anyway?"
"I am the secretary of a social organisation which aims at the amelioration of the conditions under which the workers of the world slave," returned the other with dignity.
"You don't say," remarked the American, unmoved. "Do the workers of the world know about it?"
"And I again demand to know," said the other, turning on Drummond, "the reason for this monstrous indignity."
"What do you know about Peterson, little man?" said Hugh, paying not the slightest attention to his protests.
"Nothing, save that he is the man whom we have been looking for, for years," cried the other. "The man of stupendous organising power, who has brought together and welded into one the hundreds of societies similar to mine, who before this have each, on their own, been feebly struggling towards the light. Now we are combined, and our strength is due to him."
Hugh exchanged glances with the American.
"Things become clearer," he murmured. "Tell me, little man," he continued, "now that you're all welded together, what do you propose to do?"
"That you shall see in good time," cried the other triumphantly. "Constitutional methods have failed—and, besides, we've got no time to wait for them. Millions are groaning under the intolerable bonds of the capitalist: those millions we shall free, to a life that is worthy of a man. And it will all be due to our leader—Carl Peterson."
A look of rapt adoration came into his face, and the American laughed in genuine delight.
"Didn't I tell you, Captain, that that guy was the goods?" But there was no answering smile on Hugh's face.
"He's the goods right enough," he answered grimly. "But what worries me is how to stop their delivery."
At that moment Darrell's voice came up from the hall.
"The whole bunch are stowed away, Hugh. What's the next item?"
Hugh walked to the top of the stairs.
"Bring 'em both below," he cried over his shoulder, as he went down. A grin spread over his face as he saw half a dozen familiar faces in the hall, and he hailed them cheerily.
"Like old times, boys," he laughed. "Where's the driver of the lorry?"
"That's me, sir." One of the men stepped forward. "My mate's outside."
"Good," said Hugh. "Take your bus ten miles from here: then drop that crowd one by one on the road as you go along. You can take it from me that none of 'em will say anything about it, even when they wake up. Then take her back to your garage; I'll see you later."
"Now," went on Hugh, as they heard the sound of the departing lorry, "we've got to set the scene for to-morrow morning." He glanced at his watch. "Just eleven. How long will it take me to get the old buzz-box to Laidley Towers?"
"Laidley Towers," echoed Darrell. "What the devil are you going there for?"
"I just can't bear to be parted from Henry for one moment longer than necessary," said Hugh quietly. "And Henry is there, in a praiseworthy endeavour to lift the Duchess's pearls.... Dear Henry!" His two fists clenched, and the American, looking at his face, laughed softly.
But it was only for a moment that Drummond indulged in the pleasures of anticipation; all that could come after. And just now there were other things to be done—many others, if events next morning were to go as they should.
"Take those two into the centre room," he cried. "Incidentally there's a dead Boche on the floor, but he'll come in very handy in my little scheme."
"A dead Boche!" The intimidated rabbit gave a frightened squeak. "Good Heavens! you ruffian, this is beyond a joke."
Hugh looked at him coldly.
"You'll find it beyond a joke, you miserable little rat," he said quietly, "if you speak to me like that." He laughed as the other shrank past