The British Mysteries Edition: 14 Novels & 70+ Short Stories. Sapper
worthy Professor himself—hove into sight.
Drummond paused: it seemed to him that something had happened. For the Professor was muttering wildly to himself, while periodically he shook his fist in the air.
"Morning, Professor," he remarked affably. "Been stung by a bee, or what?" The Professor stopped abruptly and stared at him.
"It's you, Drummond, is it?" he said. "I've just received a most scandalous letter—perfectly scandalous. A threat, sir—an anonymous threat. Read it."
He held out a common-looking envelope which he handed to Drummond. But that worthy only took it mechanically; his eyes—shrewd and thoughtful—were looking over the Professor's shoulder. A man had come hurriedly round King Street, only to pause with equal suddenness and stare into an area below.
"I suppose, Professor," he remarked quietly, still holding the letter in his hand, "that you know you're being followed."
"I know I'm being what?" barked the Professor. "Who is following me?" Drummond slightly raised his voice. "If you turn round you will see an unpleasant specimen of humanity gazing into the basement of that house. I allude to the bird with the large ears, who is beginning to go a little red about the tonsils."
With a snarl the man swung on his heel and came towards them. "Are you talking about me, damn you?" he said, addressing Drummond.
"I am," remarked Drummond dispassionately. "Mushrooms growing well down below there?" The man looked somewhat disconcerted. "Now, who told you to follow Professor Goodman?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said the man surlily.
"Dear me!" remarked Drummond mildly. "I should have thought the question was sufficiently clear even to a person of your limited intelligence. However, if it will save you any bother, the Professor is lunching with me at my club—that one over there with the warrior in uniform outside the door— and will probably be leaving about three. So you can either run away and play marbles till then, or you can stay here and watch the door."
He put his hand through the Professor's arm, and gently propelled him towards the club, leaving the man scratching his head foolishly.
"But, my dear fellow," mildly protested the Professor, 'this is very kind of you. I'd no idea I was lunching with you."
"No more had I," answered Hugh genially. "But I think it's a jolly sort of idea, don't you? We'll get a table in the window and watch our friend earning his pay outside, while we toy with a bit of elusive Stilton."
"But how do you know the man was following me, Drummond?" said the Professor excitedly. "And if he was, don't you think I ought to tell the police?" Gently but firmly Drummond piloted him up the steps of his club. "I have an unerring instinct in such matters, Professor," he remarked. "And he was very bad at it—very bad. Now we will lower a Martini apiece, and I will read this threatening missive of yours."
The Professor sank into his chair and blinked at Hugh through his spectacles. He had had a trying morning, and there was something very reassuring about this large and imperturbable young man whom he knew was his future son-in-law's greatest friend.
And as he watched him reading the typewritten piece of paper, strange stories which he had heard of some of Drummond's feats in the past came back to him. They had been told him by Algy and one or two by Brenda, but he had not paid any great attention to them at the time. They were not very much in his line, but now he felt distinctly comforted as he recalled them. To have his life threatened was a new experience for the worthy Professor, and one not at all to his liking. It had interfered considerably with his work that morning, and produced a lack of mental concentration which he found most disturbing.
The letter was short and to the point.
"Unless you accept the two hundred and fifty thousand pounds recently offered to you, you will be killed."
The Professor leaned forward as Drummond laid the sheet of paper on the table.
"I must explain, Drummond," he began, but the other interrupted him.
"No need to, Professor. Algy came round to see me this morning, and he told me about your discovery."
He again picked up the paper and glanced at it. "You have no idea, I suppose, who can have sent this?"
"None," said the Professor. "It is utterly inconceivable that Sir Raymond Blantyre should have stooped to such a thing. He, as Algy probably told you, is the man who originally offered me this sum to suppress my discovery. But I refuse to believe for a moment that he would ever have been guilty of such a vulgar threat."
Drummond regarded him thoughtfully. "Look here, Professor," he said at length, "it seems to me that you are getting into pretty deep water. How deep I don't quite know. I tell you frankly I can't understand this letter. If, as you say, it is merely a vulgar threat, it is a very stupid and dangerous thing to put on paper. If, on the other hand, it is more than a threat—if it is an actual statement of fact—it is even more incredibly stupid and dangerous."
"A statement of fact," gasped the Professor. "That I shall be killed if I don't suppress my discovery!"
He was blinking rapidly behind his spectacles, and Drummond smiled.
"A statement of fact as far as the writer of this epistle is concerned," he remarked. "No more than that, Professor, I hope. In fact we must take steps to ensure that it is no more than that. But this letter, on top of your being followed, shows that you're in the public eye, so to speak."
"But I don't understand, Drummond," said the Professor feebly.
"No more do I," answered Hugh. "However, that will make it all the jollier when we do. And it is possible that we may get a bit nearer the mark today at lunch. A fellow of the name of Sinclair is joining us. He's a pal of Algy's too—and he's in a big diamond merchant's office down in the city. He's a knowledgeable sort of bird, and we'll pump him. I don't want you to say a word as to your discovery—not a word. We'll just put the case to him as an academic one, and we'll get his actual opinion on it."
"But I know their opinion about it already," said the Professor peevishly. "And I tell you that nothing is going to stop me announcing my discovery in ten days' time before the Royal Society."
Drummond drained his cocktail. "That's the spirit, Professor," he cried cheerily. "But for all that we may just as well see where we are. Here is Sinclair now: don't forget—not a word."
He rose as Toby Sinclair came up.
"Morning, Toby. Do you know Professor Goodman? He is the misguided man who is allowing Algy to marry into his family."
"Morning, sir," said Sinclair with a grin. "Well, old man—a cocktail, a rapid lunch, and I must buzz back. I tell you things are moving with some celerity in our line, at present. And as the bright boy of the firm, my time is fully occupied."
He lit a cigarette, and Hugh laughed.
"With a Lunar Guide and The Sportsman. Quite so, old boy—I know."
"No, really, Hugh," said Toby seriously, "the old office has not been the usual rest-cure just lately. Strong men have rushed in and out and conferred behind locked doors, and the strain has been enormous. Made one quite dizzy to see them. However, It's been better the last two or three days, ever since old Blantyre came back from Switzerland."
Drummond adroitly kicked the Professor's leg.
"And who is old Blantyre?" he remarked carelessly, "and why does he go to Switzerland?"
"Sir Raymond Blantyre is the head of the syndicate to which our firm belongs, though why he went to Switzerland I haven't any idea. All I can tell you is that he went out there looking like nothing on earth, and came back two days later smiling all over his face."
"Speaks well for the Swiss air," said Hugh dryly. "However, let's go and inspect the menu."
He led the way towards the dining-room, and his expression was thoughtful. If, as he had been given to understand, Sir Raymond Blantyre was now facing immediate ruin, it