Bulldog Drummond Read online

  He looked at the mauve envelope doubtfully, and examined the postmark. ‘Where is Pudlington, James? And one might almost ask – why is Pudlington? No town has any right to such an offensive name.’ He glanced through the letter and shook his head. ‘Tush! tush! And the wife of the bank manager, too – the bank manager of Pudlington, James! Can you conceive of anything so dreadful? But I’m afraid Mrs Bank Manager is a puss – a distinct puss. It’s when they get on the soulmate stunt that the furniture begins to fly.’

  Drummond tore up the letter and dropped the pieces into the basket beside him. Then he turned to his servant and handed him the remainder of the envelopes.

  ‘Go through them, James, while I assault the kidneys, and pick two or three out for me. I see that you will have to become my secretary. No man could tackle that little bunch alone.’

  ‘Do you want me to open them, sir?’ asked Denny doubtfully.

  ‘You’ve hit it, James – hit it in one. Classify them for me in groups. Criminal; sporting; amatory – that means of or pertaining to love; stupid and merely boring; and as a last resort, miscellaneous.’ He stirred his coffee thoughtfully. ‘I feel that as a first venture in our new career – ours, I said, James – love appeals to me irresistibly. Find me a damsel in distress; a beautiful girl, helpless in the clutches of knaves. Let me feel that I can fly to her succour, clad in my new grey suiting.’

  He finished the last piece of bacon and pushed away his plate. ‘Amongst all that mass of paper there must surely be one from a lovely maiden, James, at whose disposal I can place my rusty sword. Incidentally, what has become of the damned thing?’

  ‘It’s in the lumber room, sir – tied up with the old humbrella and the niblick you don’t like.’

  ‘Great heavens! Is it?’ Drummond helped himself to marmalade. ‘And to think that I once pictured myself skewering Huns with it. Do you think anybody would be mug enough to buy it, James?’

  But that worthy was engrossed in a letter he had just opened, and apparently failed to hear the question. A perplexed look was spreading over his face, and suddenly he sucked his teeth loudly. It was a sure sign that James was excited, and though Drummond had almost cured him of this distressing habit, he occasionally forgot himself in moments of stress.

  His master glanced up quickly, and removed the letter from his hands. ‘I’m surprised at you, James,’ he remarked severely. ‘A secretary should control itself, Don’t forget that the perfect secretary is an it: an automatic machine – a thing incapable of feeling…’

  He read the letter through rapidly, and then, turning back to the beginning, he read it slowly through again.

  My dear Box X10 – I don’t know whether your advertisement was a joke. I suppose it must have been. But I read it this morning, and it’s just possible, X10, just possible, that you mean it. And if you do, you’re the man I want. I can offer you excitement and probably crime.

  I’m up against it, X10. For a girl I’ve bitten off rather more than I can chew. I want help – badly. Will you come to the Carlton for tea tomorrow afternoon? I want to have a look at you and see if I think you are genuine. Wear a white flower in your buttonhole.’

  Drummond laid the letter down, and pulled out his cigarette case. ‘Tomorrow, James,’ he murmured. ‘That is today – this very afternoon. Verily I believe that we have impinged upon the goods.’ He rose and stood looking out of the window thoughtfully. ‘Go out, my trusty fellow, and buy me a daisy or a cauliflower or something white.’

  ‘You think it’s genuine, sir?’ said James thoughtfully.

  His master blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘I know it is,’ he answered dreamily. ‘Look at that writing; the decision in it – the character. She’ll be medium height, and dark, with the sweetest little nose and mouth. Her colouring, James, will be–’

  But James had discreetly left the room.

  II

  At four o’clock exactly Hugh Drummond stepped out of his two-seater at the Haymarket entrance to the Carlton. A white gardenia was in his buttonhole; his grey suit looked the last word in exclusive tailoring. For a few moments after entering the hotel he stood at the top of the stairs outside the dining room, while his eyes travelled round the tables in the lounge below.

  A brother-officer, evidently taking two country cousins round London, nodded resignedly; a woman at whose house he had danced several times smiled at him. But save for a courteous bow he took no notice; slowly and thoroughly he continued his search. It was early, of course, yet, and she might not have arrived, but he was taking no chances.

  Suddenly his eyes ceased wandering, and remained fixed on a table at the far end of the lounge. Half hidden behind a plant a girl was seated alone, and for a moment she looked straight at him. Then, with the faintest suspicion of a smile, she turned away, and commenced drumming on the table with her fingers.

  The table next to her was unoccupied, and Drummond made his way towards it and sat down. It was characteristic of the man that he did not hesitate; having once made up his mind to go through with a thing, he was in the habit of going and looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. Which, incidentally, was how he got his DSO; but that, as Kipling would say, is another story.

  He felt not the slightest doubt in his mind that this was the girl who had written to him, and, having given an order to the waiter, he started to study her face as unobtrusively as possible. He could only see the profile but that was quite sufficient to make him bless the moment when more as a jest than anything else he had sent his advertisement to the paper.

  Her eyes, he could see, were very blue; and great masses of golden brown hair coiled over her ears, from under a small black hat. He glanced at her feet – being an old stager; she was perfectly shod. He glanced at her hands, and noted, with approval, the absence of any ring. Then he looked once more at her face, and found her eyes fixed on him.

  This time she did not look away. She seemed to think that it was her turn to conduct the examination, and Drummond turned to his tea while the scrutiny continued. He poured himself out a cup, and then fumbled in his waistcoat pocket. After a moment he found what he wanted, and taking out a card he propped it against the teapot so that the girl could see what was on it. In large block capitals he had written ‘Box X10’. Then he added milk and sugar and waited.

  She spoke almost at once. ‘You’ll do, X10,’ she said, and he turned to her with a smile.

  ‘It’s very nice of you to say so,’ he murmured. ‘If I may, I will return the compliment. So will you.’

  She frowned slightly. ‘This isn’t foolishness, you know. What I said in my letter is literally true.’

  ‘Which makes the compliment even more returnable,’ he answered. ‘If I am to embark on a life of crime, I would sooner collaborate with you than – shall we say? – that earnest eater over there with the tomato in her hat.’

  He waved vaguely at the lady in question and then held out his cigarette case to the girl. ‘Turkish on this side – Virginia on that,’ he remarked. ‘And as I appear satisfactory, will you tell me who I’m to murder?’

  With the unlighted cigarette held in her fingers she stared at him gravely. ‘I want you to tell me,’ she said at length, and there was no trace of jesting in her voice, ‘tell me, on your word of honour, whether that advertisement was bona fide or a joke.’

  He answered her in the same vein. ‘It started more or less as a joke. It may now be regarded as absolutely genuine.’

  She nodded as if satisfied. ‘Are you prepared to risk your life?’

  Drummond’s eyebrows went up and then he smiled. ‘Granted that the inducement is sufficient,’ he returned slowly, ‘I think that I may say that I am.’

  She nodded again. ‘You won’t be asked to do it in order to obtain a halfpenny bun,’ she remarked. ‘If you’ve a match, I would rather like a light.’

  Drummond apologised. ‘Our talk on trivialities engrossed me for the moment,’ he murmured. He held the lighted match for her, and as he did so he
saw that she was staring over his shoulder at someone behind his back.

  ‘Don’t look round,’ she ordered, ‘and tell me your name quickly.’

  ‘Drummond – Captain Drummond, late of the Loamshires.’ He leaned back in his chair, and lit a cigarette himself.

  ‘And are you going to Henley this year?’ Her voice was a shade louder than before.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered casually. ‘I may run down for a day possibly, but–’

  ‘My dear Phyllis,’ said a voice behind his back, ‘this is a pleasant surprise. I had no idea that you were in London.’

  A tall, clean-shaven man stopped beside the table, throwing a keen glance at Drummond.

  ‘The world is full of such surprises, isn’t it?’ answered the girl lightly. ‘I don’t suppose you know Captain Drummond, do you? Mr Lakington – art connoisseur and – er – collector.’

  The two men bowed slightly, and Mr Lakington smiled. ‘I do not remember ever having heard my harmless pastimes more concisely described,’ he remarked suavely. ‘Are you interested in such matters?’

  ‘Not very, I’m afraid,’ answered Drummond. ‘Just recently I have been rather too busy to pay much attention to art.’

  The other man smiled again, and it struck Hugh that rarely, if ever, had he seen such a cold, merciless face.

  ‘Of course, you’ve been in France,’ Lakington murmured. ‘Unfortunately a bad heart kept me on this side of the water. One regrets it in many ways – regrets it immensely. Sometimes I cannot help thinking how wonderful it must have been to be able to kill without fear of consequences. There is art in killing, Captain Drummond – profound art. And as you know, Phyllis,’ he turned to the girl, ‘I have always been greatly attracted by anything requiring the artistic touch.’ He looked at his watch and sighed. ‘Alas! I must tear myself away. Are you returning home this evening?’

  The girl, who had been glancing round the restaurant, shrugged her shoulders. ‘Probably,’ she answered. ‘I haven’t quite decided. I might stop with Aunt Kate.’

  ‘Fortunate Aunt Kate.’ With a bow Lakington turned away, and through the glass Drummond watched him get his hat and stick from the cloakroom. Then he looked at the girl, and noticed that she had gone a little white.

  ‘What’s the matter, old thing?’ he asked quickly. ‘Are you feeling faint?’

  She shook her head, and gradually the colour came back to her face. ‘I’m quite all right,’ she answered. ‘It gave me rather a shock, that man finding us here.’

  ‘On the face of it, it seems a harmless occupation,’ said Hugh.

  ‘On the face of it, perhaps,’ she said. ‘But that man doesn’t deal with face values.’ With a short laugh she turned to Hugh. ‘You’ve stumbled right into the middle of it, my friend, rather sooner than I anticipated. That is one of the men you will probably have to kill…’

  Her companion lit another cigarette. ‘There is nothing like straightforward candour,’ he grinned. ‘Except that I disliked his face and his manner, I must admit that I saw nothing about him to necessitate my going to so much trouble. What is his particular worry?’

  ‘First and foremost the brute wants to marry me,’ replied the girl.

  ‘I loathe being obvious,’ said Hugh, ‘but I am not surprised.’

  ‘But it isn’t that that matters,’ she went on. ‘I wouldn’t marry him even to save my life.’ She looked at Drummond quietly. ‘Henry Lakington is the second most dangerous man in England.’

  ‘Only the second,’ murmured Hugh. ‘Then hadn’t I better start my new career with the first?’

  She looked at him in silence. ‘I suppose you think that I’m hysterical,’ she remarked after a while. ‘You’re probably even wondering whether I’m all there.’

  Drummond flicked the ash from his cigarette, then he turned to her dispassionately. ‘You must admit,’ he remarked, ‘that up to now our conversation has hardly proceeded along conventional lines. I am a complete stranger to you; another man who is a complete stranger to me speaks to you while we’re at tea. You inform me that I shall probably have to kill him in the near future. The statement is, I think you will agree, a trifle disconcerting.’

  The girl threw back her head and laughed merrily. ‘You poor young man,’ she cried; ‘put that way it does sound alarming.’ Then she grew serious again. ‘There’s plenty of time for you to back out now if you like. Just call the waiter, and ask for my bill. We’ll say goodbye, and the incident will finish.’

  She was looking at him gravely as she spoke, and it seemed to her companion that there was an appeal in the big blue eyes. And they were very big: and the face they were set in was very charming – especially at the angle it was tilted at, in the half-light of the room. Altogether, Drummond reflected, a most adorable girl. And adorable girls had always been a hobby of his. Probably Lakington possessed a letter of hers or something, and she wanted him to get it back. Of course he would, even if he had to thrash the swine within an inch of his life.

  ‘Well!’ The girl’s voice cut into his train of thought and he hurriedly pulled himself together.

  ‘The last thing I want is for the incident to finish,’ he said fervently. ‘Why – it’s only just begun.’

  ‘Then you’ll help me?’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for.’ With a smile Drummond lit another cigarette. ‘Tell me all about it.’

  ‘The trouble,’ she began after a moment, ‘is that there is not very much to tell. At present it is largely guesswork, and guesswork without much of a clue. However, to start with, I had better tell you what sort of men you are up against. Firstly, Henry Lakington – the man who spoke to me. He was, I believe, one of the most brilliant scientists who have ever been up at Oxford. There was nothing, in his own line, which would not have been open to him, had he run straight. But he didn’t. He deliberately chose to turn his brain to crime. Not vulgar, common sorts of crime – but the big things, calling for a master criminal. He has always had enough money to allow him to take his time over any coup – to perfect his details. And that’s what he loves. He regards crime as an ordinary man regards a complicated business deal – a thing to be looked at and studied from all angles, a thing to be treated as a mathematical problem. He is quite unscrupulous; he is only concerned in pitting himself against the world and winning.’

  ‘An engaging fellah,’ said Hugh. ‘What particular form of crime does he favour?’

  ‘Anything that calls for brain, iron nerve, and refinement of detail,’ she answered. ‘Principally, up to date, burglary on a big scale, and murder.’

  ‘My dear soul!’ said Hugh incredulously. ‘How can you be sure? And why don’t you tell the police?’

  She smiled wearily. ‘Because I’ve got no proof, and even if I had…’ She gave a little shudder, and left her sentence unfinished. ‘But one day, my father and I were in his house, and, by accident, I got into a room I’d never been in before. It was a strange room, with two large safes let into the wall and steel bars over the skylight in the ceiling. There wasn’t a window, and the floor seemed to be made of concrete. And the door was covered with curtains, and was heavy to move – almost as if it was steel or iron. On the desk in the middle of the room lay some miniatures, and, without thinking, I picked them up and looked at them. I happen to know something about miniatures, and, to my horror, I recognised them.’ She paused for a moment as a waiter went by their table.

  ‘Do you remember the theft of the celebrated Vatican miniatures belonging to the Duke of Melbourne?’

  Drummond nodded; he was beginning to feel interested.

  ‘They were the ones I was holding in my hand,’ she said quietly. ‘I knew them at once from the description in the papers. And just as I was wondering what on earth to do, the man himself walked into the room.’

  ‘Awkward – deuced awkward.’ Drummond pressed out his cigarette and leaned forward expectantly. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ said the girl. ‘That’s
what made it so awful.’

  ‘“Admiring my treasures?” he remarked. “Pretty things, aren’t they?” I couldn’t speak a word: I just put them back on the table.

  ‘“Wonderful copies,” he went on, “of the Duke of Melbourne’s lost miniatures. I think they would deceive most people.”

  ‘They deceived me,’ I managed to get out.

  ‘“Did they?” he said. “The man who painted them will be flattered.”

  ‘All the time he was staring at me, a cold, merciless stare that seemed to freeze my brain. Then he went over to one of the safes and unlocked it. “Come here, Miss Benton,” he said. “There are a lot more – copies.”

  ‘I looked inside only for a moment, but I have never seen or thought of such a sight. Beautifully arranged on black velvet shelves were ropes of pearls, a gorgeous diamond tiara, and a whole heap of loose, uncut stones, and in one corner I caught a glimpse of the most wonderful gold chaliced cup – just like the one for which Samuel Levy, the Jew moneylender, was still offering a reward. Then he shut the door and locked it, and again stared at me in silence.

  ‘ “All copies,” he said quietly, “wonderful copies. And should you ever be tempted to think otherwise – ask your father, Miss Benton. Be warned by me; don’t do anything foolish. Ask your father first.” ’

  ‘And did you?’ asked Drummond.

  She shuddered. ‘That very evening,’ she answered. ‘And Daddy flew into a frightful passion, and told me never to dare meddle in things that didn’t concern me again. Then gradually, as time went on, I realised that Lakington had some hold over Daddy – that he’d got my father in his power. Daddy – of all people – who wouldn’t hurt a fly: the best and dearest man who ever breathed.’ Her hands were clenched, and her breast rose and fell stormily.

  Drummond waited for her to compose herself before he spoke again. ‘You mentioned murder, too,’ he remarked.