The Return Of Bulldog Drummond (3 page)

“Have you killed him?” asked the second man.

“No. But we’ll have to carry him. I guess it’s the first time I’ve been thankful for this darned fog.”

And a few moments later the only moving thing in the smoking-room was the mist that eddied in through the open window, whilst all unconscious of what had happened, Drummond and Darrell were groping their way down the drive.

“All sorts of excitement here, Peter,” said Drummond. “There is an escaped murderer wandering about at large – ”

“We heard in Plymouth that a convict had got away. Poor devil! I’d sooner be tucked up in my cell than wandering about this bit of the country on a night like this.”

“And then the arrival of that youth.”

“He seems a rather leprous-looking mess, old boy.”

“Nothing to what he was when he first appeared. He’s just beginning to tell me the secret of his young life. Evidently got into the deuce of a hole somehow, and probably wants the seat of his pants kicked good and hearty. However, Ted will have to give him a shake down: can’t turn him out in this fog. And we’ll hear what the worry is.”

“Doesn’t sound a particularly absorbing evening’s entertainment,” remarked Darrell dubiously.

“Probably not,” agreed Drummond. “But there’s just a bare possibility it might lead to some amusement. And, by Gad! Peter, anything would be welcome these days.”

“A drink most emphatically would be,” said the other. “Here is the car.”

The sidelights suddenly showed up a yard in front of them, and Darrell demanded his flask.

“Finished, dear old lad,” came Jerningham’s voice happily. “Quite, quite finished. What an infernal time you’ve been! Now if you’ll both push hard I’ll get her into reverse, and we ought to do it!”

The wheels skidded on the greasy turf, but with Drummond’s great strength to help they at length got her into the road.

“The gate is open, Ted,” he said. “Wait a moment now until I mark the right-hand pillar with the torch.”

He stood beside it, throwing the light down on the ground, and as he did so a piece of paper lying at his feet caught his eye. It was clean and looked like a letter, and almost mechanically he picked it up and put it in his pocket as the car went slowly past him. Then, leaving Darrell to shut the gate, he piloted Jerningham up the drive until they got to the house.

“Parker can put her away,” remarked the owner, getting out. “Jove! old boy, we’ve had an infernal drive.”

“I thought you’d probably stop in Plymouth, Ted,” said Drummond.

“It wasn’t too bad when we started,” said the other, “was it, Peter? Let’s get into the smoking-room, and I’ll ring for someone to get your kit.”

“Wait a moment, Ted,” said Drummond. “There’s a visitor.”

“A visitor! Who the devil has rolled up on an evening like this?”

“Fellow by the name of Marton,” went on Drummond, lowering his voice. “He’s a pretty mangy piece of work, and he’s in a state of mortal terror over something or other. He’d just begun telling me about it when you arrived. I’ll tell you the beginning of the thing later on, but treat him easy now. He’s as frightened as a cat with kittens.”

He opened the smoking-room door.

“Now then, Marton, here’s the owner–”

He broke off abruptly: the room was empty. And for a while the three of them stared round in silence.

“Have you got ’em again, Hugh?” demanded Jerningham.

“No. I can vouch for the boy friend,” said Darrell. “I saw him.”

Drummond stepped into the hall, and shouted. And the only result was the arrival of the butler.

“Jennings, have you seen a young gentleman lying about anywhere?” he asked.

“No, sir,” said the butler, looking slightly bewildered. “What sort of a young gentleman?”

“Any sort, you old fathead,” said Jerningham, and once again Drummond shouted ‘Marton’ at the top of his voice.

They waited, and at length Jerningham spoke.

“Your young friend has apparently hopped it, old boy,” he remarked. “And if, as you say, he’s a bit of a mess I shouldn’t think he’s much loss. Get Mr Darrell’s kit out of the car, Jennings, and tell Parker to put her in the garage.”

He led the way back into the smoking-room and Drummond followed slowly. To the other two the matter was a trifling one: a youngster whom neither of them had met had come and gone. But to him the thing was much more puzzling. Even if Marton’s terror had finally proved groundless, it had been very real to him. And so what had induced him to leave a place where he knew he was safe? And why had they not met him going down the drive?

“There’s something damned funny about this, you chaps,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you the whole tale.”

They listened in silence as he ran over the events of the afternoon, and when he’d finished, Jerningham shrugged his shoulders.

“It seems pretty clear to me, old boy,” he remarked. “When you left him and he began to think things over he came to the conclusion that he’d been talking out of his turn. He realised that, having once started, it would be difficult for him not to continue. Possibly, too, what he might have been prepared to tell to you alone he funked giving tongue to before a bunch of us. And so he decided to beat it while the going was good, which would get him out of his dilemma. And that answers your query about not meeting him as we came up the drive. Naturally he didn’t want to be seen, so he just stood a couple of yards in on the grass as we went past. In this fog we’d never have spotted him.”

“That answers it, Ted, I agree,” said Drummond. “And yet I’m not satisfied. Don’t know why, but there it is. By the same token, do either of you blokes know this Comtessa Bartelozzi?”

They both shook their heads.

“Not guilty,” said Darrell. “Did he give any description of her?”

“No,” answered Drummond. “He’d only just started to tell his little piece when you arrived.”

“Anyway,” said Jerningham, “I don’t see that there is anything to be done. He’s not here, and that’s an end of it. And the point that now arises is what the deuce we’re going to do tonight. I’d ring up the doctor and ask him round for a rubber, but I doubt if he’d get here. What are you staring at, Hugh?”

Drummond had his eyes riveted on a spot on the carpet, and suddenly he bent down and touched it with his fingers. Then he gave a low whistle and straightened up.

“I knew I was right,” he said quietly. “It’s earth. And more there – and there. Somebody has been in through the window, Ted.”

“By Jove! he’s right,” said Darrell, peering at the marks on the floor.

“And look at those two close by the chair Marton was sitting in. Whoever it was who came in stood by that chair.”

“Come here,” called out Darrell, who, with the electric torch in his hand, was leaning out of the window. “There are footmarks all along the flowerbed.”

“Let’s get this clear,” said Jerningham. “You’re certain those marks weren’t there before?”

“Of course I’m not,” cried Drummond. “I don’t spend my time examining your bally carpet. But that mud is still damp. Well, I was asleep here after lunch until young Marton arrived, and all that time the window was shut. In fact, it was never opened till I heard Peter shouting.”

“What about the two warders?”

“Neither of them ever went near the window. Nor did Marton. Lord! man, it’s as clear as be damned. It’s a definite trail from the window to the chair the youngster was sitting in.”

“There’s no sign of a struggle,” said Darrell.

“Why should there have been one?” demanded Jerningham. “It may have been some bloke he knew with whom he toddled off all friendly like.”

“Seems to me there are two pretty good objections to that,” said Drummond. “In the first place, how did anyone know he was here? Secondly, if it was a pal who, by some extraordinary fluke, arrived at the window, why did he bother to come into the room? Why not just call out to him?”

He shook his head gravely.

“No, chaps: as I see it, there’s only one solution that fits. The visitor was Morris – the escaped convict. He was lying hidden in the garden and seized his chance when he saw Marton alone.”

“By Jove! that’s possible,” said Darrell thoughtfully.

“But, damn it – why should he go off with a bally convict?” demanded Jerningham.

“Probably Morris dotted him one over the head,” said Drummond. “Then dragged him outside, and, hidden by the fog, stripped him. It’s the very point the warders mentioned: the first thing an escaped man does is to try to get civilian clothes.”

“Then in that case the wretched bloke is probably lying naked in the shrubbery,” cried Jerningham. “We’d better have a search-party; though our chances of finding him, unless we walk on top of him, are a bit remote.”

“Doesn’t matter: we must try,” said Drummond. “Got any lanterns, Ted?”

“I expect Jennings can produce something,” answered the other. “Though I’m afraid it’s pretty hopeless.”

He rang the bell, and as he did so there came from outside the sound of footsteps on the drive. All three stared at the window expectantly: was this Marton coming back? But it was one of the warders who materialised out of the mist, to be followed a moment or two later by his mate.

“Beg your pardon, gentlemen,” he said, “but as I was passing I thought I’d let you know that Morris was seen about a quarter of a mile from here an hour ago. So warn your servants to keep the windows shut and the doors bolted.”

“I’m rather afraid it’s a bit late, officer,” said Drummond. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, Morris has been here within the last quarter of an hour. And those” – he pointed to the marks of mud – “are his tracks.”

“But what were you doing, sir?”

“Helping Mr Jerningham to get his car out of the ditch. You remember that youngster who was here? Well, I left him in this room, and when I came back he was gone. And the only possible solution that I can think of is that Morris laid him out in order to get his clothes. We’re just going to have a search through the grounds now.”

“I’ve told Jennings to get lanterns,” said Jerningham.

“Possibly you’re right, sir,” said the warder. “He’d seize a chance like that. But there is another thing that may have happened: the young gentlemen may have joined his friends.”

“What friends?” demanded Drummond.

“Well, sir, just after me and my mate left you this afternoon and got into the main road we ran into two gentlemen walking along. So we stopped them and warned them about Morris. One of them, a great, big, powerful-looking man he was, began to laugh.

“‘Thank you, officer,’ he says. ‘But if this guy Morris tries any funny stuff with me he won’t know whether it was a steam hammer or a motor lorry that hit him.’

“‘No, sir,’ I answers, ‘you look as if you could take care of yourself – same as another gent I’ve just been talking to.’ Meaning you, sir, of course.” He turned to Drummond. “Well, he seemed interested like,” went on the warder, “and so I told him what had just happened – about the young gentleman being in such a panic and all that.

“‘Can you describe him?’ says he, and when I done so he turns to his friend.

“‘Quite obviously it’s the boy we were expecting,’ he says. ‘The poor lad must have lost his way in the fog. Up there, is he, officer? And what is the name of the house?’

“‘Merridale Hall,’ I tells him. ‘You can’t miss it: you are only thirty yards from the entrance gate.’

“And with that he says good afternoon and walks on. So I should think, sir, that in this case that is what happened: the young gentleman went off with his friends. Not that what you thought wasn’t very probable: Morris would stick at nothing. And, of course, you didn’t know anything about these two gents.”

“No,” said Drummond slowly, “I didn’t. They did not, by any chance, say where they were stopping?”

“No, sir, they didn’t. Well, good night, gentlemen: we must be getting along.”

“The plot thickens,” said Drummond, as the footsteps of the two warders died away. “And, boys, it seems to me it thickens in a rather promising manner.”

“I don’t see much ground for optimism at the moment, old lad,” said Darrell.

“Don’t you, Peter? I do. It seems to me that we have at any rate established the fact that Marton’s story was not entirely a cock-and-bull one: nor was it mere groundless panic.”

“I’m darned if I see why,” said Jerningham. “Anyway, we shan’t want those lanterns now, I take it.”

He went to the door and shouted the fact to Jennings: then he came back to his chair.

“Those warders,” went on Drummond quietly, “met these two men just outside the gate. Now it would have taken them, at the most, two minutes to walk up the drive. At a conservative estimate it was at least twenty minutes after when you two rammed the gate-post. What do you suggest they were doing during the gap? Why, if they were friends of Marton, didn’t they ring the front door bell and inquire if he was here? Why, when they finally did come in, did they come in through the window? No, my boy – it’s a fiver to a dried orange pip that those two men are the ‘they’ he was so terrified of. And now, owing to the mere fluke of that warder meeting them, they’ve got him.”

“I’ll grant all that, old lad,” said Jerningham. “But what I want to know is, what the deuce you propose to do about it. You don’t know where these men are living: you don’t know anything about ’em. All we do know is that your boy friend’s name is Marton, which cannot be called a very uncommon one.”

“Afraid I’m rather inclined to agree with Ted, old boy,” said Darrell. “Doesn’t seem to me that we’ve got anything to go on. True, we know about this female – Bartelozzi or whatever her name is – but as she is presumably in London, that doesn’t help much.”

Drummond gave a sudden exclamation, and pulled out of his pocket the piece of paper he had found on the drive.

“I clean forgot all about this,” he said, opening it out. “Picked it up by the gate-post.”

“Anything interesting?” cried Darrell, as he watched the other’s face.

Without a word Drummond laid it on the table, and they all three stared at it. It was an ordinary piece of office notepaper with the name and address of the firm stamped at the top.

MARTON, PETERS & NEWALL,