The Return Of Bulldog Drummond (12 page)

She hesitated: then, taking her cigarette case from her bag, she opened it. And over the match which Drummond held for her their eyes met.

“Very serious financial trouble, Captain Drummond,” she said gravely. “The poor lad confided in me. I can’t tell you the details: they are too complicated. And anyway, it’s not my secret.”

“I quite understand, Comtessa,” answered Drummond. “And I shall, of course, respect your confidence. Confound it! – here are some people getting in. Why is it that certain individuals are born without tact?”

She smiled at him sweetly.

“Do you ever dance in London?” she asked.

“I periodically tread a measure and then mangle a kipper,” he said. “Ciro’s and the Embassy, and one or two others of the smaller places.”

“Do you know the Custard Pot in Wardour Street?”

“That’s a new one on me,” he answered. “Is it a good spot?”

“It is a quiet one,” she murmured.

“Then it shall be added to my list, Comtessa,” he said. “Do you go there often?”

“
Ça dépend
,” she answered. “Most young men in London today are so boring, aren’t they?”

“If you dare to risk it,” said Drummond, “the Senior Sports will always find me.”

“I think I might – once. And my telephone number is Mayfair 0218.”

He scribbled the number in his notebook, and once again their eyes met.

“What about some tea, Comtessa?” he remarked but she shook her head.

“I detest eating in a train,
mon ami
,” she answered “But don’t let me stop you.”

“It always sounds better to call it tea,” he grinned. “So, if you will excuse me, I’ll join the other two for a while.”

He strolled along to the dining-car, and having joined them at their table, he ordered a whisky and soda.

“Have we or have we not?” he remarked thoughtfully.

“Have we not what?” said Darrell.

“Allayed her suspicions,” answered Drummond. “Since you left, chaps, I’ve got off with Pansy-face: we purpose dancing together at the Custard Pot in Wardour Street. But does she still think that Marton told me something while he was in the house? That is the crux.”

“Didn’t you think Ted was inventing the whole of that ghost stuff?” put in Darrell.

Drummond stared at him.

“Of course I did. And I thought he did it deuced well, though what he wanted to introduce the smell for, the Lord alone knows. You don’t mean to say there’s any truth in it, Ted?”

“No, I don’t say that. But for the first time today, funnily enough – and I’d forgotten to mention it before – I heard that story. Some bloke at the inquest told me. That is the Glensham legend.”

“Well, I think Pansy-face swallowed it all right. But it’s the other point that is the really important one. I asked her point blank what was the trouble she alluded to, and she said he had got into a mess over money, and had confided in her.”

“Possibly the truth,” said Darrell.

“He said to me that afternoon, ‘I wish it was only that,’” answered Drummond. “A mess over money doesn’t make a fellow go in fear of his life; and most certainly a mess over money isn’t going to cause them to murder him. No, Peter: it must be more than that. You may bet your bottom dollar that young Marton had served their purpose and had lost his nerve in so doing. They were afraid of his squealing, and wanted him out of the way. But what was the purpose? – that’s the point.”

He relapsed into silence and stared out of the window at the flying countryside. And though his most fervent admirer would never have called Hugh Drummond a second Newton, yet he possessed a great deal of sound common sense, which he could use to advantage on an occasion such as this. Essentially of a direct nature himself, he always sought to reduce a problem to fundamental facts. And here, it seemed to him, those facts were clear.

Marton had been murdered for some reason as yet unknown, and the murderers had got away with it as far as the police were concerned. But what the murderers did not know was how far they had got away with it where he and Ted and Peter were concerned.

He tried to put himself in the position of the opponents. Assuming his basic foundation was correct, what line of action would they take? Would they take the point of view that since they had bluffed the police the other thing didn’t matter? Something big was on foot, since they had not hesitated to murder a man: would they merely carry on with their plans, and completely disregard him and the two sitting opposite him? They might reasonably assume that, since he had said nothing up to date, he proposed to let the matter drop altogether. They might even assume that their bluff had been successful all round. And it seemed to him that until they were certain one way or the other, their policy must be to wait and see. If they did anything else, if they gave the slightest hint that they were not sure if he believed the story, they gave themselves away at once. It was a question of the old chestnut – ‘That’s my story, and I’m going to stick to it.’

For the moment, therefore, it seemed to him that the other side would do nothing. In fact they would do nothing until their own next move proved that they had not been bluffed. Then the scrap would begin in earnest. But the difficulty lay in what the next move was going to be. Unless they could get some information out of Dick Newall, it looked as if they were up against a blank wall. And he realised that Jerningham’s fears were not groundless: to ask a lawyer, however great a friend he might be, to reveal what were possibly office secrets was to ask a lot.

“When can we get in touch with your pal, Ted?” he asked.

“Almost certainly this evening, old boy. He’s nearly always in the club before dinner. Hullo! here is Mr Peters.”

The solicitor paused by their table on seeing Jerningham.

“Afternoon, Mr Peters. I didn’t know you were on the train. Let me introduce Captain Drummond and Mr Darrell. Won’t you take a seat at our table?”

“Thank you, thank you,” cried the other. “With pleasure. I am really so worried and distracted over this shocking affair, coming so closely on top of the other, that I hardly know what I’m doing. I fear it will completely break up poor Mrs Marton. She idolised Bob.”

“It’s very sad indeed,” agreed Drummond. Such shocking bad luck. By the way, Mr Peters, I didn’t like to ask him personally, but perhaps you can tell me. My father knew a man called Hardcastle very well indeed a few years ago in South Africa. I was wondering if it was the same one.”

“I really can’t say,” answered the lawyer. “He may have been in South Africa – in fact I should think it is more than likely he was. He seems to have travelled extensively. All I know about him is that he wanted to rent Glensham House. And as we have been the family solicitors for years, he naturally came to us about it. I was a little surprised, I must admit. It didn’t strike me as at all the sort of place a man like him would want. But houses of that size are difficult things to let these days, especially so far away from London, and so I closed with his offer at once, though it was for a very short lease.”

“So he is not proposing to make his home there?”

“Dear me, no! He has taken it for three months only.”

“Then he certainly must be very wealthy,” remarked Drummond. “He’ll want a great deal of furniture to make it habitable.”

“No: all the remainder is stored in Plymouth, so that he won’t have to buy anything.”

“I hear that he is inventing some cinema gadget,” went on Drummond casually. “At least we gathered so from his daughter.”

“I know he is interested in the films,” said the lawyer. “In fact we did some business for him in that line. But I think he is a man with many irons in the fire.”

“I suppose you don’t happen to know anything about the legend of the house,” put in Jerningham.

“My dear sir,” said the other, “in my profession we deal with facts. Those give us quite enough trouble without going into suppositions. There is some legend, I believe – in fact, I think I once had it told me. But I pay no attention to that sort of thing at all, though from idle chatter I heard at the inquest today some idiot seems to have revived the story. And, of course, now I come to think of it, it was that that took you three young men over there in the first place.”

He smiled tolerantly.

“Well, well, it’s all very fine for people of your age. But when you come to mine you’ll find that flesh and blood cause quite sufficient worry, without chasing round after spirits.”

“Most old houses have some sort of legend attached to them, don’t they?” said Drummond. “Especially when they have secret passages as well.”

“Now that
is
a fact with regard to Glensham House,” said the lawyer. “The place is honeycombed with them. And, funnily enough, that is a thing that particularly attracted Mr Hardcastle. As an American he seemed to consider that no old English house was worth ten cents – I think that was his phrase – unless it had a secret passage.”

“Indeed,” murmured Drummond. “Well, – he seems to have got his money’s worth this time. Do you know the entrances to any of them?”

“I haven’t an idea,” answered the other. “And I can’t say that I want to have one. Between ourselves, as I don’t think I see a prospective tenant in any of you, the non-secret part of the house is sufficiently gloomy, to my mind, without worrying over anything else.”

He called for his bill.

“Well, I must be getting back to my carriage,” he continued. “I’ve got an hour’s work in front of me before we reach London. Good day to you, gentlemen: good day.”

“Interesting, that point about Hardcastle and the secret passages,” said Drummond, as the lawyer disappeared. “May mean something: may not. What about the other half, chaps? And then I think I’ll rejoin Pansy-face. I’d hate her to think my love for her had waned.”

But the Comtessa was immersed in a novel when they returned to their compartment, and save for one swift smile and a hope that the tea had been good, nothing more was said till the train reached Paddington. And then in the general rising their shoulders touched.

“You won’t forget the Custard Pot?” she murmured.

“I shall haunt the door,” he answered, “till I get arrested as a street nuisance. Let me take your dressing-case and I’ll see you into a taxi.”

“The car should be here,” she said leaning out of the window. “Yes: there’s the chauffeur.”

She beckoned to a man in livery who was standing on the platform.

“
Au revoir
, Captain Drummond. Don’t forget, Mayfair 0218.”

“The line will probably fuse,” he murmured as he strolled at her side towards the car. “Is your husband – er – in London?”

“Not at present,” she answered gravely. “He travels abroad a lot. Ah!
chérie
, let me introduce Captain Drummond – Madame Saumur.”

And for a space there was utter silence. For Drummond and a woman already seated in the car were staring at one another speechlessly, while the Comtessa looked from one to the other in growing bewilderment.

“
Enchanté
, Madame,” said Drummond at length. “It is a long time since we met, is it not? Saumur, did you say, Comtessa?”

“So you two know one another?” she cried.

“A rose by any other name, dear lady,” remarked Drummond with a smile. “Does Madame also adorn the Custard Pot?”

He stood back as the chauffeur closed the door, and bowed.

“If so my cup of happiness will be complete.”

“Posing as a statue, old lad,” said Darrell a few moments later. “Or watching the last of the loved one?”

“Madame Saumur, Peter,” answered Drummond dreamily. “Pansy-face’s girl friend. She was in the car. Madame Saumur, Peter: think of it.”

“I’m thinking,” said the other. “What about it?”

“She was Irma, Peter: our long-lost Irma Peterson.”

“Irma!” cried Darrell incredulously. “Rot, man!”

“Do you suppose I’d make a mistake over her?” said Drummond with a grin.

“Did she say anything?”

“Not a word. We were both so flabbergasted for a moment or two that we gaped at one another like a couple of codfish. Then I made some fatuous remark and they pushed off.”

“What an amazing thing!” said Jerningham, as they got into a taxi. “How is it going to affect matters?”

“In this way, Ted. There’s no earthly use now in our playing a canny game. We can still pretend, of course, that we agree with the verdict today, but we can’t fool her into thinking we’ve dropped the matter. She knows us a great deal too well to believe it for an instant.”

“And she didn’t speak at all?”

Drummond shook his head.

“Not with her tongue. But just as the car drove off she gave me one look that said volumes. It was as clear as if she had shouted it through a megaphone. It’s a fight to a finish this time.”

They drove to Ted Jerningham’s club, and one of the first members they met in the smoking-room was the man they wanted. He was reading an evening paper, and the instant he saw them he gave a hail.

“Ted, old lad, come here. Of all the amazing things I’ve ever known this wins in a canter. Fancy you being mixed up in this performance.”

“Evening, Dick,” said Jerningham. “I want you to meet Drummond and Darrell.”

“The three musketeers complete,” grinned the other, and then grew serious again. “It’s a pretty damnable business, isn’t it? I suppose this account is accurate?”

Drummond, who had skimmed through the report, nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “That just about gives the finding of twelve good men and true, and to that extent, therefore, it is accurate.”

Newall stared at him.

“Are you implying that there is some inside information going around which is not mentioned in the report?”

“Is there any spot that we can go to, Ted,” said Drummond, “where there will be no chance of our being overheard?”

“Sure bill,” he answered. “The small card-room is bound to be empty.”

He led the way to the lift, and the others followed with Newall, who was still carrying the paper in his hand. And, having ordered a round of the necessary, he closed the door.

“Now we shan’t be disturbed,” he said. “Get on with it, Hugh.”