(Continued from last week.) SYNOPSIS. epee PROLOGUE.—In December, 1918, four men gathered in a hotel in Berne and heard one of the quartet outline a plan to paralyze Great Britain and at the same time seize world power. The other three, Hocking, American, and Steineman and Von Gratz, Germans, all millionaires, agree to the scheme, providing another man, Hiram Potts, an American, is taken in. The instigator of the plot gives his name as Comte de Guy, but when he leaves for England with his daughter he decides to use the name Carl Peterson, CHAPTER 1. — Capt. Hugh (Bulldog) Drummond, a retired officer, advertises for work that will give him excitement, signing “X10.” As a result he meets Phyllis Benton, a young woman who an- swered his ad. She tells him of strange murders and robberies of which she sus- pects a band headed by Carl Peterson and Henry Lakington of being the leaders. “Drumamond — Captain Drummond, late of the Loamshires.” He leaned back in his chair, and lit a cigarette. “My dear Phyllis,” said a voice be- hind his back, “this is a pleasant sur- prise. I had no idea that you were in London.” A tall, clean-shaven man stopped be- side the table, threwing 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 Drum- mond, do you? Mr. Lakington—art connoisseur and—ev—collector.” The two men bowed slightly, and Mr. Lakington smiled. “1 do not re- member ever having heard my harm- less pastimes more concisely de- scribed,” 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 at- tention tg art.” Thé 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 to France,” Lakington murmured. “Unfortunately a bad heart kept me on this side of the’ water. 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—profourd art.” 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 d2cided. I might stop with Aunt Kate.” “Fortunate Aunt Kate.” With a bow Lakington turned away, and through the glass Drummond watched him get his hgqt 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 color came back to her face. “I'm quite ail right,” she answered. “It gave me rather a shock, that man finding us here. You've stumbled right into the middle of it, my friend—rather sooner TS dil ai 1 Rw My BRE . 14 SN “That ls. One of the Men You Will Probably Have to Kill.” than I anticipated. That is one of the wen you will probably have to kill. .” Her companion lit another cigarette, “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 looked at Drummond quietly. “Henry Lakington is the second most danger- The Adventures of A Demobilized Officer . Who Found Peace Dull i Ls Copy ma by CYRIL MNEILE 6 SAPPER” Mlestrations by IRWIN MYERS right by Geo H Doran Co ous man in England.” “Only the second,” murmured Hugh. “Then hadn't I better start my 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 dis- passionately. “You must admit,” he remarked, “that up to now our conver- sation 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 state- ment 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 se- rious again. “There's plenty of time for you to back out now if you like.” She was looking at him gravely as she spoke, and it seemed to her com- panion 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 angie it was tilted at, in the half-light of the room. Altogether, D:ummond reflect- ed, a most adorable girl. And ador- able 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 conrse he would, even if he had to thrash the swine to within an inch of his life. “Well!” The girl’s volce cut to Lis tra‘n of thought and he hurriedly nulled .imself together. “The last thing I want is for the incident to finish,” he said ferventiy. “Why—it's only just begun.” “Then you'll help me? “That's what I'm here for.” With n smile Drummond lit another cigarette “Tell me all about it.” “The trouble,” she began after a nio- ment, “is that there is not very rauch to tell. At present it is largely guess work, and guess work without much ef a clue. However, to start with, 1 had better tell you what sort of men yon are up against. Firstly, Henry Lak- ington—tlLe man who spcke to me. lie was, I believe, one of the most brilliant scientists who has ever been up ai Oxford. There was nothing, in lus 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 is quite un- scrupulous; he is only concerned in pitting himself against the world and winning.” “An engaging fellah,” said Hugh. “What particular form of crime does he favor?” “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 incredu- lously. “How c¢an 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 nev- er been in before. On a desk lay some miniatures. and, without think- ing, I picked them up and looked at them. I happen to know something about miniatures, and, to my horror. 1 recognized them. Do you remember the theft of the celebrated Vatican miniatures belonging to the duke of Melbourne?” Drummond nodded; ning to feel interested. “They were the ones I was holding in my hand,” she said quietly. “And just as I was wondering what on earth to do, the man himself walked into the room.” he was begin- “Awkward — deuced awkward.” Drummond pressed out his cigarette and leaned forward expectantly. “What did he do?” “‘Admiring my treasures? he ve- marked. ‘Pretty things, aren't they? 1 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 minia- tures. I think they would deceive most people.’ “ ‘They deceived me,’ I managed to get out. “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 only looked inside 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 gergeous diamond tiara. and a whole heap of loose, uncut stones, And in one corner I caught a glimpse of the most wonderful gold chalicel cup—just like the one for which Sam- uel 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, ‘won- derful 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 eve- ning,” she answere®. “And daddy flew nto a frightful pa<sion, and toid me never to dare to meddle in things that didn’t concern me again. Then grad- unliy, as time went on, I realized that Lakington had some hoid over daddy- that he'd got my father in his power AW Al i 0 i 4 “Admiring My Treasures?” He Re- marked. “Pretty Things, Aren't They?” Her hands were clenched, and her breast rose and fell stormily. Drummond waited for her to com- pose herself before he spoke again. “You mentioned murder, t00,” he re- marked. She nedded. “I've got no proof,” she said, “less even than over the burglaries. But there was ‘a man called George Dringer, and one eve- ning, when Lakington was dining with us, I heard him discussing this man with daddy. “‘He's got to go,’ ‘He's dangerous! “And then my father got up and said Lakington. closed the door; but I heard them ar- guing for half an hour. Three weeks later a coroner's jury found that George Dringer had committed suicide while temporarily insane. The same evening daddy, for the first time in his life, went to bed the worse for drink.” The girl fell silent, and Drummond stared at the orchestra with troubled eyes. Things seemed to be rather deeper than he had anticipated. “Then there was another case.” She was speaking again. “Do you remem- ber that man who was found dead in a railway carriage at Oxhey station. He was an Italian—Giuseppe by name; and the jury brought in a ver- dict of death from natural causes, A month before, he had an interview with Lakington, which took place at our house: because the ltalian, being a stranger, came to the wrong place, and Lakington happened to be with us at the time. The interview finished with a fearful quarrel.” She turned to Drummond with a slight smile. “Not much evidence, is there? Only I know Lakington murdered him. I know it. You may think I'm fanciful—imagining things; you may think I'm exaggerat- ing. I don’t mind if you do—because you won't for long.” Drummond did not answer immedi- ately. Against his saner judgment he was beginning to be profoundly im- pressed, and, at the moment, he did not quite know what to say. “What about this other man?’ he asked at length. “I can tell you very little about him,” she answered. “He came to The Elms —that is the name of Lakington’s house—three months ago. He is about medium height and rather thick-set; clean-shaven, with thick brown hair, flecked slightly with white. His fore- head is broad, and his eyes are a sort of cold grey-blue. But it’s his hands that terrify me. They're large and white and utterly ruthless.” She turned to-him appealingly. “Oh! don’t think I'm talking wildly,” she im- plored. “He frightens me to death— that man: far, far worse than Laking- ton. He would stop 2t nothing to gain his ends, and even Lakington himself knows that Mr. Peterson is his mas- ter.” “Peterson!” murmured Drummond. “It seems quite a sound old English name.” The girl laughed scornfully. “Oh! the name is sound enough, if it was his real one. As it is, it's about as real as his daughter.” “There is a lady in the case, then?” “By the name of Irma,” said the girl briefly. “She lies on a sofa in the garden and ‘yawns. She's ne more English than that waiter.” A faint smile flickered over her companion’s face; he had formed a fairly vivid mental picture of Irma. Then he grew serious again. | sleeps at night now: . “And what is it that makes you think there's mischief ahead?’ he asked abruptly. The girl shrugged her shoulders. “What the novelists call feminine in- tuition, I suppose,” she answered. “That—and my father.” She said the last words very low. “He hardly ever I hear him pacing up and down his room—hour after hour, hour after hour. Oh! it makes me mad. Don’t you understand? I've got to get him away from those devils, before he breaks down com- pletely.” Drummond nodded, and looked away. While she had been speaking he had made up his mind what course to take, and now, having outsat every- body else, he decided that it was time for the interview to cease. Already an early diner was having a cocktail, while Lakington might return at any moment. And if there was anything in what she had told him, it struck him that it would be as well for that gentleman not to find them together. “I think,” he said, “we’d better go. My address is 60A Half Moon street; my telephone 1234 Mayfair. thing happens, if ever you want me— at £n3 hour of the day or night—ring me u;* or write. If I'm not in, leave a message with my servant Denny. He is eo solutely reliable. The only other thing is your on address.” “Tle Larches, near Godalminz,” an- swered the girl, as they moved toward the door. “Oh! if you only knew the gious relief of feeling one's got some oe to turn to . . 0 She looked at him with shining eyes, and Drummond felt his pulse quicken sud- denly. “May 1 drop you anywhere?’ he asked, as they stood on the pavement, brit she shook her head. “No, thank you. I'll go in that taxi.” She gave the man an address, and stepped in, while Hugh stood bare- headed by the door. “Don’t forget,” he said earnestly. “Any t'me of the day or night. And whiie I think of it—we're old friends. Can that be done? In case I come and stay, you see.” She thought for a moment and then nodded Ler head. “All right,” she an- swered, “We've met a lot in London during the war.” With s grinding of gear wheels the tax! drove off, leaving Hugh with a vivid picture imprinted on his mind of hve eyes, and white teeth, and a skin like the bloom of a sun-kissed peach. For a moment or two he stood star- ing after it, and then he walked across to his own car. With his mind still full of the interview he drove slowly along Piccadilly, while every now and then he smiled grimly to himself, Was the whole thing an elaborate hoax? Somehow deep down in his mind, he wondered whether it was a joke— whether, by some freak of fate, he had stumbled on one of those strange inys- teries which up to date he had regard- ed as existing only in the realms of dime novels. He turned into Lis rooms, and stood in front of the mantelpiece taking off his gloves. It was as he was that an envelope caught his eye, ad- dressed to him in an unknown hand- i this | The i think?” about completely encased in boiled shirts, while pretending to be merely out for the afternoon, people have doubts as to one’s intellect.” James digested this great thought in silence. “Will you be going far, sir?’ he asked at length, pouring out a second cup of coffee, “To Godalming, A charming spot, I believe, though I've never been there. Charming inhabitants, too, James. The lady I met yesterday at the Carlton lives at Godalming.” “Indeed, sir,” murmured James non- committally. “You d—d old humbug,” laughed Drummond, “you know you're itching to know all about it, I had a very long and interesting talk with her, and one of two things emerges quite clear- ly from our conversation. Either, James, I am a congenital idiot, and don’t know enough to come in out of the rain; or we've hit the goods. That is what I propose to find out by my little excursion. yond our wildest dreams.” “There are a lot more answers in morning, sir.” Denny movement toward the letters he had been sorting. “One from a lovely widow with two children.” “Lovely,” cried Drummond. “How forward of her!” He glanced at the letter and smiled. “Care, James, and accuracy are essential in a secretary. | misguided woman calls herself | I lonely, not lovely. She will remain so, as far as I am concerned, until the other matter is settled,” “Will it take long, sir, “To get it settled?” a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “Listen, James, and I will out- line the case. alming, with her papa. is another house called The Elms, owned by a gentleman of the name of Henry Lakington—a nasty man, James, with a nasty face—who was also at the Carlton yesterday after- noon for a short time. And now we cope to the point. Miss Benton-— that is the lady’s name—accnses Mr. Lskington of being the complete IT in the criminal line. She went even so far as to say that he was the sec- ond most dangerous man in England.” “Indeed, sir. More coftee, sir?” “Will nothing move you, James?” remarked his master plaintively. “This man murders people and does things like that, you know.” “Personally, sir, I prefer a picture- palace, But I suppose there ain't no accounting for ’obbies. May I clear away, sir?” “No, James, not at present. Keep quite still while I go on, or I shall get it wrong. Three months ago there "arrived at The Elms, the most dan- gerous man in England—the IT of HITS, This name of Peterson, daughter. From what Miss Benton said, I have doubts about that daugh- gentleman ' ter, James.” He rose and strolled over about to lay them down on the table ; to the window. “Grave doubts. How- ever, to return to the point, it ap- ' pears that some unpleasing conspiracy writing. Mechanically he picked it up and opened it. Inside was a single half-sheet of notepaper, on which a few lines had been written in a small, neat hand. “There are more things in heaven and earth, young man, than a capabil- ity for eating steak and onions, and a desire for adventure. I imagine that you possess both: and they are useful assets in the second locality mentioned by the poet. In heaven, however, one never knows—especially with regard to the onions. Be careful.” Drummond stood motionless for a moment, with narrowed eyes. Then he leaned forward and pressed the bell. “Who brought this note, James?” he said quietly, as his servant came into . the room. “A small boy, sir. Said I was to be sure and see you got it most particu- lar,” He unlocked a cupboard near the window and produced a tantalus. “Whisky, sir, or cocktail?” “Whisky, I think, James.” Hugh carefully folded the sheet of paper and placed it in his pocket. And his face as he took the drink from his man would have left no doubt in an onlook- er’'s mind as to why, in the past, he had earned the name of ‘“Bull-Dog” Drummond. CHAPTER II. In Which He Journeys to Godalming and the Game Begins. ONE. “I almost think, James, that I could toy with another kidney.” Drummond looked across the table at his servant, who was carefully arranging two or three dozen letters in groups. “I've got a journey in front of me today, and I require a large breakfast.” James Denny supplied the defi- ciency from a dish that was standing on an electric heater. “Are you going for long, sir?” “I don’t know, James. It all de- pends on circumstances, Which, when you come to think of it, is undoubtedly one of the most fatuous phrases in the English language. Is there anything in the world that doesn’t depend on circumstances?” “Will you be motoring, sir, or going by train?” asked James prosaically. Dialectical arguments did not appeal ™ him. “By car,” answered Drummond. “Pajamas and a tooth-brush.” “You won't take evening clothes, sir?” “No. I want my visit to appear un- premeditated James, and if one goes is being launched by IT, the IT of ITS, and the doubtful daughter, into which Papa Benton has been unwill- ingly drawn. As far as I can make out, the suggestien is that I should unravel the tangled skein of crime and extricate papa.” In a spasm of uncontrollable ex- citement James sucked his teeth. “Lumme, it wouldn't 'alf go on the movies, would it?” he remarked. “Bet- ter than them Red Indians and things.” “I fear, James, that you are not in the habit of spending your spare time at the British museum, as I hoped,” said Drummond. “And your brain doesn’t work very quickly. The point is no! whether this hideous af- fair is better than Red Indians and things—but whether it's genuine. Am I to battle with murderers, or shall Either our legs, my | { friend, are being pulled till they will | never resume their normal shape; or | | anti coed re If any- | that advertisement has succeeded be made a : do you Drummond lit The maiden lives at a : house called The Larches, near God- | Not far away | goes by the and he owns a I find a house party roaring with laughter on the lawn?” “As long as you laughs like ‘ell yourself, sir, I don’t see as ’ow it makes much odds,” answered James. “The first sensible remark you've made this morning,” said his master hopefully. “I will go prepared to laugh.” He picked up a pipe from the man- telpiece, and proceeded to fill (it, while James Denny waited in siience. “A lady may ring up today,” Drum- mond continued. “Miss Benton, to be exact. Don't say where I've gone, if she does; but take down any mes- sage, and write it to me at Godal- ming postoffice. If by any chance you don't hear from me for three days, get in touch with Scotland Yard, and tell ’em where I've gone. That cov- ers everything if it's genuine. If, on the other hand, it’s a hoax, and the house-party is a good one, I shall probably want you to come down with my evening clothes and some more kit.” “Very good, sir. I will clean your small Colt revolver at once.” Hugh Drummond paused in the act of lighting his pipe, and a grin spread slowly over his face. “Excellent.” he said. “And see if you can find that water-squirt pistol I used to have— Son of a Gun, they called it. That ought to raise a laugh, when I arrest the murderer with it.” TWO. The 30 h.p. two-seater made short work of the run to Godalming. As Drummond thought of the two guns rolled up carefully in his pajamas— the harmless toy and the wicked little automatic—he grinned gently to him- self, The girl had not rung him up during the morning, and after a com- “and he looked up as it passed. fortable lunch at his club, he had started about three o'clock. The hedges, fresh with the glory of spring, flashed past; the smell of the country came sweet and fragrant on the air. There was a gentle warmth, a balm- iness in the day that made it good to be alive, and once or twice he sang under his breath through sheer light- heartedness of spirit. Surrounded by the peaceful beauty of the fields, with an occasional village half hidden by great trees from under which the tiny houses peered out, it seemed impos- sible that crime could exist—Iaugh- able. Of course the thing was a hoax, au elabdrate leg-pull, but being not guitty of any mental subterfuge, Hugh Drummond admitted to himself quite truly that he didn’t care a d—n if it was. Phyllis Benton was at liberty to continue the jest, wherever and whenever she liked. Phyllis Benton wi” ll Il I Rin Mygas “And See If You Can Find That Wa- ter-Squirt Pistol | Used to Have— Son of a Gun, They Called It.” was a very nice girl, and very nice girls are permitted a lot of latitude. A persistent honking behind arousea him from his reverie, and he pulled into the side of the road. An open cream-colored Rolls-Royce drew level, with five people on board, There were three people in the back—two men and a woman, and for a moment his eyes met those of the man near- est him. Then they drew ahead, and Drummond pulled up to avoid the thick cloud of dust. With a slight frown he stared at the retreating car; he saw the man lean over and speak to the other man; he saw the other man look around. Then a bend in the road hid them from sight, and still frowning, Drummond pulled out his case and lit a cigarette. For the man whose eye he had caught as the Rolls went by was Henry Lakington. There was no mistaking that hard-lipped, cruel face. Presumably, thought Hugh, the other two occupants were Mr. Peter- son and the doubtful daughter, Irma; Presumably they were returning to The Elms. And incidentally there seemed no pronounced reason why they shouldn’t. But, somehow, the sudden appearance of Lakington had upset him; he felt irritable and annoyed. What little he had seen of the man he had not liked; he did not want to be reminded of him, especially just as he was thinking of Phyllis. He watched the white dust-cloud rise over the hill in front as the car topped it; he watched it settle and drift away in the faint breeze. Then he let in his clutch and followed quite slowly in the big car's wake. There had been two men in front— the driver and another, and he won- dered idly if the latter was Mr. Ben- ton. He accelerated up the hill and swung over the top; the next mo- ment he braked hard and pulled up just in time. The Rolls, with the chauffeur peering into thé pennet, had stopped in sach a position that it was impossible for him to get by. The girl was still seated in the back of the car, also the passenger in front, but the two other men were standing in the road apparently watch- ing the chauffeur, and after a while the one whom Drummond had recog- nized as Lakington came toward him, “I'm sorry,” he began—and then paused in surprise. “Why, surely it’s Captain Drummond !” Drummond nodded pleasantly. “The occupant of a car is hardly like- ly to change in a mile, is he?” he re- marked. “I'm afraid I forget to wave as you went past, but I got your smile all right. Are you likely to be long, because if so, I'll stop my engine?” The other man was now approach- ing casually, and Drummond regarded him casually. “A friend of our little Phyllis, Peterson,” said Lakington, as he came up. “Any friend of Miss Benton's is, I hope, ours,” said Peterson with a smile. “You've known her a long time, I expect?” “Quite a long time,” returned Hugh. “We have jazzed together on many occasions.” “Which makes it all the more un- fortunate that we should have de- layed you,” said Peterson. “I can't help thinking, Lakington, that that new chauffeur is a bit of a fool.” (To be Contiued.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers