(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.