- —y Bull-Dog Drummond The Adventures of a Demobilized Officer Who Found Peace Dull by CYRIL McNEILE “SAPPER” ILLUSTRATIONS BY IRWIN MYERS Copyright by Ges. H. Doran Ce. (Continued from last week.) “Why,” he spluttered after a mo- ment, “a lot of these people’s names are absolutely household words in the country. They may be swine—they probably are. Thank God! I've very rarely met any; but they ain't crimi- nals.” “No more is Peterson,” grinned the American; “at least not on that book. See here, Captain, it’s pretty clear what's happening. In any country to- day you've got all sorts and conditions of people with more wind than brain. They just can’t stop talking, and as yet it’s not a criminal offense. Some of ‘em believe what they say, like spin- dle-shanks upstairs; some of ’em don’t. And if they don’t, it makes em worse; they start writing as well. You've got clever men—intellectual mén—look at some of those guys in the first-class general lecturers—and they're the worst of the lot. Then you've got an- other class—the men with the business brain, who think they’re getting the sticky end of it, and use the talkers to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for them. And the chestnuts, who are the poor blamed decent workingmen, are promptly dropped in the ashpit to keep em quiet. They all want something for nething, and I guess it can’t be dona They all think they‘re fooling one an- other, and what's really going at the moment is that Petersen is fooling the whole bunch. He wants all the strings in his hands, and it looks to me as it he’d got 'em there. He's got the money —and we know where he got it from; he’s got the orgamization—all either red-hot revolutionaries, or intellectual windstorms, or calculating knaves. He's amalgamated ’em, Captain; and the whole blamed lot, whatever they may think, are really working for him.” Drummond thoughtfully lit a cig- arette. “Working towsrd a revolution in this country,” he remarked quietly. “Sure thing,” answered the Ameri- can. “And when he brings it off, 1 guess you won't catch Peterson for dust. He'll pocket the boodle, and the boobs will stew in their own juice. 1 guessed it in Paris; that book makes it a certainty. But it ain't criminal. In a court of law he could swear it was an organization for selling bird-sced.” For a while Drummond smoked in silence, while the two sleepers shifted uneasily in their chairs. It all seemed so simple in spite of the immensity of the scheme. Like most normal Engiish- men, politics and labor disputes had left him cold in the past; but no one who ever glanced at a newspaper - could be ignorant of the volcano that had been simmering just beneath the surface for years past. “Not one in a hundred”—the Amerl- can’s voice broke into his train of thought—*“of the so-called revolution- ary leaders in this country are disin- terested, Captain. Number One, and when they've talked the boys into bloody murder, and your existing social system is down-and-out, they'll be the leaders in the new one. That's what they're playing for— power; and when they've got it, Goda help the men who gave it to 'em.” Drummond nodded, and lit another cigarette. Odd things he had read re- curred to him: trade unions refusing to allow discharged soldiers to join them ; the reiterated threats of direct action. And to what end? A passage in a part of the ledger evi. dently devoted to extracts from the speeches of the first-class general lec- turers caught his eye: “To me, the big fact of modern life is the war between classes. . . . People declare that the method of direct ac- tien inside a country will produce a revolution. I agree . . . it involves the creation of an army. ..."” And beside the cutting was a nove by Peterson in red ink: “An excellent man! tracted tour.” The note of exclamation appealed to Hugh; he could see the. writer's tongue in his cheek as he put it in. “It involves the creation of an army. _..” The words of the intimidated rabbit came back to his mind. “The man of stupendous organizing power, who has brought together and welded into one the hundreds of societies sim- ilar to mine, who before this have each, on their own, been feebly strug- gling toward the light. Now we are combined, and our strength Is due to him.” In other words, the army was on the road to completion, an army where ninety per cent of the fighters—duped *w the remaining ten—would struggle blindly towards a dim, half-understood goal, only to find out too late that the whip of Solomon had been exchanged for the scorpion of his son. “Why can’t they he made to under- stand, Mr. Green?’ he cried bitterly. “The working man—the decent fel- low—" Send for pro- They're out for: “Has anyone tried to make ’em un- derstand, Captain? I guess I'm no in- tellectual guy, but there was a French writer fellow—Victor Hugo—who wrote something that sure hit the nail on the head. I copied it out, for it seemed good to me.” From his pocket- book he produced a slip of paper. “ ‘The faults of women, children, servants, the weak, the indigent and the ignorant are the faults of husbands, fathers, masters, the strong, the rich, and the learned.’ Wall!” he leaned back in his chair, “there you are. Their proper ieaders have sure failed them, so they're running after that bunch of cross-eyed skaters. And sitting here, watching ’em run, and laughing fit to beat the band, is your pal Peterson!” It was at that moment that the tele- phone bell rang, and after a slight hes- itation Hugh picked up the receiver. “Very well,” he grunted, after listen- ing for a while, “I will tell him.” He replaced the receiver and turned to the American. “Mr. Ditchling will be here for the meeting at two, and Peterson will be late.” he announced slowly. “What's Ditchling when he's at home?” asked the other. “One of the so-called leaders.” an- swered Hugh briefly, turning over the pages of the ledger. ‘Here's his dos- sier, according to Peterson. ‘Ditehling, Charles. Good speaker: clever; un- scrupulous. Requires big money ; worth it. Drinks.” For a while they stared at the brief summary, and then the American burst into a guffaw of laughter. “The mistake you've made. Captain, in this country, i3 not giving Peterson a seat In your cabinet. He'd have the whoie caboose eating out of his hand; and if you paid him a few hundred thousand a year, he might run stiight and grow pigs as a hobby. . ..” TWO. It was a couple of hours later that Hugh rang up his rooms in Half Moon street. From Algy, who spcke to him, he gathered that Phyllis and her fa- ther were quite safe. He also found out another thing—that Ted Jerning- ham had just arrived with the hapless Potts in tow, who was apparently suf- pelently recovered tu talk sensa. He was weak still and dazed, but no long- er imbecile. “Tell Ted to bring him down to The fling at once,” ordered Hugh. “There's a compatriot of his here, waiting to welcome him with open arms.” “Potts is coming, Mr. Green,” he said, putting down the receiver. “Our Hiram O. And he's talking sense. It seems to me that we may get a little light thrown on the activities of Mr. Hocking and Herr Steinemann, and the other bloke.” The American nodded slowly. “Yon Gratz,” he sald. “I remember his name now. Steel man. Maybe vau're_ right, Captain, and that he | knows something; anyway, I guess Hiram C. Potts and I stick closer than brothers till I restore him to the bosom of his family.” But Mr. Potts, when he did arrive, exhibited no great inclination to stick close to the detective; in fact, he showed the greatest reluctance to en- ter the house at all. As Algy had said, he was still weak and dazed, and the sight of the place where he had suffered so much produced such an ef- fect on him that for a while Hugh feared he was going to have a relapse. At length, however, he seemed to get back his confidence, and was persuad- ed to come into the central room. “It’s all right, Mr. Potts,” Drummend assured him over and over again. “Their gang is dispersed, and Laking- ton is dead. We're all friends here row. You're quite safe. This is Mr. Green, who has come over from New York especially to find you and take vou back to your family.” The millionaire stared in silence at the detective, who rolled his cigar round in his mouth. “That's right, Mr. Potts. There’s the little old sign.” He threw back his coat, showing the police badge, and the millionaire nodded. “I guess you've Fad things humming on the other side, and if it hadn’t been for the Captain Lere and his friends, they’d be hum- ming still.” “I'm obliged to you, sir,” said the American, speaking for the first time to Hugh. The words were slow and The Millionaire Stared in Slience at “the Detective. hesitating, as if he was not quite sure of his voice. “I seem to remember vour face,” he continued, “as part of the awful nightmare I've suffered the last few days—or is it weeks? I seem 40 remember having seen you, and you were always kind.” r “That’s all over now, Mr. Potts,” said Hugh gently. “You got into the clutches of the most infernal gang of swine, and we've been trying to get you out again.” He looked at him quietly. “Do you think you can re- member enough to tell us what hap- pened at the beginning? Take your time.” Le urged. “There's no hurry.” The millionaire passed his hand daz- edly over his forehead. “I was stopping at the Carlton,” he began, “with Granger, my secretary. I sent him over to Belfast on a ship- ping deal and—” He paused and looked round the group. “Where is ranger?” he asked. “Mr. Granger was murdered in Bei- fast, Mr. Potts,” said Drummond quiet- ly, “by a member of the gang that k!dnaped you.” “Murdered! Jimmy Granger mur- dered!” He almost cried in his weak- ness. “WRWat did the swine want to murder him for?” “Because they wanted yeu alone’ explaineil Hugh. “Private secretaries ask awkward questions.” After a while the millionaire recov- ered his composure, and with many breaks and pauses the slow, disjointed story continued: “Lakington! That was the name of the man I met at the Carlton. And tien there was another . . . Peter Peterson. That's it. We all dined together, I remember, and fit was after dinner, in my private sitting room, that Peterson put up his propo- sition to me. . . . It was a sugges- tion that he thought would appeal to me as a business mag. = Ile sald—what was i{t?—that he could produce a gi- gsntic nyudicalist strike in England— revolution, in fact; and that as one of the higgest shipowners—the biggest, in fact—outside this country, I should be abie to eapture a lot of the British carrying trade. lle wantéd two hun- red and fifty thousend peunds to do it, paid one month after the result was obtained. . in at. “On that valuation, * interrupted the detective, thoughtfully, “it makes one wlllion pounds sterling,” and Drum- mond nodded. “Yes, Mr. Potts; and then?” “I told him,” said the millionaire, “that he was an infernal scoundrel, and that I'd have nothing whatever to do with such a villainous scheme. And then—almost the last thing I can re- member—I saw Peterson look at Lak- ington. Then they both sprang on me, and I felt something prick my arm. And after that I can’t remember any- thing clearly. Your face, sir"—he turned to Drummond—*‘comes to me out of a kind of dream ; and yours, too,” he added to Darrell. “Bat it was like a long, dreadful nightmare, in which vague things, over which I had no power, kept happening, until I woke up last night in this gentleman's house.” He bowed to Ted Jerningham, who grinned cheerfully. “And mighty glad I was to heat you talking sense again, sir,” he remarked. “Do you mean to say you have no rec- ollection of how you got there?” “None, sir; none,” answered the mii- jonaire, “it was just part of the dream.” “It shows the strength of the drug those swine used on you,” said Drum- mond grimly. “You went there in an airplane, Mr. Potts.” “An airplane!” cried the other in emazement. “I don’t remember it. I've got no recollection of it whatever. There's only one other thing that I can lay hold of, and that’s all dim and myzzy. . . . Pearls. . . A great rope of ears. . «1 Was to sign a paper; and I wouldn't. . . . I did once, and then there was a shot and the light went out, and the paper disappeared. » Ep ” . Said there were others “It's at my bank at this moment, Mr. Potts,” said Hugh; “I took that paper, or part of it, that night.” “Did you?’ The millionaire looked at him vaguely. “I was to promise them a million dollars when they had done what they said. . . . I remember that. . . And the pearl necklace. . . . the duchess of . . .” He paused end shook his head wearily. “The duchess of Lampshire’s?” prompted Hugh. “That's it,” said the other. “The duchess of Lampshire’s. It was say- ing that I wanted her pearls, I think, und would ask no questions as to how they were got.” The detective grunted. “Wanted to incriminate you proper- ly, did they? Though it seems to me that it was a blamed risky game. There should have been enough money : fom the other three to run the show without worrying you, i| found you weren't for it.” when they “Wait,” said the millionaire, “that reminds me. Before they assaulted me at the Carlton they told me the others wouldn’t come in unless I did.” For a while there was silence, broken at length by Hugh. “Well, Mr. Potts, you've bad a moldy time, and I'm very glad it's over. But the persom you've got to thank for | putting us fellows on your track is a girl. If it hadn't been for her I'm afraid you'd still be having night- mares.” “I would like to see her and thank her,” said the millionaire. quickly. “You shall,” grinned Hugh. “Come to the weddings; it will be in a fort- night or thereabouts” “Wedding!” Mr. Potts looked a lit- tle vague. “Yes! Mine and proposition, isn’t 1t?” (Concluded Next Week). hers, Ghastly | Bellefonte, Pa. GREAT PROFIT ON CANDY. The New York World recently made an investigation of nine of the largest candy manufactures, who retailed their own products and found that the prices charged for candy did not bear any relation to the cost of ingredients of which it is composed, and the prof- iteering in candies transcends the im- agination