“Good Lord!” he cried, “aren’t you Jem Smith?”
The man swung round like a flash and glared at the bed.
“Wot the ’ell ’as that got to do wiv you?” he snarled, and then his face changed. “Why, strike me pink, if it ain’t young Drummond.”
Hugh grinned.
“Right in one, Jem. What in the name of fortune are you doing in this outfit?”
But the man was not to be drawn.
“Never you mind, sir,” he said grimly. “I reckons that’s my own business.”
“Given up the game, Jem?” asked Hugh.
“It give me up, when that cross-eyed son of a gun Young Baxter fought that cross down at ’Oxton. Gawd! if I could get the swine—just once again—s’welp me, I’d—” Words failed the ex-bruiser; he could only mutter. And Hugh, who remembered the real reason why the game had given Jem up, and a period of detention at His Majesty’s expense had taken its place, preserved a discreet silence.
The pug paused as he got to the door, and looked at Drummond doubtfully. Then he seemed to make up his mind, and advanced to the side of the bed.
“It ain’t none o’ my business,” he muttered hoarsely, “but seeing as ’ow you’re one of the boys, if I was you I wouldn’t get looking too close at things in this ’ere ’ouse. It ain’t ’ealthy: only don’t say as I said so.”
Hugh smiled.
“Thank you, Jem. By the way, has anyone got a stiff neck in the house this morning?”
“Stiff neck!” echoed the man. “Strike me pink if that ain’t funny—your asking, I mean. The bloke’s sitting up in ’is bed swearing awful. Can’t move ’is ’ead at all.”
“And who, might I ask, is the bloke?” said Drummond, stirring his tea.
“Why, Peterson, o’ course. ’Oo else? Breakfast at nine.”
The door closed behind him, and Hugh lit a cigarette thoughtfully. Most assuredly he was starting in style: Lakington’s jaw one night, Peterson’s neck the second, seemed a sufficiently energetic opening to the game for the veriest glutton. Then that cheerful optimism which was the envy of his friends asserted itself.
“Supposin’ I’d killed ’em,” he murmured, aghast. “Just supposin’. Why, the bally show would have been over, and I’d have had to advertise again.”
Only Peterson was in the dining-room when Hugh came down. He had examined the stairs on his way, but he could see nothing unusual which would account for the thing which had whizzed past his head and clanged sullenly against the wall. Nor was there any sign of the cobra by the curtained door; merely Peterson standing in a sunny room behind a bubbling coffee-machine.
“Good morning,” remarked Hugh affably. “How are we all today? By Jove! that coffee smells good.”
“Help yourself,” said Peterson. “My daughter is never down as early as this.”
“Rarely conscious before eleven—what!” murmured Hugh. “Deuced wise of her. May I press you to a kidney?” He returned politely towards his host, and paused in dismay. “Good heavens! Mr. Peterson, is your neck hurting you?”
“It is,” answered Peterson grimly.
“A nuisance, having a stiff neck. Makes everyone laugh, and one gets no sympathy. Bad thing—laughter. … At times, anyway.” He sat down and commenced to eat his breakfast.
“Curiosity is a great deal worse, Captain Drummond. It was touch and go whether I killed you last night.”
The two men were staring at one another steadily.
“I think I might say the same,” returned Drummond.
“Yes and no,” said Peterson. “From the moment you left the bottom of the stairs, I had your life in the palm of my hand. Had I chosen to take it, my young friend, I should not have had this stiff neck.”
Hugh returned to his breakfast unconcernedly.
“Granted, laddie, granted. But had I not been of such a kindly and forbearing nature, you wouldn’t have had it, either.” He looked at Peterson critically. “I’m inclined to think it’s a great pity I didn’t break your neck, while I was about it.” Hugh sighed and drank some coffee. “I see that I shall have to do it some day, and probably Lakington’s as well. … By the way, how is our Henry? I trust his jaw is not unduly inconveniencing him.”
Peterson, with his coffee cup in his hand, was staring down the drive.
“Your car is a little early, Captain Drummond,” he said at length. “However, perhaps it can wait two or three minutes, while we get matters perfectly clear. I should dislike you not knowing where you stand.” He turned round and faced the soldier. “You have deliberately, against my advice, elected to fight me and the interests I represent. So be it. From now on, the gloves are off. You embarked on this course from a spirit of adventure, at the instigation of the girl next door. She, poor little fool, is concerned over that drunken waster—her father. She asked you to help her—you agreed; and, amazing though it may seem, up to now you have scored a certain measure of success. I admit it, and I admire you for it. I apologise now for having played the fool with you last night: you’re the type of man whom one should kill outright—or leave alone.”
He set down his coffee cup, and carefully snipped the end off a cigar.
“You are also the type of man who will continue on the path he has started. You are completely in the dark; you have no idea whatever what you are up against.” He smiled grimly, and turned abruptly on Hugh. “You fool—you stupid young fool. Do you really imagine that you can beat me?”
The soldier rose and stood in front of him.
“I have a few remarks of my own to make,” he answered, “and then we
