“Quite a time, I think,” said Freyder. “But I think he should be under supervision when he wakes. He might have concussion or be suffering from loss of memory.”
“Ah!” Again came that long-drawn sigh of relief. “Then a sea voyage, Freyder, is clearly indicated. We will have two invalids instead of one. So bring our young friend here tonight.”
With a faint smile Freyder replaced the receiver on its hook and bent over the unconscious figure of Drummond as it sprawled over the desk.
“I trust you’ll enjoy the trip, you young devil,” he snarled.
VIII
In Which Drummond Plays a Little Game of Trains
The blow that Drummond had received would have broken the neck of any ordinary man. But not being an ordinary man he was only badly stunned. And he was still unconscious when he was carried out of a motorcar at Mr. William Robinson’s house in the New Forest. That his arrival was regarded as an important affair was evident from the fact that his host came himself to the front door to greet him. But from that moment it is to be feared that Mr. Robinson’s knowledge of those excellent books on etiquette which deal with the whole duty of a host towards those who honour his roof with their presence went under a slight eclipse. Regrettable to state, he did not escort his guest personally to the old oak bedroom complete with lavender-scented sheets; in fact, he even forgot himself so far as to leave him lying in the hall with his head in the coal-scuttle. But it is pleasant to state that not for long was he so remiss. At a sign from him two men picked up Drummond and carried him into his own private room, where they dropped him on the floor.
“I will make arrangements for the night later,” he remarked. “Just at present I would like to look at him from time to time, so leave him here.”
The two men went out, leaving Freyder alone with his Chief. And though he had much to tell him of importance, for a while Freyder said nothing. For there was an expression of such incredible ferocity on the benign countenance of Mr. Robinson as he stared at the motionless body on the floor that Freyder realised his presence was forgotten. For perhaps two minutes Mr. Robinson’s eyes never left Drummond’s face; then he turned to his subordinate.
“I don’t think I should ever have forgiven you, my dear Freyder,” he said softly, “if you’d had the misfortune to kill him. That supreme joy must be mine and mine alone.”
With almost an effort he obliterated Drummond from his mind, and sat down at his desk.
“Business first; pleasure afterwards. Things have evidently been happening in London. Tell me everything.”
Clearly and concisely Freyder told him what had occurred, while Mr. Robinson smoked his cigar in silence. Once or twice he frowned slightly, but otherwise he gave no sign of his feelings.
“You have no idea, then, as to how Drummond and Sir Raymond Blantyre found the house?” he asked as Freyder finished.
“Not the slightest, Chief,” he answered. “All I know is that it was Drummond who found it, and not Blantyre. Sir Raymond told me that much as I was rushing him out of the house.”
“Did he make any objections to going?”
“Not the slightest. In fact, when he realised that what he had been saying to Scheidstrun had been overheard by Drummond, his one desire was to get away as fast as he could. He apparently thought Drummond had left the house a quarter of an hour before.”
Mr. Robinson shrugged his shoulders.
“The point really is immaterial,” he murmured. “That fool Blantyre dare not speak; Drummond can’t. By the way, what has become of Scheidstrun?”
“I sent him and his wife off this evening,” said Freyder. “The pilot said he could make Brussels tonight, and finish the journey tomorrow.”
“Excellent, Freyder—excellent,” said Mr. Robinson. “And the slight inconvenience of Blantyre knowing that I have not destroyed the notes is amply compensated for by the possession of our young friend here.”
“But it will mean altering our plans somewhat,” remarked Freyder doubtfully.
For a while Mr. Robinson smoked in silence, gently stroking his mutton-chop whiskers.
“Yes,” he remarked at length, “it will. Not the plans so much as the timetable. The advent of Drummond at this stage of the proceedings I must confess I did not contemplate. And since I am under no delusions as to his infinite capacity for making a nuisance of himself, the sooner he is finally disposed of the better.”
Freyder shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, Chief,” he said callously, “there he is. And there’s no time like the present.”
Mr. Robinson raised a deprecating hand.
“How coarse, my dear Freyder!—how almost vulgar! My feelings against this young man are of a purely personal type. And I assure you they would not be gratified in the smallest degree by disposing of him when he was in the condition he is in now. One might just as well assault a carcase in a butcher’s shop. No, no. It will be my earnest endeavour to restore Captain Drummond to perfect health before disposing of him. Or at any rate to such a condition that he realises what is taking place. But from my knowledge of him it is a matter that cannot be postponed indefinitely. As I said before, his capacity for making trouble when confined in any ordinary house is well-nigh unbelievable.”
“Then what do you propose to do, Chief?” asked Freyder.
Given his own way now that Drummond was safely out of London and in their power, he would have finished him off then and there. To his mind Drummond was one of those unpleasant individuals who can be regarded as really safe only when they’re dead. And once granted that he was going to be killed in the near future, Freyder would have wasted no further time about it. But he knew the absolute futility of arguing
