The Return Of Bulldog Drummond Read Online Free

neither of them had met had come and gone. But to him the thing was much more puzzling. Even if Marton’s terror had finally proved groundless, it had been very real to him. And so what had induced him to leave a place where he knew he was safe? And why had they not met him going down the drive?
    “There’s something damned funny about this, you chaps,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you the whole tale.”
    They listened in silence as he ran over the events of the afternoon, and when he’d finished, Jerningham shrugged his shoulders.
    “It seems pretty clear to me, old boy,” he remarked. “When you left him and he began to think things over he came to the conclusion that he’d been talking out of his turn. He realised that, having once started, it would be difficult for him not to continue. Possibly, too, what he might have been prepared to tell to you alone he funked giving tongue to before a bunch of us. And so he decided to beat it while the going was good, which would get him out of his dilemma. And that answers your query about not meeting him as we came up the drive. Naturally he didn’t want to be seen, so he just stood a couple of yards in on the grass as we went past. In this fog we’d never have spotted him.”
    “That answers it, Ted, I agree,” said Drummond. “And yet I’m not satisfied. Don’t know why, but there it is. By the same token, do either of you blokes know this Comtessa Bartelozzi?”
    They both shook their heads.
    “Not guilty,” said Darrell. “Did he give any description of her?”
    “No,” answered Drummond. “He’d only just started to tell his little piece when you arrived.”
    “Anyway,” said Jerningham, “I don’t see that there is anything to be done. He’s not here, and that’s an end of it. And the point that now arises is what the deuce we’re going to do tonight. I’d ring up the doctor and ask him round for a rubber, but I doubt if he’d get here. What are you staring at, Hugh?”
    Drummond had his eyes riveted on a spot on the carpet, and suddenly he bent down and touched it with his fingers. Then he gave a low whistle and straightened up.
    “I knew I was right,” he said quietly. “It’s earth. And more there – and there. Somebody has been in through the window, Ted.”
    “By Jove! he’s right,” said Darrell, peering at the marks on the floor.
    “And look at those two close by the chair Marton was sitting in. Whoever it was who came in stood by that chair.”
    “Come here,” called out Darrell, who, with the electric torch in his hand, was leaning out of the window. “There are footmarks all along the flowerbed.”
    “Let’s get this clear,” said Jerningham. “You’re certain those marks weren’t there before?”
    “Of course I’m not,” cried Drummond. “I don’t spend my time examining your bally carpet. But that mud is still damp. Well, I was asleep here after lunch until young Marton arrived, and all that time the window was shut. In fact, it was never opened till I heard Peter shouting.”
    “What about the two warders?”
    “Neither of them ever went near the window. Nor did Marton. Lord! man, it’s as clear as be damned. It’s a definite trail from the window to the chair the youngster was sitting in.”
    “There’s no sign of a struggle,” said Darrell.
    “Why should there have been one?” demanded Jerningham. “It may have been some bloke he knew with whom he toddled off all friendly like.”
    “Seems to me there are two pretty good objections to that,” said Drummond. “In the first place, how did anyone know he was here? Secondly, if it was a pal who, by some extraordinary fluke, arrived at the window, why did he bother to come into the room? Why not just call out to him?”
    He shook his head gravely.
    “No, chaps: as I see it, there’s only one solution that fits. The visitor was Morris – the escaped convict. He was lying hidden in the garden and seized his chance when he saw Marton