The Return Of Bulldog Drummond Read Online Free Page B

as the footsteps of the two warders died away. “And, boys, it seems to me it thickens in a rather promising manner.”
    “I don’t see much ground for optimism at the moment, old lad,” said Darrell.
    “Don’t you, Peter? I do. It seems to me that we have at any rate established the fact that Marton’s story was not entirely a cock-and-bull one: nor was it mere groundless panic.”
    “I’m darned if I see why,” said Jerningham. “Anyway, we shan’t want those lanterns now, I take it.”
    He went to the door and shouted the fact to Jennings: then he came back to his chair.
    “Those warders,” went on Drummond quietly, “met these two men just outside the gate. Now it would have taken them, at the most, two minutes to walk up the drive. At a conservative estimate it was at least twenty minutes after when you two rammed the gate-post. What do you suggest they were doing during the gap? Why, if they were friends of Marton, didn’t they ring the front door bell and inquire if he was here? Why, when they finally did come in, did they come in through the window? No, my boy – it’s a fiver to a dried orange pip that those two men are the ‘they’ he was so terrified of. And now, owing to the mere fluke of that warder meeting them, they’ve got him.”
    “I’ll grant all that, old lad,” said Jerningham. “But what I want to know is, what the deuce you propose to do about it. You don’t know where these men are living: you don’t know anything about ’em. All we do know is that your boy friend’s name is Marton, which cannot be called a very uncommon one.”
    “Afraid I’m rather inclined to agree with Ted, old boy,” said Darrell. “Doesn’t seem to me that we’ve got anything to go on. True, we know about this female – Bartelozzi or whatever her name is – but as she is presumably in London, that doesn’t help much.”
    Drummond gave a sudden exclamation, and pulled out of his pocket the piece of paper he had found on the drive.
    “I clean forgot all about this,” he said, opening it out. “Picked it up by the gate-post.”
    “Anything interesting?” cried Darrell, as he watched the other’s face.
    Without a word Drummond laid it on the table, and they all three stared at it. It was an ordinary piece of office notepaper with the name and address of the firm stamped at the top.
     
    MARTON, PETERS & NEWALL,
    Solicitors.
    134, Norfolk Street ,
    Strand, WC2
     
    Underneath was written in pencil the two words: Glensham House.
    “At any rate that establishes something else,” remarked Jerningham: “a point that does give us a foundation to work on. Glensham House is about half a mile down the road towards Yelverton.”
    “The deuce it is,” said Drummond, his eyes beginning to gleam.
    “It’s a big house, and it’s been empty for some years. They say it’s haunted, but that is probably poppy cock. It has recently been let to a wealthy American, who has installed a housekeeper, and is, I believe, shortly coming to live there himself.”
    “Things are marching,” remarked Drummond. “It is, I take it, a fair assumption that Glensham House was Marton’s objective.”
    The other two nodded.
    “It is also, I take it, another fair assumption that the Marton who seems to be the senior member of the firm is this fellow’s father or uncle.”
    “Go up top,” murmured Darrell.
    “Why, then, my stout-hearted warriors, should the junior bottle-washer of a firm of respectable lawyers be wandering about Dartmoor in such a state of abject terror?”
    “Wait a moment,” said Jerningham suddenly. “Where have I heard or seen the name of that firm recently? By Jove! I believe I’ve got it.”
    He crossed the room and picked up the morning paper.
    “Here it is,” he cried excitedly. “I knew I wasn’t mistaken.”
     
    “TRAGEDY AT SURBITON
    “LONDON LAWYER’S DEATH
    “A shocking tragedy occurred yesterday at 4, Minchampton Avenue, Surbiton, the residence of Mr Edward Marton,