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An interesting book (a great manga comics could be based on it!)


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&nsbp;

#1

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Posted 12 June 2004 - 11:58 PM

When I was in France I bought this book in the flee market, it is called The Flower Gang by Garnett Radcliffe. Though there is nothing really special about this book I fell in love with the old style language (it was written the the very beginning of the XXth century, I think) and the wild imagination the author used to make portraits of his characters (both villains and heroes). Anyway, since the book was published somehere in the 30s and the author must have been passed away long while ago together with the copyrights on the book, I think it is ok to publish it here chapter by chapter.

I think it would make a perfect manga comics book. Please, let me know if you might be interested in creating something like that.


please note that I only scanned the pages and didn't do any proofreading, there must be tons of typos in the text

THE FLOWER GANG CHAPTER I

IN WHICH EBENEZER N. DREEN FINDS ENGLISH LIFE EXTREMELY PLEASANT

ONLY the extreme heat of the hottest an exceptionally hot July marred the enjoyment of those favoured folk who were lucky enough to be at the last dance of the season given in Waring House. And even the discomfort of the heat had been mitigated by every device that human ingenuity could suggest. Doors and windows had been opened to their widest extent ; an electric fan whirred in each corner of the ballroom ; blocks of ice, their crude outlines concealed by masses of flowers, had been placed on stands at regular intervals round the walls ; and in the supper-room below, where a cabaret show was in progress, a small army of footmen and waiters was in readiness to supply cooling drinks to those parched by the worship of Terpsichore.
At the end of the ballroom farthest from the orchestra a French window, giving on a balcony where several couples were sampling the night air in preference to dancing, had been thrown back, and in the embrasure formed by it and the wall a solitary guest was standing, drinking in every detail of the brilliant scene with keen, interested eyes. He did not appear to realize his isolation, or if he did he was indifferent. From a certain squareness in the cut of his dress clothes and the manner in which his sparse, grey hair had been brushed straight back from his forehead, it might have been obvious to an astute observer that he was an American. And even an observer who was not very astute could hardly have overlooked the evidence afforded by the fact that his eyes were encircled by an immense pair of tortoise-shell rimmed spectacles.
Ebenezer N. Dreen, such was the name of the lonely guest, had been in England for exactly one week. It was his first visit. Business had brought him, but pleasure bade fair to prolong his stay. He had found that he liked England and the English.
Before making this trip he had been something of an Anglophobe, but his views had undergone a complete metamorphosis dating from the moment that his confidential secretary, Mr. Sunbury, had introduced him to an Englishman called Colonel Guy Lowry in the smoking-lounge of the Aqtiitania. Colonel Lowry, who was an old school-fellow of Mr. Sunbury, had been more than kind to the inexperienced traveller. He had, as Dreen expressed it, " put him wise " to the ways of London. He had supplied him with introductions, given him the address of his tailor, told him what streets to avoid at certain hours, promised to get him elected honorary member of various clubs, and generally sponsored his arrival in the capital. But the crowning kindness was when he had placed his house in Madison Square, complete with staff, at the American's disposal for three months, saying that as he was going abroad the house might as well be used by someone as stand empty. Dreen had accepted with gratitude ; and it was small wonder that after such a promising beginning he should feel well disposed towards all Britishers.
Many of the dancers cast curious glances in his direction as they circled past. Their inquisitiveness was excusable. Dreen's publicity agent was a " live wire " and he had seen to it that the English public should not be left in ignorance of the fact that their country was being honoured by a visit from one of the richest men in the world. But the size of his income was not the only remarkable thing about Dreen. His career, as outlined by the papers, read like a page of romantic fiction. Bell boy in a New York hotel, sailor before the mast, gold-digger, explorer, and journalist, he had seen some queer sides of life before attaining his present state of opulence. Thrilling stories were told of his daring, his shrewdness, and his tenacity. To millions of youthful Americans he had become a sort of ideal ; a concrete example of that legendary figure—the strong " he-man " who has fought his way up from the very bottom and has " made good " in spite of heavy odds.
Dreen was not unconscious of the interest he excited even in Waring House, where notables were the rule rather than the exception ; nor did he resent the inquisitive glances. He regarded the sleek young men and women with good-natured tolerance. He thought to himself that if these were typical of the English aristocracy, then the English aristocracy must be rather a soft lot. Watching them, he felt proud of his own rugged strength and proud of his great work-scarred hands that looked so out of place beneath the laundered cuffs.
" Don't you dance, Mr. Dreen ? "
His hostess, Lady Waring, had abandoned her partner and had come towards him. She was a small, grey-haired woman with a complexion that had not been improved by long days of following hounds in all weathers. Like the multi-millionaire she addressed, she seemed out of her proper element in a London ballroom. One could more easily have imagined her pottering about a garden with strong boots and big scissors than entertaining fashionable folk at a dance.
"Dreadfully hot, isn't it?" she said. "I do •think you're wise to keep near a window ! "
" I'm loving it," Dreen said simply. " It's all new to me ; I feel like a kid at its first show. When I get back to Madison Square I'll just have to rouse Mamie—Mrs. Dreen, I mean—and let her have the whole thing from start to finish. I've been absorbing new things like a sponge and if I don't get some of this accumulated knowledge off my chest I'll certainly not sleep. I bet I get Mamie sore she didn't come ! She said London made her feel drowsy and went off to bed with a crime novel and a box of candy just the same as if she was back on Fifth ! "
" I hope your wife is going to like England," Lady Waring said.
" She'll like it all right when she wakes up to her surroundings. It's the peace and the orderliness of it that'll please her. London will be a rest-cure after Chicago. Peaceful—that's what I should call this town."
While he spoke the rumble of the city traffic far below came to their ears. To Lady Waring, a country-bred woman, there was always something sinister in that sound.
" I'm not fond of any towns," she said, " but I think I can understand how you feel about London. We're better at concealing the ugly side of life than you are ; perhaps that's our national hypocrisy. We push what we don't want to have seen under the surface. It's all right as long as you're strong and protected and can stay on the top, but if you were poor and friendless and went down. . . ." She broke off with a shiver and moved from the window as if to get further into the security of the warm, well-lighted ballroom. Dreen drew himself up to his full height. He took a childish pride in the fact that, as well as being the richest man in the room, he was also the biggest.
" Nothing in London could scare me—not if I'd only two brass cents in the world," he affirmed. "I've been in some tough localities, Lady Waring and I think I'm entitled to count myself a pretty tough man. But look, I mustn't detain you from your dancing. There's a partner looking for you right now."
" Oh, but you can't stand here alone all evening," Lady Waring said. " You must have some supper and see the cabaret even if you don't dance. I wonder— " She broke off to peep into the semi-darkness of the balcony. " Dick, is that you lying there ? Good heavens, boy, you mustn't go to sleep now 1 Come and make yourself useful."
Dreen, peering above his hostess's head, discerned the form of a broad-shouldered young man sprawling upon a sofa. At the sound of Lady Waring's voice he rose, stretched himself, and yawned prodigiously.
" ' My father's wife is old and harsh with years and drudge of all my fathers house am I,' " he quoted. Then came the sound of a stumble, a ripple of feminine laughter, and the same voice raised in mock anger :
" Damn you and your long legs, Froggy. Mater, did you ask Froggy to this house or not ? Anyway,
I propose to pitch him over the balcony. Come on, Froggy, my gate-crasher———"
The broad-shouldered young man emerged from the darkness bearing in his arms another young man of somewhat lighter build. He made as if to throw him over the rail of the balcony, then suddenly he dropped his kicking victim on a sofa and lounged into the ballroom.
" Mater," he placed a large hand upon Lady Waring's shoulder, " what's the penalty for dropping rubbish into streets ? There should be a reward in the case of things like Froggy. Tripping up his betters 1 I'll show the young blighter! "

#2

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Posted 13 June 2004 - 12:00 AM

Lady Waring ignored this persiflage. " My son, Captain Waring," she told Dreen. " Dick, this is Mr. Dreen who has just arrived from America."
" Has she been bullying you ? " Captain Waring asked, his hand still on his mother's shoulder. "You shouldn't let her, you know. I never do."
Dreen stared. In Rockville Pen., where he had been brought up, young people had been taught to take the fifth commandment very seriously. Until the day of her death, the entry of his maternal parent had been the signal for him to spring to his feet and offer his chair.
Captain Waring extended his hand.
" Three hundred pounds," he said in a warning voice.
It was Lady Waring's turn to look bewildered, but on the grim face of the multi-millionaire there dawned a grin of comprehension. In the saloons out West, with which he had a more than casual acquaintance, it was customary for two strangers on being introduced to " try out" their hand-grips on each other ; drinks being on the one that winced first. Dreen was proud of his grip, but he had not hoped for an opportunity of displaying its powers in Waring House.
" I'll see you," he said and seized the soldier's hand. Both men stood motionless. Only the expression of their faces showed that they were both exerting every ounce of their strength.
Lady Waring looked from one to the other, then began to laugh helplessly. People stopped dancing and crowded round to watch. The young man called Froggy proceeded to lay fivers right and left that " old Waring "would beat.
Dreen, feeling that something of his reputation as a strong man was at stake, put forth all his colossal strength. But the hand that gripped his, although slim in comparison with his own, was hard as iron and the ringers that embraced his were like slowly tautening wire. And as the agony in his hand increased, so did his opinion of the English aristocracy go up by leaps and bounds.
" I'm through," he gasped at last. " Captain Waring, I think that handshake of yours has effected a considerable saving in your liquor bill before now !"
" It has," Captain Waring admitted. " And, by

a gracious dispensation of Providence, Americans are thickest in London when the thermometer is at its highest. Otherwise I should have perished of thirst years ago. Mater, you run off and dance ; Mr. Dreen and I are going to exchange views on prohibition."
Lady Waring, with a laughing injunction to her son not to break any more of her guest's fingers, rejoined her partner, leaving the two men alone. After a pause occupied in the lighting of cigarettes Waring suggested an adjournment to the supper-room in search of liquid refreshment.
"I'd like you to meet my fiancee," he said. " She's nuts on America. Tried to fly there last summer and swallowed most of the Atlantic before they picked her up."
He took the American's arm and piloted him firmly down a marble stairway and across the hall, disregarding his half-expressed desire to linger before a suit of eleventh century armour.
The supper-room was long, low and oak-panelled. For the purposes of the dance small tables had been ranged down the sides, leaving an open space in the. centre. At the moment of their entry this was occupied by a perspiring negro entertainer with a banjo whose patter was helped along by the droning accompaniment of an orchestra. Footmen in the Waring livery and black-coated waiters moved busily among the tables.
The American made mental notes of all he saw. Mamie and he intended in the very near future to entertain all London at 94, Madison Square, and he was anxious that everything should be done in the correct London fashion. With Waring House as a guide he felt that he could not go far wrong.
" There's Pam !" he heard Waring exclaim. " Pam, come and meet a real live American."
A minute later they were joined by a black-haired slip of a girl whom Waring introduced as " My fiance'e, Lady Pamela Wainwright." Her face was familiar to the American. The preceding summer Lady Pamela's photograph had been a positive nuisance on account of the frequency with which it appeared in the New York papers, and " Lady Pam tries again " had been a stereotyped headline.
Three times this little scrap of humanity, who looked like a child with her shingled head and short frock, had tried to cross the Atlantic in an aeroplane, and three times she had avoided a watery grave by the breadth of her pretty eyelids. Captain Waring had accompanied her on all three occasions, but being a man had escaped with less publicity.
" I'm proud to meet your ladyship," Dreen tried to imitate the minute bow with which he had seen Englishmen acknowledge introductions. "Over on the other side we're all admirers of yours. We like anyone with a bit of sand in their make-up."
Lady Pamela was understood to say that she'd got sand in her throat at that particular moment, and that if Dick wasn't a scout and didn't fetch something

wet with all possible despatch she would most certainly die of thirst.
When a waiter had brought champagne Dreen raised his glass.
" I'm going to ask you to drink to one of my best friends," he said solemnly. " Here's to Colonel Guy Lowry and wishing him the best of everything."
" May his chickens never die," Captain Waring emptied his glass.
" And his asparagus flourish," supplemented Pamela. Then she asked, " But who is Colonel Guy Lowry ? "
The American looked from one to the other in amazement. He was surprised and rather hurt that anyone should ask such a question. He had imagined that his hero must be well known to anyone with any pretence of being in London society.
Pamela saw his expression, interpreted it correctly, and hastened to make amends.
" You mustn't mind our not knowing," she said. " I'm sure we ought to have heard of Colonel Lowry, but you see neither Dick nor I are exactly society people. Froggy—Mr. Hennigan, you know— calls us the backwoodsmen. We are the———"
" Wild and woolly," shouted Captain Waring.
" Unspoiled children," sang Lady Pamela.
" Of the great, wide, open spaces," they concluded in chorus.
There was a moment's shocked silence in the supper-room. The negro entertainer pulled himself together and started another song.
Waring replenished the glasses.
" The mater'll begin to wish she'd let sleeping sons lie," he observed grimly. " Sorry, Dreen. It was all Pamela's fault. I should have warned you she drank."
" A careless nurse," Pamela explained. " She dropped him on his head and he never quite recovered. But let's get back to the beginnings. Who is Colonel Lowry ? "
" Yes, that's what I want to know," Waring said.
Dreen laughed.
" Got me ! " he said. " Now that you ask me like that, I don't believe I can tell you who Colonel Lowry is. All I know is that he was at school with my confidential secretary, Gus Sunbury, and that he's the most good-natured guy it's ever been my good fortune to meet. What d'you think he's done ! He's lent me—me, a complete stranger, mind you— his own house in Madison Square, servants and all thrown in ! Mamie and I think it's real nice of him. He's saved us a lot of trouble in one way and another. Got us introductions and fixed us up all round."
" Really I " Captain Waring stared thoughtfully into the depths of his champagne glass. " Sporting old warrior, what ! Which side of Madison Square does he hang out ? "
" No. 94," said Dreen. " North side."
" Then he's only just bought it. That house was empty until quite recently."
The American extended his hand.
" Wanna bet ? "
" A fiver," Waring said.

#3

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Posted 13 June 2004 - 12:01 AM

" You've lost. I can prove it. Colonel Lowry has lived in that house for close on ten years ; he told me himself. And what's more he's had the same bunch of servants all the time. Parker, that's the butler, told me he wouldn't leave the colonel for five thousand a year, and the footmen say the same thing. They've all been with the colonel in that house since he took it ten years back."
Waring produced a five pound note and pushed it across the table.
" My mistake," he said. " I must have been thinking of some other house in Madison Square, Or it's quite possible the numbers have been changed recently."
But he still looked puzzled. He knew Madison Square fairly well, and he could have sworn that No. 94, which was a corner house, had been empty up to a few weeks previously.
The negro entertainer had been succeeded by a stout man in a dinner jacket, who chanted verses that he professed to compose on the spur of the moment. They were full of topical allusions quite lost upon Dreen. Lady Pamela, less sophisticated than the other guests, clapped her small hands until they ached, but Waring sat silent with an abstracted frown on his forehead. He was trying to recapture a memory that floated tantalizingly just out of reach. Something Dreen had said had reminded him of some similar story he had heard before, but for the life of him he could not remember what.
Suddenly he turned on Dreen.
" I say, did you ever hear of a bird called James Hackett ? An American. He cornered wheat just after the war, lost all his money, got bats in the belfry, and shot himself. They found his body in
the Seine."
Dreen looked up in some surprise to find himself facing another man. Captain Waring's face had changed completely. The laughing, boyish look was gone and his blue eyes had suddenly become
amazingly keen.
" Jimmy Hackett ! " Dreen repeated. " Why, everybody knew him. He and I did several big deals together before he went bughouse. He was a great friend of Mam—Mrs. Dreen's. She always wears a locket of blue diamonds in the shape of a heart he gave her on our wedding-day. Sentimental, you know. To show he's not forgotten. Did you know him ? "
" I met him once," Captain Waring said. " It was very shortly after he arrived in England on his last trip. Curiously enough he'd just been lent a house complete with servants by some kind friend he'd met on the liner."
The millionaire stared at him. Then, as he grasped the meaning of the insinuation, he became rather red.
" What are you gettin' at ? " he asked. " I suppose you'll be hinting next that the friend's name was Lowry and the house was in Madison Square ! "
" If I remember rightly," Waring said thoughtfully, " the friend's name was Sir Edward Green and he was a doctor of sorts. And the house was in Rupert Street."
Pamela, who had been more interested in the cabaret than in what her companions were saying, was suddenly aware of an atmosphere of strain. She looked round to see that Dreen, his cigar cocked at a 'pugnacious angle, was glowering at Dick. Waring appeared quite unconscious of the annoyance he had caused. He was lolling back in his chair and surveying the end of his cigarette with an inane smile.
" You're gettin' at something," Dreen repeated. " Say it out, Captain Waring. Let's get this square."
Waring ceased to smile.
" Look here, Mr. Dreen," he said, " don't imagine for a moment that I'm casting asparagus upon your generous warrior friend, because I'm not. I know nothing about Colonel Lowry except what you've told me. All the same, if I was a multi-millionaire visiting Europe for the first time I'd take deuced good care to vet my visiting list pretty carefully. There are lots of tigers running round, you know. As for Hackett—nothing could be proved, but if there wasn't some connection between his being lent that house in Rupert Street and his losing all his money, I'm a Dutchman. The whole affair smelt of fish from top to bottom."
" Colonel Lowry is an old friend of my confidential secretary," Dreen said.
" Well, in that case, he can't be a tiger. I beg his pardon. I'd forgotten that you told us that." The American's attitude relaxed. " I guess I'm not exactly what you might call in need of a wet-nurse," he said. " We've got tigers over on our side just the same as you have here, Captain Waring, and I think I know the species pretty intimately by this time. But Colonel Lowry's all right. He's been a good friend to me, and if I thought anyone was trying to knock him I'd get up right now and walk straight out of Waring House. Yes, sir, Ebenezer N. Dreen knows how to stand by his pals. No one's allowed to knock them while he's
about."
Captain Waring kicked his fianceVs silk-clad legs under the table. Pamela had an inconvenient habit of laughing at wrong moments, and Dreen was evidently annoyed.
" You're quite right, Mr. Dreen," he said. " It was only the similarity of the stories that struck me. You see, I happened to hear Mr. Hackett cracking up Sir Edward Green in very much the same way as you cracked up Colonel Lowry."
" But what really did happen to Mr. Hackett ? "Pamela demanded. " Wasn't there a mystery of some sort ? "
" No mystery at all," Dreen declared. " He made his pile in the U.S.A., and then, when he got over here, some fly bit him to go buying up a bunch of fool Australian shares. They went bust and he bought more. Pretty soon the whole of his pile had melted away, and I reckon that when he found he hadn't a brass cent to his name the shock drove him crazy. Anyway, he shot himself and weeks later his body was fished out of the Seirre. The only way they were able to identify it was by the rings. But it was only his own foolishness he had to thank. There was no connection between his being lent a house in London and his losing his money such as Captain Waring seems to think. No, sir."
" But whatever made him buy those silly shares ? " Pamela asked.
Dreen shrugged his shoulders.
" Now you're asking something, Lady Pamela. Thought he hadn't enough and wanted to double his pile, I suppose. But I must say I was surprised when I heard what he'd done. Old Jimmy was a level-headed cuss—not the sort to go making fool speculations. But there's no accounting for these things. I've known the wisest men go clean off the rails all of a sudden. Did you ever hear of Parker or Minchley or Jeff Bernier ? They lost their money just the same as Jimmy Hackett. It seems as though there was some bug that only bites money-kings."
" A bug that breeds on this side of the Atlantic," Captain Waring said. " I don't know about Bernier, but I know that both the others were in Europe when they went bust. Minchley was in Paris and Parker was in Dublin. Dead, aren't
they ? "
" As mutton," Dreen said. " Parker died in a pauper asylum and Minchley had an automobile accident. Bernier—he was an oil king—disappeared. Went clean off the map and they never found as much as a false tooth. But say, Captain Waring, you're not trying to scare me, are you ? Those fellows I spoke of are only the unlucky exceptions."
But Waring was paying no attention. He was staring at something or someone above Dreen's head.
" My pet aversion," he remarked pleasantly, " is red-haired, squint-eyed people who dress up as hired waiters and then listen to conversation that does not concern them in the least. In fact, if that object with the lop ears doesn't remove himself from the vicinity of this table very quickly, he'll go out via the window. Hop it, you unsavoury blotch ! "
Pamela and Dreen looked round. They were in time to see a waiter slink away in the direction of the buffet, where he began assiduously to polish glasses.
" That bird is no more a waiter than I am," Waring said. " He's been hanging round this table for the last twenty minutes and listening to every word we said."
Pamela was indignant.
" Why shouldn't the poor man listen if he wants to ? " she demanded. " Probably he hoped to hear a funny story he could take back to his wife. I've a good mind to go and tell him one."
"Too late, my child," said Waring. " He has already taken his departure. In any case, no self-respecting waiter would repeat one of your stories to his wife."
"Probably not, as I've heard them all from you," retorted Pamela. " But if that man wasn't a waiter , what was he ? Do you know, Mr. Dreen ?"
" Sure," said the millionaire. " When a man's made a pile the size of mine, he gets used to being spied upon. Market tips—that's what that joker was after. Likely enough he's employed by some firm of jobsters that's got wind of the little deal I put through with the Shammer Steel Company and they put him on to trail me in the hope I'd let fall some pearl of wisdom in an off-moment. But the guys that sent him out aren't wise to my methods yet. When I talk big business, it's up in an aeroplane with a deaf and dumb pilot and five thousand feet of unadulterated wind between my rubbers and mother earth. I feel what you might call moderately safe then."
Pamela rose to her feet.
" Being refreshed I now propose to dance," she announced. " Mr. Dreen, I suppose this will sound blasphemy to you, but I'm really very thankful I'm not rich. I should hate to be spied upon everywhere I went."
" You've said a mouthful, Lady Pamela," Dreen said. " There's only one thing worse than having a lot of money."
" And that is ? " Pamela queried.
" Not having it," said the multi-millionaire with one of his rare chuckles.

#4

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Posted 13 June 2004 - 11:13 PM

I don't know why I am doing this. I find this books absolutely charming, that's all. And I want to share it with everybody. But if you think I am just making more mess with this thread, please, let me know and I'll stop posting this book.

CHAPTER II

IN WHICH EBENEZER N. DREEN IS SHOWN ANOTHER SIDE OF LIFE

NOT the least of the benefits that the phil-anthropical Colonel Lowry had conferred upon Mr. Dreen wai the loan of an eight-seater, fifty horse-power Panhard complete with chauffeur. The chauffeur's name was Hawke. He was a bull-headed individual with a broken nose and an expression that his perfect manners belied. The colonel had described him to Dreen as " a rough diamond but very faithful."
Punctually at one a.m., in accordance with previous orders, the rough diamond and the Panhard were waiting by the entrance of Waring House for their temporary owner. Dreen, mellowed by good champagne, lingered on the top of the steps to exchange last civilities with his host, General Waring. An unaccustomed opera hat was on the back of his massive head and a gargantuan cigar jutted from the corner of his mouth. He was feeling good.
" Listen, general, I've cottoned to that boy of yours," he said, " and he's picked a good girl in little Lady Pamela. What's this I hear about their planning another flip to U.S.A.? Think they'd take me as a passenger ? "
" It's all in the air." The general was quite unconscious of any double entendre. " It's a question of money. The machine is being built, but they don't know how to raise the funds. Last time Pamela's aunt, old Lady Queensmarry, paid, but"L». doubt if she will do so again. Dick was speaking of applying to the Daily Bulletin"
" Humph 1 " Dreen removed his cigar and expectorated into London. Suddenly he turned to the general. " Listen, general, you people over here have been good to Mamie and me and I'd like to do something back. You tell your boy to stroll round to 94, Madison Square, about eleven o'clock to-day, and we'll talk business. Maybe I could do something to help about that flight."
General Waring made embarrassed noises indicative of gratitude.
" Ah—um—er—awfully good of you, I'm sure. Yes, I'll tell Dick. He'll be delighted. Lady Waring and I leave for Scotland this morning, but he remains in town. I'm—ah—very much obliged."
" Tell him to bring his little lady along," Dreen suggested. " It's her show too."
" Certainly."
They shook hands and the general waited until Dreen had entered the Panhard. Then he hurried off to impart the good news to Dick. It was good news. Backed by such resources as Dreen could command, the success of the flight seemed assured.
In the Panhard Dreen removed his opera hat, and mopped his forehead. They were passing through the most, fashionable quarter of Mayfair. At every third house red strips of carpet across the pavement and strains of music showed that a dance was in progress. Hatless youths in evening dress were hurrying with their slim partners from one temple of pleasure to another like butterflies flitting from flower to flower.
Mayfair dropped behind. The pavements became more crowded, the lights more garish, taxis more numerous. This was theatre and night-club land. Although it was an hour after midnight the streets were almost as crowded as in broad day.
Suddenly Dreen remarked that Hawke was taking a different route from that by which they had come. They passed over a wide bridge flanked by imposing buildings. Dreen leant forward to address Hawke through the speaking-tube. As he did so the Pan-hard pulled in to the pavement and stopped.
A tall man in flashy clothes had been crouching in the shadow of a hoarding. Directly the car stopped he sprinted across the pavement, wrenched the door open, and leapt in. Dreen sprang to his feet, his fist raised to eject the intruder with one smashing blow. But as he did so a hand closed around his throat from behind like a vice, while a second hand pressed a damp cloth that smelt of lilac over his mouth and nose. His second assailant had entered the car on the other side.
Hawke did not even look round. He re-started the Panhard and sent it roaring in low gear up the hill past Waterloo Station.
The American was a powerful man and for the space of perhaps half a minute he wrestled with the intruders. Then the drug with which the cloth was saturated took effect. It seemed to have the peculiar power of sapping his physical strength, while leaving his mental faculties unimpaired. His captors forced him down on the seat and seated themselves, one on each side.
" Neat work ! " the tall flashy one said. " That patent dope of the Chief's is good stuff. Makes a bloke as weak as a kitten while you'd count twenty."
His companion lit a cigarette. Dreen, turning his head with difficulty, saw that he was short, thick-set and badly in need of a shave.
The millionaire found his voice. He was not in the least alarmed. Proud of his toughness and his ability to best most men, he felt rather contemptuous of these crude kidnappers.
"Feelin" all worked up for big deeds, aren't you ? " Thanks to the drug his voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. " What's the grand idea, anyway? Money ? You'll get as much out of me as blood out of a plum."
" Keep your wind till you meet the Chief," the unshaven man advised. " And don't try to holler or___" He completed his sentence by ramming an automatic against the millionaire's shirt front.
" Aw, you kids give me a pain between my eyes," Dreen whispered. " What's bitten you ? Been reading crime novels or going to the movies ? Put up that squirt or you may pinch your ringers."
The unshaven man made no reply and his tall accomplice stared thoughtfully out of the window as if he had forgotten Dreen's very existence. The American shook with silent laughter. To think of him, Ebenezer N. Dreen, being kidnapped like a five year old ! He reckoned these two youngsters would be sorry before he'd done with them. Safer to kidnap a man-eating tiger than Ebenezer N. Dreen. He'd show them !
They were now rushing through the outlying suburbs of the city. Rows of brick villas as like as peas in a pod, each with its tiny garden in front, shot past. Then came shops and tramlines. As the road grew more open the speed of the car increased. The villas and shops gave place to stretches of open common, hideous with builders' placards, hoardings and half-completed bungalows.
Dreen simulated sleep. His brain was working furiously. The thought that the faithful rough diamond must be in the plot worried him. Had Hawke succumbed to bribery ? What would the colonel say when he learned of his trusted chauffeur's defalcation ? Or could it be that the colonel him self. . . ? At the last thought Dreen forgot to simulate sleep and swore aloud.
Above his head his captors exchanged occasional remarks. The unshaven man pulled up his sleeve and disclosed a red) inflamed arm.
" That's Sung Ling's little pets for you," he growled. " I cotched two of 'em in my crib last night. Bloody Chink ! I'd like to wring his yellow neck."
" You leave Sung Ling alone," the other advised. " He's a bad man to cross."
" He is that ! " the unshaven man agreed with emphasis. They both laughed.
Cool country air was blowing in through the open windows of the Panhard. Through half-opened eyes Dreen caught glimpses of hay-fields and sheep-dotted hills, misty with the haze of an early July morning. They turned off the main road into a narrow lane. The Panhard lurched over ruts like a ship in a choppy sea and tendrils of wild rose and honeysuckle brushed the varnished sides. The eastern sky was already flushed with red.
" Another scorcher," the thin man prophesied.
Presently Dreen became aware that they had left the lane and were going up an unkempt avenue between dense woods. The woods thinned to a park and then a bend of the avenue brought them within sight of a house. It was large, square and forbidding as a prison. The windows lacked curtains, and the plaster peeling off the walls had left great mildewed patches that gave it the appearance of suffering from some cankerous disease.
" ' 'Ome, sweet 'ome,' " said the unshaven man. " There's no place like it and that's a fact ! "
They stopped before a flight of wide stone steps. Dreen's captors seized his arms, assisted him from the car and up the steps. The door was open and they passed into a large hall where antlered heads and suits of armour gave an almost baronial effect.

#5

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Posted 13 June 2004 - 11:20 PM

I don't know why I am doing this. I find this books absolutely charming, that's all. And I want to share it with everybody. But if you think I am just making more mess with this thread, please, let me know and I'll stop posting this book.

CHAPTER II

IN WHICH EBENEZER N. DREEN IS SHOWN ANOTHER SIDE OF LIFE

NOT the least of the benefits that the phil-anthropical Colonel Lowry had conferred upon Mr. Dreen wai the loan of an eight-seater, fifty horse-power Panhard complete with chauffeur. The chauffeur's name was Hawke. He was a bull-headed individual with a broken nose and an expression that his perfect manners belied. The colonel had described him to Dreen as " a rough diamond but very faithful."
Punctually at one a.m., in accordance with previous orders, the rough diamond and the Panhard were waiting by the entrance of Waring House for their temporary owner. Dreen, mellowed by good champagne, lingered on the top of the steps to exchange last civilities with his host, General Waring. An unaccustomed opera hat was on the back of his massive head and a gargantuan cigar jutted from the corner of his mouth. He was feeling good.
" Listen, general, I've cottoned to that boy of yours," he said, " and he's picked a good girl in little Lady Pamela. What's this I hear about their planning another flip to U.S.A.? Think they'd take me as a passenger ? "
" It's all in the air." The general was quite unconscious of any double entendre. " It's a question of money. The machine is being built, but they don't know how to raise the funds. Last time Pamela's aunt, old Lady Queensmarry, paid, but"L». doubt if she will do so again. Dick was speaking of applying to the Daily Bulletin"
" Humph 1 " Dreen removed his cigar and expectorated into London. Suddenly he turned to the general. " Listen, general, you people over here have been good to Mamie and me and I'd like to do something back. You tell your boy to stroll round to 94, Madison Square, about eleven o'clock to-day, and we'll talk business. Maybe I could do something to help about that flight."
General Waring made embarrassed noises indicative of gratitude.
" Ah—um—er—awfully good of you, I'm sure. Yes, I'll tell Dick. He'll be delighted. Lady Waring and I leave for Scotland this morning, but he remains in town. I'm—ah—very much obliged."
" Tell him to bring his little lady along," Dreen suggested. " It's her show too."
" Certainly."
They shook hands and the general waited until Dreen had entered the Panhard. Then he hurried off to impart the good news to Dick. It was good news. Backed by such resources as Dreen could command, the success of the flight seemed assured.
In the Panhard Dreen removed his opera hat, and mopped his forehead. They were passing through the most, fashionable quarter of Mayfair. At every third house red strips of carpet across the pavement and strains of music showed that a dance was in progress. Hatless youths in evening dress were hurrying with their slim partners from one temple of pleasure to another like butterflies flitting from flower to flower.
Mayfair dropped behind. The pavements became more crowded, the lights more garish, taxis more numerous. This was theatre and night-club land. Although it was an hour after midnight the streets were almost as crowded as in broad day.
Suddenly Dreen remarked that Hawke was taking a different route from that by which they had come. They passed over a wide bridge flanked by imposing buildings. Dreen leant forward to address Hawke through the speaking-tube. As he did so the Pan-hard pulled in to the pavement and stopped.
A tall man in flashy clothes had been crouching in the shadow of a hoarding. Directly the car stopped he sprinted across the pavement, wrenched the door open, and leapt in. Dreen sprang to his feet, his fist raised to eject the intruder with one smashing blow. But as he did so a hand closed around his throat from behind like a vice, while a second hand pressed a damp cloth that smelt of lilac over his mouth and nose. His second assailant had entered the car on the other side.
Hawke did not even look round. He re-started the Panhard and sent it roaring in low gear up the hill past Waterloo Station.
The American was a powerful man and for the space of perhaps half a minute he wrestled with the intruders. Then the drug with which the cloth was saturated took effect. It seemed to have the peculiar power of sapping his physical strength, while leaving his mental faculties unimpaired. His captors forced him down on the seat and seated themselves, one on each side.
" Neat work ! " the tall flashy one said. " That patent dope of the Chief's is good stuff. Makes a bloke as weak as a kitten while you'd count twenty."
His companion lit a cigarette. Dreen, turning his head with difficulty, saw that he was short, thick-set and badly in need of a shave.
The millionaire found his voice. He was not in the least alarmed. Proud of his toughness and his ability to best most men, he felt rather contemptuous of these crude kidnappers.
"Feelin" all worked up for big deeds, aren't you ? " Thanks to the drug his voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. " What's the grand idea, anyway? Money ? You'll get as much out of me as blood out of a plum."
" Keep your wind till you meet the Chief," the unshaven man advised. " And don't try to holler or___" He completed his sentence by ramming an automatic against the millionaire's shirt front.
" Aw, you kids give me a pain between my eyes," Dreen whispered. " What's bitten you ? Been reading crime novels or going to the movies ? Put up that squirt or you may pinch your ringers."
The unshaven man made no reply and his tall accomplice stared thoughtfully out of the window as if he had forgotten Dreen's very existence. The American shook with silent laughter. To think of him, Ebenezer N. Dreen, being kidnapped like a five year old ! He reckoned these two youngsters would be sorry before he'd done with them. Safer to kidnap a man-eating tiger than Ebenezer N. Dreen. He'd show them !
They were now rushing through the outlying suburbs of the city. Rows of brick villas as like as peas in a pod, each with its tiny garden in front, shot past. Then came shops and tramlines. As the road grew more open the speed of the car increased. The villas and shops gave place to stretches of open common, hideous with builders' placards, hoardings and half-completed bungalows.
Dreen simulated sleep. His brain was working furiously. The thought that the faithful rough diamond must be in the plot worried him. Had Hawke succumbed to bribery ? What would the colonel say when he learned of his trusted chauffeur's defalcation ? Or could it be that the colonel him self. . . ? At the last thought Dreen forgot to simulate sleep and swore aloud.
Above his head his captors exchanged occasional remarks. The unshaven man pulled up his sleeve and disclosed a red) inflamed arm.
" That's Sung Ling's little pets for you," he growled. " I cotched two of 'em in my crib last night. Bloody Chink ! I'd like to wring his yellow neck."
" You leave Sung Ling alone," the other advised. " He's a bad man to cross."
" He is that ! " the unshaven man agreed with emphasis. They both laughed.
Cool country air was blowing in through the open windows of the Panhard. Through half-opened eyes Dreen caught glimpses of hay-fields and sheep-dotted hills, misty with the haze of an early July morning. They turned off the main road into a narrow lane. The Panhard lurched over ruts like a ship in a choppy sea and tendrils of wild rose and honeysuckle brushed the varnished sides. The eastern sky was already flushed with red.
" Another scorcher," the thin man prophesied.
Presently Dreen became aware that they had left the lane and were going up an unkempt avenue between dense woods. The woods thinned to a park and then a bend of the avenue brought them within sight of a house. It was large, square and forbidding as a prison. The windows lacked curtains, and the plaster peeling off the walls had left great mildewed patches that gave it the appearance of suffering from some cankerous disease.
" ' 'Ome, sweet 'ome,' " said the unshaven man. " There's no place like it and that's a fact ! "
They stopped before a flight of wide stone steps. Dreen's captors seized his arms, assisted him from the car and up the steps. The door was open and they passed into a large hall where antlered heads and suits of armour gave an almost baronial effect.

#6

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Posted 13 June 2004 - 11:25 PM

The air had a fetid, disagreeable smell as if the house had been for long unused. Then Dreen noticed another odour. It was the smell of animals and sawdust that one usually associates with a zoo.
The drug had left him so weak that he could not have walked without aid. Escape being impossible, he suffered himself to be led across the hall and up a flight of stairs. Opening off a landing was a passage down which he was hurried. At the door of what had obviously once been a bedroom they stopped and the thin man rapped three times.
" Is that Sweet William ? " The answering voice was like the purr of a monstrous cat.
" Yes, sir."
" And is Mr. Dreen there ? "
"Yes, sir."
" How nice ! Bring him in."
The door was opened and Dreen was pushed inside. The room seemed to be a combination of sitting-room and office. The furniture was sparse, but what there was of it was good. It was lighted by an electric chandelier of exotic, eastern design and his feet sank into a thick, Aubusson carpet.
The room had two occupants. One, a small dapper man with a face like a rat, was pounding a typewriter near the window. The other was seated at a roll-top desk and Dreen could not see his face distinctly. He got an impression of a mountainous figure, a round white face, and a massive jowl from which rolls of fat hung pendulous like the dewlaps of a mastiff.
Then the mountain turned on its revolving chair and Dreen felt a shock of repulsion as he saw more clearly. The face was that of an octopus. The staring eyes, the beaklike nose, the tiny mouth and the flabby white cheeks combined to form a resemblance so startling that the most unimaginative person could not but have remarked it. The glutinous voice coming from the tiny, soft mouth, the black morning coat, and the rings that flashed upon the starfish-like hands, served but to add a touch of grotesque horror to the ensemble. It was as though some loathful denizen of the deep had been endowed with human speech and had arrayed itself in the accoutrements of its pallid victims.
Dreen's horror only lasted a second. When his escort left him he seated himself and folded his arms. His fighting jaw protruded.
" What's the game ? " he demanded. " Loosen up, fat face, and let's have the big idea."
The lower part of the fat man's face broke into a thousand little ripples and creases as when a stone is dropped on the surface of a scummy pond. But the smile—if smile it were meant to be—never reached his eyes. They remained staring and expressionless.
" I adore Americanisms,"—his voice was half wheeze, half purr. " Loosen up ! How quaint. But really most expressive. I must remember that one, Mr. Dreen."
" Aw, cut it out," Dreen said. " You're pressing the wrong button. Get out of the undergrowth and let's have this clear. What have you brought me here for ? Money ? "
" I appreciate your directness, Mr. Dreen. Yes. I have brought you here for money. According to my calculations you are worth twenty million pounds. Would you consider three-quarters of that sum an exorbitant price for your liberty ? "
" Vurry reasonable ! " Dreen sneered. " Will you take a cheque or would stamps do ? Or perhaps it would be handier if I just mailed you an order ! "
A manicured forefinger smelling of violet soap was shaken playfully under his nose.
" Naughty, naughty," said the fat man. " If you knew of the trouble I'd taken and the expense I'd incurred in having you brought here, Mr. Dreen, you'd feel ashamed to be so flippant about my little offer. Just think of all I've had to do. Two years ago I moved my first pawn. Do you remember what happened in July two years ago, Mr. Dreen ? Think hard."
Dreen stared at him. July two years ago ! Why, that was when Mamie and he had taken that film star's palace in Florida. There had been a tragedy that had marred their holiday. . . . Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of rage.
" Dan Willmott ! " he cried. " He was my first confidential secretary and the best friend I ever had ! They found him murdered on the beach one morning—strangled by a madman was what the detectives said. Don't tell me it was your doing, you dirty hound ! By cripes, if you killed Dan Willmott. . . ."
He tried to rise, but found he was too weak to stand. The drug had left him powerless as a baby, although it had not impaired his mental faculties.
" Oh, come now, Mr. Dreen," the fat man expostulated. " I didn't anticipate that you'd take my news in quite that spirit. I hoped that as a fellow business man you would have applauded my perseverance and patience. Yes, the putting away of the lamented Mr. Dan Willmott was the first move in the game. The second was when you were induced to engage the admirable Mr. Gus Sunbury in Mr. Willmott's place. Aren't you at all grateful to me for having procured you such a paragon of a secretary ? Hasn't Mr. Sunbury given every satisfaction—up till now ? "
Dreen's mouth fell open. Blow was following blow with alarming rapidity. So the efficient, courteous Snnburv had been hoodwinking him for two years ; had been plotting to get him into this man's power ! Now he thought of it, Mamie had never trusted Sunbury. Why hadn't he been guided by her woman's instinct ?
The true inwardness of the situation began to dawn upon him. This was no crude, hastily conceived blackmailing plot such as he had at first imagined. It was a cunning deep-laid scheme that had taken years to consummate.
" Yes," the fat man pursued, " this has been a slow and tedious business. But I grudged neither trouble nor expense. When one is playing for big stakes one must be prepared to take pains. At one time I nearly despaired. That was when Sunbury reported that he saw no hope of inducing you to , leave America. But when you eventually decided to come to England I knew that I had you. All that remained was to arrange a meeting between you and Colonel Lowry. The house he lent you was the ante-chamber to the trap."
The last revelation came as no surprise to the millionaire. The instant he had realized Sunbury's complicity, his faith in the kindly colonel had disappeared.
" What d'you hope to get out of me now I'm here ? " he demanded. " You won't get a brass cent if that's what you expect, you damned murderer. Pay good dollars to the man who had Dan Willmott strangled ! I don't see myself doing that."
The fat man produced a silver file and began to manicure his spotless nails. As he did so he hummed a hymn tune.
" We plough the fields and scatter the good grain on the land'''
In the circumstances his choice was not altogether inappropriate.
" I doubt," he said at last, surveying his nails with satisfaction, " if you quite appreciate the situation you're in, my dear Mr. Dreen. You're as utterly in my power as it is possible for one human being to be in the power of another. You needn't hope the police will help you, for they won't. This morning, Mr. Sunbury—who as all the world knows is your confidential secretary—will send an announcement to the press that you and Mrs. Dreen are travelling incognito on the Continent for a year. The servants at 94, Madison Square, are all in my employment and will, if needful, corroborate Mr. Sunbury's statement. You have no intimate friends in England. Most, if not all, of your correspondence is in Mr. Sunbury's hands and the forging of your signature is not a difficult matter. So, considering all these things, I think you will agree that it will be at least a year before anyone thinks of making any enquiries."
" Did you say you'd got Mrs. Dreen, too ! " Dreen exclaimed.
" I am hoping that she will be here this evening," the fat man said. " But to continue my little homily, Mr. Dreen, I hope I have made it quite clear that you must resign yourself to the prospect of being here at least a year. At the end of that time— well we shall see. Probably you will have made some rather foolish investments that will have greatly reduced your fortune. You will, in fact, be a comparatively poor man. But I shan't reduce you to utter penury ; you needn't fear that. You will still have enough capital left to bring you in three or four thousand a year. That, I may point out, would be wealth to a lot of people."
" It's a dandy scheme if it wasn't for the holes," the millionaire said. "In the first place, Sunbury can't possibly get at my capital without my consent. He can forge signatures till he's blue in the face, but my agents in the U.S.A. won't move without my written instructions in my secret code which Sunbury doesn't know. Those instructions will be as easy to get as ice-cream in Hell. And in the second place, if you keep me here a year or forty years I'll get back at you at the end of it. D'you think I'm a man to be easily scared ? Why, I've worsted gangsters that could eat things like you before breakfast ! You cheap crook ! You make me tired ! "
As he spoke he tried to read the thoughts passing behind those expressionless eyes. But the effort was in vain. They were inhuman in their utter indifference to his outburst.
" Finished ? " the fat man asked.
" Don't you believe it," Dreen retorted. " I haven't begun yet."
The fat man sighed.

#7

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Posted 13 June 2004 - 11:27 PM

" I'm afraid you're making the common mistake of underrating your opponent, Mr. Dreen," he said. " Do you imagine that I should have gone to the trouble and expense of bringing you here if everything hadn't first been arranged down to the smallest detail ? A lot can happen in a year, Mr. Dreen. Some men "—he sighed again—" some men, quite as sane as you, have been known to lose their reason in a shorter space of time. I wonder if you have the pleasure of knowing Mr. James Hackett ? In some ways you remind me of him as he was before— before he became ill."
" You murdering hound ! " Dreen cried. " Are you hinting it was you drove Jimmy Hackett mad and stole his money ? What's your name, Mr. Super-Crook ? Who are you ? "
Again the oily ripple passed over the lower part of the fat man's face.
"A lot of people would like to know that," he murmured. " To most of my friends I am simply ' the Chief or ' No. i.' But you can call me anything you like. May I suggest Harris ? It's a good old English name and easy to remember."
" And I gather you run a gang of rough-necks ? They do the dirty work while you take the profits? That's about the size of it, eh ? "
" I employ a very large staff, if that's what you mean," Mr. Harris said. " Also, I'm afraid that some of my agents might be described as what you term—ah—rough-necks. But what I control is rather more than a ' gang ' in the accepted sense of the word. Confederation might be a better description. I'm being explicit, Mr. Dreen, that you may realize exactly what it is you're up against. You're in the hands of an organization so powerful that it is practically immune from the police. For one thing, its existence is not even suspected. To the world in general I am simply Mr. Harris, an elderly recluse, who dislikes inquisitive strangers. To the public this house is simply Elmgrove Hall. To the initiated it is the headquarters of the Flower Gang."
" Flower Gang ! " Dreen sneered. " Humming lot of flowers you've got, I must say. The ones I've seen look as though they'd come out before their time."
" The name originates in a poetical fancy of my own, Mr. Dreen. In these sylvan surroundings the nomenclature of the garden seems much more appropriate than the ordinary appellations of harsh, every-day life. I have named my employees after various flowers. For instance, the real name of Sweet William, who acted as your escort from London, is Charles Tickner and I'm afraid he is wanted by the police on a little charge of matricide. Now wouldn't it be tactless if I were to continue to call him Tickner ? The name must have such very disagreeable associations in his ears. . . . Do you follow ? "
" Great idea ! " Dreen approved. " I reckon I'll christen the next skunk I own ' rose-bud '. . . . But let's get back to brass tacks. Listen, Mr. Crook Harris, I'm not a child that wants jam with its powders. You've got the drop on me—I admit that. Now, apart from the funny stuff, how much do you want ? "
Mr. Harris shrugged his ponderous shoulders. " Haven't I yet made myself explicit enough ? " he asked. " For the second time, Mr. Dreen, I want three-quarters of your fortune. Fifteen million pounds—I can't put it more clearly than that."
" Fifteen million gooseberries," the American sneered. " And suppose I don't give it ! How do you propose to make me ? "
Mr. Harris gave a little, affected scream like a schoolgirl.
" I knew you'd ask that question," he tittered. " They always do and I always find it so embarrassing to answer. One doesn't like mentioning these things, Mr. Dreen ; especially not on a beautiful July morning like this. Must I really tell you ? Won't it keep until to-morrow ? "
" I suppose torture is what you don't like to say," —there was not a tremor in the millionaire's voice, although by this time he had realized that he was entrapped by a creature as cunning and as cruel as a spider. " Well, it will take a mighty lot of that to move me, I promise you."
" And your dear little wife ? Is she to suffer for your obstinacy too ? "
" My wife ! " . For the first time Dreen felt a pang of real horror. Mamie in this monster's clutches 1 If that happened he would have to yield.
Mr. Harris had risen to his feet and was pacing about the room with short, mincing steps. Standing up, he was even more revolting than when seated. There was not an ounce of firm, wholesome flesh in his grotesque body. Every movement caused the masses of fat to quiver and shake.
Suddenly he crossed to the window, pulled up the blind and opened the casement. The country air, sweet with the scents of early morning, poured into the room. A ray from the just risen sun fell across the bald, white dome of Mr. Harris's head. Somewhere in the near-by woods a pigeon was calling plaintively to its mate.
" How the sun brings out the smell of the pines ! " Mr. Harris murmured. " Ah, there is London Pride carrying a spade. I fancy he is going to dig a grave for the dog that so unfortunately succumbed during that experiment of Sung Ling's last night. What a task for a summer morning ! And I did feel so sorry for the dog. But in the cause of science one must forget one's squeamishness."
" I presume you were having a little rehearsal with the dog as star turn ! " Dreen said. " By way of getting ready for my arrival—eh ? "
" How quickly you take my meaning ! Yes, we were in fact testing a new theory of Sung Ling's. I regret to say the experiment was a failure, for the dog died almost at once. But it is very seldom that Sung Ling fails. His mouse-trap was a stroke of positive genius. Until then I had imagined that my birdcage was the ne ^lus ultra in the gentle art of—ah— persuading, but he, with his celestial ingenuity, has beaten me handsomely."
Dreen told himself that it was all a fantastic nightmare. He was in England—England where torture was unheard of. He'd wake up shortly and find himself safely back in Madison Square with Mamie by his side.
" I'd like you to meet Sung Ling," Mr. Harris was saying. " Rose Briar, will you be so kind as to ask Sung Ling to come round here for a minute ? "
The rat-faced man stopped typing and rose.
" Is he to bring any tools, sir ? " he asked.
" Tools ? No, I think not, Rose Briar. Not the first time."
Rat-face left the room. Mr. Harris turned to Dreen.
" I find Rose Briar makes a most excellent secretary," he said. " What a waste if the authorities had been allowed to hang him ! But perhaps it's iust as well that he had a little trouble before entering my employment. The knowledge that I alone stand between him and the gallows induces him to take a zest in his work."
" Nice lot of rogues you've collected ! " Dreen said. " Your body-guard, I presume ! "
" Exactly. I flatter myself that I have some very clever men in this house ; men who are not fettered by any stupid conventional misgivings. Some of them are rather prone to shoot at sight. I mention that in case you might be tempted to try to escape. Don't do that, Mr. Dreen, I implore you. You wouldn't get far. . . . Ah, but here comes Sung Ling. Sung Ling, this is a guest that has just arrived. Mr. Dreen, Sung Ling. I hope that you two will become great friends."
A tall Chinaman with snake's eyes had entered the room. He salaamed to the ground before his master and then stood impassive with folded arms, awaiting orders.
A faint colour had crept into Mr. Harris's white cheeks. He moistened his lips as though in anticipation of some tit-bit.
" Just a little persuading, Sung Ling," he said. " Just enough to show Mr. Dreen that I'm not joking. But you mustn't hurt him—not really."
It was a nightmare, the American told himself. The type-writer, the roll-top desk, the scintillating dust, Mr. Harris, Rose Briar, Sung Ling—they were all figments of his imagination. He'd drunk too much champagne at Waring House. In twentieth century England men could not be tortured for their money.
The Chinaman bent over him, took his arm, and pulled up his sleeve. He caressed the bare flesh with long, yellow fingers as if seeking for some nerve. Dreen could smell his sour breath and see his thin lips under the little cat's moustache. Ratface was still tapping the typewriter. He was evidently accustomed to such scenes.
The yellow fingers reached their objective. A twinge of agony shot up Dreen's arm. Another and another until it felt as though the limb were on fire from wrist to elbow. He gritted his teeth, resolved not to utter a cry. But the pain became unbearable. He heard his own voice uttering a stream of imprecations and imploring cries.
" Enough," Mr. Harris said. " Sung Ling, you always exceed orders. Now, Mr. Dreen, perhaps you understand why I am hopeful of getting that fifteen million pounds before the year is up !"
Dreen pulled down his sleeve and refastened his cuff. He was shaking with anger, much of which was directed against himself. To think that he'd be such a cissy ! Yapping like a scorched puppy because a Chink tickled up his arm nerves !

#8

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Posted 13 June 2004 - 11:28 PM

" Listen, Mr. Harris," he said, " you've got the drop on me now, but the day's coming when I'll have that fat throat of yours between my hands and then you'll fairly hate to be yourself. Oh, you're cute all right, but I'm cute too. As for paying you a cent of money———"
Without finishing the sentence he flung himself like a battering-ram upon Mr. Harris. The effect of the drug had worn off and his strength had come back. He had the fat man by the jowl and was shaking him as a terrier shakes a rat with one hand, while with the other he rained blows upon the bloated face.
" Take that, and that, and that, you damned murderer. I'll smash you. . . . I'll. . . ."
Sung Ling and the rat-faced man hurled themselves upon him. Mr. Harris, making no sound, wrestled in his grasp with amazing vigour. But the American's rage lent him superhuman strength. He forced' Mr. Harris back until his head was on the roll-top desk and his prominent eyes, as ever devoid of all expression, were staring upwards.
" You'd torture Mamie, would you ? You white-livered skunk ! I'll show you. . . ."
The door burst open and half-a-dozen roughs rushed in. After a fierce struggle they overpowered the American and bound his hands behind his back.
Mr. Harris rose to his feet. If he was angry it did not show in his face. Making no attempt to wipe away the blood, he regarded the American steadily.
" I congratulate you, Mr. Dreen," he said. " You are the first man who has ever inflicted physical violence upon my body and lived. But your death would mean the ending of my schemes, therefore I refrain from killing you. If you persist in your obstinacy you will very probably regret my clemency. There are much worse things than death. Do you understand ? "
For the first time in his life the millionaire felt that he was confronted by a stronger man than himself. Gazing at those eyes he got a swift impression of a merciless, inexorable will that would shrink at nothing to attain its object. He understood how it was that this fat, grotesque man could exercise such absolute authority over a gang of reckless criminals. He might be a rogue, but he was a great one—a veritable Napoleon of crime. Having absolute control of himself, he could control others.
Mr. Harris consulted a jewelled wrist watch.
" Enough time has been wasted," he said sharply. " Honeysuckle, Fairy Bells, will you take Mr. Dreen away and place him in number eight ? Sung Ling, I shall require you in the laboratory in about an hour's time. Now, Rose Briar, if those papers are ready. . . ."
He dismissed them all with a wave of his hand. Dreen's last glimpse, before he was led away between the two ruffians designated as Honeysuckle and Fairy Bells, was of the great bald head bent in concentration over some papers. There was a bleeding cut upon that head. The millionaire noted it with satisfaction before the door closed between him and the leader of the Flower Gang.

#9

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Posted 14 June 2004 - 11:47 PM

does anybody care about this book at all? Just tell me and I'll stop scanning the pages and posting them here :)

#10

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Posted 15 June 2004 - 12:22 AM

CHAPTER III

WARING TAKES A HAND

ON the night of the dance Captain Waring did not see his bed. After he had watched his yawning parents depart on the first stage of their journey to Scotland, he repaired to the swimming-baths in Jermyn Street. A cold plunge followed by half an hour's physical jerks induced thoughts of breakfast. That meal having been satisfactorily dealt with, he bethought him of Pamela. She, having left the dance early, had not yet learned the good news of Ebenezer N. Dreen's half-promise to the general.
Waring telephoned. He heard excited squeaks and a noise as though someone was dancing a jig at the other end of the wire.
" Dick ! Vi<ve fAmerique for ever. I thought him an old dear, but I didn't know how dear."
" Don't be too elated yet, Pam old thing. There's nothing definite, you know. It may have been only champagne. Anyway, will you be ready to trickle round to Madison Square about eleven ? "
" Rather ! I say, Dick, won't Aunt Matilda be awfully pleased when she hears she hasn't to fork out again ! And we won't have to bother the Daily Bulletin either ! "
" No, praise be. Well—chin, chin for the present."
" Chin, chin."
At precisely five minutes to eleven a baby Austin, dilapidated in appearance but sound as to engine, turned into Madison Square. Lady Pamela Wain-wright held the wheel ; Captain Waring in plus fours smoked the pipe of content by her side.
The Austin carried a third passenger. Waring's Gurkha orderly, a little, squat, brown-faced man called Cheeta Ram, was precariously perched upon the dickey-seat. Cheeta Ram was Waring's shadow. Their friendship dated from a certain rather hectic incident on the North-West Frontier when a timely bullet from Waring's Webley had saved Cheeta Ram from the knife of a paradise-seeking Ghazi. Since then they had been as inseparable as the Siamese twins. Cheeta Ram had even accompanied his master upon his trans-Atlantic ventures for, as well as being uncommonly nippy with a kukri, he was also, strange trait for a Gurkha, a mechanic of no mean order.
" Eighty-six, eighty-eight, ninety,"—Pamela scanned the numbers of the doors. " Ninety-four ! Hullo ! There's an ambulance at the door ! What on earth can have happened ? "
" Probably our champagne disagreed with the man of millions," Waring said. " But I say, Pam, I was right about that bet after all ! This house was empty a month ago. There's something deuced queer about this. You sit here like a good child, while I go and scout."
He jumped out of the Austin and hurried towards No. 94. A large, green ambulance with a uniformed driver was drawn up opposite the steps. A butler, who, so far as outward appearances went, would have made an admirable archdeacon, was chatting with a uniformed attendant. A policeman hovered in the vicinity. Several loiterers were gaping on the pavement.
Waring went up to the butler.
" I've an appointment with Mr. Dreen for eleven. Is he at home ? "
The butler shook his hoary head.
" I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Dreen and Mrs. Dreen departed by private aeroplane for France this morning."
" But he only left Waring House at one o'clock ! He'd no intention of going to France then. He made the appointment just as he was leaving."
The butler stared into space and said nothing. Unnoticed by Waring, the policeman and the ambulance attendant exchanged \vinks.
" What's his address ? " Waring asked.
" I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Dreen left particular instructions that his address was to be given to no one. All letters will be forwarded from here."
It was at that moment that Waring's faint sus picions began to assume definite form. In his own phraseology, he smelt a rat. He gave a keen glance at the ambulance attendant. Surely he had seen him somewhere before—quite recently too ! Was it only his imagination or was there really an extraordinary resemblance between him and the eavesdropping waiter of the night before ?
" What's the ambulance doing here ?" he demanded.
The butler looked at him as much as to say, " What the devil business is that of yours ? " But Waring did not look exactly the sort of person with whom it would be healthy to take liberties. He decided to be civil.
" One of the housemaids went off her head very suddenly last night, sir. We're sending her to the Winchley infirmary."
" Went mad, you say ? "
" Yes, sir. Started imagining herself all sorts of people. Last night she got up in the servants' hall and started shouting she was Lloyd George and meant to abolish the income tax. Then she thought she was Joan of Arc, sir. This morning I hear she thinks she's Mrs. Dreen. Probably she'll be someone else this afternoon."
As he spoke two men in plain clothes and bowler hats emerged from the house. Between them they had a little, white-haired woman with a round, childish face. She appeared distraught with terror and anger. As they hurried her down tiie steps she cried out that this was an outrage, that she was Mrs. Dreen, and that the police would hear about it. But before she could say more she was whisked into the ambulance and the sliding door was pulled
to.
But as she passed Captain Waring had seen something hanging round her neck. A heart-shaped pendant fashioned from blue diamonds ! That was what Dreen had said that Mr. Hackett had given to his wife on their wedding day ! Then could the little woman be Mrs. Dreen after all ! Was he witnessing an audacious piece of kidnapping in broad daylight ?
He beckoned the policeman.
" Here, officer, don't let that ambulance drive off. I want to look into this. It's my opinion that that woman is Mrs. Dreen and she's being kidnapped."
Everyone stared at him. One of the loafers made a threatening movement, but on the instant Cheeta Ram, his eyes ablaze and his teeth showing, glided in front of his master. When he saw the Gurkha, the loafer changed his mind.
The policeman approached Waring. He was grinning broadly.
" It's quite all right, sir. I know all about that woman. Her name's Simpson and she comes from Ealing. She's always been a bit queer in the upper story since she entered Colonel Lowry's service ten years ago."
" And you really know her ? "
" Absolutely, sir. She's a sort of cousin of my wife's."
Everyone was laughing. Captain Waring felt unhappily conscious that he had made a fool of himself. What an ass he was to be so suspicious on such slender grounds ! Probably the locket was only an imitation one ; he had had only a fleeting glance. And it was ridiculous to suppose that a lady could be kidnapped from a London house in such a brazen fashion.
He produced a note.
" Sorry, officer. My mistake. Catch hold."
The note exchanged hands. The grinning constable saluted.
" Thank you, sir. It'll be quite all right. As a matter of fact I'm taking a lift on the ambulance as far as Winchley. I'll see they take her there all right, sir."
Captain Waring strode back to the Austin.
" I'm the biggest fool in London, Pam," he said. " They were taking off some poor devil of a housemaid to the Winchley infirmary and I, like a confounded fool, thought she was Mrs. Dreen. She thinks so herself as a matter of fact, but that's beside the point because she's suffering from delusions. The constable knows her personally, so my suspicions were all balderdash. And you'll be sorry to hear the Dreens have both gone to France, so it'll have to be Aunt Matilda or the Daily Bulletin after all. . . . What the devil do you want, Cheeta Ram ? "

The little brown man was tugging at his sleeve.
" Sahib, they all telling lies. The sahib no see, but I watch. Abdar (butler) wink at policeman when sahib not looking. All friends—all have bunderpast (arrangement) to tell lies to the sahib. And the little mem-sahib not one little bit mad. I know very well."
Captain Waring stared down at him,
" Are you certain ? How do you know the little mem-sahib was not mad ?" he asked in Hindustani.
Cheeta Ram replied in the same language.

#11

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Posted 15 June 2004 - 12:25 AM

" Sahib, in my country there is a drug that makes very weak but does not give sleep. That drug had been given to the mem-sahib so that she should not struggle. I knew it by her eyes ; they were dazed, but there was no madness there. Also I know that she was a. pukka (proper) mem-sahib and not a servant as they said. Her hands were white and soft like the hands of Pamela Mem-Sahib."
" What on earth is all this about ? " Pamela cried. " Does Cheeta Ram say it is Mrs. Dreen, after all ? And why are they taking her away ? "
Waring glanced down the square. The ambulance was moving off. The policeman had taken a seat in front beside the driver.
" Pam,J' he said, " there's no time to explain. I believe there's some devil's game going on, but I'm not certain yet. Listen, I want you to trail that ambulance and see where it goes. Come back for me in about half-an-hour. I'm going to tackle that old scamp of a butler again."
" And Cheeta Ram ? "
" Take him with you. Don't let the birds in the ambulance twig that you're trailing them. Just spot which direction they take and then come back for me."
" I'm there," said Pamela elegantly. She let in the clutch, Cheeta Ram sprang to the dickey, and the Austin shot after the ambulance like a stoat after a rabbit. Waring watched them round the corner and then returned to No. 94.
As he neared the door, a powerful racer came roaring down the square and pulled in to the pavement. Two tall, well-dressed men sprang out. One had a florid, military appearance and sported a monocle and a tooth-brush moustache ; the other was lean and sharp-faced.
Waring reached the door just as they were being admitted. He pushed the butler aside and followed into the hall.
The sharp-faced man swung round.
" Who the devil are you ? From the press ? "
" I've an appointment with Mr. Dreen and I intend to keep it," Waring said. " If you can be admitted I can be admitted also."
" That's where you make your mistake, my friend," the sharp-faced man said. " You can't see Mr. Dreen for the simple reason that he isn't here. Mrs. Dreen and he left by aeroplane for Calais this morning. I ought to know for I happen to be his confidential secretary."
for a moment Waring felt completely staggered. Dreen's secretary ! Then it must be all right, after all!
" Are you Mr. Sunbury ? " he asked.
" I am. And this is Colonel Lowry who lent this house to Mr. Dreen. Are you satisfied ? "
Waring eyed him keenly as he spoke. Was there, or was there not, the faintest tinge of uneasiness in his manner ?
" I think it very queer that Mr. Dreen should have changed his mind so quickly," he said, " He was at the Waring House dance last night, and he invited Lady Pamela Wainwright and myself—I'm Captain Waring—to come round here this morning. We were going to discuss the question of funds for another trans-Atlantic flight."
" I see. You proposed asking him for money ; nothing very unusual in that. Well, Captain Waring, I'm rather busy, so I must wish you good-morning. You'd better write your request."
" Where to ? "
" Here. Send it care of Colonel Lowry or myself. We'll see it's forwarded."
Now, although Captain Waring was not a particularly brainy young man, he had one gift that often stood him in good stead when he had been doing secret service work on the Afghan border. He was a pretty astute judge of men. Also, much dealing with the wily Pathan had taught him to judge pretty clearly whether a man was lying or not. In this instance, he was certain that Mr. Sunbury was lying. The mere fact that he took such pains to amplify his statements was suspicious in itself.
Then another thing obtruded itself upon Waring's notice. There was a distinct aroma of cheap brandy in the air and it emanated beyond a doubt from Colonel Lowry. In fact, the colonel was more than a little above himself. In all Waring's experience of colonels, and it was fairly extensive, he had never yet met one who got tipsy on cheap brandy at eleven o'clock in the morning. And, if they had so far forgotten themselves, they would at least have known how to carry their liquor.
Waring turned to the colonel.
" Sorry I intruded in your house, sir. A cigarette ? "
" Thank you, Captain—er—. Thank you, thank you."
" We'd better be getting to those papers, colonel," Mr. Sunbury murmured.
But Waring had no intention of being separated from the colonel just yet. He purposely made the business of lighting the cigarette last as long as possible, which, as Colonel Lowry was inclined to puff at the wrong moment, was not difficult.
" Rotten about that housemaid, Robinson, of yours," he remarked in a conversational tone, " I saw them carting her off in the ambulance. Let's hope she recovers soon."
" Poor Robinson," said the colonel.
" She hadn't been with you long, I suppose ? "
" A month. Poor Robinson. Very sad indeed. A good servant,'Robinson."
Then Waring felt certain he was on the right trail. Either the policeman or the colonel, probably both, were telling lies. The policeman had declared that the housemaid's name was Simpson and that she had been in No. 94 for ten years. If that were so, why did the colonel agree to calling her Robinson and say that he had only had her a month ?
Again Mr. Sunbury tried to interpose.
" I'm sorry, Captain Waring, but Colonel Lowry and I have got a lot of work to do this morning. Parker, will you show Captain Waring out. Now, colonel——"
" Coming," said the colonel and made for the nearest door. His choice was unfortunate. It opened, not into a room as he had expected, but into a dark cupboard filled with china. Even then he might have covered his mistake, but his oath and his expression of surprise gave the whole show away.
Waring laughed loudly. He now felt sufficiently sure of his ground to take the gloves off.
" Bit hazy in the geography, colonel," he said.
Can't learn one's way about in ten years, can one ? And what about that housemaid ? Are you sure her name was Robinson ? "
What the devil do you mean ? "
" I mean that it's deuced queer you shouldn't
know the name of your own housemaid—that is if she is your housemaid."
The colonel's florid face went purple. He surveyed Waring through his monocle as though he were a new and rather unpleasant species of insect.
" Ton my word, you've got some bally impudence ! " he blustered. " How the devil do you think I should know the name of every servant in my establishment ? I tell you she'd only been here a month. The housekeeper engaged her when the Dreens were coming."
" A month ! " Waring murmured. " So your housekeeper can foretell the future ! I presume she saw your meeting with Mr. Dreen in her little crystal. Wonder if she'd tell me what gee should carry my shirt for the Coronel Stakes next week."
" Damn you and your shirt ! " the colonel roared. " You young puppy 1 I'll—I'll———"
Mr. Sunbury seized his arm and dragged him into a sitting-room. Waring promptly followed. The archbishop-like butler tried to stop him and got his ringers pinched in the door for his pains. A flood of the finest Billingsgate profaned the silence of No. 94.
Captain Waring nodded approvingly.
" Where do you get your servants, Colonel ? A clairvoyante housekeeper, a mad housemaid with two names, and a butler that looks too good for this world and swears like a trooper ! Any more ? I'd like to meet 'em."
Sunbury advanced with clenched fists.
" I think we've heard enough witticisms for one morning," he said. " I don't know what you think you're doing, but if you've come here simply to make a scene, I shall hand you over to the police."
« You can't hand me over to the police because he's gone in the ambulance with Simpson," Waring said mildly. " And I'm afraid I can't wait until he comes back. Winchley Infirmary is such a long way off, isn't it ? "
Mr. Sunbury and Colonel Lowry exchanged glances. Being uncertain how much Waring knew, they were undecided as to what line to take. But one thing was quite obvious. To eject him by physical force would, even with the aid of the butler, be an impossibility.
" Look here, Waring," Sunbury began in a conciliatory voice, " if you'll go off quietly like a good chap, I'll see that everything's fixed all right between you and Mr. Dreen. As his secretary I've got influence, you understand. And I really can't imagine what you're making all this fuss about. Do you think Mr. Dreen is in the house and we're not letting you see him for purposes of our own ? I assure you it isn't so. You can search the house if you like."
Captain Waring dropped into a chair and began to fill his pipe. He was convinced that he was on the right trail, but as to where it would lead he had no idea. It behoved him to go warily.
" I'll put my cards on the table," he said at last. " Quite frankly, I don't believe a word of that yarn about the Dreens' going to France. Nor do I believe that Colonel Lowry lived in this house for ten years. And I defy you to give me any proof that it was a housemaid that went off to the Winchley Infirmary this morning."
" Then who do you think it was ? " Sunbury asked.
" Mrs. Dreen."
The effect of this announcement was not in the least what Waring had expected. Instead of being taken aback, both Sunbury and the colonel laughed violently.
" Damn good ! " the colonel said at last. " Mrs. Dreen would be flattered if she knew ! I take it you've never met the lady, Captain Waring ? "
" Never," Waring admitted.
" Perhaps you'd like to ring up the Winchley Infirmary and ask if there was a servant taken there in an ambulance this morning ? " Sunbury suggested.
Waring glanced at him sharply. This offer seemed too good to be genuine.
" Do you mean that ? " he asked. " I warn you that I know Doctor Lazenby, who's in charge of the infirmary, personally, and could recognize his voice on the 'phone."

#12

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Posted 15 June 2004 - 12:27 AM

" That's splendid," Sunbury smiled. "'Phone in the corner."
Waring crossed to it, rang up the Winchley Infirmary, and asked to speak to Doctor Lazenby. In a minute or two he recognized the doctor's voice.
"Hullo! . . - Who's speaking ?"
" This is Waring . . . yes, Dick Waring. Look here Lazenby, I want to ask you rather a queer question, but there's a reason for it. Did you send an ambulance this morning for a servant at 94, Madison Square, an elderly woman with white hair ? She'd mental trouble."
There was a pause. At last the doctor said :
" I can't say off-hand. Is it important ? I'll ask the ward sister if it is."
" Do."
There was another pause. Waring glanced at Sunbury and the colonel. They were both smiling.
Dr. Lazenby spoke again.
" You there, Waring ? Yes, the ambulance with that woman has just arrived. Her name's Simpson, and she's suffering from delusions."
" Oh 1 Thanks awfully. Sorry I bothered you."
Waring turned back into the room. He felt he had made a complete fool of himself. He still thought Sunbury and the colonel shady characters, but, so far as the housemaid was concerned, they were completely vindicated by what Lazenby had said.
" Satisfied ? " Sunbury asked.
" Quite," Waring said. " I apologize. I———" He was rudely interrupted. There was a noise of violent scuffling in the hall, a yell of terror, and a sound like the jabbering of an angry monkey.
" That's Cheeta Ram ! " Waring exclaimed. " I hope he's not killing somebody ! "
He ran into the hall followed by Sunbury and the colonel. They discovered Cheeta Ram making valiant efforts to reach the venerable butler who had sought refuge on the top of an escritoire.
Waring collared his orderly.
" Stop it, you little devil. Bus, Cheeta Ram. Bus (stop)."
Cheeta Ram subsided, but the butler showed no inclination to descend while the Gurkha remained in the hall.
" One of your friends, I presume ! " Sunbury said.
Waring turned upon him.
" Yes, he is a friend," he said, " and if I were you I shouldn't be too humorous where he's concerned. He'd make as much bones of splitting you from chin to waist with his kukri as I should of peeling a banana. Come on, Cheeta Ram. This is no place for sahibs."
He ran down the steps, followed by the penitent Cheeta Ram. The Austin was drawn up by the pavement and Pamela was laughing weakly at the wheel.
" All my fault," she said. " I got fed up with waiting and sent Cheeta Ram to make enquiries. He didn't seem to hit it off with the butler. They started to scrap almost at once."
But Waring was in no mood for laughing. He was wrathfully conscious of having been bested by a nle of crooks. He felt he should have tackled the job differently.
" Pam " he-said, " I've made a mess of this business. I've seen Sunbury and Colonel Lowry and I think they're wrong 'uns, but they were telling the truth about the housemaid. I 'phoned the infirmary and Lazenby confirmed every word they said."
" He didn't ! " Pamela cried. " That ambulance never went near Winchley ! It went to a queer looking house in Rupert Street and stopped there for about ten minutes. The two men in plain clothes got out and didn't come back. Then it went on and I followed it as far as the beginning of the South-West Arterial Road. I'm certain they're heading for somewhere in the country."
Captain Waring mopped his forehead.
"This is beyond me," he said. "Talk of mysteries ! Is Doctor Lazenby in the plot also ? "
" I've got it," Pamela said at last. " There must have been two ambulances, one genuine and one bogus. The genuine one went to the back of the house and took off some woman accomplice who pretended to have delusions, while the bogus one took Mrs. Dreen. You see they covered themselves in that way. If anyone asked questions they could call in Doctor Lazenby to prove that a woman really was taken to the Winchley Infirmary. Naturally no one would think of there having been two ambulances."
" Pam, you've hit it. There's some lad with a brain behind all this. But what the dickens can we do ? We've absolutely no proof."
Pamela considered.
" I suggest we try to overtake the ambulance and see where it goes," she said at last. " But let's get away from here before we decide anything. There's someone watching from a window."
Waring jumped into the Austin and they drove off in the direction of Rupert Street. His sense of mystification was increasing every minute. That there was something very queer about this sudden departure of the Dreens he was convinced, but he was not yet certain that there was actual foul play going on. It might be, as Sunbury said, that Dreen had planned an unostentatious departure for purposes of his own. But then, what about the woman in the ambulance ?
" Pam," he said suddenly, " I wonder if we're awful asses to push our noses into this. Even if that was Mrs. Dreen it doesn't prove anything. Suppose she, Mrs. Dreen, really has gone mad and they're carting her off like that to prevent people knowing ! It's just possible. You see a man in Dreen's position wouldn't want to advertise the fact that his wife had got bats in the belfry."
Lady Pamela shook her head.
" He wouldn't have gone so far as to send one of his servants to the Winchley Infirmary pretending to be mad " she said. " No one would have done that if they hadn't been desperately anxious to cover their tracks. Besides, Cheeta Ram says the woman wasn't mad at all. He swears she's been doped."
" Then what's your explanation ? "
" I haven't one. All I know is that some woman, probably Mrs. Dreen, is being taken somewhere against her will. And I don't believe Mr. Dreen has gone to France at all. I believe he's been murdered or something horrible."
"Not really ! "
" I do."
" But that sort of thing only happens in fiction. After all, we've no proofs—it's all guess work so far. I mean, if we went to the police with this yarn they'd only laugh at us. They'd take Sunbury's word miles before ours. Everyone knows that he's Dreen's confidential secretary."
" That's the awful part," Pamela said. " No one will suspect him of being a crook. He'll probably send some plausible story to the press about Mr. Dreen wanting to remain incognito in Europe. And why should anyone disbelieve him ? Lots of very rich men do travel incognito ! "
They drove on in silence for some minutes. Pamela was a skilled traffic driver. She kept the little car dodging through the heavier traffic like a field-mouse through stubble.
In a remarkably short space of time, considering the crowded condition of the streets, they had turned off the Waterloo Road into the broad South-West Arterial. Here she let the Austin have its head. Reckless of police traps, they hummed along at a steady thirty.
" Suppose we never catch the ambulance ! " Waring said. " It may have turned off somewhere."
" Not it," said Pamela. " No one takes the South-West Arterial unless they're going quite a long way out into the country. And it only goes about ten miles an hour. We're bound to see it before long. That stop at Rupert Street delayed it quite a long time, you know. No, what I'm afraid of is that Mr. Sunbury may have suspected what we were going to do and slipped off in his racer to warn the ambulance."
Captain Waring shook his head.
" Possible, but not probable. I'll bet you what you like that this moment they're congratulating themselves on having thrown me off the scent. They would have done, too, if you hadn't trailed the ambulance. It was a cute dodge—sending that woman to the Winchley."
They drove on until they came to the signpost where the Kent Road branches off the South-West Arterial. Here an A.A. scout informed them that a big green ambulance with a policeman in front had passed about five minutes before. Much encouraged, they resumed the chase. Soon they saw the broad nether end of their quarry blocking half the road. There were no other cars in sight. The road ran straight and level with a stretch of gorse-covered common on either side.

#13

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Posted 15 June 2004 - 12:28 AM

" On Stanley, on," said Waring. " Sneak close behind. Keep to the near side and the chaps in front can't possibly see us."
Pamela manoeuvred the Austin until her radiator was almost touching the step of the ambulance. As Waring had said, it was impossible for the men in front to see them. The body of the ambulance itself blocked their view and the noise of their engine drowned the lesser noise made by the Austin.
Suddenly a scream rang out from the ambulance. It was like the cry of a terrified child. At the sound Waring saw red.
" I don't give a hoot if she's Mrs. Dreen or if she's mad or net," he said. " I'm going to get that little woman out of that ambulance. Get alongside, Pam, and I'll change ships."
As he spoke he climbed out of his seat, stepped across Pamela, and balanced himself on the starboard running board. Pamela grasped his idea. She coaxed the Austin up on the wrong side of the ambulance, her own near wheels bumping on the rough grass by the side of the road. Waring leaned across and grasped the handle of the ambulance door. A spring and he had transferred himself from the running board of the Austin to the back step of the ambulance. He waved all right to Pamela and she let the Austin drop back.
Cautiously he tried the ambulance door. It was of the sliding shutter variety and, greatly to his relief, slid back without a sound. He opened it a couple of inches and peeped in.
It was rather an interesting little drama that he saw inside. The little white-haired woman was cowering on the edge of the bunk that ran the length of the ambulance. Over her and threatening her with his clenched fist stood the burly uniformed attendant. His back was to the door.
" If you try and cry out agen I'll dot you one," he was promising. " Mind now what I'm tellin' you. Another squawk and I'll dot you one proper."
The little woman gave a strangled scream and the attendant promptly " dotted " her one. His fist came down on her bowed head with a thud that knocked her to her knees.
It was not wise to strike elderly women in the presence of Captain Waring. Had the attendant only known, he would have been better advised to have gone hunting a wounded tiger with a toothpick —that is, if he valued his personal safety. As it was, he never knew what seized him. A pair of iron hands materialized from nowhere, clamped themselves around his throat and held him in a merciless grip until everything was dark. When he had ceased to struggle, Waring laid him on the floor of the ambulance. Then he turned to the little woman. She had fainted.
Waring picked her up with a gentleness remarkable in so strong a man. Then he leaned out of the Ambulance and waved to Pamela to come on. As before she drove up on the wrong side until Cheeta Ram could take the unconscious woman from Waring's arms.
" Take her to Queensmarry," Waring said in a low voice. " I'm going to stick to this ship. I've got a hunch it may take me to Dreen."
" You mean you're staying in the ambulance ! " Pamela cried.
" Hush ! Yes, I'm going on. I mean to get to the bottom of this. Drop back now or those birds in front will spot us."
Pamela obeyed. The Austin slowed up and stopped preparatory to turning. The ambulance, with Waring inside and the attendant unconscious on the floor, drove merrily on. The driver and the man in policeman's uniform were still in blissful ignorance of all that had eventuated a few feet behind their backs.
Waring's first care was to close the door and to gag and bind the unconscious attendant. Then he lay down on the bunk, pulled a sheet well over his head, and went to sleep with an ease that spoke volumes for the quality of his nerves.

#14 Derek

Derek

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Posted 01 July 2004 - 10:04 AM

Erm...welll...O.o...I'm far too lazy to read all of that.




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