THE ORIENTAL MIND (1937)

Hugh Drummond sat at beer. Outside, a pea-soup fog drifted sluggishly against the club windows; inside, the most crashing bore in Europe was showing signs of vocal labour. It was therefore with feelings of considerable relief that, over the rim of his tankard, he saw Algy Longworth approaching. Anything was preferable to the bore, so he waved a large hand benignly.

‘You may approach the presence, Algy,’ he remarked. ‘Do you feel as lousy as you look?’

‘I thought I should probably find you drinking yourself to death in here,’ said Algy. ‘I will join you in a pink gin.’ Drummond beckoned to a passing waiter.

‘And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?’ he asked.

‘Can you lunch today, old boy?’

‘Who with and where?’

‘Me and a wench.’

Drummond looked at him suspiciously.

‘Where’s the catch?’ he demanded. ‘If she’s the goods you don’t want me, and if she isn’t I don’t want her.’

Algy grinned.

‘Not this outing, laddie. You just listen while I hand out all the dope that I know myself. Have you ever heard me mention Marjorie Porter?’

‘Probably,’ said Drummond resignedly. ‘But don’t let that deter you.’

‘This morning I got a letter from her,’ continued Algy. ‘It was written from her home in Norfolk, and she asked me to give her lunch at the Berkeley today. She went on to say that it was urgent, and... wait a moment. I’ll read you this bit.’

He produced a letter from his pocket.

‘She says: “Haven’t you got a friend who is very strong, and likes adventure? Do bring him too if you can. I really do want help.’”

Algy replaced the letter, and finished his drink.

‘There you are, my boy. Damsel in distress appealing for assistance. What about it?’

‘So far,’ said Drummond, ‘you have our ear. But I’d like to get the form a bit better. Who is this Marjorie Porter?’

‘A damned nice girl. Her father and mother both died when she was a kid, and since then she has lived with her uncle, one John Greston, at Macklebury Hall. He had a son, whom I never met and who died out East some months ago. There was something a bit odd, so I heard, over the matter, but I haven’t seen Marjorie since then, so I really don’t know the facts.’

‘And this John Greston. Have you met him?’

‘Once: years ago. He’s a great big giant of a man, and he must be rising sixty.’

‘So you’ve got no idea what’s stung the girl?’

‘Not an earthly. But I know her well enough to feel sure that she wouldn’t have written what she did without good cause.’

‘All right, old boy,’ said Drummond. ‘You can count me in. I’ll be at the Berkeley at one.’

* * * *

He was a bit late, and when he arrived Algy was already there talking to a very attractive girl. And having been duly introduced the three of them went in to lunch.

‘It strikes me, my pet,’ said Algy, after he had given his order, ‘that you’d better begin all over again. All that Hugh knows is that you live with Uncle John in Norfolk.’

‘It’s really very sweet of you, Captain Drummond,’ she said, ‘to listen to the troubles of a complete stranger, but honestly I am most terribly worried.’

‘Cough it up, Miss Porter,’ said Drummond. ‘If you only knew, you’re really doing a kindness to two great lazy brutes who are both bored stiff with life.’

‘Did Algy tell you about my cousin? Uncle John’s son.’

‘I mentioned it,’ said Algy. ‘And incidentally, my dear, that was a thing I wanted to ask you. What happened?’

‘What did you hear?’ asked the girl.

‘That he’d died somewhere out East.’

‘He committed suicide, Algy,’ she said quietly. ‘And that was the beginning of all the trouble. Did you ever meet Jack?’

‘I don’t think I did.’

‘He was an awfully nice creature, but terribly weak where women were concerned. He was the apple of Uncle John’s eye—Aunt Mary died when he was about six, and I suppose that threw the two of them together. At any rate, they were inseparable until about a year ago, when Jack fell in love with a woman at least ten years older than himself. Which might not have been so bad if she’d been a decent sort.

‘I only met her once, when he brought her down to Macklebury Hall; and what Jack saw in her was beyond my comprehension. She was a hard-bitten gold-digger of the most blatant description, and she didn’t even take the trouble to be civil to him. She was good-looking in her way, and she certainly knew how to put on her clothes, but having said that you’ve said all. She ordered him about like a dog, but he just didn’t seem to see it. He was completely infatuated.

‘Uncle John, of course, was furious, and when Jack announced his intention of marrying her there was the most appalling row, which ended with Uncle John telling him straight out that if he did he’d cut him off. As you perhaps know, Algy, Uncle John is a very wealthy man, but the threat produced no effect at all on Jack. What was money compared to the woman he loved, etc.? So my uncle had a brainwave and wrote the same ultimatum to the dame. And you can take it from me that that acted quicker than a dose of dynamite. She dropped Jack like a hot potato, and left for a long trip to the East to soothe her outraged nerves.’

‘How long ago was all this?’ asked Algy.

‘Eunice Radnor sailed just twelve months ago. Jack, despite all we could do to stop him, followed by the next boat. He was mad with his father for having written to her, and they had one row after another before he left. Which made it all the worse for Uncle John when he heard about the tragedy.

‘At first the news was very skimpy; just a bald telegram announcing that Jack was dead. Then came a letter from the head of the police in Ceylon giving the details. It appeared that she had got off the boat at Colombo, and was living in a hotel there when Jack arrived a fortnight later. How he found out she was disembarking there we don’t know: he may have wirelessed her boat or something. At any rate, he tracked her down and went to see her. And what happened at the interview we don’t know either, of course.

‘According to the hotel boys very high words were heard coming from the room, and one swore that he had heard two men’s voices inside. But this she denied absolutely when questioned later. At any rate, Jack was seen to leave the hotel in a state of great agitation—the interview had taken place after dinner—and no one seems to have seen him alive again. Four days later his body was found at the foot of some cliffs a few miles from Colombo, and he had evidently been dead for some time.’

‘Then he may have slipped over,’ remarked Drummond.

‘Just what I said to my uncle, Captain Drummond, to try and soften the blow. But I’m afraid he didn’t believe it, any more than I did. What happened, I fear, is obvious. Jack tried to persuade her to change her mind, and when she wouldn’t he just went out and took his own life.’

‘I wonder if there was another man,’ said Algy thoughtfully.

‘More than likely, I should think,’ remarked the girl. ‘And several at that.’

‘And it broke your uncle up?’ said Drummond.

‘Completely. He began to blame himself for the whole affair. Said that if he’d handled the matter differently Jack would still be alive, and all that sort of thing. And nothing that I said seemed to have the slightest effect. Then a month ago Hubert Manton suddenly appeared on the scene.

Hubert Manton is another cousin, but a distant one. And I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone to whom I took such an instant dislike. Apparently he’s been abroad all his life: in fact I, actually, had never heard of him. But Uncle John explained who he was, and raised no objections to the brute parking himself on us. He certainly raised no objections to doing so, and there he still is at Macklebury Hall. He brought a native servant with him, whom you suddenly come on unexpectedly round corners, and who terrifies the rest of the staff out of their senses. Personally, I think he is infinitely preferable to his master, but that’s neither here nor there. He is called Chang, and he was pathetically grateful to me the other day when I bound up a bad cut in his hand. You poor dears,’ she added with an apologetic smile, ‘must be wondering when I’m going to get to the point.’

‘Not a bit,’ cried Algy. ‘Tell it your own way, my pet.’

‘The first thing that happened took place two days after this Manton man arrived. I was wearing India rubber shoes, and so when I went into the library, I made no sound. And there, to my surprise, standing with his back to me, was Chang. He was holding a photograph in his hand, and studying it closely. It was a photograph of Jack.

“‘Do you know that gentleman, Chang?” I said on the spur of the moment.

‘He nearly dropped the frame, he was so startled: then he put it back on the table.

“‘No, Missie,” he said. “Chang not know gentleman.”

‘And at that moment Hubert Manton came in, so that he overheard Chang’s reply. He said something in native dialect that I couldn’t understand, and Chang slunk out of the room. Then he apologized to me for the servant being in the library at all and the matter passed off. In fact, it was such a trifling thing that I forgot all about it till a week later, when I was up for the day in London.

‘I was walking along Piccadilly past the Ritz when the lights went red and the traffic stopped. And just as I got abreast of a taxi I happened to glance inside. There, to my utter amazement, I saw Hubert Manton and Eunice Radnor. They neither of them saw me, and I hurried past for fear they should. The last thing I wanted to do was to meet that woman again. But once I was out of sight I began to do some pretty hectic thinking.

‘You see, Uncle John had told Hubert Manton about the tragedy, and the Radnor woman’s name had been mentioned. Why, then, had he concealed the fact that he knew her? Was it because he thought it tactful not to let Uncle John know that she was back in England? Or was there some other reason? And if so, what could it possibly be?

‘I puzzled and puzzled all the way back in the train, until suddenly a wild idea flashed into my mind. As I told you, I’d forgotten about Chang and the photograph: now the episode came back. Had Chang been lying when he said he didn’t know Jack? For if that was the case, something very funny was in the air.’

She paused and lit a cigarette and the two men waited in silence.

‘You see, Captain Drummond,’ she continued, ‘Chang has never been to England before this time, and the only occasion Jack ever went abroad, except to Switzerland, was the fatal trip to Ceylon. So that if Chang had recognized the photo, the only time he could have seen Jack was in Colombo. Further, Chang has been in Hubert Manton’s service for years, and if Chang was in Colombo it was more than likely that his master was also. So could it be possible that Hubert Manton was lying when he said that he was in China at the time of Jack’s death? Was his the other man’s voice the boy thought he heard in the room? I tell you, Algy, my brain began to reel with all that it implied.

‘I tried to reason myself out of it; to tell myself that I’d built up the whole thing on the supposition that Chang was lying. But all the time that other question came hammering back; why had Hubert Manton kept the fact that he knew Eunice Radnor a secret? I wondered if I should tell my uncle; drop out a remark casually at dinner that I’d seen them together in London. But some instinct warned me not to: if there was something going on, I could be of more use if I kept my knowledge to myself.

‘And then began the other thing which is what finally made me write you, Algy. Even Simmonds, the butler, remarked on it to me. My uncle seems positively to dislike me near him, and what is even worse than that, he’s very queer at times. I’ve found him muttering to himself, and he’s developed a sort of strange nervous twitch in his left eye. He spends the whole of his time with Hubert Manton in his study. I’ve often heard them talking far into the night. And one day I tackled the Manton thing on the subject, because I think Uncle John ought to see a doctor. Would you believe it, he assured me he’d noticed nothing unusual. Why, a child could see that my uncle is not normal. So obvious is it, in fact, that for the past week I’ve locked my bedroom door each night. And two nights ago I was glad I’d done so.

‘I’d fallen asleep when a sound woke me. The fire had died down, but there was still just enough light to see across the room. And the handle of the door was slowly turning. I watched it, fascinated, too terrified even to call out and ask who was there. Then, when whoever it was found the door locked, he gave it up and I heard footsteps going softly away down the passage. And the next morning, I wrote to you, Algy.’

‘And a deuced sensible thing to do, darling. What do you make of it, Hugh?’

‘Well, one thing sticks out a yard. Whether Miss Porter is right or wrong about Manton, something must be done about her uncle’s condition. Can’t you get the local pill to come and vet him?’ he went on, turning to the girl. ‘Ask him to lunch, so that it doesn’t seem a professional visit.’

‘I can try,’ said the girl doubtfully. ‘But I’m afraid it wouldn’t do much good. All he could do would be to prescribe some medicine, and Uncle John would immediately throw the bottle at his head. He loathes doctors.’

Drummond smiled.

‘I see,’ he remarked. ‘Well, can’t you go away for a time? Either your uncle’s condition will improve, or he’ll get so bad that he will have to be seen by a doctor.’

‘I could do that, but I don’t want to,’ she said. ‘I hate the thought of leaving him alone with Hubert Manton.’

‘Then what do you suggest yourself, Miss Porter?’

‘I was wondering, though I know it’s a terrible lot to ask, if you and Algy could possibly come down and tell me what you think yourselves. You’re men of the world, and you’d know far better than I whether I’m talking rot or what you think I’d better do.’

‘My dear soul,’ said Drummond, ‘I’d be only too delighted to come down, and so I’m sure would Algy. But it’s not quite so easy as that. What possible excuse have we got for suddenly appearing on the scene? I’m a complete stranger, and I gather Algy hardly knows your uncle at all.’

‘I realized that difficulty, Captain Drummond, and I’ve thought of a way round it. Couldn’t you stage a breakdown near the gate, and then walk up to the house to ask if you can use the telephone? I’ll be in the hall and recognize Algy. Then if you time it for about a quarter to eight the least I can do is to ask you to stay to dinner. I know it’s an awful sweat, and I’m positively ashamed at asking you to do it, but it would be such a comfort to me to have your opinion.’

‘Don’t you worry about that end of it, Miss Porter,’ said Drummond. ‘It’s no sweat or bother at all. I was just wondering if we could improve on your scheme, and I don’t think we can. It’s simple and direct, and what could be fairer than that? Now, when do you go back?’

‘This afternoon by the three-fifteen.’

‘Then, since there is no good delaying, we’d better do it this evening. OK with you, Algy?’

‘OK by me.’

‘Then at a quarter to eight, Miss Porter, you can expect to see us on the doorstep with our tongues hanging out.’

‘A nice child,’ he continued to Algy, after they had put her into a taxi, ‘but for the life of me I don’t quite see what we’re going to do about it. Even if Uncle John gets the jitters at dinner and Manton eats peas with a knife, I don’t see that we’re much further on. However, if it eases her mind, it gives us a nice trip into the country. Away, hellhound—you offend me. And you may call for your Uncle Hugh at four o’clock.’

* * * *

The plan worked without a hitch. At half-past seven a car might have been seen to stop a few yards away from the entrance to Macklebury Hall—a car from which the two occupants immediately emerged to delve under the bonnet. And five minutes later, well satisfied with their handiwork, they turned into a long drive which led through an avenue of trees up to the house. On one side they passed stabling sufficient for a dozen horses; on the other a lake, complete with swans, lay placid in the still evening air. A house reminiscent of the old spacious days: too often now, alas, a drug upon the market.

Their ring was answered by the butler, over whose shoulder they could see Marjorie Porter talking to a man.

‘My compliments to your master,’ began Drummond gravely, ‘and would you ask him…’

‘Algy!’ cried the girl incredulously. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Good Lord! If it isn’t Marjorie.’ Algy waved delightedly. ‘Look, darling: the bus has died on us outside the gate. Can we ring up the local tinker, and tell him the dread news? And by the same token, meet Captain Drummond. Miss Porter.’

‘Of course you can ring up, Algy. Simmonds, show Mr. Longworth the telephone. And you must both stop to dinner.’

‘That’s very nice of you, Miss Porter,’ said Drummond. ‘It seems lucky that we broke down where we did.’

‘And where are you making for?’ asked the man.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ cried the girl. ‘Mr. Manton: Captain Drummond.’

The two men bowed slightly.

‘Hunstanton,’ said Drummond. ‘A few days’ golf seemed indicated.’

He was conscious that Manton was studying him closely; he was also conscious that there was no necessity for him to return the compliment. For Manton was an almost perfect example of a type he knew well—the hard-bitten crowd who live by their wits. And some of them are charming, and some of them are not: but all of them want watching.

‘All set,’ cried Algy, coming back into the hall. ‘The local gear crasher is sending up a minion. I hope Mr. Greston is in good form, Marjorie.’

‘Not too good, I’m afraid, Algy,’ she answered. ‘I was talking to Mr. Manton about him just before you arrived. I’m very worried. I wish I could persuade him to see a doctor.’

‘At the moment, my dear Marjorie,’ said Manton, ‘I’m afraid you can’t. You know his views on doctors generally, and though I agree that he seems a little nervous and irritable this evening, it would only make him worse if you suggested it. I’ll just go along and tell him we’ve got guests for dinner.’

‘A little nervous and irritable!’ cried the girl furiously as he left the hall. ‘Captain Drummond, I don’t believe he wants my uncle to see a doctor.’

‘Was Mr. Greston worse when you got back?’ asked Drummond.

‘Yes. At least, I think so. There’s such a queer look in his eyes.’

‘I wonder,’ began Drummond thoughtfully, only to break off as he saw Manton returning.

‘My uncle wants me to apologize for him,’ he said as he joined them, ‘but he thinks he will have his dinner in his study.’

‘I do hope we’re not being an infernal nuisance,’ remarked Drummond to the girl.

‘Not a bit,’ she answered. ‘Have you told Simmonds?’ she asked Manton.

‘I have. And now what does anybody say to a drink? Sherry? Gin and French? Will you fellows help yourselves?’

‘I’d rather like to wash my hands, if I may,’ said Drummond. ‘Messing about with a car doesn’t improve them.’

‘Of course. How stupid of me not to have thought. I’ll show you both the way.’

* * * *

‘What do you make of it, Algy?’ remarked Drummond when Manton had left them. ‘Can there be anything in the girl’s idea that Manton doesn’t want his uncle to see a doctor?’

‘Ask me another, old boy. He certainly doesn’t seem to want to see us.’

‘Or Manton doesn’t want him to.’

‘But what’s the motive, Hugh? What’s the great idea?’

Drummond was whistling softly under his breath. ‘I’d very much like a glimpse of Mr. Greston,’ he said at length.

‘Short of gatecrashing the study, I don’t see how you’re going to get one,’ remarked Algy as he dried his hands. ‘Incidentally, what do you think of Manton?’

‘I don’t,’ said Drummond. ‘But I’m flummoxed the same as you, Algy. What’s the great idea? If it is Manton who doesn’t want the old man to see a doctor or to see us, what is his object? He can’t be poisoning him: the Manton breed don’t murder. Or are we both barking up the wrong tree, and making a mystery where no mystery exists? Don’t forget that we’re basing everything on what the girl has told us. And she, bless her heart, may be exaggerating without meaning to in the least.’

‘I don’t think she is, Hugh,’ said Algy decidedly. ‘I believe that there is some funny stuff going on. But what or why, has me guessing.’

‘Then what are we going to do about it? We can’t make any excuse for stopping on after dinner when the car is repaired. Moreover, I don’t see that we’re going to find out anything more if we do. We’ve already vetted Manton, and we’re not going to see the uncle.’

‘Let’s wait and see,’ said Algy. Something may happen. And in the meantime I require alcohol.’

They went back into the hall to find Manton alone.

‘I fear,’ he remarked as they joined him with their drinks, ‘that my dear little cousin is worrying herself unnecessarily over her uncle. I suppose you know about the tragedy of his son?’

‘Yes,’ said Algy. ‘Very sad, wasn’t it?’

‘Well, there is no doubt that since then he has been a little queer and moody. Like tonight, for instance. He just felt he didn’t want to meet strangers. But it’s no case for a doctor. In fact, with a man of my uncle’s temperament, a doctor would only make matters worse.’

‘Quite,’ remarked Drummond. ‘Over things like that I think that a man is generally the best judge. Algy was telling me about the son while we were washing. A terrible thing. What happened to the woman?’

‘I don’t know at all. She must, I gather, have been a pretty poor specimen.’

‘I was told her name once,’ said Algy.

‘Yes, I heard it too,’ remarked Manton, ‘but it slips my memory. Careful: here’s my cousin.’

The girl was coming down the stairs, and the men made way for her by the fire.

‘Would you get me a glass of sherry, please, Hubert?’ she said.

‘With pleasure,’ he answered, crossing the hall.

And as he did so, like a flash, she handed Drummond a note, with an imperative sign for him to put it in his pocket. That she was upset about something he could see, but when Manton returned with the sherry, she was talking ordinary banalities about plays. And shortly after they went in to dinner, the note still unread.

He got his chance over the fish. Algy, who had seen the whole thing, had cornered Manton; and under cover of talking to the girl Hugh read the contents.

‘My bedroom door has been tampered with. The key won’t turn.’

Drummond’s face was quite expressionless as he continued his dinner, though his brain was working at pressure. He realized at once that that simple little statement put everything on a very different basis. Whatever he might have thought before, by no possibility could the girl be exaggerating over such a point as that. The matter had definitely assumed a very sinister aspect.

That Hubert Manton had been monkeying with the key for purposes the reverse of honourable he dismissed as unlikely. The gentleman was certainly not a fool, and if ever a cast iron certain raspberry was assured over tricks of that sort, the present case was it. No: he felt convinced that that was not the reason. So what was it?

The native servant—did he supply the clue? Possibly: possibly not. The uncle? Again possibly: possibly not. And the more he thought about it, the more clear did it become to him that there was only one method of solving the problem—to let the problem solve itself after suitable precautions had been taken. And to do that it was essential that no suspicions should be aroused.

The first difficulty was to get a word with the girl alone. The conversation had become general, but in any case he was too far away for her to attempt to say anything at the table. And it was not until the port had circulated that the problem was solved by the sudden appearance of Chang, who whispered something to his master.

‘Excuse me,’ said Manton, rising. ‘My uncle wishes to see me about something.’

‘May Allah be praised,’ said Drummond as he left the room. ‘Listen: there’s not a moment to be lost. Can we get into your room from outside, Miss Porter?’

‘Yes. If Algy gets on your shoulders he can reach the balcony outside the window.’

‘Good. When you go to bed, show a light so that we shall know the room. Get undressed and go to another room. Lock yourself in. Got that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Algy, you have a married sister at Hunstanton who knows Miss Porter well. Ask Miss Porter to go over and stay with her tomorrow for a few days to play golf. Do it in front of Manton. Your sister is not on the phone, so we can’t fix it tonight. All set?’

‘All set.’

‘And you’re to accept, Miss Porter.’

‘Right.’

‘That’s simply grand,’ said Algy as the door opened and Manton returned. ‘Mary will love to see you again, my pet. Come over tomorrow and bring your mallets. We’ll have some foursomes and you stop as long as you like.’

‘Going on a visit, Marjorie?’ remarked Manton as he sat down.

‘Mr. Longworth is suggesting that I should go over and stay with his married sister whom I was at school with. I’d love to, Algy.’

‘If only the old girl was on the phone we could have fixed it for you to come with us tonight,’ continued Algy. ‘But as it is, we’d better make it tomorrow. You don’t happen to know,’ he went on, turning to Manton, ‘if they’ve brought the bus up?’

‘It’s outside the door. Magneto trouble, I gather.’

‘Then I’d better go and pay the warrior,’ said Algy.

‘And we had better push on,’ remarked Drummond, ‘or Mary will be wondering what’s become of us. A thousand thanks, Miss Porter, for feeding us. And we’ll be seeing you tomorrow. Goodbye, Mr. Manton. I hope Mr. Greston will be quite recovered by the morning.’

‘What’s the game, Hugh?’ said Algy as they spun down the drive.

‘The note that girl passed me said that her door had been interfered with and she couldn’t lock it,’ answered Drummond. ‘I don’t like it, Algy. So there is only one thing to do. Take her place in her bedroom tonight and see if anything happens. By letting it be thought that she is leaving tomorrow, it may precipitate matters.’

‘So she wasn’t exaggerating,’ said Algy thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it’s safe leaving her there now.’

‘I can’t think that anything is likely to occur until the staff has gone to bed. Have you got any rope in the car? You have? Good. Then we’ll park the bus somewhere and go back to the house. And when the time comes, you get on to the balcony first, fix the rope, and I’ll swarm up.’

They had not long to wait, and luckily the night was warm. Just after eleven had struck from a church in the distance a light went on in a room on the first floor and they saw the girl framed in the window. Then she withdrew and they could see her shadow as she moved about.

‘Give her ten minutes,’ muttered Drummond, ‘and then we’ll get in.’

But ten minutes passed; fifteen; twenty, and the light still remained on, though no longer was there any sign of her shadow.

‘She can’t be taking all this time,’ said Drummond uneasily. ‘We’ll have to chance it, Algy. Can’t help it if she’s not in a rig to receive visitors.’

They crossed the lawn swiftly, and Drummond hoisted Algy on to his back. And a moment later Algy was astride the parapet outside the window.

‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘She’s gone.’

He paid out the rope and Drummond joined him.

‘Why the devil did she leave the light on?’ he muttered. And then he gave a sudden gasp. ‘My God! Look there.’

Sticking out from the other side of her bed were her legs. She was lying on the floor in her dressing-gown, and as they dropped on their knees beside her they each gave a sigh of relief. For she was not dead, but her breathing was heavy and stentorious. And on the table beside the bed stood a tumbler of milk, half drunk.

‘Drugged,’ said Drummond shortly. ‘Which complicates matters a little. Not knowing the house, we can’t put her in another room.’

‘We’d better lift her on to the bed, anyway,’ remarked Algy.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Drummond. ‘If anything is going to happen that’s where they would expect her to be. We’ll put her in that cupboard, and then we will await developments, which are bound to occur. They can’t have doped her for nothing.’

The cupboard was amply big enough, and they made her as comfortable as they could with cushions. Then, switching off the light, they took up their positions in the corner between the cupboard and the wall. And only just in time. Hardly had they got there when the door opened and someone came cautiously in.

‘Missie. Missie. Wake up. Wake up.’

‘Chang,’ breathed Drummond.

‘Missie. Wake up.’

* * * *

The beam of a torch flashed on the bed, and they heard a little gasp of astonishment. Then it travelled round the room, pausing for a moment on the chair where her clothes were thrown. Came a chuckle, and as silently as he had come Chang withdrew, though to their surprise he did not close the door.

‘We’re certainly in the front row of the stalls,’ muttered Drummond. ‘What on earth is that peculiar noise?’

From the passage outside there came sounds as of a sack being pulled along. They came to the door and into the room. Then they heard a heave, and the creaking of the bed as something heavy was put on it. Once again came a chuckle, and the door was softly shut. Chang had departed.

‘This requires investigation,’ whispered Drummond, taking his own torch out of his pocket. ‘My sainted aunt!’ he muttered as the light picked up the bed. ‘Look at that.’

Lying there, in what appeared to be a drunken stupor, was Hubert Manton.

‘This, my dear old Hugh,’ remarked Algy at length, ‘is beyond my form. Why should Chang deposit the unconscious body of his master on Marjorie Porter’s bed?’

‘I’m thinking that we shall know before the night is much older,’ said Drummond gravely. ‘Help me to put Manton on the floor. As I said, I don’t think that bed is going to be a healthy place.’

They laid him down on the floor, so that the bed came between him and the door: then they again took up their position in the corner by the cupboard. The curtains were eddying in the faint breeze; save for that the house was silent. And then suddenly a board creaked in the passage outside.

‘It’s coming.’

Another creak, nearer this time; then the handle was softly turned, and the door began to open. Suddenly it was flung wide, and something bounded into the room. They heard a terrific thud on the bed, and Drummond switched on his torch. Confronting them was a huge, gaunt man holding a crowbar in his hand. His eyes were wild and staring, his face was twitching. And after blinking at the light for a second or two he twirled the crowbar round his head as if it was a walking stick and hit at the torch furiously.

Drummond side-stepped coolly; all the instincts that go to make the perfect fighting machine were alert. And there was need for them to be: an immensely powerful madman is not a pleasant customer to handle.

The maniac lunged again at the darkness behind the torch, and Drummond saw his chance.

‘Light, Algy,’ he said quietly, and dived straight at the big man’s knees, bringing him down with a crash just as Algy switched on. The crowbar flew across the floor, but the madman was not finished. He scrambled to his feet and rushed at Drummond, but at that game there could only be one result. A straight left caught him on the point of the jaw and he went down as if he had been pole-axed.

‘And this is the poor devil whom Manton described as being a little nervous and irritable,’ said Drummond grimly. ‘Just lash his legs, Algy, with our bit of rope: I’m taking no chances with that gentleman. And then we’ll get on with it. It seems to me that much remains to be elucidated over this night’s work.’

‘And it seems to me,’ remarked Algy, ‘that Chang is the man to do the elucidation. What’s the game, you black devil?’

The native was standing in the doorway staring in amazement at the bound man. Then he glided round the bed and saw Manton. And involuntarily Drummond took a step towards him. For as he looked at his master there came into his face an expression of such rage and hatred that he almost ceased to be human. But it vanished as quickly as it came, and when he turned to the two men he was once again the impassive oriental.

‘Did you drug Miss Porter, Chang?’ said Drummond sternly.

‘No, master. Him drug Missie.’ He pointed at Manton.

‘And who drugged him?’

‘Chang. Chang know everything. Him want big man kill Missie, so him gave big man native drug and tell him lies about Missie. Him say Missie bad woman, and big man believe because of drug.’

‘But why did he want big man to kill Missie?’ asked Drummond incredulously.

‘Big man hang: Missie dead. Him get money.’

‘And even if they hadn’t hanged him they’d have put him in Broadmoor,’ said Drummond to Algy. ‘Go on, Chang.’

‘Him meet white lady Colombo. Him knew white man in picture downstairs.’

‘So the girl was right,’ said Drummond. ‘Did him kill white man in Ceylon?’

‘Chang not know that.’

‘And why didn’t you tell someone about all this sooner?’

‘Chang hate him. Chang want him killed. Chang love Missie. Chang see Missie not hurt. When Chang found Missie not here, Chang thought Missie in other room.’

‘Truly,’ said Drummond, ‘the mind of an oriental is tortuous. What happened to Uncle John doesn’t appear to have come into the reckoning at all. Algy, find the telephone and ring up the police. If we don’t get that swine Manton fifteen years for this I’ll eat my hat. My only regret is that we didn’t leave him on the bed.’