Free The Return Of Bulldog Drummond by Sapper

offer her a glass of wine. She is, if I may say so,” he continued confidentially, “distinctly – er – worthwhile.”
    “Bring her in, Ted,” said Drummond. “Tell Jennings to bring some champagne and sandwiches. Peter,” he went on, as they left the room, “the rush on Glensham House is making me giddy.”
    “But it is too kind of you,” came a woman’s voice from the hall. “I really am quite exhausted. If I could rest a little before continuing it would make all the difference.”
    She entered the room, and paused in momentary embarrassment on seeing the other two.
    “Of course,” cried Jerningham. “I have ordered some sandwiches for you. May I introduce Captain Drummond and Mr Darrell? My own name is Jerningham.”
    He pulled up a chair, and she sat down with a charming smile that embraced all three. And, as Jennings had remarked, she was distinctly worthwhile. Dark and of medium height, she had a complexion that was simply flawless. Her eyes, of which she knew how to make full use, were a deep blue: in fact, the only thing that struck an incongruous note was her frock, which was more suitable for Ascot than Dartmoor.
    “I have been over in Plymouth,” she explained, “and had intended to spend the night there. And then I suddenly decided to return. If only I had realised what a fog on Dartmoor was like, nothing would have induced me to. No taxi at the station: not even a cab. So I started to walk, and when I got to your gates I thought it was Glensham House. Luckily my father thinks I’m still in Plymouth, so he won’t be worried.”
    “Have we the pleasure of meeting Miss Hardcastle?” asked Drummond.
    She laughed merrily.
    “It is some time since I was called that,” she said. “I am Comtessa Bartelozzi.” And then she gave a puzzled little frown. “But how did you know my father’s name?”
    “Your father and we have been having a lot of fun and excitement this evening,” explained Drummond genially. “I feel we’re quite old friends.”
    “But I didn’t know that he had met anyone round here,” she said. “You see, we’re only newcomers. My father has rented Glensham House, and we just came down for a night or two to see what furniture was wanted.”
    “Well, I’m afraid your preliminary reconnaissance has not been devoid of incident, Comtessa,” he remarked. “It’s a merciful thing for you that you were in Plymouth; otherwise I fear the shock would have been considerable. A young man has had his head battered in at Glensham House.”
    She stared at him in speechless amazement.
    “Head battered in! A young man! But who?”
    “I gathered his name was Marton,” answered Drummond. “Ah! here is the champagne.”
    “Marton! But he’s our solicitor. Captain Drummond – please explain.”
    With a completely expressionless face, he told her the story, which she listened to with ever-increasing horror.
    “But how dreadful!” she cried as he finished. “Poor, poor boy! What a brute that convict must be!”
    “It certainly is one of the most brutal murders I have ever come across,” he agreed. “And we are expecting the police at any moment to hear what we have to tell them about it.”
    “Oh! I hope they catch the brute,” she cried passionately. “What a pity you ever let him escape! I can’t understand how you could have been taken in for a moment by such a story.”
    “You mean with regard to the housekeeper?”
    “Of course. There’s no such person in the house. Why, if there had been you would have seen her.”
    “That is true, Comtessa: perhaps we were credulous. Anyway, Morris is bound to be caught very shortly, and the whole thing will have to be thrashed out in court. Are you proposing to stay long at Glensham House?”
    He poured her out another glass of champagne.
    “It all depends on my father,” she answered. “Mr Hardcastle is very interested in cinema work, and he wants a place where he can work undisturbed at a new invention of his which he