Free The Return Of Bulldog Drummond by Sapper Page B

bed.”
    “Well, if the Inspector will allow me, I think I will,” she said.
    “Certainly, miss,” he said. “ If I do want to ask you anything I will do so tomorrow. Now, sir” – he turned to Jerningham as Hardcastle led the Comtessa upstairs – “will you fire ahead?”
    He listened to the story, taking copious notes, whilst Drummond studied the third man covertly.
    “By Gad! Peter,” he whispered after a while. “Number Three looks, if possible, a bigger tough than the other two. What’s that you say, Inspector?”
    “This gentleman says that it was you who identified the man as Morris. How did you know him?”
    “By the red scar on his face,” said Drummond. “Two warders this afternoon described him to me. And afterwards he admitted it.”
    “And you knew the clothes were the clothes of the murdered man. How?”
    “Because I saw them on Marton this afternoon, when he lost his way in the fog and came to Merridale Hall instead of here,” answered Drummond. “They were so obviously London clothes that I noticed them particularly. When you catch him you’ll see what I mean.”
    “I guess the Inspector will have to take it on trust,” said the newcomer shortly. “That was the guy right enough: the scar proves it. Say, mister” – he turned to Drummond – “when he bolted was he wearing a hat?”
    “He was not,” remarked Drummond.
    “Then that settles it. He’s cheated the hangman all right. He went bathing in Grimstone Mire.”
    “What’s that?” said Drummond slowly. “You say he fell into Grimstone Mire?”
    “Yep,” answered the other. “There can’t be two birds like him loose. I was in the garage tinkering with the car when I heard someone crashing about in the bushes near by. So I went out and flashed a torch around. Suddenly I saw him: a wild-looking fellow without a hat and a great red scar on his face. He bolted like a hare towards the Mire, and I went after him to try to stop him, but I couldn’t do anything in the fog. And in he went – splosh. Let out one yell, and then it was all over.”
    “An amazing development, isn’t it, Captain Drummond?” said Hardcastle, who had rejoined them.
    “Most amazing,” agreed Drummond. “However, as you say, it saves the hangman a job.”
    And at that moment the constable let out a yell.
    “Look at the top of the stairs, sir!”
    They all swung round and stared upwards. Standing motionless in the dim light was a woman dressed in black. Her hair was grey; one arm was outstretched, pointing towards them. And the only thing that seemed alive in her were her two eyes that gleamed from her dead-white face.
    For a few seconds they all stood rooted to the ground; then very slowly, almost as if she was floating on air, the woman receded, and disappeared from sight.
    “What the devil?” cried Hardcastle, and the next instant he dashed up the stairs, followed by the others. For a scream of terror had come from the Comtessa’s room.
    It was Hardcastle who reached it first, to find that the door was locked.
    “Honey,” he shouted. “Honey: open the door. Are you all right?”
    There was no reply, and in a frenzy he beat on the door with his fists. But the wood was stout, and it was not until they had all charged it several times with their shoulders that it began to show signs of giving. At last the bolt tore away from its fastening and in a body they surged into the room.
    The Comtessa was lying on the bed clad in pyjamas. She was motionless, and Hardcastle rushed to her and picked her up.
    “It’s only a faint, boys,” he cried. “Get some brandy.”
    But even as he spoke, with a shuddering sigh the Comtessa opened her eyes. For a moment she stared in bewilderment at the group of men; then suddenly they dilated with terror.
    “Where is she?” she screamed. “What is she?”
    “There, there, honey,” said Hardcastle, “it’s quite all right now. Tell your old Dad what frightened you.”
    “Oh! it was horrible,” she