Bull-Dog Drummond's Third Round

Chapter I-3

“‘While I think of it,’ he said, looking up suddenly, ‘is there any particular colour you would like me to make?’

“‘Rose pink,’ grunted someone, and he nodded.

“‘Certainly,’ he answered. ‘That will necessitate the addition of a somewhat rare strontium salt—making forty in all.’

“He beamed at us and then he commenced. To say that we watched him closely would hardly convey our attitude: we watched him without movement, without speech, almost without breathing. He weighed his salts, and he mixed them—and that part of the process took an hour at least.

“Then he took up the bowl and we examined that. It was obviously some form of metal, but that was as far as we could get. And it was empty.

“‘Without that retort, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘the process would be impossible. There is no secret as to its composition. It is made of a blend of tungsten and osmium, and is the only thing known to science today which could resist the immense heat to which this mixture will be subjected in the electric furnace. Now possibly one of you would like to pour this mixture into the retort, place the retort in the furnace, and shut the furnace doors. Then I will switch on the current.’

“I personally did what he suggested, Mr. Blackton. I poured the mixture of fine powders into the empty bowl; I placed the bowl into the furnace, having first examined the furnace; and then I closed the doors. And I knew, and every man there knew, that there had been no suspicion of fraud. Then he switched on the current, and we sat down to wait.

“Gradually the heat grew intense—but no one thought of moving. At first the Professor rambled on, but I doubt if anyone paid any attention to him. Amongst other things he told us that from the very start of his experiments he had worked on different lines from the usual ones, which consisted of dissolving carbon in molten iron and then cooling the mass suddenly with cold water.

“‘That sets up gigantic pressure,’ he remarked, ‘but it is too quick. Only small stones are the result. My process was arrived at by totally different methods, as you see.’

“The sweat poured off us, and still we sat there silent—each of us busy with his own thoughts. I think even then we realised that there was no hope; we knew that his claims were justified. But we had to see it through, and make sure. The Professor was absorbed in some profound calculations on his new albumen food; the furnace glowed white in the corner; and, Mr. Blackton, men worth tens of millions sat and dripped with perspiration in order to make definitely certain that they were not worth as many farthings.

“I suppose it was about two hours later that the Professor, having looked at his watch, rose and switched off the current.

“‘In about an hour, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘the retort will be cool enough to take out. I suggest that you should take it with you, and having cut out the clinker you should carry out your own tests on it. Inside that clinker will be your rose-pink diamond—uncut, of course. I make you a present of it: all I ask is that you should return me my retort.’

“He blinked at us through his spectacles.

“‘You will forgive me if I leave you now, but I have to deliver my address to some students on the catalytic influence of chromous chloride. I fear I am already an hour and a half late, but that is nothing new.’

“And with that he bustled out of the room.”

Sir Raymond paused and lit a cigarette.

“You may perhaps think, Mr. Blackton, that I have been unnecessarily verbose over details that are unimportant,” he continued after a moment. “But my object has been to try to show you the type of man Professor Goodman is.”

“You have succeeded admirably, Sir Raymond,” said Blackton quietly.

“Good. Then now I will go quicker. We took his retort home, and we cut out the clinker. No one touched it except ourselves. We chipped off the outside scale, and we came to the diamond. Under our own eyes we had it cut—roughly, of course, because time was urgent. Here are the results.”

He handed over a small box to Blackton, who opened it. Inside, resting on some cotton-wool, were two large rose-pink diamonds and three smaller ones—worth in all, to that expert’s shrewd eye, anything up to twenty-five thousand pounds. He took out a pocket lens and examined the largest, and Sir Raymond gave a short, hard laugh.

“Believe me,” he said harshly, “they’re genuine right enough. I wish to Heaven I could detect even the trace of a flaw. There isn’t one, I tell you: they’re perfect stones—and that’s why we’ve come to you.”

Blackton laid the box on the table and renewed the contemplation of his cigar.

“At the moment,” he remarked, “the connection is a little obscure. However, pray continue. I assume that you have interviewed the Professor again.”

“The very next morning,” said Sir Raymond. “I went ’round, ostensibly to return his metal bowl, and then once again I put the whole matter before him. I pointed out to him that if this discovery of his was made known, it would involve thousands of people in utter ruin.

“I pointed out to him that after all no one could say that it was a discovery which could benefit the world generally, profoundly wonderful though it was. Its sole result, so far as I could see, would be to put diamond tiaras within the range of the average scullery maid. In short, I invoked every argument I could think of to try to persuade him to change his mind. Useless, utterly useless. To do him justice, I do not believe it is simply pig-headedness. He is honestly unable to understand our point of view.

“To him it is a scientific discovery concerning carbon, and according to him carbon is so vitally important, so essentially at the root of all life, that to suppress the results of an experiment such as this would be a crime against science. He sees no harm in diamonds being as plentiful as marbles; in fact, the financial side of the affair is literally meaningless to him.

“Meaningless, Mr. Blackton, as I found when I played my last card. In the name of my Syndicate I offered him two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to suppress it. He rang the bell—apologised for leaving me so abruptly—and the servant showed me out. And that is how the matter stands today. In a fortnight from now his secret will be given to the world, unless...”

Sir Raymond paused, and glanced at Mr. Leibhaus.

“Precisely,” he agreed. “Unless, as you say...”

Mr. Blackton said nothing. It was not his business to help them out, though the object of their journey was now obvious.

“Unless, Mr. Blackton,” Sir Raymond took the plunge, “we can induce you to interest yourself in the matter.”

Mr. Blackton raised his eyebrows slightly.

“I rather fail to see,” he remarked, “how I can hope to succeed where you have failed. You appear to have exhausted every possible argument.”

And now Sir Raymond was beginning to look visibly agitated. Unscrupulous business man though he was, the thing he had to say stuck in his throat. It seemed so cold-blooded, so horrible—especially in that room looking on to the sparkling lake with the peaceful, snow-tipped mountains opposite.

“It was Baron Vanderton,” he stammered, “who mentioned the Comte de Guy to me. He said that in a certain matter connected, I believe, with one of the big European banking firms, the Comte de Guy had been called in. And that as a result—er—a rather troublesome international financier had—er—disappeared.”

He paused abruptly as he saw Blackton’s face. It was hard and merciless, and the grey-blue eyes seemed to be boring into his brain.

“Am I to understand, Sir Raymond,” he remarked, “that you are trying to threaten me into helping you?”

He seemed to be carved out of stone, save for the fingers of his left hand, which played a ceaseless tattoo on his knee.

“Good heavens! no, Mr. Blackton,” cried the other. “Nothing of the sort, believe me. I merely mentioned the Baron to show you how we got on your trail. He told us that you were the only man in the world who would be able to help us, and then only if you were convinced the matter was sufficiently big.

“I trust that now you have heard what we have to say you will consider—like Mr. Freyder—that the matter is sufficiently big to warrant your attention. You must, Mr. Blackton; you really must.” He leaned forward in his excitement. “Think of it: millions and millions of money depending on the caprice of an old fool, who is really far more interested in his wretched albumen food. Why—it’s intolerable.”

For a while there was silence, broken at length by Blackton.

“And so,” he remarked calmly, “if I understand you aright, Sir Raymond, your proposal is that I should interest myself in the—shall we say—removal of Professor Goodman? Or, not to mince words, in his death.”

Sir Raymond shivered, and into Blackton’s eyes there stole a faint contempt.

“Precisely, Mr. Blackton,” he muttered. “Precisely. In such a way of course that no shadow of suspicion can rest on us, or on—or on—anyone.”

Mr. Blackton rose: the interview was over.

“I will let you know my decision after lunch,” he remarked. “Shall we drink coffee together here at two o’clock? I expect my daughter will be in by then.”

He opened the door and bowed them out; then he returned to the table and picked up the bottle of champagne. It was empty, as was the plate of sandwiches. He looked at his own unused glass, and with a faint shrug of his shoulders he crossed to his dispatch-case and opened it. But when the girl came in he was making a couple of entries in his book.

The first was under the heading “Blantyre” and consisted of a line drawn through the word “Vice”; the second was under the heading “Leibhaus,” and consisted of the one word “Glutton” written in red. He was thorough in his ways.

“You heard?” he said, as he replaced the book.

“Every word,” she answered, lighting a cigarette. “What do you propose to do?”

“There is only one possible thing to do,” he remarked. “Don’t you realise, my dear, that had I heard of this discovery I should have been compelled to interfere, even if they had not asked me to. In my position I could not allow a diamond slump; as you know, we have quite a few ourselves. But there is no reason why they shouldn’t pay me for it....” He smiled gently. “I shall cross to England by the Orient express tonight.”

“But surely,” cried the girl, “over such a simple matter you needn’t go yourself.”

He smiled even more gently, and slipped his arm ’round her shoulders.

“Do you remember what we were talking about this morning?” he said.

“The big coup? Don’t you see that even if this is not quite it, it will fill in the time?”

She looked a little puzzled.

“I’m damned if I do,” she cried tersely. “You can’t ask ’em more than half a million.”

“Funnily enough, that is the exact figure I intended to ask them,” he replied. “But you’ve missed the point, my love—and I’m surprised at you. Everything that Blantyre said this morning was correct with regard to the impossibility of letting such a discovery become known to the world at large.

“I have no intention of letting it become known; but I have still less intention of letting it be lost. That would be an act of almost suicidal folly. Spread abroad, the knowledge would wreck everything; retained by one individual, it places that individual in a position of supreme power. And needless to say, I propose to be that individual.”

He was staring thoughtfully over the lake, and suddenly she seized his left hand.

“Ted—stop it.”

For a moment he looked at her in surprise; then he laughed.

“Was I doing it again?” he asked. “It’s a good thing you spotted that trick of mine, my dear. If there ever is a next time with Drummond”—his eyes blazed suddenly—“if there ever is—well, we will see. Just at the moment, however, let us concentrate on Professor Goodman.

“A telling picture that—wasn’t it? Can’t you see the old man, blinking behind his spectacles, absorbed in calculations on proteins for infants, with a ring of men around him not one of whom but would have murdered him then and there if he had dared!”

“But I still don’t see how this is going to be anything out of the ordinary,” persisted the girl.

“My dear, I’m afraid that the balmy air of the Lake of Geneva has had a bad effect on you.” Mr. Blackton looked at her in genuine surprise. “I confess that I haven’t worked out the details yet, but one point is quite obvious. Before Professor Goodman departs this life he is going to make several hundred diamonds for me, though it would never do to let the two anxious gentlemen downstairs know it. They might say that I wasn’t earning my half-million.

“Those diamonds I shall unload with care and discretion during the years to come, so as not to cause a slump in prices. So it really boils down to the fact that the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate will be paying me half a million for the express purpose of putting some five or ten million pounds’ worth of stones in my pocket. My dear! it’s a gift; it’s one of those things which make strong men consult a doctor for fear they may be imagining things.”

The girl laughed.

“Where do I come in?”

“At the moment I’m not sure. So much will depend on circumstances. At any rate, for the present you had better stop on here, and I will send for you when things are a little more advanced.”

A waiter knocked and began to lay the table for lunch; and when at two o’clock the coffee and liqueurs arrived, closely followed by his two visitors, Mr. Blackton was in a genial mood. An excellent bottle of Marcobrunner followed by a glass of his own particular old brandy had mellowed him to such an extent that he very nearly produced the bottle for them, but sanity prevailed.

It was true that they were going to pay him half a million for swindling them soundly, but there were only three bottles of that brandy left in the world.

The two men looked curiously at the girl as Blackton introduced them—Baron Vanderton had told them about the beauty of this so-called daughter who was his constant and invariable companion. Only she, so he had affirmed, knew what the man who now called himself Blackton really looked like when shorn of his innumerable disguises into which he fitted himself so marvellously.

But there were more important matters at stake than that, and Sir Raymond Blantyre’s hand shook a little as he helped himself to a cigarette from the box on the table.

“Well, Mr. Blackton,” he said as the door closed behind the waiter. “Have you decided?”

“I have,” returned the other calmly. “Professor Goodman’s discovery will not be made public. He will not speak or give a demonstration at the Royal Society.”

With a vast sigh of relief Sir Raymond sank into a chair.

“And your—er—fee?”

“Half a million pounds. Two hundred and fifty thousand paid by cheque made out to Self—now; the remainder when you receive indisputable proof that I have carried out the job.”

It was significant that Sir Raymond made no attempt to haggle. Without a word he drew his cheque-book from his pocket, and going over to the writing-table he filled in the required amount.

“I would be glad if it was not presented for two or three days,” he remarked, “as it is drawn on my private account, and I shall have to put in funds to meet it on my return to England.”

Mr. Blackton bowed.

“You return tonight?” he asked.

“By the Orient Express. And you?”

Mr. Blackton shrugged his shoulders.

“The view here is delightful,” he murmured.

And with that the representatives of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate had to rest content for the time—until, in fact, the train was approaching the Swiss frontier. They had just finished their dinner, their zest for which, though considerably greater than on the previous night in view of the success of their mission, had been greatly impaired by the manners of an elderly German sitting at the next table.

He was a bent and withered old man with a long hook nose and white hair, who, in the intervals of querulously swearing at the attendant, deposited his dinner on his waistcoat.

At length he rose, and having pressed ten centimes into the outraged hand of the head waiter, he stood for a moment by their table, swaying with the motion of the train. And suddenly he bent down and spoke to Sir Raymond.

“Two or three days, I think you said, Sir Raymond.”

With a dry chuckle he was gone, tottering and lurching down the carriage, leaving the President of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate gasping audibly.

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