The Return Of Bulldog Drummond Read Online Free PDF Page A

senior partner of the well-known firm of Norfolk Street solicitors – Marton, Peters and Newall. Mr Edward Marton, who was a very keen sportsman, went into his smoking-room after dinner with the intention of overhauling his guns. A few minutes later his wife and daughters, who were sitting in the drawing-room, were alarmed by the sound of a shot. They rushed into the smoking-room, and were horrified to find Mr Marton lying on the carpet with a dreadful wound in his head. A gun was by his side, and some cleaning materials were on the table close by. A doctor was at once summoned, but the unfortunate gentleman was beyond aid. In fact, the medical opinion was that death had been instantaneous. It is thought that Mr Marton, who frequently shot during the weekend, must have taken down his gun for the purpose of cleaning it. By some fatal mischance a cartridge had been left in one of the barrels, which went off, killing Mr Marton immediately. The deceased, who was a very popular member of Surbiton society, leaves one son and three daughters.”
     
    Drummond lit a cigarette thoughtfully.
    “The Marton family don’t appear to be in luck,” he remarked. “Ted,” he went on suddenly, “have you ever left a cartridge in a gun?”
    “Can’t say I have, old boy. Why?”
    “‘Well-known sportsman,’ “quoted Drummond. “‘Frequently shot over the weekend.’ I wonder: I wonder very much. Confound it, you fellows, when you clean a gun you break it first, don’t you? And when you break a gun you can see the blamed thing is loaded. Mark you, I’m not saying it wasn’t an accident, but, once again, I wonder.”
    “You mean you think he shot himself?” said Darrell.
    Drummond shrugged his shoulders.
    “I can understand a gun being loaded and a man fooling about with it and by accident potting somebody else. I can understand a man climbing a fence, and through not holding his gun properly or forgetting to put it at safety, getting peppered himself. But I find it deuced difficult to understand it in this case.”
    “And supposing you’re right – what then?” said Jerningham curiously.
    “Son in a condition of abject terror: father committing suicide. Surely there must be some connection.”
    “Do you think the son knows what’s happened?”
    “Can’t tell you: he said nothing about it to me. But in the account in the paper it specifies Mrs Marton and her daughters only, so possibly he doesn’t. Anyway, Ted, your question as to what to do tonight is now answered.”
    The other two stared at him.
    “We pay a little visit to Glensham House. You say the new owner is not yet in residence.”
    “As far as I know, he isn’t,” said Jerningham doubtfully.
    “Splendid! And if by chance he is, we’ll swear we’ve lost our way in the fog. Great Scot! chaps, think of the bare possibility of having stumbled on something. Admittedly it may prove a hopeless frost, but it would be nothing short of criminal to neglect such an opportunity.”
    “That’s all right, old bean,” said the other, “and no one likes a bit of fun and laughter better than I do. But don’t forget I live in this bally locality, and what you’re proposing is nothing more nor less than housebreaking.”
    “I know, Ted.” Drummond grinned happily. “Maximum penalty ten years. But we’ll plead we’re first offenders.”
    “Confound you, Hugh,” laughed Jerningham. “What do you expect to find there anyway?”
    Drummond waved a vast hand.
    “What about a perfectly good ghost? You say it’s haunted. Honestly, chaps, I’ve got a feeling that we’re on to something. And whatever you two blokes decide to do – I’m going.”
    “That settles it, Peter,” said Jerningham resignedly. “Tell mother that my last thoughts were of her.”
     

Chapter 2
    Glensham House was a large, rambling old place. It stood on low ground surrounded by trees, about halfway between the main road and the deadly Grimstone Mire. For generations it had belonged to