Part 29 (1/2)

Whitaker shook his head. It was difficult to think how to deal with this trapped animal, so wildly different from the cultivated gentleman he always had in mind when he thought of Drummond. The futility of attempting to deal with him according to any code recognized by men of honour was wretchedly apparent.

”Drummond,” he said slowly, ”I wish to G.o.d you hadn't done this thing.”

Drummond laughed discordantly. ”Keep your mealy-mouthed compa.s.sion for yourself,” he retorted, sneering. ”I'm no worse than you, only I got caught.” He added in a low tone, quivering with uncontrollable hatred: ”d.a.m.n you!”

Whitaker gave a gesture of despair. ”If you'd only been content to keep out of the way...! If only you'd let me alone--”

”Then _you_ let Sara Law alone, d'you hear?”

Surprised, Whitaker paused before replying. ”Please understand,” he said quietly, ”that Mrs. Whitaker is seeking a divorce from me. After that, if she has any use for you, I have no objection to her marrying you. And as for the money you stole, I have said nothing about that--intend to say nothing. If you'd had the sense to explain things to me--if I could count on you to leave me alone and not try again to murder me--”

”Oh, go to h.e.l.l!”

The interruption was little short of a shriek. Ember motioned to Sum Fat, who quietly drew nearer.

”I swear I don't know what to do or say--”

”Then shut up--”

”That'll be about all,” Ember interposed quietly. At a glance from him, Sum Fat closed in swiftly and caught and pinioned Drummond's arms from behind.

A disgusting change took place in Drummond. In an instant he was struggling, screaming, slavering: his face congested, eyes starting, features working wildly as he turned and twisted in his efforts to free himself.

Sum Fat held him as he would have held an unruly child. Whitaker looked away, feeling faint and sick. Ember looked on with shrewd and penetrating interest, biding the time when a break in Drummond's ravings would let him be heard. When it came at length, together with a gradual weakening of the man's struggles, the detective turned to Whitaker.

”Sorry,” he said. ”I didn't dare take any further chances. He'd've been at your throat in another minute. I could see him working himself up to a frenzy. If Sum Fat hadn't grabbed him in time, there's no telling what might not have happened.”

Whitaker nodded.

”It isn't as if we had simply an everyday crook to deal with,” Ember went on, approaching the man. ”He's not to be trusted or reasoned with.

He's just short of a raving morphomaniac, or I miss my guess.”

With a quick movement he caught Drummond's left arm, pulled the sleeve of his coat back to the elbow, unb.u.t.toned and turned back his cuff.

”_Hmm_--yes,” he continued bending over to inspect the exposed forearm, in spite of Drummond's efforts to twist away. ”Deadly work of the busy little needle. Good Lord, he's fairly riddled with punctures!”

”That explains....” Whitaker muttered, sickened.

”It explains a lot.” Ember readjusted the sleeve and turned away. ”And it shows us our path of duty, clear,” he continued, despite interruptions from the maddened drug fiend. ”I think a nice little sojourn in a sanatorium--what?”

”Right,” Whitaker agreed, relieved.

”We'll see what a cure does for him before we indulge in criminal proceedings--shall we?”

”By all means.”

”Good.” Ember glanced at his watch. ”I'll have to hurry along now--must be in town not later than nine o'clock this morning. I'll take him with me. No, don't worry--I can handle him easily. It's a bit of a walk to the village, but that will only help to quiet him down. I'll be back to-morrow; meanwhile you'll be able to sleep soundly unless--”

He checked, frowning thoughtfully.