Female of the Species by Sapper

Author:Sapper [Sapper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction, Female, Drummond, species, bulldog, sapper
ISBN: 0755116763
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2009-01-01T13:00:00+00:00

Faithfully yours,

Thomas Jenkinson.

P.S. – I have often wanted to know one thing. Were you or were you not the miserable little boy who first nicknamed me Wart Hog? and the late Mrs Jenkinson Slab Face? A nickname – like a caricature – should bear some relation to the truth, Dixon, if it is to be considered clever. And to call me a Wart Hog is positively stupid.

“I got Achilles at any rate, confound the old ass,” I remarked, as I put the letter down. “Well – there you are. Now we know.”

“Stonehenge,” said Drummond. “Close to Amesbury.”

“With cantonments all round it,” put in Toby Sinclair. “I motored past it last summer.”

“How far away?” Drummond looked at him thoughtfully. “I haven’t been there since I was a kid, and there was nothing built then.”

“I suppose about a mile to the nearest,” said Sinclair. “Perhaps less. And there’s another thing, too. By day there are hordes of trippers all over the place – guides and all that sort of stunt. You’ve got to pay to go in.”

“So nothing can happen by day. And by night – with troops as close as that – they will have to be careful.”

He went to the telephone, and gave a number.

“Peter,” he said as soon as he got through, “come round at once – all of you. Back door, as before.”

He sat down and stared at me.

“I wonder what is the best rig for you,” he pondered. “In a way, you’re the least important, as only the man and the woman of last night know you.”

“And our venerable friend of the Angler’s Rest,” I reminded him.

“True. I’d forgotten him. Still a moustache, a pair of spectacles and the earnest air of a tourist should meet the case. And if you see any of those three, efface yourself. Toby – I’ve got a very good line in elderly professors for you. Butterflies, I think. You can gambol lightly over Salisbury Plain making a noise like a killing-bottle.”

“Thanks, dear old boy,” said Sinclair. “What are you going to be?”

“That remains to be seen,” answered Drummond with an enigmatic smile. “I’ve got two or three half-formed ideas.”

The smile faded slowly from his face.

“But whatever it is, I’m thinking that the sooner we begin to put the fear of God into this bunch the better.”

And I realised suddenly how he had earned the sobriquet of Bulldog.

A minute or so later Peter Darrell and the other two came in.

“You’ve solved it?” asked Jerningham eagerly.

“A pal of Dixon’s has,” said Drummond. “A stone called the Friar’s Heel at Stonehenge. You can read the letter later.”

“And you can read this one now,” said Darrell. “Delivered by hand.”

It consisted of one line.

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