Knock Out by Sapper

Author:Sapper [Sapper]
Format: epub
Tags: service, standish, drummond, crime, ronald, bulldog, secret, sapper
ISBN: 9780755123322
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2010-06-12T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

The sight steadied him: if there was going to be a gladiatorial exhibition, the audience should have their money’s worth. And it would not be his fault if the result proved different to what they expected. The door was still opening, but as yet he could not see who was outside. And it struck him that his present position was strategically unsound. In an instant he was across the court and standing by the door, so that when it was fully open it would be between him and whoever was coming in. At any rate they would start fair.

A board close to him creaked slightly, and he saw the shadow of a head just beyond the edge of the door which was now at right angles to the back wall. And at that moment came Demonico’s voice from the gallery.

“Well, Mr Atkinson Drummond, let’s see if you prefer this to the dog.”

So he did know: that point was settled anyway.

“I’m sure I shall, you bald-headed old swine,” said Drummond cheerfully, at the same time dodging back a couple of yards.

It was a sound move: thinking he had located Drummond the maker of the shadow was round the door like a flash. And for a second Drummond stared at his adversary aghast. He was a gigantic individual with the coarsened, vicious features of a low-down professional pug. But it was not at his face Drummond was looking, nor at the great torso and shoulders; it was at his hands. Encasing each of them was a canvas glove from which steel spikes stuck out front and back. The spikes were about an inch long and sharp-pointed, and after that one momentary pause Drummond moved, and moved quickly. The best method of dealing with this gentleman would have to be thought out, and until he had made up his mind anything in the nature of close quarters must be avoided.

The man had slammed the door, and with an ugly leer on his face he made a dash at Drummond, who quietly dodged. His brain was working at top pressure sizing up the situation. This must be the method by which Gulliver’s throat had been torn out after he was dead, and he had no intention of letting the brute experiment on a living specimen. But he was under no delusions: once get to close grips and he was done for. The man was, if anything, longer in the reach than he: the instant those diabolical gloves were round his throat it was the finish.

Outfighting, too, was out of the question: one back-hander to his head that got home would lay him out. And still he dodged easily and methodically, keeping in the centre of the court, while Demonico’s sneering remarks from the gallery kept up a running accompaniment. A gladiatorial exhibition it was, with a woman as a spectator! And as the amazing unreality of it struck him one of the gloves whistled past his face, missing him by the fraction of an inch.

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