Bulldog Drummond quotes

Mr. Hocking is an American, you two gentlemen are Germans. I”—the Count smiled slightly—“have no nationality. Or rather, shall I say, I have every nationality. Completely cosmopolitan. …

Gentlemen, the war was waged by idiots, and when idiots get busy on a large scale, it is time for clever men to step in

… That is the raison d’être for this little dinner.

A moment or two later Hugh Drummond came in. Slightly under six feet in height, he was broad in proportion.

His best friend would not have called him good-looking, but he was the fortunate possessor of that cheerful type of ugliness which inspires immediate confidence in its owner.

His nose had never quite recovered from the final one year in the Public Schools Heavy Weights; his mouth was not small.

“Unfortunately a bad heart kept me on this side of the water. One regrets it in many ways—regrets it immensely. Sometimes I cannot help thinking how wonderful it must have been to be able to kill without fear of consequences.

There is art in killing, Captain Drummond⁠—profound art.

And as you know, Phyllis,” he turned to the girl, “I have always been greatly attracted by anything requiring the artistic touch.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “Alas! I must tear myself away. Are you returning home this evening?”

“On the face of it, perhaps,” she said. “

But that man doesn’t deal with face values.

” With a short laugh she turned to Hugh. “You’ve stumbled right into the middle of it, my friend, rather sooner than I anticipated. That is one of the men you will probably have to kill. …”

As long, probably, as Mr. Peterson had remained here talking, that chauffeur would have gone on tinkering with the engine. And now—look, in a second—all serene. And yet I daresay Mr. Peterson knows nothing about it really. Just the watching eye, Mr. Lakington.

Wonderful thing⁠—the human optic.

”

So be warned in time. Return my property to Berners Street, and leave England for a few months.” His eyes seemed to burn into the soldier’s brain. “You are meddling in affairs,” he went on gently, “of the danger of which you have no conception.

A fly in the gearbox of a motorcar would be a sounder proposition for a life insurance than you will be⁠—if you continue on your present course.

”

“

Semolina, Hiram⁠—semolina. Makes bouncing babies. I’d just love to see you bounce, my Potts.

”

And Hugh realised, when he put it that way in his own mind, that it was no exaggeration, no façon de parler, but a plain, unvarnished statement of fact.

Peterson would no more think twice of killing a man if he wished to, than the normal human being would of crushing a wasp.

For a moment the thought crossed his mind that he would take no chances by remaining in the house; that he would rush Peterson from behind and escape into the darkness of the garden.

“A convivial household,” he muttered to himself through lips that were a little dry. “

A hooded cobra is an unpleasing pet.

”

Most assuredly he was starting in style: Lakington’s jaw one night, Peterson’s neck the second, seemed a sufficiently energetic opening to the game for the veriest glutton. Then that cheerful optimism which was the envy of his friends asserted itself.

“Supposin’ I’d killed ’em,” he murmured, aghast. “Just supposin’. Why, the bally show would have been over, and I’d have had to advertise again.”

Only Peterson was in the dining-room when Hugh came down. He had examined the stairs on his way, but he could see nothing unusual which would account for the thing which had whizzed past his head and clanged sullenly against the wall.

“The last man whom poor Sambo had words with,” said Peterson reminiscently, “was found next day with his throat torn completely out.”

“A lovable little thing,” murmured Hugh. “I feel quite sorry at having spoilt his record.”

Peterson paused with his hand on the sitting-room door, and looked at him benevolently.

Hugh waggled an accusing finger at him.

“I knew you were a nasty man as soon as I saw you. Now look at Henry up at the end of the table; he doesn’t say that sort of thing. And you do hate me, don’t you, Henry? How’s the jaw?”

“Captain Drummond,” said Lakington, ignoring Hugh and addressing the first speaker, “was very nearly killed last night. I thought for some time as to whether I would or not, but I finally decided it would be much too easy a death.

The intimidated rabbit, still breathing heavily, was staring at Hugh, fascinated; and after a moment Hugh turned to him with a courteous bow.

“Laddie,” he remarked, “you’ve been eating onions. Do you mind deflecting the blast in the opposite direction?”

His calm imperturbability seemed to madden Lakington, who with a sudden movement rose from his chair and leaned across the table, while the veins stood out like whipcord on his usually expressionless face.

“Do you mean to say we’ve lost the young swine again?” said Lakington angrily.

“Not lost⁠—merely mislaid,” murmured Peterson. “The more I see of him, the more do I admire his initiative.”

“It was that damned fool Ivolsky’s own fault,” he snarled; “why didn’t he keep still as he was told to do?”

In a few words he told the girl what had happened, and she clapped her hands together delightedly.

“Assuredly I shall have to marry that man,” she cried. “He is quite the least boring individual I have met in this atrocious country.”

She sat down and lit a cigarette. “I saw Walter tonight.”

“There you are, you see. He’s left for Paris. That settles it.”

“Conclusively,” murmured Algy mildly. “Any man who leaves a house in a motorcar always goes to Paris.”

“Dry up!” roared Hugh. “Was your late military education so utterly lacking that you have forgotten the elementary precept of putting yourself in the enemy’s place?

“Might I ask why you’re over here?” he asked at length, deciding to feel his way.

“The air is free to everyone, Mr. Green. As long as you get your share to breathe, you can ask anything you like.”

“I guess I’ll put my cards down,” he said, with sudden decision. “What about Hiram C. Potts?”

A few minutes later, Jerningham and the American found him leaning by himself against the rail, still laughing weakly.

“I ask no more of life,” he remarked when he could speak. “Anything else that may come will be an anticlimax.”

“It’s happening,” said Drummond joyfully. “It couldn’t possibly be over yet. Peterson, our one and only Carl, has been overcome by the waves. And when he’s feeling a little better I’ll take him a bit of crackling.

“You don’t say,” remarked the American, unmoved.

“Do the workers of the world know about it?”

“And I again demand to know,” said the other, turning on Drummond, “the reason for this monstrous indignity.”

“Some trick of that beastly light,” remarked the Duke peevishly. “For heaven’s sake throw the dam’ thing out of the window.”

“Don’t be a fool, John,” retorted his spouse. “If you could do this sort of thing, the House of Lords might be some use to somebody.”

And when two minutes later they stared horror-struck at a row of ordinary marbles laboriously unwrapped from a piece of gold and silver tissue, the Duke’s pungent agreement with his wife’s sentiment passed uncontradicted.