Chapter 1

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Title: The Black Gang
Author: Sapper [McNeile, Herman Cyril] (1888-1937)
Date of first publication: 1922
Edition used as base for this ebook:
London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1952
[“Bull-dog Drummond, his four rounds with Carl Peterson”:
omnibus, first published in 1929, containing the first
four novels in the series, of which The Black Gang is
the second.]
Date first posted: 20 November 2015
Date last updated: Sep. 5 2024
Faded Page ebook#20160528

This ebook was produced by Al Haines and Mark Akrigg

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

Italics in the original printed edition are indicated _thus_.

The quotation in Chapter 16 (Come, workers, sing a rebel song…)
is from A Rebel Song, by James Connolly (1868-1916).

As part of the conversion of the book to its new digital
format, we have made certain minor adjustments in its layout.

THE BLACK GANG

by Cyril McNeile (“Sapper”)

CONTENTS

1. In which things happen near Barking Creek
2. In which Scotland Yard sits up and takes notice
3. In which Hugh Drummond composes a letter
4. In which Count Zadowa gets a shock
5. In which Charles Latter, M.P., goes mad
6. In which an effusion is sent to the newspapers
7. In which a bomb bursts at unpleasantly close quarters
8. In which the bag of nuts is found by accident
9. In which there is a stormy supper party at the Ritz
10. In which Hugh Drummond makes a discovery
11. In which Hugh Drummond and the Reverend Theodosius Longmoor
take lunch together
12. In which Count Zadowa is introduced to “Alice in Wonderland”
13. In which Hugh Drummond and the Reverend Theodosius have a
little chat
14. In which a Rolls-Royce runs amok
15. In which Hugh Drummond arrives at Maybrick Hall
16. In which things happen at Maybrick Hall
17. In which a murderer is murdered at Maybrick Hall
18. In which the Home Secretary is taught the Fox-trot

1

In which things happen
near Barking Creek

The wind howled dismally round a house standing by itself almost on the
shores of Barking Creek. It was the grey dusk of an early autumn day,
and the occasional harsh cry of a sea-gull rising discordantly above
the wind alone broke the silence of the flat, desolate waste.

The house seemed deserted. Every window was shuttered; the garden was
uncared for and a mass of weeds; the gate leading on to the road,
apparently feeling the need of a deficient top hinge, propped itself
drunkenly on what had once been a flower-bed. A few gloomy trees
swaying dismally in the wind surrounded the house and completed the
picture–one that would have caused even the least imaginative of men
to draw his coat a little tighter round him, and feel thankful that it
was not his fate to live in such a place.

But then few people ever came near enough to the house to realize its
sinister appearance. The road–it was little better than a cart
track–which passed the gate, was out of the beaten way; only an
occasional fisherman or farm labourer ever used it, and that generally
by day when things assumed their proper proportion, and it was merely
an empty house gradually falling to pieces through lack of attention.
At night they avoided it if possible; folks did say that twelve years
ago some prying explorer had found the bones of a skeleton lying on the
floor in one of the upstairs rooms with a mildewed rope fixed to one of
the beams in the ceiling. And then it had been empty for twenty years.

Even now when the wind lay in the east or north-east and the tide was
setting in, there were those who said that you could see a light
shining through the cracks in the shutters in that room upstairs, and
that, should a man climb up and look in, he’d see no skeleton, but a
body with purple face and staring eyes swinging gently to and fro, and
tied by the neck to a beam with a rope which showed no trace of mildew.
Ridiculous, of course; but then so many of these local superstitions
are. Useful, too, in some cases; they afford a privacy from the prying
attention of local gossips far more cheaply and effectively than high
walls and bolts and bars.

So, at any rate, one of the two men who were walking briskly along the
rough track seemed to think.

“Admirable,” he remarked, as he paused for a moment at the entrance of
the weed-grown drive. “Quite admirable, my friend. A house situated
as this one is, is an acquisition, and when it is haunted in addition
it becomes a godsend.”

He spoke English perfectly with a slight foreign accent, and his
companion nodded abruptly.

“From what I heard about it, I thought it would do,” he answered.
“Personally I think it’s a damnable spot, but since you were so set
against coming to London, I had to find somewhere in this
neighbourhood.”

The two men started to walk slowly up the drive. Branches dripping
with moisture brushed across their faces, and involuntarily they both
turned up the collars of their coats.

“I will explain my reasons in due course,” said the first speaker
shortly. “You may take it from me that they were good. What’s that?”

He swung round with a little gasp, clutching his companion’s arm.

“Nothing,” cried the other irritably. For a moment or two they stood
still, peering into the dark undergrowth. “What did you think it was?”

“I thought I heard a bush creaking as if–as if someone was moving,” he
said, relaxing his grip. “It must have been the wind, I suppose.”

He still peered fearfully into the gloomy garden, until the other man
dragged him roughly towards the house.

“Of course it was the wind,” he muttered angrily. “For heaven’s sake,
Zaboleff, don’t get the jumps. If you will insist on coming to an
infernal place like this to transact a little perfectly normal business
you must expect a few strange noises and sounds. Let’s get indoors;
the others should be here by now. It oughtn’t to take more than an
hour, and you can be on board again long before dawn.”