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Algernon Blackwood's Shorter Supernatural Fiction (2 vols.)

Terrys Texas Rangers

The Last Crusaders

The Defeat of the U-Boats

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The Campaigns of Alexander

Sabre and Foil Fighting

The Fourth Leonaur Book of Ghost and Horror Stories

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General Von Zieten

Armoured Cars and Aircraft

The Chinese Regiment

Texas Cavalry and the Laurel Brigade

The First Crusaders

The Lionheart and the Third Crusade

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Roger Lamb and the American War of Independence

Gronow of the Guards

Plumer of Messines

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The Original Bulldog Drummond: 2

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The Original Bulldog Drummond: 2
Leonaur Original
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Author(s): ‘Sapper’ (H. C. McNeile)
Date Published: 2010/01
Page Count: 400
Softcover ISBN-13: 978-0-85706-027-3
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-0-85706-028-0

The second volume of Sapper's original Bulldog Drummond—two more exciting novels and a bonus short story

These are the original adventures of Sapper's Bulldog Drummond collected together in a special Leonaur five volume collection—each special book containing two full length Bulldog Drummond novels plus one short story featuring the eponymous hero. Their author, Sapper—H. C. McNeile—was a British Army officer in the Royal Engineers during the Great War and took the popular name of his corps as his unforgettable nom-de-plume. His main character, the hard fighting, hard playing but clean living English gentleman, Hugh Drummond, is a wealthy and decorated ex-officer for whom life after the First World War is proving mightily dull. To remedy this intolerable state of affairs he and his trusted band of henchmen, 'The Black Gang,’ embark on a career of detection and high adventure (occasionally crossing the line of the law) satisfyingly filled with villainous 'foreign' foes, deadly 'bad-but-beautiful’ women and, of course, a bevy of beautiful 'good' women to be rescued from death and fates worse than! Drummond is a man's-man of the likes of Richard Hannay and Doc Savage, a hero that could be set against the likes of a Fu Manchu and a proto James Bond who is guaranteed to throw himself into colourful 'between the wars' two fisted action at every opportunity—to the delight of readers who enjoy adventure from a more innocent age.
In this second volume are the two exciting, full length novels The Third Round and The Final Count and the short story ‘The Mystery Tour.’
These fabulous volumes are available in softcover and hardcover with dust jacket. 

He came in and he helped himself to a whisky-and-soda and he sat down to drink it. And it was just as I was following his example that the telephone went. I remember wondering as I took up the receiver who could be ringing me up at that hour, and then came the sudden paralysing shock.<br>
‘John! John! Help. My rooms. Oh! my God.’<br>
So much I heard, and then silence. Only a stifled scream, and a strange choking noise came over the wire, but no further words. And the voice had been the voice of Robin Gaunt.<br>
I shouted down the mouthpiece, and Sinclair stared at me in amazement. I feverishly rang exchange, only to be told that the connection was broken and that they could get no reply.
‘What the devil is it, man?’ cried Sinclair, getting a grip on my arm. ‘You’ll wake the whole bally house in a moment.’<br>
A little incoherently I told him what I’d heard, and in an instant the whole look of his face changed. How often in the next few weeks did I see just that same change in the expression of all that amazing gang led by Drummond, when something that necessitated action and suggested danger occurred. But at the moment that was future history: the present concerned that agonised cry for help from the man with whom I had just dined.<br>
‘You know his house?’ said Sinclair.<br>
‘Down in Kensington,’ I answered.<br>
‘Got a weapon of any sort?’<br>
I rummaged in my desk and produced a Colt revolver—a relic of my Army days.<br>
‘Good,’ he cried. ‘Stuff some ammunition in your pocket, and we’ll get a move on.’<br>
‘But there’s no necessity for you to come,’ I expostulated.<br>
‘Go to hell,’ he remarked tersely, and jammed his top hat on his head. ‘This is the sort of thing I love. Old Hugh will turn pea-green with jealousy tomorrow when he hears.’<br>
We were hurtling West in a taxi, and my thoughts were too occupied with what we were going to find at the other end to inquire whom old Hugh might be. There was but little traffic—the after-supper congestion had not begun—and in less than ten minutes we pulled up outside Robin’s house.<br>
‘Wait here,’ said Toby to the taxi-driver. ‘And if you hear or see nothing of us within five minutes, drive like blazes and get a policeman.’<br>
‘Want any help now, sir?’ said the driver excitedly.<br>
‘Good lad!’ cried Sinclair. ‘But I think not. Safer to have someone outside. We’ll shout if we do.’<br>
The house was in complete darkness, as were those on each side. The latter fact was not surprising, as a ‘To be Sold’ notice appeared in front of each of them.<br>
‘You know his rooms, don’t you?’ said Sinclair. ‘Right! Then what I propose is this. We’ll walk straight in as if we’re coming to look him up. No good hesitating. And for the love of Allah don’t use that gun unless it’s necessary.’<br>
The front door was not bolted, and for a moment or two we stood listening in the tiny hall. The silence was absolute, and a light from a lamp outside shining through a window showed us the stairs.<br>
‘His rooms are on the first floor,’ I whispered.<br>
‘Then let’s go and have a look at ’em,’ answered Toby.<br>
With the revolver in my hand I led the way. One or two stairs creaked loudly, and I heard Sinclair cursing under his breath at the noise. But no one appeared, and as we stood outside the door of Robin’s sitting-room and laboratory combined, the only sound was our own breathing.<br>
‘Come on, old man,’ said Toby. ‘The longer we leave it the less we’ll like it. I’ll open the door, and you cover anyone inside with your gun.’<br>
With a quick jerk he flung the door wide open, and we both stood there peering into the room. Darkness again and silence just like the rest of the house. But there was one thing different: a faint, rather bitter smell hung about in the air.<br>
I groped for the switch and found it, and we stood blinking in the sudden light. Then we moved cautiously forward and began an examination.<br>
In the centre of the room stood the desk, littered, as usual, with an untidy array of books and papers. The telephone stood on one corner of it, and I couldn’t help thinking of that sudden anguished cry for help that had been shouted down it less than a quarter of an hour before. If only it could speak and tell us what had happened!<br>
‘Good Lord! Look at that,’ muttered Toby. ‘It’s blood, man: the place is running in blood.’
It was true. Papers were splashed with it, and a little trickle oozed sluggishly off the desk on to the carpet. The curtains were drawn, and suddenly Toby picked up a book and hurled it at them.<br>
‘One of Drummond’s little tricks,’ he remarked. ‘If there’s anyone behind you can spot it at once, and with luck you may hit him in the pit of the stomach.’<br>
But there was no one there: there was no one in the room at all. ‘Where’s that door lead to?’ he asked.<br>
‘Gaunt’s bedroom,’ I answered, and we repeated the performance. <br>
We looked under the bed, and in the cupboard: not a sign of anybody. The bed was turned down ready for the night, with his pyjamas laid in readiness, and in the basin stood a can of hot water covered with at towel. But of Robin or anyone else there was no trace.