Sapper Cyril McNeile

Bull-Dog Drummond The Adventures Of A Demobilised Officer Who Found Peace Dull Sapper Cyril McNeile

In the month of December 1918, and on the very day that a British Cavalry Division marched into Cologne, with flags flying and bands playing as the conquerors of a beaten nation, the manager of the Hotel Nationale in Berne received a letter. Its contents appeared to puzzle him somewhat, for having read it twice he rang the bell on his desk to summon his secretary. Almost immediately the door opened, and a young French girl came into the room. "Monsieur rang?" She stood in front of the manager's desk, awaiting instructions. "Have we ever had staying in the hotel a man called le Comte de Guy?" He leaned back in his chair and looked at her through his pince-nez. The secretary thought for a moment and then shook her head. "Not as far as I can remember," she said. "Do we know anything about him? Has he ever fed here, or taken a private room?" Again the secretary shook her head. "Not that I know of." The manager handed her the letter, and waited in silence until she had read it. "It seems on the face of it a peculiar request from an unknown man," he remarked as she laid it down. "A dinner of four covers; no expense to be spared. Wines specified and if not in hotel to be obtained. A private room at half-past seven sharp. Guests to ask for room X." The secretary nodded in agreement. "It can hardly be a hoax," she remarked after a short silence. "No." The manager tapped his teeth with his pen thoughtfully. "But if by any chance it was, it would prove an expensive one for us. I wish I could think who this Comte de Guy is." "He sounds like a Frenchman," she answered. Then after a pause: "I suppose you'll have to take it seriously?" "I must." He took off his pince-nez and laid them on the desk in front of him. "Would you send the maître d'hôtel to me at once."