It's time for Part Seven of my latest Tale for Our Time: Bulldog Drummond, with the pseudonymous Sapper ushering a new protagonist into the high stakes of post-Great War geopolitics.
I mentioned in my introduction that Ian Fleming said that James Bond was "Bulldog Drummond from the waist up" (and Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer below). Bulldog Drummond from the waist down doesn't really bear thinking about from 007's point of view, since it's just a bit of all-purpose mooning over some generically "topping girl". However, Fleming certainly inhaled Sapper's tremendous narrative energy, with Bond, like Bulldog, always pushing on to the next great set-piece.
That said, Gareth Roberts, a First Weekend Founding Member of The Mark Steyn Club, writes to express dissatisfaction with last night's episode:
Does anyone else find it strange that Phyllis reacts by rushing out to start Drummond's car engine?
Firstly, she's been told that the car has broken down.
Secondly, she was presumably lying in bed when Drummond's gun went off.
Thirdly, starting a car engine required some time and physical strength in those days.
Well, if you insist, Gareth...
1) I think that Phyllis was in on the fakeness of the breakdown. It was for her father's benefit;
2) After the excitements earlier in the evening, I seriously doubt she was asleep when the gunshot went off next door; and
3) "The girl," as she is invariably referred to, hasn't had much to do since the caper started, so I am impressed that the author considers her capable of starting the car.
In tonight's episode, we hear something else Ian Fleming would take from Sapper - the joshing banter between the hero and the super-villain - which, in the Bond movies, has become a grand convention of the genre. But it was a novelty in 1920: the hero in a tight spot who sees his own predicament has mere opportunity for dry jesting. Thus, to Peterson's irritation, Captain Drummond is more preoccupied by the racing form:
Peterson smiled even more affably... "I wouldn't like to keep you from your paper a minute longer than necessary."
"Not a bit," cried Hugh. "My time is yours—though I'd very much like to know your real opinion of The Juggernaut for the Chester Cup. It seems to me that he cannot afford to give Sumatra seven pounds on their form up to date."
"Are you interested in gambling?" asked Peterson politely.
"A mild flutter, Mr. Peterson, every now and then..."
Members of The Mark Steyn Club can listen to me read Part Seven of our tale simply by clicking here and logging-in. And, if you're playing catch-up on Bulldog Drummond, you can start fresh with Part One and have a good old binge-listen here.
If you'd like to join Gareth in The Mark Steyn Club, we'd love to have you along for our eighth season. So do click here for more info - and don't forget, for fellow fans of classic fiction and/or poetry, our Steyn Club Gift Membership.