Get Wallace! (17 page)

Brien arrived as she was taking coffee in the little drawing room she and her husband always used when alone in the evening – Sir Leonard had gone up to say goodnight to Adrian, and tuck
him in his bed, a duty he delighted in performing whenever it was possible for him to do so. Molly made room for Brien on the couch on which she was sitting, and gave him a cup of coffee. He accepted it, regarding her somewhat doubtfully the while. She smiled up at him.

‘I am not about to ask you where Leonard is going tonight,’ she declared, ‘so there’s no reason for you to look scared. Are you going also?’

He nodded.

‘I’ve been promised a little outing as a change from hard work,’ he grinned. ‘I deserve it, Molly, I assure you. Between you and me, I’m actually the hardest-worked man in the Intelligence Service.’

‘Of course you are,’ she agreed. ‘Nobody else does any work really, I suppose?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that,’ he confided generously. ‘Leonard and his little lot keep up their end, but it’s an easy end compared with mine.’

‘Oh, yeah!’ exclaimed a voice from the door, and Wallace entered the room. ‘How do you like my talkie accent?’ he asked, helping himself to coffee.

‘I think it’s awful,’ Brien told him candidly. ‘Did you collect it in the States?’

‘No, from Adrian. He has a great admiration for a gentleman of the name of Jack Oakie, who, he assures me, can say, “Oh, yeah” better than anybody else on the screen. What fairy tale was this fellow telling you, Molly,’ he went on, ‘when I came in?’

‘It was no fairy tale,’ asserted Brien stoutly. ‘I was assuring your wife that I am the hardest-worked man in the service, which is a self-evident truth.’

‘I feel inclined to say “Oh, yeah” again; it really is descriptive.’
He bent down towards Molly. ‘Of course that is simply one of his many peculiarities, dear. He really does believe he is one of the world’s workers – he doesn’t realise that he is only in the office on sufferance.’

‘I’ll resign tomorrow,’ declared the outraged Bill. ‘Then,’ he added with a sneer, ‘we’ll see what you can do without me.’

‘How can you see, if you’ve resigned?’

‘I have methods of obtaining information,’ was the dark retort; ‘besides, when the British Secret Service ceases to function, the whole world will know why. “Ah!” will be the comment, “that indefatigable worker, William Brien, no longer controls affairs. They cannot do without him; he is indispensable.”’

‘The King is dead – long live the King,’ retorted Wallace.

Major Brien frowned.

‘Leonard,’ he observed, ‘if I had not known you, and watched over you since you were a grubby little imp in a sailor suit, I would shake the dust of you off my feet, but, remembering our long and, at times, honourable association, and the fact that you cannot get on without me, I will continue to stand by you, in spite of your insults. Virtue is its own reward.’

‘What a pity Mr Cousins isn’t here,’ smiled Molly. ‘That is a heaven-sent opportunity for one of his poetical quotations.’

Thus half an hour passed in badinage, but Molly was not deceived. She realised that these two men, whom she had known since they were boys in the same cavalry regiment, who had dared so much and faced so much together, would do anything to prevent her from suffering anxiety or distress, were endeavouring to make it appear that the task they were undertaking that night was nothing out of the ordinary. She knew them both so well, that the more they jested, the more heavy became her heart. But
she gave no sign of the apprehension which was beginning to steal over her, except that, when she bade her husband goodnight, there was just a suspicion of fear in her eyes as she smiled up at him. When they had departed, she went up to Adrian’s room; stood for a few moments gently stroking the boy’s hair. It was always a solace to her to go to her son, when the shadow of uneasiness and suspense regarding her husband was hanging oppressively round her.

Wallace and Brien drove separately to headquarters, as it would be necessary to use both cars. The latter invariably acted as his own chauffeur; Sir Leonard seldom did on account of the handicap of his arm, but Johnson would not be in the way. The Rolls-Royce was a seven-seater, Brien’s car a five-seater Vauxhall; there was ample room, therefore, for the men they intended taking with them on their trip into Essex.

It was not until he was in his office that Wallace had an opportunity of imparting to his second-in-command the information he had received over the telephone from Inspector Seymour. Brien listened eagerly, commenting with approval on the action of Willingdon, which had enabled the hiding place of Ictinos and his gang to be discovered, thereby making the raid possible.

‘Pretty intelligent fellow, that,’ he commended. ‘It was jolly quick-witted of him to do what he did. What about it, Leonard?’

Wallace smiled thoughtfully.

‘It certainly looks as though he is the sort of man we want,’ he nodded, ‘especially as we have lost four during the last year.’

‘Four!’

‘Of course. Cunliffe made the fourth yesterday, poor beggar.’

Brien’s teeth came together with a snap.

‘I was forgetting him for the moment. Damn that fiend Ictinos! God! If we don’t get him tonight—’

‘We’ll get him sooner or later,’ came quickly but resolutely from Wallace. ‘But concerning Willingdon do you know anything about him?’

The other shook his head.

‘Nothing except that he is looked upon as a smart man.’

‘Well, see what you can find out – you know, family record, linguistic ability, and all that sort of thing. If he passes muster, we’ll keep an eye on him with a view to stealing him from the Yard.’

Brien grinned.

‘Wharton will be pleased. We’ve had half a dozen from the Special Branch since he’s been in charge.’

‘How do you make that out? Maddison came to us long before Wharton became assistant-commissioner. Cartright, Henderson, Carter, Reynolds and Cunliffe are the only other fellows who graduated, so to speak, from Scotland Yard.’

‘What about Brookfield?’

A look that was seldom seen on Sir Leonard’s face darkened it at the mention of that name, rendering it, for the moment, stern, almost forbidding. Brookfield had been the chief actor in the only occurrence that had ever cast a blot on the honour of the British Secret Service during his administration.

‘I prefer not to speak of him,’ he said in cold, hard tones.

He immediately changed the subject telling his companion of his interview with Sir Peter Nikoleff, and his meeting with the second Stanislaus Ictinos and the latter’s daughter Thalia.

‘What an extraordinary thing!’ exclaimed Brien. ‘It’s the most remarkable coincidence I’ve heard of for a long time. There is nothing amazing about meeting a man and his daughter with
the same name as the two you’re after, but that they should have identical Christian names is—’

‘I don’t think it’s coincidence,’ interrupted Wallace.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I am not quite sure myself yet, but it’s quite likely that the Greek we want and his daughter took the names of Sir Peter’s friends for some purpose of their own.’

‘Or perhaps,’ hazarded Brien, ‘Nikoleff’s friends took the names for some purpose of
their
own.’

Sir Leonard regarded his friend with a look of mock admiration.

‘Sometimes, Billy,’ he declared, ‘your brain gives flashes of real brilliance. Let us go down to the mess room, and see if everyone we want is present.’

The mess room was the name given to a large apartment in the basement of the building, generally reserved for the use of senior members of the service. It was more a restroom than a mess room, though refreshments could be obtained, and meals were provided, if required, by an ex-sergeant of Artillery. Aided by a retired policeman, both of them with exemplary characters, he presided over the periodic comfort of the men whose duties were usually more abounding in discomfort and danger than in ease and security. Several deep leather armchairs, two or three couches, and other easy chairs were placed in various parts of the room, most of them, on this occasion, being drawn up to one or other of the great roaring fires blazing at either end. Three or four card tables, an equal number of small writing desks, provided with paper, envelopes, and pens, stood in advantageous positions. Maps, bookcases, mostly packed with volumes for reference, one or two pictures, and a few prints adorned the walls. At one end of the chamber was a buffet.
Standing at this, as Sir Leonard and Major Brien entered the room, a sandwich in one hand and a glass in the other, was a man whose powerful physique made it appear as though he were of medium height. As a matter of fact, he was a fraction over six feet tall. His strong, clean-shaven, good-looking face, if anything, added to the impression of strength given by his powerful body. This was Captain Hugh Shannon, generally regarded as the Samson of the Service, thoroughly unassuming, but as capable mentally as he was mighty physically, and extremely popular with his colleagues. He was joking with four of the latter, and Wallace, unobserved, stood watching them for a few moments. His eyes were alight with pride in these men who, under him, served their country without hope of fame or glory, always ready to sacrifice self, home, everything, as members of a silent, efficient service that existed simply and solely for the welfare and security of Great Britain.

There was little Cousins with his slim, boyish figure, and ludicrously wrinkled face, Cartright tall and thin, lantern-jawed, seemingly lugubrious; Hill inclined to corpulency fresh-faced, fair-haired and jolly; Carter, good-looking, athletic, happy-go-lucky, the youngest but by no means the least efficient. The five of them represented all that is best and finest in British manhood. All of them were prepared at any moment to face the most appalling risk, undergo the most perilous ordeal, attempt the most hazardous feat at a word from their leader. In themselves they epitomised the very spirit of heroism, yet they seldom, if ever, spoke of their exploits; then only through necessity. The lives of such men, tragically short as they often are, are lived on a higher, nobler plane than those of ordinary human beings. There is no place or time for the little things of existence, none of the meanness or pettiness that casts such a blot on most of the more selfish and sheltered professions of the world.
To them country is everything and, if in the execution of their duty they lose their lives, they go to their deaths with smiles on their lips, counting it no small honour to lay down their greatest possession for the good of their Motherland.

Cousins was the first to notice the two men standing at the door of the room. His lips twitched, and every wrinkle seemed to proclaim its welcome until a huge smile, in a series of minor smiles, enveloped his face.

‘The chief,’ he announced.

At once every head was turned in Sir Leonard’s direction. He advanced into the room.

‘Glad to see you back, Shannon,’ he remarked. ‘How are you?’

The young giant shook hands warmly.

‘As fit as ever, sir,’ he replied, ‘and tickled to death to be home again.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with Rome?’

‘Rome’s all right, sir, but it’s tame work acting as a watchdog to an embassy in a placid country like Italy. My only excitement was the discovery of an amazing manservant. He was the complete article in every particular – I’ve never known such a man. He even seemed to find something to admire in me, and I always understood that no man is a hero to his valet.’

There was a general laugh at that. Cousins with an exaggerated gesture threw an arm in Shannon’s direction.

‘“In short,”’ he quoted, ‘“he was a perfect cavaliero And to his valet seemed a hero.”’

Shannon looked down at the little man; shook his head sorrowfully.

‘Still at the same old game, Cousins,’ he protested. ‘What has Tennyson done to you that you should dare quote from him?’

‘Tennyson!’ cried Cousins in horror. ‘Oh, Hugh, I’m shocked – dismayed. That wasn’t Tennyson.’

Shannon turned colour.

‘Wasn’t it?’ he queried. ‘I could have sworn—’

‘Byron, if I’m not mistaken,’ put in Wallace. ‘From
Beppo
, wasn’t it?’

Cousins beamed with delight.

‘Sir,’ he declared joyously, ‘you are perfectly correct. I am happy to know you.’

‘Thanks, Jerry,’ smiled Sir Leonard amidst another laugh. ‘What was this paragon of a valet, Shannon?’

‘A Sicilian, sir; a great lad. I’ve left him behind with the missus. There’s nothing he’s not prepared to do for her.’

‘You’re a courageous man, Hugh,’ observed Tommy Carter with a grin. ‘Sicilians are great love makers, you know, and—’

A great hand gripped him round the neck, and shook him gently.

‘Helen knows how to rule him,’ declared Shannon.

‘I bet she does,’ murmured Cousins. ‘“She moves a goddess and she looks a queen.”’

‘What! Again?’ remonstrated Brien. ‘You’re giving us overweight tonight, aren’t you?’

‘That’s because he thinks he’s safe when the chief ’s here,’ remarked Cartright drily.

Wallace turned suddenly to Carter, and held out his hand.

‘I forgot I hadn’t seen you before, Tommy,’ he apologised. ‘How’s Turkey?’

‘Fine, sir,’ was the reply. ‘I’ve felt like a juvenile lead supported by a bevy of beautiful chorus girls since I’ve been out there. I almost think now that Turkish girls are the prettiest in the world.’

‘Indeed,’ commented Wallace with a twinkle in his eye, ‘I didn’t know you went out to study the females.’

‘I didn’t, sir,’ returned Carter, ‘but I couldn’t stop their studying me.’

‘I suppose they don’t get many freaks in Turkey,’ murmured Hill, chuckling comfortably. Hill had a habit of indulging in chuckles that can only be described as comfortable.

‘Well, gentlemen, we have work before us.’ The amused expression left Sir Leonard’s face, and he regarded the men before him with grave intensity. Immediately the spirit of facetiousness seemed to depart; every countenance there became eager, purposeful; all eyes were fastened on the face of their leader. ‘I am going to ask you to accompany Major Brien and myself on an expedition tonight which is perhaps a trifle out of the ordinary. You are aware of the existence of an organisation – Cousins very much so’ – he smiled a trifle grimly – ‘the purpose of which is to steal national secrets and sell them to the highest bidder.’ He broke off to assure himself that Shannon and Carter had been made acquainted with events; then continued. ‘Yesterday Cousins and I might have put an end to the organisation – most of us have, at some time or other, had to face heavier odds than he and I would have been called upon to tackle in the house at Sheppey. But there were reasons then why I was not anxious to have a final settlement with the Greek, Ictinos. One of them is that there is a partner, an influential, wealthy man who, I am convinced, hopes, through the acquired knowledge of the nations’ most secret schemes, to proclaim himself dictator of Europe as well as add further to his already vast wealth. He must be unmasked and rendered impotent, and I felt that only through an Ictinos at liberty could that be achieved. Another reason for our abstention was the fact that I had undertaken to recover, if possible, for France, copies
of the plans and details of her frontier fortifications which are in the hands of the gang, and which are being used to blackmail her to the tune of two hundred million francs.’

His audience looked intensely interested. One or two of the men gave vent to exclamations, or whistled with amazement.

‘Cousins and I,’ he went on, ‘recovered all documents affecting this country, and also others concerning Germany and Russia, but the very vital French records were not in the house on Sheppey. We discovered that the gang fled to a yacht called the
Electra
which, as you all probably know, belongs to the Greek millionaire, Michael Senostris. The mysterious partner, I feel fairly certain, has the documents we want in his possession. It certainly looks as though he is Senostris. At any rate, I believe that by raiding the
Electra
, we shall not only succeed in unmasking him, but recover the plans, and smash the organisation completely once and for all. We have a lot to settle with Ictinos and his men ourselves,’ he added through clenched teeth. ‘He foully murdered Cunliffe; he has attempted other things equally foul. None of you will wish Cunliffe to go unavenged.’

There was a murmur of deep abhorrence, forcible enough evidence of the feelings of his six colleagues.

‘The
Electra
has been disguised,’ he continued, ‘and is lying in concealment at the entrance of a creek three miles or so beyond Tilbury. We are going there now, and we are going to raid her. Three men of the Special Branch are keeping watch. As far as possible, I wish to avoid bloodshed, but remember that you will be up against desperate men, four at least of whom are wanted by the police for murder. How many there will be I do not know, for we must naturally include the crew of the yacht, but Ictinos took three from Sheppey with him, Cousins and
I capturing the other two. There is also a girl who may prove as dangerous as the men. I presume you are all armed?’ They signified that they were. ‘Now, Cousins,’ he instructed the little man, ‘bring Farrell here.’

A few minutes later the crook was escorted into the room. At sight of him, Shannon exclaimed loudly.

‘Do you know him?’ asked Brien.

‘I used to,’ was the reply. ‘He acted as one of my sparring partners when I was training for the University heavy-weight championship.’

‘More coincidences,’ murmured the other.

Farrell stood sheepishly on the fringe of the circle. Except for one quick glance at Shannon he kept his eyes turned on the floor.

‘I’m going to give this man a chance to redeem himself,’ declared Sir Leonard. ‘What with robbery with violence, smash and grab raids, and blackmail, he has pretty well run the whole gamut of crime, but he has not committed murder, and I’m willing to believe that he has an honest desire to make good. Anyhow, I am prepared to give him the opportunity. He is coming with us.’

Nobody demurred. Not only were they too well disciplined for that, but they all knew that Sir Leonard’s understanding of human nature was almost faultless; that his judgement of his fellow men was well nigh infallible. They followed him from the mess room at his command, Farrell walking between Cartright and Shannon.

‘I’m sorry to find that you have come down to this,’ remarked the latter to the crook as he paused in the lobby to put on a heavy overcoat and a soft hat. ‘You seemed to be a pretty good sort of fellow in the old days. How did it happen?’

‘I guess I always was a wrong ’un,’ came the frank reply.
‘Fights got scarce, and I began to drink hard. After that I just let myself go.’

‘Oh, well, you’ve a chance in a hundred to wash out the past now. Sir Leonard will stand by you, if you prove you’re worth it. Come on!’

Cousins, Shannon, and Carter entered the Rolls-Royce with Wallace; Cartright and Hill sat in the back of Brien’s Vauxhall with Farrell between them. Precautions had been taken to ascertain that there were no suspicious characters in the vicinity, and Sir Leonard carefully scrutinised Johnson, laughingly demanding to know if he were in reality the ex-soldier.

Although bitterly cold, the weather offered a striking contrast to that of the previous night. The moon shone down from an almost cloudless sky, rendering headlights practically unnecessary. Once away from London, the two cars made speedy progress, even though the Vauxhall caused a slight delay between Rainham and Wennington with a puncture, but the wheel with the faulty tyre was quickly replaced by Cartwright and Hill, Farrell insisting on lending a hand. Progress became slower as they drew near their destination, and were compelled to travel along a series of narrow by-roads, especially as they were not certain of the way, and signboards were few and far between. However, at five minutes to eleven, the two cars approached the tiny village of Shifton, and were met by a man who had apparently been awaiting their arrival, a couple of hundred yards from the beginning of its one street.

‘That you, sir?’ asked the voice of Inspector Seymour.

‘Yes,’ replied Wallace, stepping into the road. ‘By Jove!’ he added with a shiver, ‘it’s freezing hard. Anything further to report, Seymour?’

‘Nothing, sir. We’ve taken turns in keeping watch – Willingdon
is down there now. From where he is stationed the steamer can be seen quite distinctly, and we’re pretty sure nobody has come or gone since we’ve been watching. The motorboat is still tied up alongside.’

‘Good. How far is it to the place where Willingdon is posted?’

‘About twenty minutes walk, sir. There are several boats lying thereabouts.’

‘We’d better be getting along.’

Wallace collected his force together, Johnson being left in charge of the cars. Led by Seymour, who had been joined by MacAlpine the third detective, the little party made its way along a path running parallel to the creek, Carter carrying a coil of thin, strong rope. It was not easy going. A heterogeneous collection of shrubs and bushes dotted the landscape, at times causing the walkers to step aside on to muddy, marshy ground that gave at every footstep. In places this had frozen, giving off in consequence a loud crackling sound as it was trodden on. Once Farrell, who was following Shannon, slipped and fell, cutting his face on some brambles and slightly twisting his ankle, but, after a slight pause, was able to continue without much discomfort. From what could be seen of it by moonlight, the countryside looked distinctly bleak and uninviting. Here and there tall, gaunt trees were silhouetted against the sky, looking weird and sinister in their naked ugliness. A smell of damp, rotting vegetation offended the nostrils, while a miasmatic vapour rose from the mud left uncovered in the creek by the outgoing tide. Nobody spoke, they were too much occupied in picking their way, apart from which, Wallace had given orders that as little sound as possible was to be made.