The Mystery of Tunnel 51 (Wallace of the Secret Service Series)

by Alexander Wilson

  The Mystery of Tunnel 51

  ALEXANDER WILSON

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  1. Simla

  2. A Confidential Discussion

  3. A Midnight Visit

  4. The Deputy Commissioner

  5. What Happened in the Tunnel

  6. His Excellency the Viceroy

  7. A Surprising Discovery

  8. The Inquest

  9. Sir Leonard Wallace

  10. At the India Office

  11. Lady Wallace Has a Shock

  12. An Episode in Karachi

  13. An Interrogation in Mid-Air

  14. In the Viceroy’s Study

  15. Batty Changes His Tactics

  16. Re-enter Sanders

  17. A Startling Demonstration

  18. Batty Has an Adventurous Morning

  19. Wallace Has a Narrow Escape

  20. A Surprise for Captain Williams

  21. The Raid

  22. A Desperate Chase

  23. Wallace Follows the Trail

  24. Levinsky Loses His Nerve and His Liberty

  25. Batty Averts a Tragedy

  26. The Arrival of Ata Ullah

  27. The Plans at Last

  28. A New Discovery

  29. Levinsky and Dorin Again

  30. A Terrible Situation

  31. Lady Wallace Arrives

  32. Brien to the Rescue

  About the Author

  By Alexander Wilson

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  Simla

  A jarring of brakes, and the long train gradually slowed down and stopped in Kalka station at the foot of the Simla Hills. There was the usual conglomeration of noise and bustle always associated with the arrival of a train in an Indian station. Bearers hurried about at the behest of their masters; fruit vendors, cake vendors and purveyors of chota hazri kept up the shrill cry which is so confusing to the untutored ear, and the babel of talk from the native travellers completed the din.

  The door of a first-class compartment opened and a tall, lean, weary-looking man, with a small suitcase in one hand and a haversack on his back, stepped on to the platform. Immediately he was surrounded by a clamouring mob of carriers, but waving them imperiously aside he stepped up to the stationmaster, who was giving instructions to an underling, and, waiting until the official was disengaged, he enquired if there was any possibility of booking a seat in the rail motor for Simla.

  ‘Certainly, sir,’ replied that worthy. ‘Will you come this way and I’ll fix you up. There are not very many people travelling upwards now – all the rush is for the plains.’

  They entered the office, and the matter was soon completed, the tall traveller giving his name as Major Elliott of the ‘Sappers and Miners’.

  ‘Is there time to have breakfast here?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, there is, for a hasty one, sir, but the rail motor stops at Barog about nine for breakfast and you can take your time there.’

  ‘Then I’ll wait – Thanks!’

  ‘What about your baggage, sir? Is your servant booking it through?’

  Major Elliott smiled.

  ‘I have no servant with me,’ he replied, ‘and this is my baggage.’

  He indicated the haversack and small suitcase. The stationmaster raised his eyebrows, but made no comment. So wishing him ‘good morning’ Elliott walked out of the office and strolled along in the direction of the rail motor. He stopped where the small car was drawn up, and stood for some minutes looking ahead towards where the mountains rose, which were the Mecca of so many jaded Europeans during the hot season. A look of relief came over his face, and he sighed with the satisfaction of a man who has done his duty and done that duty well.

  ‘At last!’ he murmured. ‘Ten months’ drudgery, and now relief and a little rest!’

  He was about to take his seat in the rail motor, when a hand clapped him on the back and a boisterous voice exclaimed:

  ‘Elliott, by all that’s wonderful!’

  He turned sharply, and the next moment was shaking hands with a big, burly man whose good-humoured face was lit up with pleasure.

  ‘Hallo, Willoughby, where did you spring from?’

  ‘I haven’t done any springing,’ said the boisterous one. ‘I am merely a lone male going up the hills in the hope of bringing back a memsahib. But you? Nobody has seen or heard of you for a year! Where the devil have you been?’

  ‘That is a secret,’ said Elliott, ‘which I am not at present at liberty to divulge!’

  ‘Always the mystery man, eh Elliott?’ grinned Willoughby. ‘Righto! But having been the first to find you, I claim to be the first to hear all about your disappearance. Going up?’

  ‘Yes, for a few days, I suppose. How long are you staying in Simla?’

  ‘Only till Monday. Simla will be tame now the Viceroy and all the big-wigs have returned to the plains.’

  Elliott gripped Willoughby’s arm so tightly that the latter looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Did you say the Viceroy had come down?’

  ‘I did. He came down yesterday.’

  ‘Damnation!’

  Willoughby stared at his friend questioningly.

  ‘His Excellency’s movements seem to annoy you,’ he said. ‘You weren’t going to see him, were you?’

  ‘I was!’

  Willoughby whistled and stared harder than ever.

  ‘What a pity he didn’t know!’ he said sarcastically. ‘He might have waited for you!’

  Elliott shrugged his shoulders, then:

  ‘Perhaps he would have done,’ he said.

  His friend looked as if he were not quite sure of the Major’s sanity; then with a roar of laughter he gave him another pat on the back and said:

  ‘You’re the queerest fellow I ever met. Come and take your seat; we’ll soon be off.’

  Elliott hesitated.

  ‘I don’t know whether to go up now or carry on to Delhi,’ he said, almost to himself; and then apparently making up his mind, he added: ‘Oh well, there’s bound to be a message, so perhaps I had better go up.’

  Five minutes later the little rail motor drew out of the station, and was soon climbing up the mountains on its way to Simla.

  Those who are making the journey to the famous hill station for the first time find a peculiar fascination in the trip. On all sides rise jagged heights and densely wooded slopes; now the train is climbing a steep incline, now running through a narrow tunnel, or again along a ledge from which the traveller looks down hundreds of feet into a valley below. As one rises higher and higher the panorama spread before one becomes more and more magnificent, and after a while one feels hemmed in from the outside world by the heights which rise all round. The air becomes cooler and sharper, and those who have not troubled to discard the thin clothes of the plains for something warmer begin to shiver and regret their lack of foresight. Tiny little stations are passed on the way at each of which a signalman waits to show if the line is clear. Halfway up there is a beautiful little spot called Barog, where a first-class dining room gladdens the traveller’s heart and reminds him that the rarefied atmosphere has reborn an appetite which the hot weather on the plains had apparently destroyed. Sixty miles of climbing and circling the hills brings the train at last to Simla, with its steep roads, its beautiful scenery, its rickshas, which are the only means of conveyance, and its many and varied races, tribes and religions.

  From Kalka to Barog neither Elliott nor Willoughby spoke much. The former appeared to be deep in thought and Willoughby instinctively refrai
ned from breaking in upon his meditations. But as soon as they had breakfasted and had both lighted cigarettes, Elliott cast off the cloak of reserve in which he had hitherto enveloped himself, and for the rest of the journey the two friends found much to discuss, so that they were quite surprised when the motor ran into Summer Hill station, which is the official station of Simla.

  ‘I think I had better alight here,’ said Elliott. ‘The sooner I get to Viceregal Lodge the better I shall be pleased.’

  He shook hands with Willoughby and, renewing a promise to call on the latter and his wife as soon as circumstances permitted, stepped down from the car and made his way to the stationmaster’s office where he asked for a ricksha to be sent for. This was soon procured and he was presently on his way to the Lodge.

  As he left the station he noticed a tall, dark man, with a decided Semitic cast of countenance, lounging at the door of the waiting room and watching him intently. Somehow the face seemed familiar, but try as he would, he could not place it. The man, apparently noticing the interest Elliot showed in him, moved hastily away, and presently disappeared.

  ‘I wonder where I have seen that fellow before,’ muttered the sapper. ‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter! It’s not likely that I have been shadowed up here! Still one never knows.’

  He lit a cigarette and presently forgot the Jewish-looking man in his enjoyable contemplation of the beauties of Simla.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A Confidential Discussion

  Perched right on the top of a hill, Viceregal Lodge stands in an imposing position and the view from its many windows, is glorious. During the season it is the hub of the official and social life of the hill capital and many great national secrets have been whispered inside those walls, which have housed so many successive viceroys.

  When Elliott reached it, it wore a dignified, restful aspect, which would have immediately told him, if he had not already known, that the man who controlled the destinies of the Indian Empire was not in residence. A solitary sentry stood at the gates, and he saluted the Major as though he regarded the latter’s advent as rather unusual. A servant showed him into an office where two Indian clerks were seated engaged in animated conversation. They looked up at his entry and one, who appeared to be the senior, said in a supercilious tone:

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  He looked rather disparagingly at Elliott’s travel-worn appearance, which the Major was quick to notice and resent. The latter coolly seated himself.

  ‘I am Major Elliott,’ he said. ‘Is there any message for me?’

  The clerk seemed galvanised as if by an electric shock. He stood up and bowed.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, no longer supercilious, ‘I have instructions with regard to you. Will you be so good as to come with me. Sir Henry Muir, His Excellency’s Private Secretary, awaits you.’

  He led the Major along a corridor, up some richly carpeted stairs, and knocked on a door halfway along another corridor. A deep voice answered, and the clerk opened the door and announced:

  ‘Major Elliott!’ and withdrew.

  The sapper entered a room tastefully furnished, but which had the look of an office. It was lighted by two large windows and in the centre stood a beautifully carved desk at which a man was seated. He rose and came towards Elliott as the latter entered the room, and showed himself to be a small, alert man of about thirty-five. He wore pince-nez, but they failed to hide the keen, penetrating eyes behind them. His hair was greying at the temples and he had the bearing of a man of quick decisions and authority. He strode quickly to Elliott, his hand outstretched in welcome. ‘My dear Elliott,’ he said. ‘At last!’

  ‘Sir Henry Muir of all people!’ said Elliott, warmly returning the hand-clasp. ‘This is a greater pleasure than I expected.’

  ‘Then you knew His Excellency had returned to Delhi?’ asked Sir Henry, pushing a chair towards him and reseating himself at the desk.

  ‘Yes, I heard it at Kalka. I almost decided to go on to Delhi, but guessed there would be instructions for me here.’

  ‘I’m glad you came,’ said Sir Henry, ‘otherwise I should have been cooped up here for a few days longer and I am not a great lover of Simla.’

  ‘Then you waited specially for me?’ asked Elliott.

  ‘I did. The Viceroy’s instructions were to await your arrival and accompany you straight to Delhi. I suppose you’ll want a day’s rest after all your travels, so I’ll make arrangements for us to leave tomorrow evening and go through by the Calcutta express.’

  ‘I’m ready to travel tonight if you wish.’

  ‘Nonsense! We’re not altogether heartless, you know. I’ll have a room prepared for you here, and no doubt you’ll be glad of a bath and change right away!’

  ‘Thanks, I shall. You must think me pretty cool walking in like a scarecrow.’

  Sir Henry laughed.

  ‘Quite a tidy-looking scarecrow. You surprise me – I expected a totally different-looking personage, and you turn up almost brand new.’

  He rang a bell, and, to the bearer who entered, gave instructions in rapid Urdu. The bearer bowed and noiselessly went out. Sir Henry gazed intently at his companion, and noted the haggard, worn look on his face and the tired eyes.

  ‘You’ve had a pretty thick time of it, haven’t you?’ he asked sympathetically.

  ‘Well, it hasn’t been a bed of roses,’ replied the soldier. ‘Ten months of strain doesn’t improve one’s looks, but I’ve completed the job I went to do, and that’s my satisfaction.’

  Sir Henry dropped his voice.

  ‘Did you have any trouble in getting back? Any attempts to rob you?’

  ‘No, though I’ve thought myself shadowed several times. Of course I was watched on the frontier, and three attempts made to assassinate me.’

  ‘Good Lord!’

  Elliott laughed.

  ‘I remained too wide awake for them, however. But that’s nothing – I expected it! I had to shoot one fellow, though, but he might have been an ordinary thief.’

  ‘What was he?’

  ‘A Pathan.’

  ‘H’m! And the plans—?’

  ‘Are quite intact and as safe as houses. I carry them in a case under my shirt, and they’ve never left me night or day.’

  ‘Good!’

  At that point the bearer re-entered to announce that the room and bath were ready. Sir Henry rose with his guest and walked with him to the door.

  ‘As soon as you’re ready we’ll have lunch,’ he said.

  Elliott thanked him and withdrew.

  After luncheon the two men returned to Sir Henry’s study and over some excellent cigars Elliott gave an account of his ten months’ wanderings.

  ‘The plans are complete in every way,’ he said. ‘I went over the same ground two or three times to make certain there could be no mistake. Each pass is marked with full information as to when it is open and when not. All our defences and fortifications are down to the minutest detail. The notes contained on my report are exhaustive and I flatter myself that the map is the most complete that could possibly be drawn.’

  ‘Splendid!’ said Sir Henry. ‘If all we hear about the activities of the Russian spies is true, they would possibly give a fortune to possess that case of yours.’

  ‘Then I’m glad I’m back. But honestly I think the Bolshevik spy scare is a bit exaggerated, don’t you? I did not see one man whom any stretch of imagination could convert into a spy.’

  ‘What about the attempts at assassinating you?’

  ‘Nothing to do with spies. You must remember that I was compelled to go into some pretty sticky places, and the folk up there regard a murder or two as deeds well done!’

  ‘H’m, I’m not so sure that there wasn’t something behind it. Did you search the Pathan you shot?’

  Elliott carefully removed his cigar ash.

  ‘Yes, but there wasn’t a scrap of paper to tell me anything. One curious fact struck me, however: he had two hundred rupees on him in not
es.’

  Sir Henry looked at the other sharply.

  ‘That’s an interesting item,’ he said; ‘one does not expect a fellow of his type to carry a large amount of money about with him. He may have been paid that sum to kill you’

  ‘Well, he failed, and I’m back in civilisation now, thank goodness.’

  There was silence for some time; then Muir leant closer towards the other and spoke quietly.

  ‘We cannot afford to take any risks even now,’ he said, ‘and I am going to keep as close as a leech to you all the way to Delhi. Three times during the last three months there have been attempts at burglary at the Secretariat and I am firmly convinced that on each occasion it was the work of Russian Bolshevik spies. Russia has her eyes set on India now more than she ever had, and the country is overrun with her agents.’

  Major Elliott stretched back luxuriously in his chair, and smiled.

  ‘You’ve still got it badly, Sir Henry,’ he said. ‘If I remember correctly you have always been rather prone to the Russian menace. Why should Russia, more than any other nation, hunger for India? Surely their internal troubles must keep them fully occupied without that.’

  ‘But think what India would mean to Russia Why, this country would be a Godsend to a nation like that. The possibilities to her would be immense – stupendous.’

  ‘I know all that, but then she is not in a condition even to consider India, much less make a grasp at her.’

  ‘One cannot tell what Russia is in a condition to do,’ said Sir Henry portentously. ‘She may have resources which we never dream of, and I do think that at present there is a very decided danger from her, and that this country is full of her agents gleaning information from every possible source. I am not alone in my opinion. The Viceroy shares it with me!’

  Elliott shrugged his shoulders and gazed reflectively at the end of his cigar.

  ‘You may be right,’ he said, ‘and of course every precaution should be taken, but personally I think the greatest trouble India is suffering from just now is the unfortunate misunderstandings that exist between her own peoples.’