‘Poor beggars!’ he said to the Commissioner. ‘What a beastly life to lead!’
The Colonel shrugged his shoulders.
‘It is their job!’ he replied, and led the way into the station. The stationmaster saw them and hurried up.
‘Good morning, Sloan!’ said Sanders. ‘Where’s Mr Hartley?’
‘In that siding, sir, standing by number six.’
They walked along the platform, and found Hartley near a rail motor car. He was introduced to Wallace and Brien, and saluted respectfully.
‘Is this the car in which the murder took place?’ asked Leonard.
‘Yes,’ replied the Commissioner, and the four of them gazed at it in silence for a moment.
‘An innocent looking object,’ murmured Billy.
‘And a most puzzling one, too,’ grunted Sanders. He turned to Wallace. ‘I suppose Muir has told you the whole story, Sir Leonard?’ he questioned,
‘Muir was concise, lucid and dramatic!’ replied Leonard. ‘He told me everything so clearly that I was able to picture it. Tell me!’ he added. ‘What is your theory about the light suddenly going out?’
‘I felt certain that the loose bulb business was all wrong,’ replied Sanders, ‘and I had the whole car examined by electrical experts to see if it would have been possible for anybody to interfere with the lighting in the tunnel. But they declared it would not be. Hartley here is one of the maniacs who consider that the lamp must have been loose and thus the shaking of the car temporarily caused the light to fail,’ he added.
Wallace looked at the police officer.
‘Doesn’t it strike you as a most remarkable coincidence,’ he asked, ‘that it should go out at the identical time that the murder was committed?’
‘Well, no, sir! My idea is that the murderer was waiting in the tunnel to kill Major Elliott in any case, and that the failure of the light helped his purpose!’
‘That’s Muir’s theory!’ murmured Billy.
‘Oh, but it’s weak – weak!’ growled the Commissioner.
‘It is!’ nodded Wallace. ‘Very weak indeed!’
‘I am convinced,’ went on the other, ‘that the fellow was concealed in the car all the way, and that he did not jump on in the tunnel. He certainly jumped off there after he had murdered Elliott!’
‘That is rather immaterial,’ said Leonard. ‘At all events it’s the plans I’m after, and according to Muir’s story there was no time for them to have been stolen when the murder took place.’
‘There was not, sir,’ said Hartley with decision.
‘But supposing Major Elliott had them in his breast pocket! It would have been easy to have abstracted them!’
‘No, sir. His coat was buttoned up with four buttons and it would have been impossible for the murderer to stab Major Elliott, unbutton his coat, take out the plans, and then button the coat up again!’
‘H’m!’
‘I still have my suspicions that the driver was connected with the business somehow,’ said Sanders. ‘Both Captain Williams and Hartley swear that he couldn’t have switched off the light without their seeing him do it, but, I don’t know—’ He shook his head doubtfully.
‘Why couldn’t he?’ demanded Wallace.
‘Well, sir, he would have had to stretch right across Captain Williams to reach the switch,’ replied Hartley.
‘Ah! That brings me to my little theory.’
‘Your theory?’ asked Sanders.
Leonard smiled.
‘Yes! You see Muir was so exact in his description of everything that I was able to form a little idea of my own.’
‘Well, I’m hanged!’ exclaimed the Colonel, and then turned and swore at some native loungers who had approached and were watching the four with curiosity.
‘Where is this switch?’ asked Wallace.
Hartley pointed it out to him. It was placed just in the centre of the dashboard, and was an ordinary electric light switch, though a trifle larger than the usual household variety. He entered the car, and sat in the driver’s seat.
‘Get in, Hartley,’ he said, ‘and sit where Captain Williams sat!’
The policeman got in, and sat by his side. Brien and Sanders watched them curiously. Leonard leant across and touched the little knob. In doing so his arm brushed Hartley’s knee.
‘H’m!’ grunted the Colonel. ‘I never thought of testing it like that. Certainly, the driver could not have switched off the lights without Williams, at least, knowing. Well,’ he growled, ‘I suppose I shall have to accept the idea that the light was jolted off and on again, and put it down to coincidence!’
‘By no means, Sanders,’ said Wallace, stepping lazily out of the car. ‘The whole thing hangs on the failure of the light, and my little theory is strengthened. Now with your permission we’ll test it. Then, perhaps, I shall be able to tell you who stole the plans!’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A Startling Demonstration
Wallace’s statement seemed to startle his three companions, for they gazed at him for a moment or two in surprise, then:
‘What do you want to do?’ asked the Commissioner.
‘Go down to the tunnel where the murder was committed,’ replied Wallace, ‘in this car and, if possible, with the same driver!’
‘I don’t know about the same driver,’ said Sanders, ‘but the rest can be arranged no doubt. Go and talk to Sloan, and fix it up, Hartley!’
The policeman hurried off, and Wallace leant on the car with his arms folded and looked inside.
‘This is where Elliott sat, isn’t it?’ he asked, and the Colonel nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and my theory is that the murderer lay on the floor there.’ He pointed to the floor space just behind the seat that had been occupied, by the murdered officer, ‘and at the appointed time rose up and stabbed him!’
Wallace shook his head.
‘Rather daring if he did,’ he said. ‘There are several stations on the way down, are there not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I don’t think he would have risked discovery in that bold manner.’
‘Whoever he is, or they are, and I believe there are several of them, they don’t hesitate at risks, as witness the attempt on Elliott in Viceregal Lodge!’
‘I suppose you never found the fellow who got in that night?’
‘Not a trace!’ replied Sanders gloomily, ‘though I combed the bazaar and all the native houses in the district thoroughly for any man with a bullet wound.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know he was wounded!’
‘Yes, found blood on the tree he came down by from the room. Muir might have caught him if he’d been a bit smarter.’
Wallace smiled, and for a time there was silence.
‘By the way, Colonel,’ asked Billy presently, ‘what became of the white man whom Elliott suspected of watching him? Didn’t you follow him from here?’
‘I followed him from Summer Hill station, and had him closely watched. He was staying in one of the best hotels, and left the next day. My men traced him all the way to his destination. He is a perfectly innocent and respectable member of society, and a highly valued commercial traveller of a very reputable firm which has branches all over India.’
‘I seem to be getting a testimonial of him,’ murmured Brien.
‘Where did he go to?’ asked Leonard, carefully filling his pipe.
‘Lahore!’
Billy whistled, and Wallace stopped in the act of striking a match, and looked quizzically at the Colonel.
‘All roads lead to Lahore!’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing much! We’re taking a little joy ride, or rather I should say flight to Lahore, when we’ve finished here.’ And he went on with the careful ceremony of lighting his pipe. That finished, and puffing out a cloud of smoke:
‘What was this highly respectable gentleman like?’ he queried.
‘You seem very much interested in him, Sir Leonard!�
�
‘I am – very much interested.’
‘I was at first, until he turned out to be such an entirely innocent sort of fellow.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, because Elliott had seen him in Kabul and Peshawar, and at the time that struck me as suspicious, but, of course, his being a commercial traveller accounted for his moving about so much.’
‘But not with Major Elliott,’ said Billy.
‘Oh, that was merely an accident. But you want a description of him. Well, he is very tall, quite six feet in height, and rather broad; has black hair, which he keeps brushed right back without a parting and allows to grow rather longer than usual; a small black semi-military moustache, sallow complexion, thick eyebrows, and a big heavy Jewish nose.’
‘That nose: will I ever forget it!’ said Leonard quietly.
‘Do you know him?’ asked Sanders in surprise.
‘Oh yes, I know him well – and so does Brien! Billy,’ he said to his second string, ‘remove the moustache and crop the hair closer, and whom do you find?’
Brien thought deeply for a moment or two and muttered the description to himself, then:
‘Great Scott!’ he exclaimed. ‘Levinsky!’
‘You’ve hit it – our dear old friend, Levinsky.’
The Commissioner was watching them in amazement.
‘You’ve made a mistake,’ he said; ‘his name is Silverman!’
‘Oh, well,’ said Leonard, shrugging his shoulders, ‘one name’s as good as another! What is the name of the very reputable firm he belongs to?’
‘Campbell and Brown!’
‘The famous wine and spirit merchants? Well, certainly Mr Levinsky – Silverman is adept at getting in with the best people.’
‘Look here, Sir Leonard’ said Sanders irritably. ‘Do you know something about this man?’
‘A good deal,’ replied Wallace, puffing away contentedly. ‘Brien and I have had two or three quite exciting little passages with him, although the last was three or four years ago.’
‘Then he is not altogether what he appears to be?’
‘No – not altogether. For your private ear alone, I may inform you that he is one of the most dangerous men in the world!’ Sanders started. ‘He is one of the chief, in fact I should say the chief spy of the Russian Soviet Government.’
‘Good Lord!’ groaned the Commissioner. ‘And I let him slip through my fingers!’
‘Don’t worry about that! I’m glad you did for if you had arrested him – and, I can assure you, you would have found it the most extraordinarily ticklish business – you might have upset my arrangements. I am out here, Colonel Sanders,’ he added, in a sterner voice, ‘not only to recover those plans, but to try and rid India of this Russian menace and I assure you that the country is simply overrun with spies and agents of the Russian government who are doing their best to undermine British rule.’
The Commissioner digested this statement for some time. Brien interrupted his thoughts.
‘Where does Levinsky live when he is at home?’ he asked.
‘He has a bungalow in Davis Road, Lahore,’ replied Sanders.
‘We must remember that,’ said Leonard, ‘though it is very unlikely that we shall ever catch him there. By the way, Sanders,’ he added, ‘is it possible for you to poach on other people’s preserves?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, we are going to Lahore from Simla, and there may be one or two happenings there that I should like you to be in. Can you come with us?’
‘That is Rainer’s district, and I couldn’t very well act officially there,’ replied the Commissioner regretfully, ‘but, by Jove! I’d like to come.’
‘You’re after Elliott’s murderer, are you not?’
‘Yes, of course!’
‘And I suppose can go anywhere on that duty? Well, I can’t hand over the actual murderer to you, but I think I may be able to put you on to an accessory to the crime!’
‘You can?’ asked Sanders in startled surprise.
‘I didn’t say I can – I said I think I may be able to.’
‘That’s good enough for me! I’ll come with you!’
‘Good!’
Just then Hartley hurried back followed by the stationmaster, and the driver of the rail motor.
‘Sorry I’ve been so long, sir,’ he said to Sanders, ‘but the driver was off duty, and it took a little while to find him.’
‘Is the line quite clear, Sloan?’ asked the Colonel.
‘Quite, sir. And I’ll see that it is kept clear until you are back. I suppose you’ll be here before the twelve-fifteen leaves?’
‘Oh, yes, we’re only going to tunnel 51.’
‘I see, sir!’ And the stationmaster turned away.
‘Perhaps though,’ went on Sanders to Wallace, ‘you wanted to go to Barog, Sir Leonard, and interview the doctor there?’
‘No, thanks. All I am interested in in Barog is the room where Major Elliott’s body was placed, and that, I believe, was only a small apartment with no windows and one door?’
‘Yes!’
‘And Captain Williams had the key of that door, and only he and the doctor could get in until you arrived; isn’t that so?’
‘Yes!’
‘I might want to see the doctor some other time, but I don’t think I shall. So let us start!’
The driver, who was the same man who had driven the motor when Major Elliott met his death, was in a condition of high nervous tension, and watched the four almost in a state of dread. They all boarded the car, and presently were running down the hill. Colonel Sanders pointed out the spot where he had started to trail the Jewish-looking commercial traveller as they passed Summer Hill station, but Wallace appeared to have lost all interest in the matter in hand, and sat blowing out clouds of smoke from his pipe, and gazing abstractedly at the scenery. One after another they passed the little wayside stations, stopping a minute or two at Tara Devi where the Colonel got out and gave a message relative to his departure from Simla to one of his subordinates whom he found waiting there. Several tunnels were passed through, most of them merely gaps that they were through in the twinkling of an eye, others a trifle longer, and one or two that nearly earned the name of tunnel.
At last tunnel 51 was reached and Hartley was directed to stop the car as near the exact spot where the light had gone out as he could remember. He did so and they came to a halt.
‘It was just about here, sir,’ he said to Wallace, who got out and looked curiously round the dark, vault-like place in which he stood. The brilliant headlights of the car, which had been switched on when they entered the tunnel, illuminated the surrounding gloom, and caused weird shadows to appear. The walls, which were dripping with moisture, showed, in places, creeping, slimy-looking things, which, startled at the light, scuttled into crevices out of sight. Leonard noticed that at interval lamps were placed, but they gave a very feeble illumination.
‘I suppose these lamps hardly make any difference at all?’ he said to Hartley, who had accompanied him.
‘No, sir, they are very poor, and there are really not enough of them.’
‘Put the lights out!’ ordered Wallace in Urdu, and the driver immediately obeyed, with the result that there was only a glimmer of light in the tunnel. ‘No,’ he went on to his companions, ‘they only throw a radiance for a few yards. All right!’ he shouted again. ‘Switch them on!’
He walked back to the car.
‘Now, Hartley,’ he said, ‘get in and direct him to go on as far as the spot where you think the light went on again. Don’t go too fast, for I am going to walk!’
The policeman obeyed, and the motor moved on, with Leonard walking by its side. Then it stopped once more.
‘Just about here, sir,’ announced Hartley.
‘Just over three hundred yards! What pace were you going at?’
‘When the lights went out, the driver slackened down, sir. I should say we were moving along then at abou
t ten miles an hour!’
‘Therefore you were only in darkness for just over a minute! That proves that it would have been utterly impossible for Elliott to have been robbed as well as murdered. Now for my demonstration!’
He directed the driver to back right out of the tunnel again. About thirty yards outside he made him pull up.
‘Now,’ he said to the others. ‘Will you sit where Elliott sat, Sanders, and you next to him, Billy, in Muir’s seat. I am going to sit where Captain Williams was, next to the driver, and you, Hartley, sit in the same seat that you occupied on the fatal occasion, that is by me!’
They obeyed in silence, each of them very puzzled.
‘Now, Hartley,’ he said, ‘we are reconstructing the whole affair. Watch carefully, and you two behind, hold my hands.’ He put both hands over his shoulders, and Brien and Sanders grasped them in dumb amazement. Then he spoke to the driver in his own language.
‘Whatever takes place,’ he said, ‘do not become frightened, but carry on. Don’t stop the car until I give the word, do you understand?’
‘Yes, sahib!’
‘Switch the light on! … That’s right! Off you go!’
The car started, and, gathering speed, plunged once again into the tunnel. The rattle of the wheels, and the echo from the confined space seemed to the three, who were puzzling over Wallace’s actions, to hold a sinister note, as though some malignant force were at work. Then suddenly without the slightest warning the light went out, and they were thrown into almost complete darkness. Leonard felt the tightened grip of the hands that were holding his; Hartley ejaculated, ‘Great Heavens!’ while Sanders could be heard swearing above the roar of the motor. The driver gasped in terror and slackened speed, but the man who controlled Great Britain’s Secret Service shouted to him to carry on, and, almost blubbering in his fright, he obeyed. Then as suddenly as it had gone out the light flared on again, and presently the rail motor ran out of the tunnel, and, at Wallace’s command, stopped.
‘All right, you two,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘you can release my hands now!’
They did so, their own clammy with perspiration. Hartley sat back in his seat and mopped his brow. All three looked quite shaken, while the driver sat crouched over his controls almost fainting with terror. Wallace smiled cheerfully round on them, and pulling out his pipe commenced to load it.
The Mystery of Tunnel 51 (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) Page 14
