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

by Alexander Wilson

  Then, in the stillness of that desert atmosphere, could be heard the sound of an aeroplane’s engine, and all looked upwards; the Russians with a deadly fear, the others with the hope of deliverance.

  An aeroplane appeared in view, then another, and another.

  The group below was sighted, and one by one the machines glided down.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Brien to the Rescue

  Having handed over the plans and told his story to the Viceroy, Brien spent a couple of days in sheer laziness, as he described it, attended with great care by Lord Oundle’s own physician. The rest and attention did him a lot of good, and he began to feel quite fit again. But after a while the lack of news from Leonard bothered him, and he longed to be up and doing. As his chief showed no signs of returning, he had a vague idea of going back to Karachi to help him, but the doctor, aided by the Viceroy, Muir, Lady Oundle and Doreen, appealed to him to stay where he was, and at last, very reluctantly, he decided to remain for a couple of days longer.

  On the Sunday that the Greyhound passed the island of Perim and made her way towards Aden, he and Sir Henry Muir spent some time in calculating the yacht’s position, and having satisfied himself that she was somewhere in the Red Sea, Billy decided to send a marconigram. He wasted several forms in an effort to say what he wished to say in a reasonable number of words, but at length he was satisfied and the message was dispatched early on Monday morning. Having sent it, he gave himself up to pleasurable anticipation of the arrival of his wife and children, and spent the morning in a long cane chair in a shady part of the garden. After tiffin he was joined by Doreen, whose gay spirits and light chatter prevented him from becoming dull.

  They were engaged in the not very exciting game of Halma, and Billy had just been beaten for the fourth time, which says more for his gallantry than his ability, when a message was brought to him that he was wanted on the telephone.

  He entered the house and after some difficulty, succeeded in hearing the voice at the other end of the wire. It was the Deputy Commissioner of Karachi, and a very agitated man he appeared to be. Having made himself known, Watkins surprised Billy by asking if he had heard from Sir Leonard Wallace.

  ‘No,’ replied Billy. ‘Isn’t he with you?’

  ‘He hasn’t been here since Friday afternoon!’

  ‘Where has he gone?’

  ‘Goodness knows! I had a message calling me to the office, and when I returned he and his manservant, Batty, had disappeared. They had apparently taken my small car and gone down to the aeroplane. A stranger, whom I have been unable to trace, brought back the car, and a note from Sir Leonard saying that he was after Levinsky and might be away a couple of days. That was Friday; since then I haven’t had a word from him, and I am very worried.’

  ‘That’s strange!’ said Billy. ‘But I don’t think you need worry. Sir Leonard very often disappears like that, and there cannot be any question of foul play if he has gone in the aeroplane.’

  ‘But he took no baggage! I have all along thought there was something wrong. You see, in the first place, the telephone call that took me to my office turned out to be a hoax, and when I got back I found Sir Leonard’s note awaiting me.’

  ‘Then you did not see the man who brought it?’

  ‘No! And although I have made enquiries nobody has come forward.’

  ‘It certainly sounds rather extraordinary!’ said Billy.

  Watkins went on to describe the way in which Dorin and Levinsky had got into the house in an effort to recover the plans, and had escaped, and how he and Wallace had searched for them.

  ‘The more I think of it,’ he added, ‘the more I feel convinced that the telephone message, calling me away on Friday afternoon, was sent on purpose to get me out of the way while Sir Leonard went down to the aeroplane.’

  ‘You’ve made me feel very worried,’ said Billy. ‘I tell you what – I’ll get the Air Force here to place a machine at my disposal, and fly to Karachi. Then we can go into the matter together.’

  ‘I shall be very glad if you will,’ said Watkins, and a second later rang off.

  Billy went along to see the Viceroy and was lucky to find him disengaged. The latter listened to him thoughtfully, then said:

  ‘I think you are wise in going to Karachi in the circumstances. I’ll arrange for an aeroplane to be placed under your orders early in the morning. Will that do?’

  ‘Quite, sir, thank you!’ said Billy.

  By now he had become very anxious and returned thoughtfully to the garden, where even Doreen’s bright chatter failed to disperse the foreboding that had upon over him. He had tea with Lord and Lady Oundle and of course Doreen, and they had just finished, when Muir came across the lawn with a paper in his hand.

  ‘A wireless message for you, Brien,’ he said. ‘It was telephoned from the telegraph office to save delay.’ And he handed the slip to Billy.

  The latter read it and started to his feet.

  ‘It is from Phyllis,’ he said, ‘and she says, “Have received wireless from Leonard asking us to meet him Bushire so have changed course and are going there. Love, Phyllis.”’

  ‘What on earth is he doing in Bushire?’ asked the Viceroy.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Billy grimly. ‘There is something wrong somewhere, and I am going to find out what it is.’

  Early the next morning he left for Karachi in an aeroplane lent by the Royal Air Force and piloted by Forsyth, but owing to engine trouble they were compelled to make a forced landing near a place called Didwana, where they were held up until Wednesday afternoon. The trouble was found to be too serious to repair in a hurry and, in reply to their frantic telephone messages to Delhi, another machine was sent, which Forsyth took over, leaving the damaged one at Didwana. Eventually they arrived at Karachi at noon on Thursday.

  Billy went straight to Major Watkins’ bungalow where the Commissioner received him with relief.

  ‘Thank Goodness, you’ve come!’ he said. ‘I haven’t had a word from Sir Leonard yet.’

  ‘I received a marconigram from my wife in which she said that he had asked the yacht, which is bringing her and Lady Wallace to India, to meet him at Bushire.’

  ‘At Bushire! Then he must have tracked those Russians up there. Well, it’s a relief to know where he is and what he’s doing. I began to think that something had happened.’

  ‘And you were right,’ said Billy. ‘I feel certain that something has happened. Sir Leonard Wallace is not the man to go off in this manner without leaving a clue behind him.’

  ‘But you said that he often disappears like this.’

  ‘I know I did, but he always informs some member of his department. In this case I thought a note would have arrived for either you or me, and the only information we have about his whereabouts is an accidental mention in a marconigram. And knowing him as I do, I am sure he would not have asked his wife to meet him at Bushire if he was engaged on any serious business.’

  ‘Then do you think the wireless message was a fake?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think, but I’m off to Bushire tomorrow morning. Can I have another couple of aeroplanes?’

  ‘Good Lord! What for?’

  ‘I’ve got a very fantastic idea in my head that the aeroplane was stolen by Levinsky and Dorin, and Sir Leonard and Batty kidnapped.’

  ‘But that is ridiculous. You forget that Hallows and the mechanic would have had to be kidnapped as well, and how do you know that Dorin, or the other, knew how to pilot a machine?’

  ‘I don’t, but it’s quite likely they can; and as for Hallows and Woodhouse …’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I know the whole thing sounds mad, but I am quite willing to believe almost anything possible to those two Russians.’

  ‘But how about the yacht? Why should Levinsky and Dorin want it to go to Bushire? I presume they are the people you suspect of sending the faked marconigram – if it was a fake?’

  ‘Please don’t ask me questions which I can’
t answer. My brain feels confused, and I hardly know what I am thinking! Probably I am searching for a mare’s nest, but I’m not going to take any risks – there is just a chance that my fantastic ideas may be right. Can I have those aeroplanes?’

  ‘Of course, if I can fix it. I’ll get in touch with the Commandant of the Royal Air Force depot here at once.’

  There was some delay in getting the additional machines, and it was past noon on the next day before Billy left for Bushire, with the result that they were still four hundred miles from their destination when darkness came on and they were compelled to descend. They were away again very early in the morning and, at last, just after eleven o’clock, alighted on the outskirts of Bushire. Leaving his companions to explain matters to the Persian officials who arrived to ask the reason for this air invasion by British aeroplanes, Billy commandeered a car and was driven to the harbour, where he found a man who agreed to row him out to the yacht for a sum quite ten times the usual hire.

  Phyllis, who was sitting on deck, saw him coming, and awaited him at the top of the gangway with the children. There were an emotional few minutes; then holding him from her:

  ‘What on earth has happened, dear?’ she asked in great anxiety. ‘Why are you covered with bandages?’

  ‘Don’t trouble about that now, Phyllis!’ he replied. ‘I’ll tell you all later on. Where is Molly?’

  ‘She’s gone ashore with Mr Spencer to meet Leonard.’

  ‘Mr Spencer! Who is he?’

  ‘The Deputy Commissioner of Karachi.’

  ‘My God!’ exclaimed Billy. ‘What was he like?’

  Phyllis stared at him in surprise.

  ‘What is the matter, dear?’ she asked.

  ‘Tell me what he is like for God’s sake! It is a matter of life and death!’

  Frightened by his vehemence, Phyllis did as she was asked.

  ‘He is very tall and fair, and has a beard,’ she said.

  ‘Dorin!’ ejaculated her husband, and added, ‘I shall have to leave you, dear: Molly is in grave danger. Which way did they go?’

  Full of anxiety, Phyllis told him that Dorin had said that they were to meet Wallace at a rendezvous twenty miles north of the city.

  ‘That’s all I can tell you,’ she concluded.

  He kissed her and the children.

  ‘I must get after them as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘I hope it won’t be very long before I’m back with both Molly and Leonard.’

  ‘God grant it, dear!’ she replied earnestly, and he ran down the gangway and jumped into the waiting boat.

  He presently turned to wave his hand. She was still standing where he had left her, her right hand caressing the curls of her eldest son’s head, her left plucking nervously at her handkerchief in the dread lest some danger should befall him.

  Heaping vituperations on the head of the unfortunate driver of the commandeered car, in order to get him to go quicker (not a word of which the man understood), Billy soon rejoined Forsyth and the others. They were still engaged with the Persian officials, who were making copious notes. He gave orders to start at once, telling Forsyth in which direction to go. As the officials saw these foreign airmen making ready to depart, their indignation knew no bounds, and one even drew a revolver, thinking that such an act would show the strangers that they could not come and go on Persian territory with impunity. Forsyth immediately pulled it from his hand and flung it away. Then commenced a deafening babel, in the midst of which the three aeroplanes rose one after the other and flew away, leaving a crowd of angry men waving notebooks and pencils in their impotent wrath.

  It was some time before the trail was picked up, and then Forsyth saw a car below apparently making its way in the direction of Bushire. At Billy’s suggestion he descended, and the driver of the car, who was very startled, informed them that a lady and gentleman had left his car a quarter of an hour before, and had gone away in a very large flying-machine. He appeared impressed by the size of the other aeroplane, for he repeated that it was a very large one several times, and looked with contempt at Billy’s small fighting machine. But the latter had obtained the information be required, and his small flying force headed away due north. Brien sat in his seat with a pair of field glasses glued to his eyes, and at last discerned his quarry between a group of sand hills. He gave the signal, and the three machines sank to earth.

  As he jumped from the plane a dramatic scene met his eyes.

  A terrible-looking figure, whose clothes were torn in shreds and whose face was a mass of dirt and clotted blood, stood swaying weakly next to a woman, and with a gasp of horror Billy recognised him as Wallace. The woman was Molly, who stood, her little head proudly uplifted, facing Levinsky with a revolver. Farther on was Batty with clenched fists, standing over a man who lay on the ground at his feet. Two other men were huddled together by the great aeroplane which had served Leonard so well and, in the end, almost proved to be his undoing, while near them lay Woodhouse and Hallows with their hands tied behind them.

  All this appeared like a cinema picture before Billy’s eyes as he dashed forward with drawn revolver, followed by Forsyth and his companions of the other machines.

  Levinsky swung round with a snarl.

  ‘So I lose after all,’ he said. ‘Then Sir Leonard Wallace and his wife die first.’ And suddenly he drew his revolver and fired point blank at Molly.

  But Leonard had guessed what was coming, and a fraction of a second before the shot he threw himself against Molly, and the two of them fell to the ground, the bullet passing harmlessly over them. At the same moment Billy’s revolver spoke; Levinsky staggered drunkenly, sank to his knees, and rolled over with a bullet through his heart.

  ‘So much for you, Levinsky,’ muttered Brien. ‘It was a better death than you ever deserved to die.’

  Batty had allowed his attention to wander from Dorin during the events that ended with Levinsky’s death, and now the Russian, springing to his feet, dashed the sailor to the ground with a blow of his left fist and fired two shots in rapid succession at Billy. Both missed, and he fell riddled with bullets fired by the airmen. Alexieff and Polunin made a feeble attempt at resistance, but were soon overpowered and, skilfully bound, were thrust into the interior of the big aeroplane. Hallows and Woodhouse were relieved of their bonds, and Molly who, now that everything was over, looked as though she were going to faint, shakily cut the cord that tied her husband’s wrists together. Batty procured water and half sobbing, half laughing in her utter relief, she bathed Leonard’s face with tender care. He smiled up at Billy.

  ‘Thanks, old chap!’ he said, and there was a wealth of meaning in that simple little phrase. ‘So we got them both in the end, and it’s due to you and Molly here. By Jove, darling!’ he added shakily, ‘I’m proud of you. But – but I’m sorry you found me in this state.’ He smiled. ‘I’m a frightful mess, I’m afraid!’

  A sob escaped Molly, and Billy turned away.

  Impatiently he brushed something damp from his eyes, then blew his nose vigorously.

  ‘I’m an idiot!’ he muttered to himself.

  NEXT IN THE SERIES

  THE DEVIL’S COCKTAIL

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  About the Author

  ALEXANDER WILSON was a writer, spy and secret service officer. He served in the First World War before moving to India to teach as a Professor of English Literature and eventually became P
rincipal of Islamia College at the University of Punjab in Lahore. He began writing spy novels whilst in India and he enjoyed great success in the 1930s with reviews in the Telegraph, Observer and the Times Literary Supplement amongst others. Wilson also worked as an intelligence agent and his characters are based on his own fascinating and largely unknown career in the Secret Intelligence Service. He passed away in 1963.

  By Alexander Wilson

  The Mystery of Tunnel 51

  The Devil’s Cocktail

  Wallace of the Secret Service

  Get Wallace!

  His Excellency, Governor Wallace

  Microbes of Power

  Wallace at Bay

  Wallace Intervenes

  Chronicles of the Secret Service

  Copyright

  Allison & Busby Limited

  12 Fitzroy Mews

  London W1T 6DW

  www.allisonandbusby.com

  First published in 1928.

  This ebook edition published by Allison & Busby in 2015.

  Copyright © 1928 by THE ALEXANDER WILSON ESTATE

  All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.