Wallace of the Secret Service (Wallace of the Secret Service Series)

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘There is little use your attempting to resist,’ he remarked in perfect English. ‘We have you in our power.’

  ‘Not quite,’ retorted Sir Leonard quietly. ‘You probably expected to be able to enter quickly and stab me while the lady held me for you. However, reluctant as I was to tear myself away from the arms of such a beautiful woman, I did not quite see eye to eye with you concerning the stabbing part of the business. I rather imagine the tables are turned.’

  He stood, his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown, and smiled triumphantly at the other. Despite his peril, he actually appeared to be enjoying himself.

  ‘The tables are certainly not turned,’ retorted the Egyptian. ‘As you perceive, I am covering you with a revolver, which, after all, is more effective than a knife.’

  Wallace, still smiling, shook his head.

  ‘You daren’t fire,’ he commented, ‘for you have no desire to rouse the hotel. Your only hope was to enter and stab me before I had time to cry out. That hope has gone and, I think, as it is very late, you had better go also.’

  The man in dress clothes nodded almost imperceptibly to the two Arabs, who immediately sprang on the bed and made a dive for the Englishman, their knives glittering balefully in the light, but, almost like a conjuring trick, a revolver appeared in his hand, and drew a steady bead on them. The presence of a weapon, where they had expected none, nonplussed the scoundrels, and they halted in their onrush, balancing themselves on the bed, and uncertain what course to pursue.

  As they looked into the cold, steel grey eyes of the man they had expected to murder with such ease, they saw death there, and involuntarily retreated until they stood once again on the floor at the other side of the bed.

  ‘Your hired bravoes are sensible men,’ observed Sir Leonard to the Egyptian. ‘Although you dare not shoot, I shall do so with pleasure, if you give me any necessity. In fact,’ he went on with the air of a man discussing the fluctuations of the money market or some other commonplace topic, ‘it would be just as well if I shot the lot of you. Nobody could blame me, and such an act would do Egypt quite a lot of good.’

  A look of baffled fury disfigured the beautiful face of the woman. Her husband, for such Wallace presumed the man in evening dress to be, showed no emotion at all.

  ‘What do you think I should be doing while you were shooting us?’ he sneered. ‘You appear to have overlooked the fact that I also have a revolver.’

  ‘I’d fire at you first,’ retorted the Englishman, ‘and I bet you’d be disabled before you could press the trigger. Shall we try it?’ he added pleasantly. ‘If not, throw your revolver, and tell your men to throw their knives on the bed.’

  After a momentary hesitation, his orders were complied with, and the four stood sullenly looking at him, the two Arabs with fear shining out of their dark eyes, wondering what would be his next move. Wallace was rather puzzled what to do with them himself. If he roused the hotel, and caused them to be handed over to justice, it would mean that his own identity would be made public, and, although he was known apparently to the people he had hoped to deceive, he still had no desire to be mixed up in a trial. After all, Egypt was now an independent kingdom, and he might as well go back to England as allow his name and profession to be broadcast throughout Cairo. He decided to find out what he could about Henderson, then let his four adversaries go. As he made up his mind, the composure of the Egyptian broke.

  ‘You may have obtained the upper hand this time,’ he snarled, ‘but you won’t win again. You can do what you like with us, but there are others – hundreds of them – and they will get you.’

  ‘Thanks for the information,’ acknowledged Wallace cheerfully. ‘But my private opinion of you is that you are the world’s worst bunglers. First you try to get me into your power by means of an expedient that a child would have suspected, then you come to a hotel, where the slightest noise would have meant your discovery, with the intention of murdering me. A pretty lot of conspirators you are, to be sure. Why wasn’t Madame entrusted with a dagger? She would have had a fairly good chance of stabbing me when I was almost persuaded into believing in her.’

  ‘Our women are incapable of that sort of thing,’ declared the fellow, a note almost of pride in his voice.

  ‘So are the rest of you from the look of it,’ retorted Sir Leonard. ‘Sit down, Madame, and you also, Mr – er – Conspirator, and tell that pair of beauties to squat in the corner over there so that I can keep my eye on them.’ His orders were obeyed. ‘I want to ask you a few questions,’ he went on.

  ‘You will get no information from me,’ began the Egyptian.

  Wallace waved his hand airily.

  ‘I am not going to ask you anything about the secret plans and intrigues of your party,’ he observed. ‘I know all I want to know about them already.’ Both the man and woman started violently, and exchanged dismayed glances. ‘I simply wish you to tell me,’ went on Sir Leonard, ‘what you have done with Mr Henderson.’

  ‘Henderson!’ exclaimed the Egyptian. ‘I do not know any one of that name.’

  ‘Try again!’ encouraged the Englishman. ‘A little reflection may help you to remember.’

  But the fellow persisted in maintaining a pretence of ignorance, and at last Wallace desisted from attempting to obtain information. A better idea had occurred to him. Still covering them with his revolver, he strode round the bed, and stood looking down at them.

  ‘Listen to me carefully,’ he enjoined sternly. ‘I know very well that Mr Henderson is in your power, or perhaps I should say, in the power of the political party of which you are a member. You and your wife and those two cut-throats over there are, on the other hand, in my power. I am going to make a bargain with you. Obtain the release of Henderson before sunrise, and you all go free. If he is not in this room by then, you will be handed over to the authorities, and will have to stand your trial for attempted murder.’

  ‘How is it possible for me to obtain the release of this man, if I am detained here as your prisoner?’

  ‘So you admit that you do know where Henderson is?’

  ‘I admit nothing.’

  ‘You’d better. Your liberty and that of the lady with you depend upon your obtaining Henderson’s release.’

  ‘You do not mean to say you would allow my wife to be arrested?’

  ‘Most certainly. She is a party to the conspiracy and, though I regret that the whole story would be made public including the fact that she, an Egyptian lady of high degree, spent over half an hour in a man’s bedroom after midnight, nevertheless there is no option unless, as I have already stated, you obtain Mr Henderson’s release.’

  The face of the woman had gone deadly pale, the man’s sickly yellow. Apparently the honour of his wife was the strongest argument in favour of his agreeing to the proposal, for he looked at Sir Leonard almost eagerly.

  ‘Tell me what you wish me to do,’ he solicited.

  Wallace pointed to the table.

  ‘There are pens, paper and ink there,’ he said. ‘Write a letter to whomsoever is concerned, explain the predicament you are in, and the conditions of your release. One of those Arabs can take the note, and I suppose, as you have apparently entered the hotel without being seen, Mr Henderson can be brought up in the same manner.’

  ‘Suppose my – friends refuse to send him?’

  Sir Leonard shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Then you go to prison. It depends entirely upon you now whether you are released, and your wife saved not only imprisonment but a most embarrassing disclosure. But I warn you; no treachery! On the entry into this room of any unauthorised persons, whom in your simplicity you may ask to come to your rescue, I will shoot you and at the same moment press that bell over there. I hope you thoroughly understand me.’

  ‘I will write in French, then you can read the letter yourself,’ muttered the man hoarsely.

  For quite ten minutes he wrote and, from the intent expression on his face, Wallace gathered that
he was addressing an earnest appeal to the person concerned. At length he laid down his pen, and handed the letter to his captor. It stated matters bluntly and concisely. Having read it, and found nothing in it of an objectionable nature, Wallace called one of the Arabs to him. The man, his eyes alight with suspicion, approached warily, and was given his instructions. The Englishman then let him out of the room, and locked the door after him, taking care to keep his eyes on the three who remained. As he walked back towards them the woman smiled.

  ‘You are a brave man, Monsieur,’ she observed, a note of admiration in her voice. ‘Do you realise that you have sentenced yourself to death? You will never leave Cairo alive.’

  ‘We shall see, Madame,’ he rejoined. ‘I don’t think I have much to fear from people who are so clumsy in their intrigues.’

  ‘They are not usually clumsy,’ she retorted, ‘and this will be a lesson to them not to underestimate Sir Leonard Wallace in the future.’

  He bowed mockingly.

  ‘I thank you for the implied compliment, Madame. Can I offer either of you any refreshment? I am afraid I have only whisky and soda handy.’

  They declined, and Sir Leonard helped himself. The time passed wearily by. The little travelling clock on the mantelpiece pointed to the hour of three, and still Henderson did not come. The Egyptian began to look perturbed, and spoke to his wife who had fallen into a gentle doze. She roused, and the two held a whispered conversation. Wallace, who had been half-sitting, half-reclining on the bed, had never for a moment relaxed his vigilance, and appeared as fresh as though he had slept all the previous day. The Arab in the corner had gone frankly to sleep, and was snoring gently, his mouth wide open.

  At last came a soft knock. Wallace sat up alertly, and the other two looked at him with eyes in which suspense struggled with hope. He considered them in silence for a moment, then took the bell push, which hung above the bed, into the hand that held the revolver and pointed to the door. He addressed the woman.

  ‘Will you be good enough to let my friend in?’ he requested. ‘And Madame will remember that, if there are others who enter in the hope of effecting a rescue, I will shoot her husband and, at the same time, ring this bell.’

  She darted a look of detestation at him, rose, and walked slowly across the room, cloaking her head in her shawl as she did so. Before turning the key she hesitated, and there came another rap, whereupon she opened the door and stepped back. Into the room stumbled a man, to all appearances in the last stages of exhaustion. His clothing was unkempt and filthy, his eyes were sunken and lacked lustre, several days’ growth of beard disfigured his jowl, while the rest of his haggard face was incredibly grimy. He looked questioningly at the occupants of the room, his eyes resting at last on Wallace, while a horrible travesty of a smile curved his cracked lips. He was followed in by the Arab who had been sent to fetch him.

  ‘Good – good morning, sir,’ he croaked.

  A look of pity filled the glorious eyes of the Egyptian woman, and involuntarily she led the newcomer to the seat she had vacated. Then she mixed him a weak whisky and water, and bade him drink it. Wallace watched her with a smile of appreciation, but when he presently turned his eyes on her husband, the latter was appalled by the cold fury he recognised in their grey depths.

  ‘So this is how you treat a prisoner,’ snapped Sir Leonard. ‘You and your companions will pay bitterly for such wanton cruelty.’

  ‘He is a spy,’ muttered the other hoarsely. ‘He is lucky to have escaped death.’

  ‘Death would have been merciful compared with what it is obvious he must have suffered. You can go now and, if you take my advice, you will get out of the country as soon as possible. It will be safer – much safer for you.’

  The fellow rose to his feet, a sneering smile on his lips.

  ‘You had better follow your own advice,’ he snarled, ‘that is, if you can.’

  He called to his wife, spoke curtly to the Arabs, and they all left the room. The woman was the last to go, and she looked through the folds of her shawl at Sir Leonard. The mocking smile was once again on her face.

  ‘I hope they will be kinder to you, Monsieur,’ she murmured. ‘It would be a pity to see you brought to such a pass.’

  He locked the door behind them, and hastened to the assistance of Henderson. Gently he helped him to undress, refused to allow him to talk, and insisted on his getting into bed. It was not long before the poor fellow dropped off into a deep sleep. Sir Leonard sat in an armchair, put his feet on another, and dozed in that position until a knock on the door roused him. It was broad daylight. Henderson still lay in a heavy slumber, and Wallace crossed the room quietly to avoid disturbing him. Outside stood a servant, who carried a tray on which was tea and toast.

  ‘A dragoman requests an interview with your Excellency,’ the man told him.

  ‘Send him up!’ directed Wallace and took the tray.

  A few minutes later Achmet entered the room, and closed the door behind him. His astonishment was great when he recognised the man lying on the bed. In as few words as possible he was told of the events of the previous evening and night. When Wallace had concluded the recital, Achmet was looking very grave.

  ‘It is very unfortunate that your identity is known, Excellency,’ he murmured. ‘Every movement of yours will be watched, and neither you nor Mr Henderson will be allowed to leave this hotel alive, unless we are able, by some means, to trick the people who will be on the look-out for you.’

  ‘What about you, Achmet? Probably by now you are suspect.’

  The man shrugged his shoulders with true Oriental fatalism.

  ‘It is possible,’ he admitted, ‘but I do not think so. There is nothing suspicious in your meeting a dragoman in the lounge or even having him up here.’

  ‘Still you must be careful. Now that Henderson has come, there is no need for us to hire a dahabeeyah.’

  ‘Why not, effendi? His arrival does not make it any the less risky to talk in this hotel. Even now ears may be listening.’

  Wallace smiled.

  ‘They would not hear much since our conversation is carried on in such low voices. Also you fear that an attempt will be made to murder us if we leave the hotel.’

  ‘True. What does your Excellency propose?’

  ‘First we must ascertain what Henderson has discovered. Perhaps he has all the information I require. If so he and I must get back with all speed to England. How did you trace him?’

  Achmet tiptoed to the door, and suddenly pulled it open. To his relief there was nobody outside, nor indeed within sight. Closing it once again, and locking it, he returned to Sir Leonard and, speaking in a low voice, told his story. In Port Said seventeen days before he had, as Sir Leonard already knew, met Henderson by arrangement, and had assisted him to disguise himself as a well-to-do Egyptian. He had given him the address of a compatriot in Cairo, who would afford him shelter and ask no questions, and where he would meet him if required. When Wallace had directed Achmet to trace Henderson, he had gone to the house of his friend. From the latter he had obtained the names of certain men, well known as leaders of the extreme party. Keeping a close watch on one of them, he had been lucky enough to be able to worm his way into the man’s house, and there overhear a conversation, which informed him that Henderson was alive and a prisoner. Where his captors were keeping him did not transpire. He learnt, however, that they were starving him, hoping thus to force him to reveal his knowledge of their activities, after which he would be killed. When Achmet had discovered this he sent a telegram in code to Sir Leonard, and had awaited his arrival.

  ‘It is a wonder you are not under suspicion, Achmet,’ commented Wallace. ‘From what I was told last night, I understand that a close watch was being kept on all Englishmen landing in Port Said, as the Nationalists expected men from my department to come out. Probably Henderson was under surveillance from the time he arrived, and he must have been seen to meet you, go with you to your house, and emerge disguised.’r />
  The Arab shook his head.

  ‘Not so, effendi,’ he replied. ‘Mr Henderson awaited me on the ship whither I went in my capacity as a seller of Turkish delight. It was not difficult to slip down to his cabin, the number of which he had included in the code wireless I had received from him when he was at sea. There I handed him the clothing he had requested, helped to darken his face and hands and afix a moustache, received his instructions, and returned to my goods. He went ashore by himself, and left for Cairo immediately. He had already given instructions for his luggage to be sent to the office of the steamship’s agents, there to await him.’

  ‘I see.’ Sir Leonard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘That sounds as though he took precautions enough. I am afraid I did him the injustice of thinking he had been careless.’

  A sound from the bed caused them both to turn in that direction. Henderson was awake and, although his face was terribly emaciated, he looked better than he had done on his arrival. Wallace hastened to his side, and fed him with toast soaked in tea until he could eat no more. Already a little colour was stealing through the mixture of grime and stain on his cheeks.

  ‘Had a bad time, old chap?’ asked Sir Leonard.

  ‘Pretty bad, sir,’ was the whispered reply. ‘They were starving me to – to force me to tell them what I knew.’

  ‘So Achmet has told me,’ nodded his chief. ‘Do you feel strong enough to tell me what happened?’

  Henderson slowly nodded his head.

  ‘When I came to Cairo,’ he began in such a low voice that Wallace had to lean towards him to hear what he said, ‘I went straight to the house of Achmet’s friend. There by careful inquiries I learnt the names of the ruling spirits of the extreme Nationalist party, and was able to get in touch with one of them. I posed as a merchant from Wady Halfa who had come to Cairo on business, and pretended that I had a deep hatred of the British. I was invited to my new friend’s house, and there was subjected to a thorough cross-examination. My knowledge of the country, and the fluency with which I speak the language, enabled me to answer all questions with ease, and I am convinced I lulled any suspicions he may have had. He refused to discuss the political situation with me, however, but another man called while I was there, and the two of them held a whispered conversation in a corner of the room remote from me. That is where my ability to lip-read came in useful, sir. I saw that they were arranging a big meeting for the following night in that house, and I made up my mind to be present.’