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

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘Certainly. But do you really intend to fly at night?’

  ‘Yes. Why not? It’s going to be an ideal night for flying. A harvest moon and all the rest of it should make it a glorious trip. I’ll be at Calshot just after ten and, if all goes well should be in Gib tomorrow morning somewhere between eight and nine.’

  ‘Splendid. You’ve relieved my mind tremendously.’

  ‘Please get on to the Air Ministry at once.’

  ‘Very well. You can rely upon me. Good luck, Wallace.’

  Sir Leonard put down the receiver, and smiled at Maddison.

  ‘You are quite right,’ he remarked. ‘The Foreign Secretary is certainly in a stew.’

  After dinner Maddison returned to London and, soon after his departure, Sir Leonard took leave of Molly and, accompanied by his manservant, Batty, was driven to the Royal Air Force station at Calshot. It was a beautiful night, as he had predicted, making the countryside look even more fascinating than by day, especially at Beaulieu, where the ruins of the famous Abbey had assumed a witchery never theirs by daylight.

  A wing commander met him, and introduced him to the two young flight-lieutenants who had been told to pilot him. He was informed that there had been a certain amount of difficulty in getting the flying-boat ready in time, as, when the message came through, work had ceased for the day, and most of the men had gone to Southampton or Portsmouth for their evening’s amusement. However, with the keenness for which the Air Force is noted, those remaining on duty had set to work, with the result that the boat was then at the slips ready for her long flight.

  The two pilots were as keen as mustard on the trip. Though naturally they knew nothing of Sir Leonard’s object in going to Gibraltar, they sensed mystery, and were rather thrilled at being called upon to convey the Chief of the Intelligence Department to the Rock. A certain amount of discussion took place regarding the route, but Wallace left it entirely to their discretion, and it was decided to go by way of Ushant, Cape Ortegal, Finisterre, down the coast of Portugal, and round by Cape St Vincent to Gibraltar.

  Batty had already stowed the scanty baggage on board, and stood by listening critically to the discussion, nodding his head now and again, as though in approval. He was a short, stout man with a round, red face, which a snub nose and twinkling blue eyes made delightfully cheerful. An ex-naval seaman, Batty had entered Sir Leonard’s service on discharge, and had proved himself the very handiest of handy men. His employer had grown to put entire reliance on him, and treated him always as a confidential servant.

  ‘These ’ere craft are all very well,’ he commented, as he watched his master climb aboard, ‘but a tidy bit o’ deck space and the sea all around is good enough for me.’

  It was nearly half past ten when the great aeroplane rose into the air, and commenced her flight. Sir Leonard sat up, alternately reading and looking out of the window by his side, for a couple of hours until, as they were passing over Brest, he went to bed. He slept soundly and woke early. There was hardly a tremor as the great flying machine flew rapidly on her way. Wallace could see the coast of Portugal far below, glittering in the morning sunshine, and before long the Tagus, like a silvery streak, with Lisbon nestling on the estuary, burst into view. An air mechanic brought him an appetising breakfast, to which he did full justice, after which he sat and watched the scenes unfolding rapidly below with a sense of fascination. Sir Leonard felt a keen delight in flying, and was wont to declare that the beauty of nature was at its best when viewed from above.

  It was nearly ten o’clock when the grim rock of Gibraltar was sighted, and a quarter of an hour later the flying-boat descended, skimmed the water, and eventually came to anchor close inshore. A long, lean destroyer lay a few cables’ length away on the port side and, beyond her, a cruiser flying the Italian flag. Farther away still were anchored three grim-looking battle cruisers belonging to the Mediterranean fleet, while merchant ships of all nations and tonnage lay in various parts of the harbour. A crowd of idlers watched their arrival from the Mole, indulging probably in interested speculation concerning the business which had brought the great seaplane to Gibraltar.

  Their arrival was expected, for hardly was the machine stationary before a beautifully appointed pinnace glided alongside.

  ‘Sir Leonard Wallace?’ inquired a smart-looking military officer standing in the stern sheets.

  ‘I am he,’ replied Wallace from the open door of the saloon.

  The officer saluted.

  ‘I am from the Governor, sir. Will you come aboard?’ Sir Leonard first thanked his pilots for the celerity with which they had brought him to Gibraltar; then stepped aboard the pinnace, followed by Batty with the bags. An RAF launch arrived, and took the flying-boat in tow. A berth had been prepared for her in the inner harbour, where she would wait until required for the return trip.

  Twenty minutes later Sir Leonard was closeted with the Governor. The famous soldier had welcomed the equally famous Secret Service man almost with open arms.

  ‘I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have you here,’ he confessed. ‘When I heard you were on your way, I felt as though a load were about to be removed from my shoulders.’

  ‘Don’t be too optimistic, sir,’ returned Wallace. ‘From the little information I possess and to which I doubt if you can add, there doesn’t appear to be a great deal of hope.’

  The bronzed face of the white-haired Governor paled.

  ‘For God’s sake don’t say that,’ he protested. ‘My career is rapidly drawing to a close. I have held the highest military commands and, up to date, have flattered myself that my administration here has been fairly successful. I have even exterminated the monkeys,’ he added with a faint smile. ‘To finish up with a blot like this against my name would—’ He shrugged his shoulders with a sigh, and did not finish the sentence.

  ‘I can quite understand how you feel about it,’ sympathised Wallace, ‘but you can’t be held blameworthy. At any rate, sir, you may be sure I’ll do my best to clear up the mystery, and find out where the Prince is. Now, can you tell me anything which I do not already know?’

  ‘What do you know?’

  Wallace told him, and the Governor shook his head.

  ‘You know as much as I do,’ he observed. ‘All I can do is to show you where the Prince and his escort were walking.’

  ‘Would you mind sending someone with me to show me the place and describe to me exactly what they were doing?’

  ‘I’ll come with you myself. But, in my anxiety, I am afraid I am forgetting the duties of a host. You must need a rest and refreshment after your rapid journey?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ was Wallace’s quick reply. ‘I slept wonderfully well and had an excellent breakfast. The sooner I can get my teeth into this business the better I shall be pleased.’

  ‘Come along then.’

  They went into the grounds, and the Governor pointed out to his companion where the Prince and the two men with him were last seen. From the ballroom a flight of wide marble steps led down to a spacious lawn dotted with flower-beds, and lined on two sides by thick shrubs and trees. The lawn, his Excellency explained, had been lit by fairy lamps, and had contained an open-air buffet. It was beyond the buffet close to the trees where the Prince had chosen to walk.

  ‘Do you mean to say,’ asked Wallace, ‘that he and his companions were merely pacing backwards and forwards?’

  ‘They were when I saw them,’ returned the Governor. ‘From the steps, where I was standing at the time, I could only see them dimly, for they were beyond the lights, but they were certainly walking up and down.’

  ‘Were they in your view all the time you were standing there?’

  ‘No. As you will notice, at the end of the lawn is a dense mass of tall shrubs.’ He pointed. ‘They disappeared behind there every now and then, but always emerged while I was watching them.’

  ‘Were they all walking together?’

  ‘No; the Prince and his equerry were together. Yo
ur man, Cousins, was a yard or two behind.’

  Wallace nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘I won’t bother your Excellency further,’ he remarked. ‘I want to have a look at those bushes over there.’

  The Governor, sensing that he wished to be alone, left him. Wallace strolled across to the place that had been indicated, and began to look about him. He discovered at once that when the Prince and his companions had reached that end of the lawn they must have been completely out of sight of all the other guests.

  ‘It must have been here that the dirty work took place, whatever it was,’ he muttered. ‘Of course, the Prince may have suddenly decided to take a stroll round the grounds, but I don’t think so. Cousins was a yard or two behind. Now, I wonder—’

  His gaze suddenly became riveted on the ground at his feet. The grass all round him looked as though something heavy had been trampling determinedly on it, in places it was even uprooted. Obviously there had been a struggle, unless the police, when searching, had trodden the ground into that condition, and that was hardly likely. He went on his knees and made a careful examination over a wide area, rising to his feet at last and wiping the perspiration from his brow, for it was broiling hot.

  ‘No blood,’ he murmured. ‘That’s one relief.’

  ‘Is it?’ demanded a harsh voice behind him. ‘And who the devil may you be?’

  Sir Leonard turned casually and eyed the speaker. He was a tall, thin man with a prominent jaw and fierce eyes overshadowed by beetling brows. Behind him was a sergeant of police.

  ‘Are you the Superintendent of Police?’ inquired Wallace.

  ‘I am,’ was the reply, ‘but you haven’t answered my question.’

  His manner had become less aggressive, and he was now regarding his vis-à-vis with a mixture of interest and resentment.

  ‘My name is Wallace,’ Sir Leonard informed him quietly. ‘I have come from England to – er – help in the search for the Prince of Emilia.’

  An involuntary whistle of astonishment broke from the lips of the other. The truculent air disappeared completely and, in its place, came a look of embarrassment.

  ‘Sir Leonard Wallace?’ he asked uneasily.

  Wallace nodded, and smiled at him.

  ‘Glad to meet you,’ he said cordially, and held out his hand.

  The superintendent grasped it rather awkwardly, and commenced to apologise for his rudeness, but Sir Leonard interrupted him.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ he remarked pleasantly. ‘Have you discovered anything of importance?’

  ‘Not a thing, sir. We found a notebook lying on the grass here, but it tells us nothing.’

  Wallace’s eyes glittered.

  ‘May I see it?’ he asked.

  The sergeant, who had been regarding him with awe, took a little volume from his pocket, and handed it over. Sir Leonard took it almost eagerly from him, and examined it carefully. It was the usual type of thing except that its binding was of a more superior kind of leather than is customary with notebooks. On the fly leaf, written in a neat hand, was the name, ‘G. Cousins’, and a feeling of elation began to take possession of him. Here, he felt sure, was a clue. But the book contained nothing at all to substantiate his sudden optimism. It was a private diary in which Cousins had jotted down certain thoughts and quotations – he had an inordinate fondness for the latter – and occasional appointments. There was nothing, of course, to give a clue to his profession, or any of the duties upon which he had been engaged; he was too good a Secret Service man to make a mistake of that nature.

  Sir Leonard examined it from cover to cover, smiling a little at the excerpts, then he stood balancing it in his hand, his brain working at high pressure in an effort to solve the riddle which he felt sure it contained. He was certain that Cousins had dropped it purposely, hoping thereby to lead those who would search for the Prince on to the right track. Wallace knew his man, knew the wonderful subtlety of his brain. He had been unable to write a message, or leave something more obvious as a clue, and his mind had hit on the expedient of leaving the little book. What did it indicate? What was its message? The superintendent broke the silence.

  ‘As you see, sir,’ he observed, ‘that book leads us nowhere. It was probably dropped in the struggle.’

  ‘I don’t agree with you,’ replied Wallace softly. ‘I think it is going to tell us quite a lot. It belongs to Cousins who as perhaps you know, is in my department, and was attached temporarily to the Prince. Now I happen to be aware that Cousins kept this book in his hip pocket, and hip pockets invariably button. Even if his did not, it is unlikely that a struggle would have caused the book to fall out.’

  ‘Perhaps he was searched by his captors and, when they found that the book was of no importance, they threw it away.’

  ‘That’s very likely, isn’t it?’ returned Sir Leonard sarcastically. ‘People who set out to kidnap princes would be sure to throw a few clues about wouldn’t they?’

  The superintendent bit his lip. He looked as though he would have liked to have made an angry retort. Wallace guessed his thoughts, and smiled disarmingly.

  ‘You see,’ he observed, ‘even if those people, whoever they were, had discovered this little volume and considered it worthless, either to themselves or to us, they would certainly not have flung it away in case it contained something which they could not find but we might. There must have been other things, to their minds, even more innocuous in Cousins’ pockets than this. If they searched him, why should they throw the book away, and not the other things? No; I am convinced that this book was dropped by Cousins on purpose. His hands might have been tied behind his back, but he could reach his hip pocket easily enough, while he certainly could not reach his other pockets, and leave what might have been a more obvious clue.’

  He sat on an old tree stump still balancing the book in his hand, his brow puckered in a frown of deep thought. Presently he put it down on the ground before him, and filled his pipe, which he lit with the greatest care. He was doing his best to imagine himself in the place of Cousins, and reason with that astute individual’s mind. For long minutes he sat there, puffing away furiously, while the two police officers watched him in silence. Suddenly he removed the pipe from his mouth, and gave vent to a low whistle; then spoke quickly, incisively to the superintendent.

  ‘Find out for me,’ he instructed, ‘what Moroccan dhows sailed between midnight and dawn on the night of the ball, either from here or Algeciras and, as far as possible, their destination and business. Leave no stone unturned to discover if any left, or appeared to leave, secretly. You’ll find me awaiting your report in Government House.’

  The two officers hurried away and, left alone, Wallace indulged in a chuckle. He picked up the book, and examined the covers carefully, rising to his feet as he did so.

  ‘There is not a doubt about it,’ he murmured, ‘it is bound in morocco leather, and they are bound – in Morocco. I believe I am right, in fact I’m sure I am. It was clever of you, Cousins – very clever.’

  Slipping the book into his pocket, and not bothering to make any further investigations in the grounds, he strolled back to the house. His Excellency was in the library, he was told, and thither he bent his steps. The Governor looked up eagerly as he entered.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘I have an idea,’ remarked Sir Leonard quietly, ‘but, as it’s only an idea, I think I’ll keep it to myself for the present. Can you tell me what time approximately the Prince disappeared?’

  ‘His secretary will do that better than I can. It was he who discovered that the Prince was missing.’ He rang a bell and gave instructions for the Italian to be sent for. ‘It was nearly half past one when he left me,’ he went on, ‘and I should think I stood on the steps for about five minutes.’

  ‘He was walking up and down all the time you stood there?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded the Governor.

  There was a knock on the door and, in response to the invitation to enter, a youn
g man came quickly across the room and bowing politely, stood looking at them anxiously.

  ‘This gentleman,’ the Governor told him, ‘has come from England to investigate the disappearance of the Prince. He wishes to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Oh, signor,’ burst from the lips of the agitated young fellow in perfectly good English. ‘What can I do? What can I say? This is a terrible calamity, is it not? I cannot eat; I cannot sleep. All the time my brain seems to be on fire, and my heart full of anguish that—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Wallace. ‘It is natural for you to feel like that, but it won’t help either you or us. Tell me: did the Prince ever have reason to suspect that there would be an attempt made to kidnap him?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘You have never had cause to think that there was a plot against him?’

  ‘Most certainly not.’

  ‘Has any unauthorised person endeavoured to seek an audience during your tour through the Mediterranean?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘On the night of the unfortunate affair, everything was, to your knowledge, perfectly normal?’

  ‘Quite, signor.’

  ‘The Prince was as usual? I mean to say; he was not excited or emotional, uneasy or anxious? In fact nothing about his bearing gave you reason to think that he was troubled?’

  ‘He was as he always is, signor; charming, and happy, and gay.’

  ‘H’m. When did you see him last?’

  ‘It was about one o’clock. He was then dancing.’

  ‘How did you discover that His Highness was missing?’

  ‘I went to seek him because I had not seen him for some time, and thought he might require me. I was told he was walking in the garden.’

  ‘And you were unable to find him?’

  ‘There was not a sign of him anywhere.’

  ‘What time was it when you went into the garden to look for him?’

  ‘Ten minutes after two, signor.’

  ‘Ah!’ He glanced at the Governor. ‘Then the Prince was actually kidnapped, that is if he was kidnapped, between half past one and two.’