Get Wallace!

by Alexander Wilson

  The Air-Marshal was still sceptical, but General Warrington was undoubtedly convinced. Both strove to detain Cousins, desiring to ask innumerable questions. However, firmly, but politely, he insisted on leaving; was driven to the Foreign Office, where he obtained permission to inspect the letter received from the mysterious individual who had offered to sell French and German secrets to Britain. He made a careful examination of the type-script, the texture of the paper, and the watermark. Eventually satisfied, he returned to his flat in Lancaster Gate.

  He had a bath and a hasty meal, after which he spent some time ransacking a wardrobe, at length bringing to flight the uniform of a naval gunner. This he donned as though enjoying the experience. It was obviously not the first time he had worn the garb. Only after considering the matter deeply had he decided to adopt a disguise. People who had proved themselves so complete and clever in the impersonations of an air-marshal and a general were likely to be no mean opponents, and it behoved him to be careful. He wished to be as inconspicuous as possible, and nothing, in his opinion, would attract less attention in a naval port than a naval uniform.

  His preparations completed, he took a taxi to Victoria, arriving there in time to catch a fast train to Sittingbourne, where he had to change for Sheerness. With several naval ratings he was crossing the platform towards the waiting local when his attention became riveted on a tall, broad-shouldered man standing under a lamp. Involuntarily he pulled up, whistling softly to himself. There was no mistaking the clear-cut features, determined chin, and powerful form of Captain Hugh Shannon, the strong man of the Secret Service. What surprised Cousins was to find him in Sittingbourne railway station when he was supposed to be in Italy. The little man wondered if by any chance he were on the same errand as himself. It was quite possible that Shannon had returned from Italy that afternoon, reported at headquarters, and been sent down to make independent investigations in the neighbourhood. On the other hand he may have been deputed on some totally different mission. In any case it was a moot point whether he desired to be recognised, though the very fact that he was on the platform at Sittingbourne suggested that he was waiting for someone, perhaps Cousins himself. The latter decided to walk by him once or twice, thus showing himself. If Shannon did not desire to be recognised, he would make no sign, and Cousins would go on to his destination without further delay.

  Having come to this decision the little man sauntered along the platform, passing close to Shannon; stood for a moment looking up at a notice board so that the halo of light thrown from a lamp would illuminate his features; then walked back. This time, as he approached his colleague, he looked directly at him to find the other’s eyes fixed intently on him. He gave an almost imperceptible wink which was immediately answered. The broad-shouldered man stepped cautiously towards him, glanced up and down the platform, and bent down ostensibly to fasten a shoe lace.

  ‘What did Major Brien say?’ he asked softly.

  Cousins felt a trifle puzzled.

  ‘About what?’ he murmured.

  ‘It’s obvious,’ returned the other, still engaged with his bootlace, ‘that you haven’t seen him since I returned from Italy. Well, listen! I’m down here on the same job as you, and I’ve a lot to tell you. We can’t speak here, and it isn’t wise to be seen together too much. I’ve a car outside the station. Give me a couple of minutes; then join me, and I’ll drive you to the spot you’re looking for.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot,’ muttered Cousins.

  ‘Quite a lot. I bet I’ll astonish you.’

  Without another word he straightened himself; strode away towards the exit. Cousins watching him go, admired, as he had so often done before, the swing of those powerful athletic shoulders.

  ‘“’Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,”’ he quoted, ‘“And coming events cast their shadows before.”’

  He waited for a few minutes; then handed over his ticket to the collector, and left the station. There were two or three cars standing outside and, in the gloom, it was difficult to see much, but presently he became aware of a dim form in the driving seat of one, and caught sight of a beckoning finger. He walked across the station yard.

  ‘That you, Hugh?’ he asked.

  ‘It is,’ came the well-known voice of Shannon. ‘Come and sit next to me, unless you prefer to ride in solitary state inside. It’ll be warmer there.’

  ‘I’ll sit by you.’

  Cousins stepped into the car and took his place by Shannon’s side.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Adrian Saves His Father’s Life

  The White Star liner Majestic was being slowly warped to her berth. Among the passengers on her decks, eagerly looking for friends awaiting their arrival, stood Sir Leonard Wallace with his beautiful wife. The years had dealt very lightly with Molly, for, though well on in the thirties, she hardly looked a day older than twenty-five. Her complexion was as flawless as it had ever been, her perfectly shaped lips as deliciously scarlet without any aid from a lipstick, her deep blue eyes as clear, her lovely chestnut hair as naturally wavy. She and Sir Leonard had, after many postponements, accepted the invitation of friends in the United States to visit them; had had a short, though gloriously happy holiday. It was a vacation that Molly would always treasure, for it was the first time she and her husband had had a real holiday together for years without the constant fear being present in her heart that he would be called away on one of those dangerous missions, which always caused her the most acute anxiety lest he should never return.

  As head of the British Secret Service, Sir Leonard was, she knew, in almost constant peril. Often, she felt, he undertook enterprises which a man with less strength of character would have left to others, but she never made any attempt to dissuade him from them, never tried to keep him at home in the comparative security of his office. Like other women she had experienced the agony of suspense during the war years, but whereas they had reaped a reward of peaceful and contented happiness, and freedom from dread anticipation on the signing of the Armistice, she had perforce been compelled to suffer on, knowing that almost every moment he spent away from her, on ventures necessitated by plot and unrest, international intrigue and conspiracy, might be his last. In her way Molly had given herself to her country’s service with as much devotion, loyalty and courage as her husband. Hers was the agonising duty of patience, of waiting, of smiling, when her soul was sick with dread, of realisation without murmuring against it, that the man she adored was constantly carrying his life in his hands. Often when alone she visualised, despite frantic attempts to suppress her imaginings, the long, empty, ugly years of utter and desolate loneliness which would be hers if she lost him, but still she held high her head, smiling bravely, showing no sign of inward pain or trepidation, praying only in her heart for the day of his retirement to come with the blissful peace so ardently desired by her.

  As she stood on the deck of the mighty Majestic, gazing down at the eager faces of the people waiting on the quay, she suddenly felt a great lump come into her throat, tears rose in her eyes. Instinctively she realised that her joyful little holiday was over. Despite the fact that she was warmly wrapped in furs, that the sun was making the December day almost balmy, she shivered. Her hand, resting on her husband’s arm, involuntarily tightened. Sir Leonard looked quickly at her; as quickly turned away. He knew what she was thinking, almost as though she had told him herself; the greatest grief of his life lay in the fact that he understood her sufferings without in any way being able to mitigate or lessen them. Their little son, Adrian, now a sturdy youngster of twelve, who had accompanied them to the States, came running up; clutched his mother’s arm.

  ‘I can see Auntie Phyllis,’ he announced, ‘and Uncle Bill is there, too, but I don’t think they’ve brought Peter or John or Vera or Joan with them.’

  Sir Leonard laughed.

  ‘You don’t think that Uncle Bill can afford to take all the family with him wherever he goes, do you?’ he asked. ‘It would be li
ke moving an army corps. You thank your lucky stars you’re the only child in this family, my lad. Think what you’d miss, if you had a lot of brothers and sisters, and had to stay at home.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy, you’ve lots of money,’ returned the little chap, ‘I know you have. And even if you didn’t have,’ he added rather wistfully, ‘I’d like to have a brother or sister, like other children.’

  Sir Leonard pinched his ear.

  ‘Perhaps you will some day,’ he observed. ‘Who knows! Now run away and collect your goods and chattels. We’ll be landing presently.’

  They watched with shining eyes as he wriggled his way through the crowd of passengers. Both were as devoted to the little fellow as they were to each other.

  ‘Bless him!’ murmured Molly. ‘What on earth would we do without him, Leonard?’

  ‘I’m hanged if I know. But we don’t have to do without him, so why imagine such a thing. By Jove! Bill looks doleful. I wonder what’s the matter with the fellow.’

  ‘He does look rather worried. I – I hope there is nothing wrong.’

  Sir Leonard patted her hand.

  ‘Of course there’s nothing wrong,’ he assured her, though he was far from feeling sanguine himself. It was so unusual to see the cheery countenance of his great friend and chief assistant clouded by gloom. ‘He is probably trying to appear that he has been overworked during my absence.’

  He filled and lit his pipe carefully but quickly. An observer realising that his left arm was artificial would have been astonished by the celerity of his movements. But only those who knew him, or sat with him at table, were aware of his handicap, the latter simply because of the glove he always wore. He had trained himself to use one hand where others would have to use two, and so natural were his movements that there never appeared anything odd about them. Occasionally the artificial hand was brought into action, but without ostentation. Even his intimates were apt to forget that Sir Leonard Wallace was a one-armed man until some amazing feat of strength reminded them. Although slightly built and of medium height, he is astonishingly muscular. His right arm is a great deal stronger than an average man’s two, a fact that has more than once disagreeably dawned on people who imagined that in him they had an easy victim. His general air of indolence, too, is calculated to deceive those who do not know him. Sir Leonard Wallace possesses an utterly calm and cool disposition which is reflected in his attractive good-humoured face, his almost lazy manner. But behind his unruffled exterior, his unexcitable temperament, is the brilliant brain which has carried him so often to success against the men that international conspiracy has caused to be pitted in opposition to him. It is only when able to look deep into those steel-grey eyes of his that one realises the dynamic force hidden somewhere within that frame of slim nonchalance.

  Sir Leonard, his wife, and son were among the first to step ashore when the Majestic was tied up. At once they were greeted by Phyllis Brien and her husband, who had motored from London to meet them. Like Molly, Phyllis showed few signs of the ravages of time, even though she was the mother of four strapping children. Her sweet face and manner retained all the vivaciousness of the days when she had first met and fallen in love with Major – then Captain – Brien. Her fair hair had lost none of its gloss, her eyes none of their sparkle. The two beautiful women made a lovely picture as they stood greeting each other with all the deep affection of their long and intimate friendship. The meeting of Wallace and Brien was typical. Their hands shot out and gripped hard, a few desultory sentences fell from their lips while in the presence of their women-folk, not a word concerning their work. But how their wives understood them! With significant glances at each other they wandered away, taking Adrian with them, and leaving Sir Leonard’s manservant Batty to attend to the baggage. Wallace watched them go with a slight smile; then took Brien by the arm; drew him into a deserted corner of the customs’ shed.

  ‘Well, Bill,’ he demanded, ‘what’s the trouble?’

  ‘How do you know there’s any trouble?’ queried the other.

  ‘I saw it in your face long before the ship docked. Is it anything serious?’

  ‘There’s a hell of a mess,’ came bluntly and feelingly from the other. ‘If I hadn’t had your cable to say you were sailing by the Majestic, I should have begged you to come. I know my limitations, Leonard, none better. I bow to nobody where staff and routine work is concerned, but when it comes to matching my brains against the subtlety of—’

  ‘Never mind all that. Get on with the story.’

  At once Brien plunged into an account of the offers made to Germany, Russia and France, the counter offer to Great Britain, and the discovery of the fact that all the communications had been dispatched from Sheerness.

  ‘I recalled Cousins from leave, because I was short-handed, on the day before you sailed from New York,’ he concluded. ‘He went down to Sheerness the same night. Since then there has not been a word from him. He has completely disappeared.’

  ‘Cousins disappeared!’ repeated Sir Leonard. ‘That sounds bad. Have you no idea where he is at all?’

  ‘Very little. Cartright and Hill have been making exhaustive enquiries for the last two days, and they have ascertained that a naval gunner descended from the 9.45 train at Sittingbourne, was about to cross to the local for Sheerness, but apparently changed his mind and, according to a ticket collector, left the station. Further information, elicited from an old taxi driver, who was waiting in the hope of picking up a fare at the time, makes it seem apparent that Cousins entered a Morris-Cowley car, and was driven away by a big, burly man. We have been unable to find out the number, but Hill was able to trace the car for some distance on the road to Sheerness, but from that point on all trace of it was lost. We succeeded in getting a repair gang at work on the bridge across to Sheppey in order that traffic would be delayed, and forced to crawl. Cartright is with the labourers working a “Go” and “Stop” sign, which enables him to scrutinise every car that passes, but so far without result.’

  ‘Good work,’ approved Wallace. ‘I’m afraid, though, that blocking up the road won’t help much. For one thing you have only a vague idea whom you are looking for. There are hundreds of big, burly men about, and it would be impossible to suspect everyone who motors across the bridge between Sheppey and the mainland in a Morris-Cowley car.’

  ‘Still, there is a chance. I was hoping that, if Cousins had been taken across to the island, his captors might presently remove him to some other place, in which case our men would spot him.’

  Sir Leonard smiled.

  ‘If Cousins has been kidnapped, as you seem to think,’ he remarked, ‘and his captors wanted to move him from the island, there are several ways of accomplishing it, without using the road. There is only a narrow channel separating it from the mainland, which a rowing boat could cross in a few strokes; then there are aeroplanes. Besides, Cousins may never have been taken to the island at all. I think we can take it as obvious that he has been kidnapped, otherwise he would not have left you without word of some sort for five days. What puzzles me is that he apparently entered the car of his own accord. What happened about the plans? Have any answers appeared in The Times in reply to the letters?’

  ‘Yes. France has apparently ignored the one sent to her, but two very well-guarded notices, which we were able to find out emanated from Moscow and Berlin, were printed in the personal column yesterday. The Foreign Office also inserted the requested reply, but so far has heard nothing further.’

  ‘And probably won’t, now that this mysterious organisation is aware that efforts are being made to unmask their activities. I’d like to know how copies were made of the plans.’

  ‘I can tell you. From conversations I have had with General Warrington and the Air-Marshal since the disappearance of Cousins, it seems that—’

  ‘Daddy, look out!’ a frightened childish treble interrupted.

  A little form threw itself against Sir Leonard Wallace, causing him to stagger a yard or so. At
the same moment something hummed by his ear like an angry wasp, almost coincident with the report of a revolver. Cries of alarm rose from every side; two or three women screamed; men came running towards them. Brien, however, who had swung round at the first startled cry from Adrian, was already tearing towards the dockside.

  ‘This way,’ he roared.

  Immediately a general pursuit of the would-be assassin took place. Sir Leonard, however, had neither eyes nor ears for anybody but Adrian, who had fallen to the ground after the impact with his father. Tenderly the latter raised the little chap.

  ‘Are you hurt, old man?’ he asked, and there was an unwonted huskiness in his voice.

  ‘No, Daddy; I only fell after I tried to push you out of the way.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. Daddy, that – that man didn’t hit you, did he?’

  There were tears in the little fellow’s eyes now, but he made strenuous efforts to hide them. There was a suspicious moisture in Sir Leonard’s eyes also as he looked proudly at his son, afterwards transferring his gaze to a tell-tale mark in a packing-case close by.

  ‘No, sonny,’ he murmured; ‘no, he didn’t hit me.’

  Adrian took his father’s hand and held it tight.

  ‘I hope he is caught,’ he said tremulously. ‘Why do you think he wanted to shoot you, Dad?’

  Sir Leonard smiled down at him.