Get Wallace!

by Alexander Wilson

  A shadowy gorilla-like figure emerged from the shelter of the cottage, walked to the spot where the disaster had occurred, and looked down, taking care not to lean on any of the broken stonework. A powerful torch threw an inquisitive ray of light on to the wreckage twenty feet below. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, the grotesque, powerful-looking creature returned to the hut, came out presently wheeling a motorcycle. This he pushed across the bridge. The road was undergoing repairs at one point, indicated by a red lantern. A watchman sat crouched inside a shelter behind a glowing brazier. Too intent on keeping warm, and unable to see more than a yard or two beyond the fire, he failed to notice the man and motorcycle passing silently by.

  Stanislaus Ictinos walked for some distance beyond the bridge; then, starting the engine, mounted his machine, and rode after Sir Leonard Wallace’s car.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Stanislaus Ictinos is Exultant

  Unaware of the tragedy that had taken place at the bridge, John Hepburn, murderer, traitor, and masquerader, drove on towards his destination. From time to time Danson and Farrell, seated in the back of the car, had assured him that there were no further signs of pursuit. None of them had observed Maddison’s machine hidden behind the clump of trees, neither had they any reason to suspect the presence of the ‘guv’nor’ in the ramshackle cottage they had barely glanced at in passing. As the Rolls-Royce drew nearer to its goal, the wind, blowing in unhampered from the open sea, became stronger until it appeared to be savagely doing its utmost to retard the progress of the powerful limousine. Hepburn sat crouched at the wheel, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the muddy surface of the rough, badly kept road ahead. They skirted Minster, turned on to what was little more than a track, now churned up into a mixture of water and slush by the heavy rain, and headed for a house standing solitary within high walls at the top of a cliff exposed to the full force of the elements.

  The gate was wide open, which fact caused Hepburn to raise his eyebrows in surprise, but he drove through, bringing the car to a standstill before the front door. Shutting off the engine, he stepped stiffly to the ground. His companions soon followed him, and the four grouped themselves together in the porch, apparently reluctant to enter the house, and face the man whose anger they so greatly feared. Eventually, however, one of them rang the bell, the door was quickly opened, and they disappeared into the interior. A few minutes went by; then cautiously the head of Sir Leonard Wallace looked out from the luggage compartment. It was impossible to see much in that almost Stygian blackness, while the velocity of the wind rendered any attempt at listening for voices or footsteps a sheer farce. Nevertheless, he presently became aware of the beat of a motorcycle engine. He listened intently, his head being withdrawn at the identical moment that the machine panted laboriously through the gate.

  Stanislaus Ictinos came to a stop close to the Rolls-Royce, and sat for a moment surveying it, a smile of satisfaction on his powerful face. Presently he dismounted, pulled his motorcycle back on its stand, and strolled round the car. He opened a door and, switching on his torch, surveyed the interior, giving vent to a deep exclamation of admiration. Stepping inside, he sat on the seat, allowing himself to sink back into the comfortable depths of the upholstery with a murmur of almost childlike delight. The man in the baggage compartment smiled to himself, his hand strayed towards a lever pedestal; then fell back to his side. Sir Leonard felt convinced that he was within a few inches of the chief of the organisation whom he was so keen to meet, but the time had not yet come, although the fellow at the moment was utterly in his power.

  Ictinos sat for some minutes enjoying his luxurious surroundings, after which he stepped from the car, and walked to the front door of the house. In answer to his ring he was admitted by a small, deformed creature, whose beady eyes, squat nose, and large, big-lipped mouth made him utterly repulsive. The Greek patted the fellow on the head much in the same way that he might have fondled a dog, gave orders for the gates to be locked and the motorcycle to be put away; then strolled up the stairs, turning into a room which might have been a Mayfair boudoir, so elegantly was it furnished. Clad in a long, clinging dress of some soft, shimmering material, Thalia Ictinos lay languorously on a divan, her graceful arms behind her head. Opposite her sat Cousins reading aloud. Round his waist was a steel belt from which a chain ran to a staple in the wall to which it was padlocked. Thalia showed little pleasure at the sight of her father.

  ‘What is it you want?’ she asked ungraciously in English.

  ‘Is my coming then of so little account?’ he returned, frowning a little. ‘A dutiful daughter would be happy to see her father.’

  ‘Please let us be sensible,’ she pleaded. ‘I am not interested at the moment in rules and regulations for daughters. Why have you entered my room?’

  ‘Your manner is strange, Thalia,’ he protested. ‘I do not understand. Is this man influencing you against me?’

  His slate-blue eyes became coldly menacing as he turned them, for a moment, on Cousins. Thalia laughed scornfully.

  ‘My little pet dog-man influence me!’ she echoed. ‘Oh, that is indeed funny. I like him; he amuses me. Some day I will grow tired of him, and then he will be finished – dead, is it not so?’

  ‘That day is now. His usefulness as a hostage has passed.’

  ‘How?’ cried the girl sitting up. ‘What do you mean?’

  Cousins also looked enquiringly at the Greek, waiting for enlightenment. During the five days of his imprisonment he had paled considerably, appeared to have gone even thinner than usual. But his eyes were as bright as ever, his manner as light-hearted, despite the ordeal of nights spent in the stuffy atmosphere of the box-room, the humiliation of being chained to a wall during the greater part of the day, and treated like a captive animal.

  ‘I mean,’ proclaimed Ictinos in triumphant tones, ‘that the so-great Sir Leonard Wallace is no longer in a position to do me harm. He is in my power. It was to inform you of this news, my dear, that I came to you.’

  Thalia rose gracefully to her feet.

  ‘It is indeed excellent news,’ she declared. ‘Take me to see him. My eyes are eager to look upon such a paragon. Perhaps you will let me have him as a pet instead of this little man. It would be amusing to see Monsieur Wallace chained to a wall.’

  The idea seemed to appeal to her father also. One of his deep, rumbling laughs echoed through the room.

  ‘Come, Thalia,’ he invited her; ‘you will help me interview this idol whose feet are after all, it appears, of clay. It is time Mr Cousins was back in his most pleasant bedroom. Afterwards we will discuss in what manner it will be best to dispose of him.’

  He left the room. The girl stood for a moment contemplating the man upon whom she had heaped humiliation after humiliation.

  ‘It will be a pity to lose you, my friend,’ she observed, ‘but it is good to have change. Sir Leonard Wallace, in your place, would entertain me greatly.’

  ‘May I remind you,’ remarked Cousins quietly, ‘of the comment made by the slave to Ancaeus.’

  ‘And what was that, my learned little man?’

  ‘“There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.”’

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘My father seldom makes slips,’ she pronounced.

  Cousins was left to his own reflections, and the mask disappeared from his face, leaving it bleak and dismal. For once in a way he was feeling thoroughly perturbed and apprehensive. If Sir Leonard were actually in the hands of Ictinos, his chances of life were small indeed. Cousins knew very well how intensely the Greek feared and hated the Chief of the Secret Service, realised that the latter would receive very short shrift from his captors. He thoughtfully felt the automatic which he still managed to retain hidden in his sock. There was only one thing for it, he decided, that was to knock out the man who came to release him and escort him to his room, directly he was free, and dash down to the rescue of Sir Leonard. The latter was almost certain to be with Ictinos in
the room the Greek used as an office.

  Cousins looked round for a weapon, but saw nothing powerful enough to render unconscious a fully grown man, especially the type of the bullet-headed Farrell. Suddenly his eye caught sight of the chain which connected his steel belt with the wall, and he smiled. A quick snatch at it, directly the padlock was removed, and a hefty swing at the man’s head, should prove adequate. He sat waiting impatiently for the coming of his jailer. But time passed slowly by, and still he was left to himself. It began to look as though he had been completely forgotten, and gradually his spirits, which had risen at the thought that he might be able to rescue Sir Leonard, sank until he felt utterly depressed.

  Arrived in his room or the ground floor, Ictinos sank into the chair behind the great mahogany desk, and rang a small bell. Immediately the deformed man, who had opened the door to him, hurried in and stood looking at him questioningly.

  ‘Tell the others I await them, Paul,’ ordered the Greek genially in his own language. ‘They can bring their prisoner with them.’

  ‘Prisoner, excellency!’ exclaimed the other.

  ‘Yes, prisoner. What else do you expect me to call him – a guest?’ He laughed as though at a good joke.

  ‘But there is no prisoner, excellency. You must have been misinformed.’

  For a moment Ictinos glared at the misshapen creature standing before him. Gradually the geniality left his face to be replaced by a look of mad fury. The dwarf began to cringe in fear.

  ‘Tell Hepburn, Ibsen, and the others I want them,’ suddenly roared the big man. ‘Do not stand there like a fool. Begone!’

  The fellow called Paul needed no second bidding. He shot out of the room like a bullet from a gun, almost colliding with Thalia, who was just entering.

  ‘What has happened now, Father?’ asked the girl. ‘You are not going to tell me that the excellent Wallace has been allowed to escape?’

  ‘I don’t know what has happened,’ he snapped, adding with a sneer: ‘It seems that my trusted assistants have failed in some manner again. I do not understand. Outside undoubtedly is the car of Sir Leonard Wallace, but Paul tells me there is no prisoner.’

  ‘Oh,’ she pouted, ‘am I then to be disappointed? I was hoping so much to see this man in your power.’

  He gave vent to a forcible oath. With a slight shrug of her shoulders she sank into an armchair. Presently Hepburn, still disguised as Johnson, Farrell, Danson and Ibsen crowded sheepishly into the room. Ictinos glared from one to the others.

  ‘Fools, dolts, idiots,’ he snarled in English, ‘am I to understand that again failure is to be reported to me? Villinoff blundered at Southampton this morning, you failed to crash the car in which Wallace rode at Chiswick, and now, when everything was planned to perfection tonight, after my brain had conceived that he would make a journey to Sittingbourne, you spoil everything by your stupidity. What has happened? Where is this man? In preference to seeking another retreat I stayed here, even when I knew so much about us had been discovered, hoping to exterminate Wallace and others who sought us, and you fail me, when I think failure is impossible. Where is he, I say?’

  ‘It isn’t our fault, guv’nor,’ sullenly muttered the stocky, overfed-looking man known as Danson. ‘He’s a devil, is Wallace, if ever there was one. Hepburn’ll tell you that he was in the car as far as Chatham, but when we stopped it as arranged, he had disappeared. I don’t see how you can blame any of us for that.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you?’ shouted Ictinos. ‘Who am I to blame, if not you, you fools?’

  ‘Anyway, we shook off the blokes that were trailing us,’ put in Farrell; ‘took them right away from this direction altogether.’

  The Greek’s manner changed. His tones became soft and silky, but, if possible, his eyes looked more savage and dangerous than before.

  ‘So you think that, do you?’ he purred. ‘Well, in that case, you will be surprised to hear that they were waiting behind some trees near the bridge when you passed, and at once started to follow you.’

  Four pairs of startled eyes bored into his, to drop one by one from that malevolent glare. For some seconds there was a deep silence then Hepburn spoke.

  ‘They must have turned back when they found they could no longer keep up with us,’ he remarked. He swung round on Danson fiercely. ‘I thought you said there was no sign of anything following either before or after we crossed the bridge?’

  ‘The other car showed no lights,’ interposed the silky voice of Ictinos, ‘and they were not permitted to follow you long.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Hepburn, the relief showing in his face. ‘What prevented them?’

  ‘I did,’ returned the Greek in tones of great satisfaction. ‘When you were so long in coming, I rode on my motorbicycle to the bridge, thinking that perhaps I might be of use. I had just crossed when I saw the car come and hide behind the trees. I concealed myself in an old cottage and waited. At last the limousine I knew belonged to Sir Leonard Wallace went by, and I thought all was well. The other motor began to follow and, as it drew near the wall, which is in need of repairs, I shot the driver. The car, as I anticipated, plunged through the broken wall, and fell on to the rocks. All in it are surely killed.’

  There was dead silence for a moment or two after he had concluded his recital. Thalia appeared to be the only one unaffected by the announcement. She showed neither elation nor regret. Suddenly Hepburn gave a cry of delight.

  ‘You have nothing further to fear from Wallace,’ he declared triumphantly.

  Ictinos eyed him questioningly.

  ‘What is it you mean?’ he demanded.

  ‘He was in that car!’

  The slate-blue eyes of the Greek gleamed.

  ‘How can you know that?’

  Hepburn proceeded to relate how he had been commanded by Sir Leonard Wallace to stop at the wayside inn, the arrival of the other car of which he had taken little notice at the time, but subsequently felt assured could be no other than that containing the Secret Service men who had trailed them.

  ‘It was impossible for Wallace to jump out of the car between the time we left the public house and Danson stopping us on the Sittingbourne road,’ he concluded. ‘He would either have been killed or badly injured. It looks pretty obvious that when he re-entered the Rolls-Royce, and I shut him in, he stepped out of the other door, and joined the men in the second car.’

  The anger slowly left the Greek’s face. The genial expression began to return. He rose, and walked thoughtfully to and fro, his great right hand caressing the large, forbidding jaw. At last he came to a stop in front of Hepburn.

  ‘My friend,’ he observed, ‘it is possible you are right. I am inclined to think you are. Circumstances certainly seem to indicate that your conjectures are correct. If so, as you say, we have no longer anything to fear from the great Wallace. I am sorry I did not suspect that he might be one of those hurled to their deaths, otherwise I should have gone down to make certain. From the top I was able to see three forms lying among the ruins of the car, but that is all.’

  ‘Three, did you say?’ demanded Hepburn excitedly.

  ‘Three, most certainly.’

  ‘Then Wallace was one of them. There were only two in the car when I saw it outside the inn.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Excellent. I feel that a load has been lifted from my back.’

  ‘The name of Wallace seems to have filled you with dread,’ jeered Thalia. ‘Why is it that you feared him so?’

  ‘Ma chérie, you have not heard of the things he has done, as I have. Since I became interested in international espionage, I have found that Wallace was the most feared and hated of any Secret Service man.’ He turned again to his four assistants, standing in a group. ‘You can go,’ he told them. ‘I forgive you for your failures, but I still think you are fools, all of you. Remember that it was I – I, Stanislaus Ictinos – who succeeded where you blundered, who put an end to the activities of t
he British Secret Service.’

  They filed out without comment.

  ‘Perhaps those activities are not at an end even now,’ put in Thalia drily when they had gone. ‘The death of three men, even if one of them is Sir Leonard Wallace, is hardly likely to prevent others taking up the quest.’

  Ictinos shrugged his huge shoulders.

  ‘It matters little,’ he returned. ‘At least a shattering blow has been struck at them. Before they can recover, our headquarters will have changed, and the damage done by the lazy Moropos repaired. Tomorrow I meet the representative of Russia in London, the day after comes my interview with the German ambassador. After that we will disappear from here, leaving no trace.’

  ‘Has it not occurred to you, my father,’ she said, reverting to the Greek language, ‘that the finding of three bodies near the bridge, one of them that of Sir Leonard Wallace, another with a bullet in it, will lead to this island of Sheppey being searched from end to end? If that is done, how can you expect to avoid discovery?’

  ‘A search like that would take many days,’ he replied with a complacent smile, ‘and I am always ready. The motorboat is prepared to depart at a moment’s notice. Now leave me, my child. I must start preparing for our move.’

  ‘And what of the good Cousins?’ she asked. ‘I think that, as I cannot have Monsieur Wallace now, I should like to retain the small man as a pet a little longer.’

  He frowned.