‘It is absurd,’ he commented. ‘However, he shall be permitted to live until we go from here.’ She rose, and walked towards the door. ‘Before you retire, Thalia,’ he called to her, ‘please instruct Hepburn to make certain that the car of Sir Leonard Wallace is locked up securely, and not to allow the key of the garage out of his possession. We cannot risk prying eyes catching a glimpse of it. Tomorrow we must endeavour to alter it beyond recognition; if that is impossible it must be broken up and destroyed.’
She turned and looked at him.
‘Of what prying eyes were you thinking?’ she asked softly.
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘None in particular,’ he assured her, ‘but one must take precautions.’
‘Your mind was not dwelling on the Englishman Wallace?’ she persisted.
‘Of course not. He is dead, or at least severely injured.’
‘Are you so sure? It has occurred to me that, if he is the clever man he is supposed to be, it is very unlikely that he is dead, or even injured. Perhaps he may even now be close to us preparing to strike … Goodnight, my father.’
She walked away humming a tune. He stood glowering at the door for some seconds after she had gone then, once again shrugging his shoulders, returned to the desk and, for well over an hour, was busy with certain documents he took from cunningly contrived receptacles, putting them back after he had examined and apparently placed them in order.
Thalia conveyed her father’s instructions to Hepburn, after which she walked slowly upstairs, still humming. Whatever doubt she may have felt regarding the surmise that Sir Leonard Wallace had been involved in the tragedy on the Sheppey bridge, she appeared to be in no way perturbed. Inheriting her father’s callousness and a good deal of his cruelty, she yet possessed a cooler, more calculating mind than his. When she had first been introduced into the organisation which her father and his mysterious partner controlled, the men who comprised the gang had, to use an Americanism, immediately fallen for her. Her beauty and grace had been more than they could resist. Very soon, however, they had learnt to recognise the savage in her, not before one or two of them had suffered with a violence they would remember to their dying days. Before long they realised that it was safer by far not to be on friendly terms with her, and she was generally left severely alone. Although not outwardly acknowledging her as an associate in his enterprises, her father relied to a rather surprising degree on her, considering the brutal forcefulness of his own character, often taking her advice, and deferring to her opinion. It was a cruel whim of hers that had resulted in a steel belt with chain attached being procured for Cousins. It delighted her to see him chained to the wall like a savage dog, while giving assurance to all of his utter inability to escape. In both the room where he was confined at night and in her boudoir by day he was always fettered. He never once gave a sign to show the humiliation and indignity he was suffering, but she knew how he felt, and delighted in his torment.
She looked into the boudoir now as she was passing on her way to her bedroom, was surprised to find her captive still sitting where she had left him. He looked eagerly at her, and she noticed the anxiety in his eyes.
‘Hallo, my little man,’ she said. ‘I thought you had long gone to bed. The bad Farrell, it seems, has forgotten to take you to your kennel. I will call him.’
‘Tell me,’ pleaded Cousins, ‘what have they done to Sir Leonard Wallace?’
‘Ah! You think then more of his safety than of your own. Are you not worried because my father has said that the day of your usefulness as a hostage has passed?’
‘Not a bit,’ replied the little man coolly. ‘I certainly did not expect a murderer like your father to allow me to remain alive once he had me in his power.’
‘You are hard on my father, and I do not like the word murderer, my little pet man.’
She bent down, caught his ears in either hand, and twisted them unmercifully. He made no effort to resist, merely rubbing them somewhat ruefully when she desisted.
‘Now that you have had your little bit of fun,’ he ventured, ‘perhaps you will answer my question.’
She looked thoughtfully at him, her beautiful brows meeting together in a little frown.
‘I wonder if it is that you have no feeling, or are a very brave man,’ she debated. ‘It does not please me when I hurt you, and you show no sign of pain. It gives me much pleasure to see people suffer.’
Cousins eyed her almost in wonderment. Although he had been constantly in her company for five days he still found it difficult to believe that a girl with her charm, beauty, and grace could possess a character the very antithesis of her gentle outward appearance.
‘You wish to know about Sir Leonard Wallace,’ she went on. ‘Very well, I will tell you. He did not arrive after all. His car came, and my father concluded rather prematurely that Sir Leonard must have come in it, but alas! He did not.’
Cousins made no attempt to keep the elation he felt from showing in his face. She noticed it, and a pitiless smile, for an instant, curved her scarlet lips. She walked to the door; looked back at him over her shoulder.
‘Monsieur Wallace,’ she asserted, ‘was in another car that unfortunately was travelling without lights. It was very unwise on a dark, stormy night like this. The car collided with the frail wall at the beginning of the Sheppey bridge, and fell over. Sir Leonard Wallace and his companions are dead.’ She turned back to watch the effect of her words; smiled again. ‘I will tell Farrell to take you to your room. Goodnight, little man.’
Cousins sat as though crushed. He did not doubt her story, except in the conviction that the accident was no accident at all, but a tragedy contrived by a monster in the person of Stanislaus Ictinos. He felt there could be no mistake; the Greek would surely make certain that the man he feared was in reality dead. In his anguish the Secret Service man lost sight of the fact that Thalia would be only too ready to exaggerate, if by so doing she could cause him distress. He hardly noticed Farrell, when the latter arrived to unlock the padlock, and conduct him to his unventilated cell. He walked along the corridor in the wake of his jailer apathetically; watched the chain being fastened to the iron bedstead with listless eyes. Farrell made one or two remarks, which passed almost unnoticed; looked curiously at his prisoner, and was about to leave the room, when Cousins spoke for the first time.
‘Is it true that Sir Leonard Wallace has been killed?’ he asked.
The fellow nodded.
‘There was a bit of a smash-up,’ he stated, ‘and he along with two others lost their lives. His car’s here – just been locked in the garage.’
He hesitated as though about to say something else, changed his mind, and went out. Cousins stretched himself wearily on the bed. For a long time he lay staring almost unblinkingly at the brilliant light above him; then turned on his side, and shut his eyes. Two or three hours passed slowly, agonisingly by, but sleep did not come to the little man whose heart was aching, only memories of the chief, to whom he, like all other members of his Service, had been devoted. Cousins, who would gladly have given his life for Sir Leonard, was facing the fact that he lived while his chief had died. No thought of his own desperate situation intruded on his thoughts. The wrinkled face was creased ludicrously, but not now with laughter. Pain distorted it, and the effort to restrain the threatening tears.
Suddenly his ears caught a tiny scraping sound. At first he thought it had been made by a mouse, but, as it persisted, he listened, presently deciding that it came from the direction of the door. He sat up, wondering what it could be, and saw the handle turning slowly, as though the individual manipulating it was exercising the most extreme care. Then inch by inch the door opened, until there was just room enough for a moderate-sized man to enter. A figure slid quietly into the room, finger to lips, and Cousins almost cried out in the sudden revulsion of feeling, as an immense relief and great joy annihilated every other emotion.
It was Sir Leonard Wallace.
CHAPTER TEN
> Legitimate Burglary
The Chief of the Secret Service had remained for some considerable time in the luggage compartment of his car after Ictinos had entered the house; then only by slow and very cautious stages had he opened the small door, and ventured out. After that, however, having assured himself that there was nobody nearby, he set about examining his surroundings without delay, as far as such a task was possible in the darkness. The house he found was a rambling affair of two storeys standing in the centre of a neglected garden overgrown with shrubs and untrimmed plants. Several out-buildings, one of which was obviously used as a garage, stood in a cluster at the back. A high wall, a somewhat anomalous adjunct to what was, after all, an ordinary residence, encircled the property. Close examination showed it to be of recent erection, thus suggesting that the present occupiers were bent on keeping out possible intruders. A pair of powerful gates, now open, were the only means of egress.
Sir Leonard slowly crept round the house endeavouring to obtain a glimpse of the interior, but not a glimmer of light showed from any of the windows either on the ground floor or above, indicating fairly conclusively that they were all carefully and heavily curtained. Having assured himself of this fact, he made his way to the gates, went through, and walked round the wall on the outside. He discovered that the place was built on a high cliff, exposed to the full fury of the wind. It was as much as he could do at times to move forward in the teeth of the gale. From below came the thunder of the angry waves as they clashed themselves violently on the rocks. Except for a dim light some distance away, and slightly inland, there appeared no habitation anywhere near. Altogether a more desolate spot, at least for at that time of the year, it would be difficult to imagine.
He had barely re-entered the grounds, when the front door of the house opened, and a diminutive figure, looking more like an animal than a human being, appeared. He was quickly swallowed up by the darkness, but his footsteps could be heard as he approached the gates, which he closed with a clash as though in a hurry to return to the warmth of the house. He had left the front door open, and Sir Leonard, from his vantage point behind a hedge, could see into a comfortably furnished hall. There seemed to be nobody about, and he wondered if he could possibly get inside without being observed by the fellow at the gate. He began to creep towards the house, but had not gone very far, when the other man passed quite close to him. However, the latter had another job to perform before going in. He lifted the motorcycle from its stand, and wheeled it round the side of the building. That was Wallace’s opportunity, and he promptly took it. As silently as a shadow he glided into the hail. Doors on either side of him drew his eyes speculatively to them, but the sound of a voice apparently raised in anger attracted him on. He came to a sudden turning and, glancing cautiously round the corner, found that he was looking into a brilliantly lighted room. Three or four men stood bunched together, their backs to him, while another, who could not be seen, was talking loudly and wrathfully. ‘… you fail me, when I think failure is impossible,’ he was complaining. ‘Where is he I say?’
Sir Leonard looked hurriedly round. It was impossible to stay where he was. At any moment the little man, who had gone to put the motorcycle away, might re-enter the house, and discover him. But he intended, if possible, to hear all the speaker had to say. A curtain a few yards farther on to his left close to a staircase, offered possibilities. Without hesitation he crossed to it, risking the chance that one of the men in the room would turn and catch sight of him. Luck was on his side, no alarm was raised, and he found himself in an alcove containing a curious assortment of articles of which three very modern rifles were the most significant. To his great satisfaction he discovered that he was still able to hear distinctly every word spoken in the room across the passage and, as he listened, the expression on his face became gradually sterner. He heard the front door close, and footsteps come rapidly along the hall. Glancing cautiously round a fold of the curtain, he caught a glimpse of a deformed, repulsive little creature, who hurried along towards the back of the house. Thereafter nothing occurred to divert his attention from the conversation taking place within a few yards of him.
He smiled grimly as he listened to the discussion concerning his own supposed demise, but his heart was heavy with the knowledge of the fate that had befallen Maddison and his companions. For some time he had been wondering why they had not arrived; had taken it for granted that the pursuit had been shaken off, now he knew the real reason, and his thoughts boded ill for the scoundrels who spoke so callously of a foul crime. The girl’s voice intrigued him. He wondered who she was. He was not particularly shocked at the discovery that a woman was connected with the organisation. It was not the first time that Sir Leonard had found a female among his antagonists, and he was perfectly well aware that a woman could sometimes be more dangerous than a man.
The conference ended on a more pleasant note than it had apparently started, due obviously to the conviction that Wallace had been killed or seriously incapacitated, and the leader’s evident complacence in his own imagined infallibility. Four men filed from the room, and Sir Leonard succeeded in obtaining an excellent view of each. Even he, a man who seldom showed surprise, raised his eyebrows in grudging admiration at the excellence of Hepburn’s disguise. He was the chauffeur Johnson to the life. Previously he had only viewed the man in shadow or in a very poor light; there, with the strong illumination of the hall throwing up every line, he was unable to detect a flaw.
The conspirators walked away to the rear of the premises, but their leader continued speaking to the woman. Unfortunately they lapsed into the Greek language, one of the few European tongues of which Wallace had little knowledge, but not before he had heard, and mentally noted, that interviews had been arranged with representatives of the German and Russian governments presumably to discuss the purchase of the plans of the two British inventions. He was able to understand certain references, caught his own and Cousins’ names mentioned; then the girl left the room. She walked along the passage softly humming to herself, came back a few minutes later, and ascended the stairs. He was just able to catch a glimpse of her face, the beauty of which gave him rather a pang. It seemed very terrible that a woman so handsome and so young could be associated with such men, that the grace and charm, which she almost seemed to irradiate, could possibly cloak a heart that must be entirely without feeling, brutal in its callousness. While he was thinking of her, the man who had impersonated Johnson, and was still wearing the disguise, passed along the hall; went out by the front door. Five minutes later he returned, and disappeared in the direction from whence he had come.
Wallace waited behind the curtain, expecting the leader, who had unconsciously but fortuitously announced his name to the listener, to emerge from the apartment opposite, but, when some minutes had gone by, and Sir Leonard could hear the rustle of paper, he decided to attempt, if possible, to find out what Ictinos was doing. By slow degrees he emerged from his hiding place, and surveyed his surroundings. Glancing to his left along the passage he found that there was a baize door at the end, obviously leading to the domestic quarters of the house. Another door halfway along, under the staircase, stood slightly ajar, and from within came the murmur of voices. He concluded that the apartment there must be a kind of general room for the rank and file of the gang.
For some seconds he stood listening; then tiptoed quietly across the passage to the room in which Ictinos sat. Suddenly, however, came the sound of quick footsteps overhead, and he had barely time to dart back to the shelter of the alcove before the girl came running lightly down the stairs. She called someone by the name of Farrell, and was presently joined by one of the men Wallace had previously seen.
‘You have forgotten my little man, Farrell,’ she observed. ‘You know it is your duty to take him to his room, and lock him up every night. I shall have to complain to my father, unless you are more careful. You do not think he is to be allowed to enjoy the comfort of my boudoir all night, do you?’
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br /> ‘Sorry, miss,’ came in surly tones from the man. ‘I hadn’t forgotten, but last night you told me I had come too soon.’
‘Do not be impertinent. Take Mr Cousins to the box room at once.’
She returned up the stairs, followed by the man she called Farrell. Sir Leonard breathed a sigh of great relief. Cousins was still alive! He made up his mind to discover where the little Secret Service man was incarcerated, even though the risk to him seemed stupendous. Expecting every moment that someone would appear and discover him, he crept up the stairs. But luck was on his side again. He came to a landing in which was a curtained alcove similar to the one he had just left. From there he was able to see a considerable part of the corridor above, reached from the landing by a further four steps. He had not been there long before Farrell emerged from a room at the front of the house followed by Cousins. Sir Leonard’s lips came together in a thin straight line when he observed that his assistant was being led by a chain attached to a steel belt round his waist. They entered a room close to the top of the stairs. Four or five minutes passed by; then Farrell reappeared, shutting, and locking the door behind him. That done he descended, passing so close to the hidden watcher that his arm actually touched the curtain, drawing it a little to one side. Sir Leonard almost anticipated discovery, but the fellow went on without a pause, utterly unconscious of the fact that in the alcove crouched the man whom he and his companions appeared to dread so greatly.
Wallace was half inclined to attempt the rescue of Cousins without delay, but decided that the chances of success, while the household was awake, were too slender. He cautiously went down the stairs, therefore, halting awhile at the bottom, and listening intently, before once again stepping across the passage to the room which Ictinos had apparently not left, for an occasional cough and the rustle of papers denoted that he was inside. The door was still wide open, a fact that helped considerably. Sir Leonard wanted to find out what the man was doing if possible, without being detected himself. As he stood on the threshold, he knew that, if anybody came along, he was bound to be discovered, but that did not worry him. By slow degrees he insinuated his head into the room until he was able to see the man who sat behind a great mahogany desk examining a document which he held in front of him.
Get Wallace! Page 12
