Get Wallace!

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘Was that the only time you had a talk with the Greek?’ he asked at the end of the recital.

  ‘The only time he said anything of interest about the organisation, sir. He frequently entered the boudoir when I was chained up there, jeered at me, and reminded me that he intended to have you killed as soon as you set foot in England.’

  ‘Did the girl ever say anything which might give us a clue to their intentions after being compelled to leave Sheppey?’

  ‘Never. She generally avoided all topics that might afford me any information. When I was in her boudoir, she usually made me read to her, or discuss poetry with her – she could be very charming when she tried – the rest of the time she did her utmost to make me squirm by humiliating me or inventing some new physical torture.’

  ‘Charming girl!’ commented Brien. ‘The Ictinos family seems to be utterly callous and brutal. Fancy murdering that poor beggar – Moropos, was it you said? – simply because he posted some of the letters in Sheerness!’

  ‘I can imagine how Ictinos felt,’ grunted Sir Leonard. ‘It was a terrible dereliction of duty from his point of view. That one blunder put us on his track, remember.’ He rubbed his chin, and frowned. ‘I wonder who this mysterious partner of his is? That’s got to be ascertained somehow. Perhaps he’s on the yacht. Listen, Bill: I want you to get busy on several matters right away, while I go home, and have a bath and a shave. First of all find out whom the yacht Electra belongs to, where she is – in fact all you can about her. Secondly, recall Shannon from Rome – order him to fly back. It is possible I may find a use for him in this business. Then ask Scotland Yard to send the two prisoners round here under a close guard at ten. I think that will do for the present. By the way, have you found out what happened to Johnson, by any chance?’

  ‘Yes; he was found bound and gagged in a corner of your garage by a policeman, who noticed the door slightly open at three this morning. He’d been chloroformed.’

  ‘He’s all right, I hope?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  Wallace rose from his chair, and stretched.

  ‘I’m not so young as I was,’ he remarked. ‘I get tired too easily nowadays.’

  ‘Dash it all!’ remonstrated Brien. ‘You’ve had a pretty stiff time, and not a wink of sleep, since you left the Majestic yesterday morning. What can you expect?’

  ‘One can’t afford to be subject to the usual human failings in this job,’ retorted the other. He turned to Cousins. ‘You’d better continue your leave, Jerry,’ he suggested. ‘You’ll be able to have a Christmas holiday after all.’

  Cousins looked pained. His face creased ludicrously as he eyed Sir Leonard in dismay.

  ‘Anaxagoras is to blame for a lot,’ he complained. ‘It was he made this holiday business popular, but, if you don’t mind, sir, I’d rather forgo mine; at least until this affair is settled.’

  Wallace stifled a yawn.

  ‘Just as you like,’ he smiled. ‘I’d rather have you on duty, of course.’

  Every wrinkle on the little man’s face appeared to develop a grin of its own.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said with real gratitude, as though a great favour had been conferred upon him. ‘I wonder if the ghost of Shelley would object, if I adapted a verse of one of his poems to my feelings about leave: “Out of the day and night a joy has taken flight; Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more – oh, never more!”’

  ‘Thalia Ictinos doesn’t seem to have curbed your instincts,’ commented Wallace. ‘I’ll be back just before ten, Bill. Find out every item of information you can about the Electra. It’s possible I’ll want to board her before the day is out.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me how you found out where this fellow, Ictinos was living, and how you obtained possession of the plans?’ asked Brien in disappointed tones.

  ‘Not now, my lad. Have a heart! I’ll tell you sometime during the course of the day. At the moment I feel I shall not regain the full use of my faculties until I’ve revelled in a bath.’

  He walked out. The sight of his car brought a momentary frown of reflection to his brow. Despite his handicap, Sir Leonard still managed to drive, though he seldom did so, but it was not on account of that reluctance that he was hesitating now. Although he felt fairly certain that he was safe for the time being from the machinations of the gang controlled by Ictinos, he intended to take no risks. The car had been left unattended. There was just a chance that in the meantime emissaries of the indefatigable Greek had arrived, and had laid a trap for him. He walked for some distance up Whitehall, and took a taxi. Eight o’clock boomed out from Big Ben as he directed the driver. A thin sleet was falling, making more depressing the new daylight of a typical December day. He was quickly home, to be greeted happily by a wife who, though she would never divulge the fact to him, had spent the long hours of the night overcome by a gnawing anxiety that was only partially relieved by the message received from Major Brien that all was well. She did not question him concerning the business that had kept him away for so long, but he, feeling that some sort of explanation was due to her, gave her the information that he had gone to the Isle of Sheppey to recover certain plans that had been stolen; spoke of the house at Minster as though it had been deserted when he arrived there; scorned the idea that he had been in danger at any time. She listened to him, and understood, filling in the blanks as her own imagination and knowledge of him directed. And thus the great game, engendered by their love, was played, as it would always be played by those two, while he was Chief of the British Secret Service.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Farrell is Offered a Chance

  There was no intention of taking a short rest in Sir Leonard Wallace’s mind to make up a little for the strenuous night he had spent. As soon as he had bathed, shaved, and partaken of breakfast, he had a talk with Johnson. The chauffeur, looking rather pale, but otherwise little the worse for his ordeal, was unable to give any information about the attack made on him, except that he had been about to drive the car from the garage, when a pad, soaked in chloroform, had suddenly been pressed over his nose and mouth, and held there, despite his struggles, until he had lost consciousness. Sir Leonard warned him to be on the qui vive during the course of the following days.

  ‘We’re up against a gang that will stick at nothing,’ he remarked. ‘One of their amiable intentions, between you and me, Johnson, is to put an end to my career, and it is quite likely that a lot will depend upon your watchfulness and care. Do you feel fit enough to go and fetch the car back from Whitehall?’

  Declaring that he was quite all right, Johnson departed on his errand, his face reflecting some of the grim resolution of his employer’s.

  At ten minutes to ten, Wallace walked into his office looking as fresh as though he had recently risen from bed after eight or ten hours’ untroubled slumber. He found Major Brien awaiting him, standing with his back to a roaring fire, hands in pockets, a pipe in the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Good Lord!’ groaned that worthy, ‘how on earth do you manage to look so indecently fit? I did get a snooze in between times during the night; even so I feel a rag.’

  ‘It’s your riotous living, my son,’ returned Wallace.

  ‘Riotous living be damned! I’m the hardest-worked man in Europe, chained to a buzzing hive of industry by the whim of a martinet.’

  ‘Don’t stint yourself, Bill. Make it the hardest worked man in the five continents.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be far wrong.’ He knocked out the ashes of his pipe on the fender. ‘Shannon left Rome ten minutes ago,’ he informed the other.

  ‘Good work,’ applauded Sir Leonard. ‘What news of the Electra?’

  Brien nodded to the desk.

  ‘Full information on that sheet of paper there,’ he observed.

  Wallace strode across, took up the slip, and perused it eagerly.

  ‘Electra – steam sea-going yacht of 1,200 tons,’ he read,
‘at one time the property of Sir Peter Nikoleff, sold two years ago to Michael Senostris, the Greek millionaire and philanthropist. Now lying in the Medway off Rochester. Has accommodation for twelve guests, and usually carries a crew of twenty officers and men. Can attain a speed of twenty-two knots.’

  He allowed a look of triumph to show fleetingly in his face.

  ‘Billy,’ he proclaimed, ‘you have surpassed yourself. It looks as though Mr Michael Senostris is the mysterious partner of Ictinos.’

  ‘It certainly fits in with the description,’ agreed Brien. ‘Man with brains, household name, Greek and all that sort of thing. But why should a millionaire want to mix himself in a game of this sort? He has all the money he can possibly want, and a lot over. Besides, he seemed quite a decent Johnny when I met him, not at all the sort of bloke to be hand in glove with a bloodthirsty ruffian like Ictinos.’

  A clerk entered the room.

  ‘Inspector Graham from Scotland Yard to see you, sir,’ he informed Wallace. ‘He has two men with him in the custody of several constables.’

  Sir Leonard nodded. He was about to order the visitors to be shown in, but changed his mind; turned instead to Major Brien.

  ‘Is Cousins still here?’ he asked. Brien nodded. ‘Well, look here, Billy, I want you to examine these fellows, and see what you can get out of them. Cousins can help you. Farrell will talk readily enough, but I don’t suppose he can tell us much. You’ll probably find the other – a dwarf – a hard nut to crack. I’ll interview them at Scotland Yard later in the day.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Have a word with Sir Peter Nikoleff, if he is in London. He’ll probably be able to give me some useful information about Senostris.’ He looked at the clerk. ‘Show Inspector Graham and the men with him into Major Brien’s room, Stevenson, and ask Mr Cousins to go there.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  Wallace waited until he and Brien were alone again; then:

  ‘Before you start the pumping process, Bill, get in touch with the powers that be in Rochester, give your authority, and ask them to detain the Electra if she shows any signs of sailing. Also get hold of Cartright if you can, and tell him to send one of his men to keep an eye on the yacht until he hears from me. If you can’t get hold of him, you’ll have to send down the best man you have available here.’

  ‘We’re almost an empty house,’ remarked Brien, ‘but I’ll see what I can do. You’re keeping me busy, aren’t you?’

  ‘You may be a good deal busier yet. It is possible I shall want you to accompany me on a visit to the Electra later on.’

  ‘That will be a change. By the way does the dwarf, under Graham’s tender care, bite or do anything nasty like that?’

  ‘He probably would, if he got half a chance,’ smiled Sir Leonard. ‘But I think you’ll find him safely handcuffed. He’s a repulsive-looking beggar and a thorough savage.’

  ‘What a little pet!’ commented Brien, ‘it seems as though I am in for an interesting time.’

  Sir Leonard drove to Grosvenor Square, where dwelt Sir Peter Nikoleff the financier, diplomat, art connoisseur, and man of a host of other interests made possible by his enormous fortune. Although of Greek extraction, Sir Peter was a naturalised Englishman, and had accomplished great work for his adopted country. But his reputation was international, not merely national. He had financed revolutions, supported causes of all kinds, even propped up tottering kingdoms. Nothing that was great enough was too great for Sir Peter to champion. Time and again his operations had caused tremendous fluctuations in the money markets of the world. He was perhaps the most significant figure in finance and politics that had lived for a century.

  Wallace was fortunate to find him at home. He was shown into a study furnished with antiques and objets d’art that must have cost a fortune. A secretary informed him that Sir Peter would see him in five minutes, and in exactly five minutes he came, a short, rather stumpy figure, whose bright eyes, ruddy complexion, bushy white hair and white, somewhat unkempt beard, gave him an air of genial benevolence. He shook hands warmly with his visitor.

  ‘I am intrigued,’ he declared with a smile. ‘What can the mystery man of the Foreign Office want with me at this early hour of the morning?’

  ‘Not much of the mystery man about me,’ returned Wallace.

  ‘In some countries you are not only regarded as a mysterious, sinister figure,’ insisted the old man, ‘but to you are attributed almost satanic powers as well. In fact I once overheard an official say that he was perfectly convinced you were in league with the powers of darkness.’

  Sir Leonard smiled ruefully.

  ‘Simply because I was endeavouring to do my duty to my country I suppose,’ he observed. ‘It is a pity one is misunderstood so easily in this world.’ He accepted a cigarette. ‘I have come to you, Sir Peter,’ he went on, ‘to ask you one or two questions. I shall not take up much of your time.’

  ‘I shall be glad to answer them if I can.’

  ‘Thank you. Two years ago, I believe, you sold a yacht called the Electra to a Greek gentleman of the name of Senostris. Is that correct?’

  Sir Peter nodded.

  ‘Quite correct,’ he replied. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Of course most people have heard of Michael Senostris. I myself have met him once or twice. But do you know him well – that is to say intimately?’

  ‘Quite; in fact he is a very old friend of mine. We have often been partners in various enterprises in the past.’

  Wallace gave a little exclamation of satisfaction.

  ‘I am going to be perfectly frank with you,’ he declared. ‘We have reason to suspect that Senostris is engaged with another man in procuring and selling to the highest bidders various national secrets. Do you think he is the kind of man to associate himself with such a business? It is a delicate question to put to his friend, I know, but I am asking you as a man who has proved his loyalty to his adopted country, and Great Britain is very much concerned.’

  Sir Peter stared at his visitor for a moment then lay back in his chair and laughed heartily. When he had recovered from his amusement:

  ‘You say you have met him. Did he strike you as a man who would engage himself in international intrigue of that nature?’

  ‘No; he certainly did not.’

  ‘Well, you can take it from me, Sir Leonard, that he is not. Every enterprise with which he has ever been connected has been strictly honourable. He would not stoop to anything of a shady nature. You can take my word for it.’

  Wallace rubbed his chin reflectively.

  ‘And yet,’ he remarked, after a pause, ‘it is a fact that he owns the Electra, and to the Electra has gone the man, and certain members of his organisation, whom we know obtained copies of military and air force secrets, and offered them to three European powers.’

  Sir Peter opened his eyes wide with surprise.

  ‘Are you sure of this?’ he demanded.

  ‘Absolutely certain.’

  ‘It is strange – very strange.’ He sat thoughtfully tapping his knees with his hands. ‘Very strange,’ he added again. ‘But,’ he went on, ‘that hardly proves, does it, that Michael Senostris is a partner in this affair?’

  ‘No; it does not prove it, but the facts are very significant. The man, of whom I am speaking, himself a Greek, has declared, within the hearing of one of my most reliable assistants, that he has a partner of the same nationality, whose name is a household word, and whose brains supply the ideas. As this fellow, when in danger, fled with his gang to the Electra, you will agree that everything points to Senostris as the partner.’

  The genial look departed from the financier’s face, leaving it hard and stern.

  ‘If I thought for a moment,’ he began; then shook his head. ‘It cannot be,’ he insisted. ‘I have known Senostris since we were boys together. It is utterly out of the question that he could be engaged in work of such a nature. Is there any reason why I should not know the nam
e of this other man?’

  ‘None at all,’ returned Wallace promptly, ‘though you are hardly likely to be acquainted with him. He is one of the most callous, bloodthirsty scoundrels I have had the misfortune to be arrayed against. During the last few days he has committed two brutal murders.’

  ‘Decidedly he must be a fiend. And you think that my friend, Michael Senostris, is likely to be associated with a ruffian like that? You certainly do not know Senostris, Sir Leonard. Who is this man?’

  ‘His name is Ictinos – Stanislaus Ictinos!’

  At once Nikoleff was on his feet staring down at his visitor, his eyes and mouth wide open with amazement, Wallace eyed him curiously.

  ‘Then you do know him?’ he observed.

  ‘Know him! Of course I know him. He also is a friend of mine. In fact only recently has he come from Greece with his daughter to spend Christmas with me. They are in this house now.’

  In his turn Sir Leonard was on his feet.

  ‘In this house!’ he repeated.

  ‘Certainly. They are my guests. I will present them to you, if you care to meet them, but I fear you must be labouring under some great misapprehension.’ He took up a house telephone, and dialled a number. ‘Is that you, my dear Stanislaus?’ he asked presently. ‘I hope you have slept well. Has your daughter, Thalia, risen yet? Good. There is a friend with me who is anxious to meet you both. May I bring him to your drawing room and present him? Thank you.’ He put down the receiver and turned to Wallace. ‘Will you come with me, Sir Leonard?’

  They left the study, and ascended the great wide staircase to the first floor. Sir Peter knocked on a door, a voice bade them enter, and a moment later they stood in a beautifully furnished drawing room, confronting a dark-visaged man of about forty and a pretty girl in her early teens. Sir Leonard had never seen either before.