Get Wallace!

by Alexander Wilson

  Wallace laughed.

  ‘Why should they want to scuttle her?’ he asked. ‘It’s not reasonable to destroy something that is providing one with shelter.’

  ‘You don’t seem very perturbed about her disappearance.’

  ‘I’m not. It is fairly obvious that for some reason or other her identity has been altered.’

  ‘You mean that she has been disguised?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But could that be done without the transformation being observed?’

  ‘Yes; especially if there were already means on board for alterations to be made. She would probably slink into some quiet inlet, and in less than no time might have another funnel, an extra mast, different shaped stern or bows and, of course, a new name. They might even paint her another colour, but that would be a lengthy business, and there are few inlets along that coast where it could be done without someone observing the process sooner or later.’

  Brien thoughtfully regarded his companion.

  ‘There is only one reason that occurs to me why she should be disguised,’ he decided, ‘and that is that, somehow or other, Ictinos suspects that we know all about the Electra.’

  ‘You’re very probably right,’ smiled Sir Leonard. ‘Help me on with my overcoat, please.’

  Brien obliged.

  ‘It’s going to be a devil of a job to find her, if you’re right,’ he grunted. ‘Why, she might be disguised as anything – a tramp or—’

  ‘Or an Atlantic liner,’ Wallace finished for him.

  ‘Don’t be an ass! But you see what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, Billy, I see what you mean. You’re quite right; it will be a difficult job, if we have to organise a search for a boat when we have no idea what she looks like. But I trust that won’t be necessary. I am hoping that we shall be taken down to her without trouble.’

  ‘What’s the notion?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet, but I’ll tell you when I am. At any rate, I have a feeling that the final settlement between us and Ictinos and co. will take place on or near the Electra.’

  He did not return to his office after lunch, but sat in his study at home writing letters, occasionally glancing at the clock on the desk before him. It was getting on towards three when the telephone bell rang. Taking off the receiver, he gave his name, listening with a slight smile to the information transmitted to him over the wire.

  ‘Splendid!’ he remarked at length. ‘A pastry cook’s shop close to the Camden Town station, you said? Right; I’ll soon be there.’

  Two or three minutes later his car, with Johnson at the wheel, and Batty, his personal servant, sitting by the driver’s side, was on its way along Shaftesbury Avenue. It turned up Tottenham Court Road, was able to increase its speed along the Hampstead Road and Mornington Crescent, eventually coming to a stop near Camden Town underground station. Sir Leonard quickly stepped out.

  ‘If I’m not back in a quarter of an hour,’ he said to Batty and Johnson, ‘come and find me.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ replied the ex-sailor, taking out an enormous watch, and fixing his eyes on it.

  ‘There’s a clock on the dashboard,’ Johnson reminded him.

  ‘I prefer me own,’ retorted Batty. ‘I’ve carried it aboard, man and boy, for thirty years, and it’s never gone adrift once.’

  Sir Leonard had walked on towards a tiny confectioner’s establishment. He was a few yards from it, when a neatly dressed man, with a small, well-trimmed moustache, passed slowly by.

  ‘He’s in the room behind the shop, sir,’ he whispered.

  Wallace nodded almost imperceptibly. Turning into the shop, he walked straight towards the door of the inner room.

  ‘Hi!’ cried a man, standing behind the counter. ‘Vere are you going?’

  Sir Leonard ignored him, opened the door, stepped through, and closed it quickly behind him. Exclamations of astonishment greeted him from two men sitting opposite each other at a rickety table covered by a dirty cloth. They both looked out of place in that small dingy apartment. One, a sallow, thin-faced man, wearing pince-nez, was dressed in correct morning garb, his silk hat resting on the table by his side; the other, a bearded individual with tortoiseshell glasses, was clothed in a neat grey lounge suit, but there was no mistaking the great head and shoulders, the cold, slate-blue eyes and broad forehead. It was Stanislaus Ictinos. He sprang to his feet, his right hand going ominously to his coat pocket.

  ‘What is this?’ he demanded in a deep, threatening voice. ‘Who are you?’

  Sir Leonard noted with a certain feeling of pleasure that his face had paled.

  ‘I have reason to believe that you know me by sight, Stanislaus Ictinos,’ he observed quietly. ‘Take your hand away from that pocket, and sit down. Before you could draw a revolver or a knife, or whatever it happens to be, your wrist would be shattered. I’m a fairly useful shot, as perhaps your daughter observed quite recently.’

  Slowly the Greek sank back into his chair. Sir Leonard heard the door opening behind him; drew to one side in order that he could see the newcomer as well as keeping an eye on the men at the table. It was the shopkeeper.

  ‘He came in too quick for me to stop him,’ he told Ictinos in trembling tones. ‘Vill I throw him out?’

  Sir Leonard smiled at the idea of the fellow attempting to throw him out. He was an undersized, rat-like individual who looked a thorough weakling.

  ‘Get out yourself, and stay out,’ commanded the Chief of the Secret Service; ‘and I warn you, if you try any tricks you’ll find yourself in difficulties. There are several men outside awaiting my return.’ The fellow slunk out and, still facing the others, Wallace locked the door behind him. ‘We do not want to be interrupted,’ he observed, walking across to another door on the opposite side of the room, and fastening that. ‘Now we can talk in peace.’

  He sat down at the end of the table. The thin-faced man had not uttered a word since his initial cry of surprise at Wallace’s entrance. Now he leant on the table, and fixed his eyes on the intruder.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he asked in excellent English. ‘Who are you, sir?’

  ‘I am the head of the British Intelligence Service,’ Sir Leonard told him, ‘and I am here to warn you, Monsieur Moskevin, that you are running a grave risk in coming to England, and negotiating with this man for the purchase of certain confidential documents.’

  At the announcement of Sir Leonard’s status, Moskevin gave a startled exclamation, his sallow face paled. He made one or two attempts to speak; then turned apprehensive eyes to Ictinos, as though leaving the responsibility to him. The latter sat clenching and unclenching his hands, a look of concentrated fury and hatred in his face. He said nothing, however, and the Russian was forced to speak.

  ‘How did you know my name and hear of this meeting?’ he asked weakly.

  ‘I am not here to answer questions,’ returned Wallace sharply, ‘but I have no objection to telling you that certain letters and other documents came into my possession. I discovered that you were meeting this man today at three in your suite at the Savoy Hotel. As he knew that I had found out about that meeting, it was obvious the place, and perhaps the time, would be altered. It was not a difficult matter to ascertain the new arrangement. You would not be altogether ignorant of methods adopted in such a case, since you were a little while ago Commissary of Police in Petrograd.’

  ‘You are well informed, sir.’

  ‘Very,’ replied Sir Leonard drily.

  The Russian seemed to have recovered his composure to a great extent.

  ‘So you are the Sir Leonard Wallace I have heard so much about,’ he observed. ‘Your name is not popular in my country, sir.’

  ‘It is not popular anywhere,’ suddenly burst forth Ictinos. ‘This man is a devil.’

  ‘Perhaps he is,’ returned the Russian sharply, ‘but you, my friend, have done badly to land me in a position of this nature. You should have taken precautions to guard against such a contretemps. W
hat is your intention?’ he added, turning to Wallace,

  ‘First of all to show this fellow up,’ was the reply. ‘As he has dared to meet you, despite certain events that took place last night, let me inform you that he has nothing to sell to you. He is here to get money from you by false pretences if possible. The copies of the confidential plans which were offered to the highest bidder among certain governments, of which yours was one, were recovered by me last night. If he has told you he has them, he lies. Furthermore, Monsieur Moskevin, I have here full details of the proposed disposition of the Russian air force and armies corps in the event of mobilisation. They were offered by this man’s organisation to my government, but I obtained them from their hiding place with the others.’

  ‘So it was you,’ snarled Ictinos.

  ‘Have you only just gathered that? I remarked just now that your daughter recently had a demonstration of my skill with a revolver.’ He turned back to the Russian emissary, who was glowering at the Greek opposite him. ‘You see, monsieur – I suppose I really ought to call you Comrade – Moskevin, there is, or has been, a widespread conspiracy to steal confidential information from various nations and auction it – a pretty way of making money, you will agree, in which millions would be involved, and not only that, but powers rendered suspicious of and bitter towards each other. Behind it all is a mysterious figure, whom this man Ictinos calls his partner, a mysterious figure who is aiming, I think, to become dictator of Europe. In order that you may recognise Ictinos, if by some chance he escapes my net and goes to Russia, cast your eyes on him, and look well!’

  Suddenly he leant forward, and tore off the Greek’s false beard, displacing the glasses in the same movement. A great cry of rage broke from the big man. He sprang to his feet, but was checked by the revolver which had appeared with lightning-like swiftness in Sir Leonard’s hand.

  ‘Sit down, Ictinos,’ snapped the latter.

  It looked for a moment as though the Greek would defy him but, before the steel-grey eyes of the Englishman, his own slate-blue ones fell, and presently, with an oath, he resumed his seat.

  ‘You see now,’ went on Wallace to the Russian, ‘Stanislaus Ictinos, conspirator and murderer, as he really is. Under the Official Secrets Act of this country, Monsieur Moskevin, I could have you arrested and tried with him, but I am not particularly anxious to see you sent to prison, while the time for my reckoning with him has not yet come, though it is approaching rapidly. You can go, therefore, and take this with you.’ He removed from his pocket the folded sheets of foolscap, and threw them on the table. ‘It will interest you, and probably not please you, to know that I have copied everything of importance.’

  Moskevin picked up the package, opened it, and glanced through it. His face grew dark as thunder, and there was that in his eyes, as he shot a look at Ictinos, that boded ill for the Greek, if the latter ever fell into his power. Without a word he rose, and put on his overcoat. He walked to the door; then spoke.

  ‘I have your permission to unlock the door?’

  Sir Leonard nodded.

  ‘If I were you,’ he advised, ‘I should return straight to the Savoy, pack my belongings, and leave England at the earliest possible moment.’

  Moskevin bowed coldly, and went out. Wallace turned his eyes on the Greek.

  ‘So we are alone – face-to-face, Stanislaus Ictinos,’ he remarked softly. ‘You heard me say that the time of my reckoning with you is not yet. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to settle with you now, but I must wait. I’ll tell you this, however, that I am going to get what I want, and then smash you and your gang without mercy.’

  The Greek shrank back before the deadly menace in Sir Leonard’s tone. Despite his great physique, like all bullies, he was a coward at heart. He had learnt to fear the name of Wallace without having previously come face-to-face with him; now personal contact made him fear this man the more. And the greater his fear, the greater his determination to destroy the Englishman, who was threatening to bring down all his cherished plans like a house built of cards. As he sat there, inwardly he was seething like a volcano, but retained control of himself, knowing full well that he was at a disadvantage with this quick-thinking, quick-moving man. He wondered why Wallace did not have him arrested then and there – not that he would have succeeded, for Ictinos would die rather than that should happen; besides, there was a method of getting away from that house without appearing in the road, which should render his escape certain. As he remembered that fact his courage revived. He resolved to try the pose of a much-abused and misunderstood person.

  ‘Why is it you speak to me like this?’ he asked in unctuous tones. ‘It sounds as though you hate me. Why is that?’

  Sir Leonard regarded him, very much as he might have eyed a particularly loathsome reptile.

  ‘During my career,’ he announced, ‘I have had the misfortune to meet some pretty vile specimens of humanity, but few as thoroughly foul as you, and I warn you now that I intend having no mercy on you. Since I arrived in Southampton yesterday morning I have received proof after proof of your utter brutality. You’re not a man but a fiend. I am not holding anything particularly against you because you attempted to have me murdered, but your callousness in endangering the lives of two women and a child in your efforts to get me, the cold-blooded manner in which you shot one of my assistants and caused a motor smash near Sheppey bridge, and one or two other acts of yours, have made me resolve not to rest until either I see your body lying dead at my feet or know you are safe in the hands of the hangman. You have tried your utmost to finish me, Ictinos, but you have failed, and you will continue to fail, but I won’t. I may let you go today, but before long – it may be tomorrow, the next day, a week hence – sooner or later you’ll pay your price to the very last farthing.’

  By the time he had finished, the Greek’s face had turned a dirty yellow colour, fear showed from his eyes. He made a feeble attempt to continue his bluff.

  ‘You are mistaken,’ he bleated in unusually high tones for him. ‘Why should I want to have you killed? There has been no attempt on my part to—’

  ‘Be quiet!’ snapped the Englishman. ‘Lies won’t help you. Have you already forgotten what Mr Cousins saw; what you told him? In your astounding self-conceit you have said enough to convict yourself a dozen times over. I myself heard you describe how you had caused the disaster on the bridge; heard you browbeating the bunch of ruffians you employ, because they had been unable to carry out your orders regarding me.’

  Ictinos managed to pull himself together.

  ‘What I told the estimable Mr Cousins, and what you say you heard,’ he had the audacity to declare, ‘was just foolishness. It meant nothing. If I was all you say about me, why is it I have not taken the opportunity you give me of killing you here now?’

  Wallace smiled cynically.

  ‘Are you trying to be humorous?’ he demanded. ‘One of the reasons why you dare not molest me is that you know I have men outside; the other is here.’ He indicated the revolver in his hand. ‘You are a brave man, Ictinos, only when your prospective victim is unarmed or unsuspecting, and your cut-throats are within call.’

  There came the sound of voices from the direction of the shop, the connecting door flew open, and Johnson and Batty walked in, followed by the volubly protesting confectioner. The ex-sailor regarded him with an impatient frown.

  ‘Look ’ere, Alphonso,’ he observed, ‘we’re ’ere under orders, so sheer off, an’ find another anchorage.’

  The fellow continued his protests, but showed no signs of going. Batty, therefore, screwed him round by his hair, administered a well-placed kick, which sent him back into the shop rather abruptly, and closed the door.

  ‘Come aboard, sir,’ announced the valet, ‘a quarter of an hour ’aving passed since you entered this ’ere building.’

  ‘It’s all right, Batty; I was just about to rejoin you.’ He was turning away, when an idea occurred to him. ‘Go through this man’s po
ckets, both of you. We may find something interesting in them.’

  His face now black with anger, the Greek sprang to his feet.

  ‘You will not touch me,’ he roared. ‘Stand back!’

  But Sir Leonard’s revolver quickly cowed him into submission. Johnson and Batty seemed to enjoy their job, performing it with thoroughness and celerity. There was not a great deal in his pockets – a case full of banknotes, some loose change, a few innocuous letters and papers, a Browning automatic, a stiletto in a sheath, and a long envelope containing diagrams and memoranda. Wallace studied the latter, and whistled softly to himself. Presently he looked across at Ictinos.

  ‘Having lost the real thing,’ he commented, ‘you thought you’d fake plans from what you remembered of the others, and sell those to Moskevin. There’s no limit to your roguery apparently. But you’ve made at least one glaring mistake in each of these, which the Russian would have been bound to spot. It would have been interesting to know what he would have said – nothing polite I should imagine. Perhaps it would have ended in your adding his name to your list of victims.’ The Greek made no reply, and Wallace went on. ‘Tomorrow you have an appointment with the German ambassador. I intend visiting him after leaving here. In the circumstances it might be safer for you, if you refrained from keeping your engagement; that is, if you are then in a position to keep it.’

  Ictinos growled something unintelligible.

  Batty was examining the stiletto with an air of great interest.

  ‘What shall I do with this ’ere toothpick, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Take charge of it, and the automatic as well. Give him back the pocketbook and the letters.’

  Sir Leonard returned the diagrams and memoranda to their envelope, which he put in his own pocket.

  ‘You have not the right to take from me my weapons,’ protested Ictinos. ‘They are my property.’

  ‘In this country it is illegal to carry weapons without a permit. I am possibly saving you from arrest and prosecution.’