‘I’m sorry to find that you have come down to this,’ remarked the latter to the crook as he paused in the lobby to put on a heavy overcoat and a soft hat. ‘You seemed to be a pretty good sort of fellow in the old days. How did it happen?’
‘I guess I always was a wrong ’un,’ came the frank reply. ‘Fights got scarce, and I began to drink hard. After that I just let myself go.’
‘Oh, well, you’ve a chance in a hundred to wash out the past now. Sir Leonard will stand by you, if you prove you’re worth it. Come on!’
Cousins, Shannon, and Carter entered the Rolls-Royce with Wallace; Cartright and Hill sat in the back of Brien’s Vauxhall with Farrell between them. Precautions had been taken to ascertain that there were no suspicious characters in the vicinity, and Sir Leonard carefully scrutinised Johnson, laughingly demanding to know if he were in reality the ex-soldier.
Although bitterly cold, the weather offered a striking contrast to that of the previous night. The moon shone down from an almost cloudless sky, rendering headlights practically unnecessary. Once away from London, the two cars made speedy progress, even though the Vauxhall caused a slight delay between Rainham and Wennington with a puncture, but the wheel with the faulty tyre was quickly replaced by Cartwright and Hill, Farrell insisting on lending a hand. Progress became slower as they drew near their destination, and were compelled to travel along a series of narrow by-roads, especially as they were not certain of the way, and signboards were few and far between. However, at five minutes to eleven, the two cars approached the tiny village of Shifton, and were met by a man who had apparently been awaiting their arrival, a couple of hundred yards from the beginning of its one street.
‘That you, sir?’ asked the voice of Inspector Seymour.
‘Yes,’ replied Wallace, stepping into the road. ‘By Jove!’ he added with a shiver, ‘it’s freezing hard. Anything further to report, Seymour?’
‘Nothing, sir. We’ve taken turns in keeping watch – Willingdon is down there now. From where he is stationed the steamer can be seen quite distinctly, and we’re pretty sure nobody has come or gone since we’ve been watching. The motorboat is still tied up alongside.’
‘Good. How far is it to the place where Willingdon is posted?’
‘About twenty minutes walk, sir. There are several boats lying thereabouts.’
‘We’d better be getting along.’
Wallace collected his force together, Johnson being left in charge of the cars. Led by Seymour, who had been joined by MacAlpine the third detective, the little party made its way along a path running parallel to the creek, Carter carrying a coil of thin, strong rope. It was not easy going. A heterogeneous collection of shrubs and bushes dotted the landscape, at times causing the walkers to step aside on to muddy, marshy ground that gave at every footstep. In places this had frozen, giving off in consequence a loud crackling sound as it was trodden on. Once Farrell, who was following Shannon, slipped and fell, cutting his face on some brambles and slightly twisting his ankle, but, after a slight pause, was able to continue without much discomfort. From what could be seen of it by moonlight, the countryside looked distinctly bleak and uninviting. Here and there tall, gaunt trees were silhouetted against the sky, looking weird and sinister in their naked ugliness. A smell of damp, rotting vegetation offended the nostrils, while a miasmatic vapour rose from the mud left uncovered in the creek by the outgoing tide. Nobody spoke, they were too much occupied in picking their way, apart from which, Wallace had given orders that as little sound as possible was to be made.
At last they reached the mouth of the creek. Here they were no longer offended by the malodorous fumes which had previously caused most of them to hold their handkerchiefs to their noses. A slight breeze brought with it the refreshing tang of sea and seaweed; the lapping of the waves close by, in soft and gentle melody, seemed bent on assuring them that the offensive mud had been left behind. Seymour raised his hand, keeping them back among the bushes. A small figure appeared from close by, could be seen to touch his hat to Sir Leonard.
‘Willingdon, sir,’ muttered Seymour by way of introduction. He turned to the man. ‘Anything doing?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ was the reply. ‘I’ve had my eyes glued on the boat ever since I came, but there hasn’t been a sign of life.’
Through a pair of night glasses, Wallace studied the dark bulk of the ship lying close to an island a few hundred yards away. From what could be seen of her, she possessed two funnels, an extraordinary amount of superstructure on her decks, and blunt, ugly bows. Obviously intended to pass as a small tramp steamer, Sir Leonard was amused to discover that a vital necessity for a boat professing to carry cargo had been apparently forgotten. There appeared to be no cranes or derricks on board.
‘It’s the Electra all right,’ he murmured. ‘Wonderful what canvas artistically arranged can do.’
He handed his glasses to Brien, who gazed long and earnestly before returning them to their owner.
‘There doesn’t seem to be a soul on deck,’ he remarked, ‘and there’s not a light showing anywhere. It looks to me as though there’s nobody on the boat.’
‘There must be somebody, sir,’ put in Willingdon respectfully. ‘There were three men aboard the motor-launch on which I came from Tilbury, apart from the fellow we’d been shadowing.’
‘Perhaps they went back again,’ surmised Brien, ‘while you were away in the village.’
‘The launch is still there, sir; lying astern, if you notice.’
‘Yes; and there is somebody on the deck amidships,’ grunted Wallace, as a tiny light could be seen distinctly to flare up and burn for a few seconds before being extinguished.
‘Well, that wasn’t very brilliant, if they don’t want it to be known they’re there,’ commented Seymour. ‘It was obviously somebody lighting a cigarette or pipe.’
‘And they’ve informed us that a watch is being kept,’ observed Wallace.
‘At that rate,’ put in Brien, ‘how are we to get out there without being spotted? It’s almost as bright as day.’
Sir Leonard turned abruptly to the group of men behind him.
‘Where’s Farrell?’ he demanded.
‘Here, sir,’ responded Carter, and the crook was pushed forward.
‘I brought you here,’ Sir Leonard informed him, ‘because I thought the moonlight would possibly make it difficult to reach the boat by direct means. Are you still keen on earning that pardon?’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Farrell without hesitation.
‘Then listen carefully: I want you to row out to the Electra by yourself. Go aboard and, if Ictinos is there, tell him that you have escaped from me, and have come to warn him that I have tracked him down here with another man, and am now waiting for assistance in order to make a raid. He’ll probably ask you how I found out where he was; but you don’t know. If he is puzzled by the fact that I have brought you with me, tell him some yarn about my threatening you with unmentionable tortures, if you don’t identify the boat, not believing your story that you’ve never seen her. You ought to be fairly safe; the very fact that you have escaped and dashed to warn him should give him confidence in you. On the other hand, there is always the chance that he’ll shoot you down in any case, but it’s a risk you must take.
‘Now for the second part of my instructions. Having, I hope, been believed by Ictinos, and thanked for your warning, or whatever he does when any service is performed for him, tell him that there is one way in which he can avoid the raid without putting to sea and, at the same time, get me into his power. I think you will find that any chance of capturing or killing me will appeal to him, and he’ll be eager to listen to you. Inform him that I have returned to the village to telephone my headquarters, but that it will be quite an hour before men can reach me there. In the meantime, however, say that I intend to get in touch with Captain Shannon, who returned from Rome today, whose home is in North London, and who will, therefore, be able to reach me sooner. Your id
ea is this, that Hepburn, if he is aboard, should once again impersonate Shannon, go ashore with two or three men, including yourself to show the way, and, by imposing on me, capture me. If he rises to the bait, well and good. I have an idea that he will, for the man has a perfect obsession to end my career and, I believe, given the chance he’ll take it, even if it means running a risk. Is everything clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Farrell.
‘And you’re ready to carry out instructions?’
‘Yes, sir.’
At Sir Leonard’s suggestion, he repeated them.
‘Right. There’s your chance; take it. If Hepburn is not aboard, Ictinos will probably make other plans to capture me. There is a chance, of course, that he won’t. In that case, manage somehow to drop a lighted match over the side of the boat. I’ll understand. I’m putting a lot of trust in you, Farrell. If you let me down, you’re finished. Directly the Electra sails a message will be sent to Sheerness asking for destroyers to be dispatched to capture her. It is, therefore, no use your thinking you can play me false, warn Ictinos of the true position, and get away with it.’
‘I understand, sir,’ returned the man quietly. ‘I won’t let you down.’
‘Put him into a boat, Seymour,’ directed Wallace, ‘and let him go – Oh, wait a minute! Snap a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. That will make the supposed escape look more realistic. Do you think you’ll be able to row with them on, Farrell?’
‘I dare say I’ll manage, sir.’
There was a click. A few minutes later a small boat left the shore, and the man aboard could be seen laboriously pulling towards the disguised yacht. Ten pairs of eyes anxiously watched him go. The receding tide aided him considerably, and, despite his handicap, and obvious inexperience of rowing, less than ten minutes later he was alongside the yacht. Peering intently through his glasses, Sir Leonard saw the dinghy bump into the hull of the larger vessel with considerable force. Several men appeared on the deck of the latter, and quite a commotion suddenly seemed to be taking place. Someone threw Farrell a rope, and he stood precariously in his little craft talking to the fellow above. Presently the gangway, which had been drawn up out of reach, was lowered, a man ran down, secured the rowing boat, and Farrell climbed aboard the Electra.
Wallace sighed.
‘The first part of the job seems to have been accomplished,’ he observed.
‘I hope Farrell doesn’t let us down,’ murmured Brien.
‘He won’t,’ was the answer, spoken with quiet confidence.
‘What’s the idea of wanting that fellow Hepburn to impersonate Shannon?’
‘I’ve invented a new game, Billy. You can call it “Replacing a Shannon by a Shannon”, if you like. Hepburn, as Shannon, comes ashore, with two or three other men, to capture me. Instead, we capture them. The real Shannon with others, wearing the coats and hats of the prisoners, then take me out to the yacht. We thus get aboard without being suspected.’
A subdued laugh came from the men round him.
‘Mens invicta manet,’ murmured Cousins. ‘It’s a great idea, sir.’
‘Perhaps – if it works!’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Farrell Earns His Pardon
Burdened with the handcuffs, which he regarded every now and then with repugnance, Farrell at first made a hopeless mess of rowing the dinghy. He soon found, however, that the tide was carrying him away from the shore, and all that was really necessary for him to do was to keep her head pointed towards the yacht. It seemed to him to take much longer than ten minutes to reach the latter vessel, but at last she loomed above him. He strove awkwardly to turn the dinghy’s bows in order to bring her properly, alongside, but was too late. As she bumped violently into the Electra, almost unseating him, he heard the sound of running feet above. His coming had been observed for some time, and the watcher had given the alarm. Voices, chattering excitedly, reached his ears; then a head looked over the railing. He could just discern it.
‘Who are you?’ came the demand in tones he recognised.
‘Is that you, Danson?’ he asked. ‘Hell! It’s good even to hear your blasted voice again. Give me a hand – quick!’
‘Farrell!’ was Danson’s surprised exclamation. ‘Where the devil did you come from?’
‘Never mind that now. Help me to come aboard, can’t you?’
His erstwhile companion threw him a rope which he caught, rising unsteadily to his feet. Farrell heard, with mixed feelings – he hardly knew whether to be glad or apprehensive – the deep tones of Stanislaus Ictinos, as the latter demanded to know what had happened. Danson explained.
‘Farrell! Here!’ bellowed the Greek. ‘How did he come here? How did he know? There is something I do not like about this.’
He looked over the side into the boat below.
‘How is it,’ he asked curtly, ‘that you have found us here? This seems very strange to me, my friend Farrell.’
‘Let me come aboard, and I’ll soon tell you,’ pleaded Farrell. ‘Hurry! There’s no time to lose.’
‘What is that you say? No time to lose! What do you mean?’
The man in the dinghy uttered an exclamation that might have been caused either by fear or by impatience.
‘I can’t tell you here. What is the matter with you, guv’nor? Why don’t you let me come up?’
‘Because it looks very suspicious to me that you have found us.’
‘It don’t make it less suspicious if I’m kept in a boat that’s rocking about like a shuttlecock, does it?’
‘Tell me where you have come from!’
‘London. That swine Wallace brought me here, and I’ve just escaped. Now you know.’
Exclamations of consternation reached his ears from above. The gangway was lowered, a man ran down and secured the dinghy, and Farrell was told to ascend. He did so, growling to himself the while. He had decided on his way across that, if he adopted an attitude comprising a mixture of resentment, fear, and hatred of Sir Leonard Wallace, he would be most likely to deceive his late comrades. Directly he set foot on the deck, Ictinos on one side and Danson on the other, took him by an arm, and hurried him below into a brilliantly lighted lounge. It took his eyes some moments to get used to the glare. While he stood there blinking, he heard exclamations of astonishment, and presently found himself in an apartment that for luxury could scarcely have been excelled. Before he had time, however, to take in his surroundings, a broadside of questions came from all sides at once. In addition to Ictinos and Danson, there were present Hepburn, Ibsen, Thalia, a dignified-looking old man he had never before set eyes on, and a stout, bearded man in uniform, obviously the captain of the yacht and, just as obviously, a Greek. Thalia seemed to be the only one who was not asking questions; her eyes were fixed on the handcuffs.
‘You poor man,’ she said, and somehow her voice silenced all others, ‘you are in manacles. It was clever of you to escape like that. You have slipped away from the so-clever Monsieur Wallace? Am I not right?’
‘You are,’ he told her, not without a certain feeling of alarm. Of them all she was the one he most feared. He knew that she would be harder to deceive than her father. ‘Can’t one of you get these things off?’ he asked.
At sight of the handcuffs, the manner of Ictinos had changed towards him considerably. The Greek had obviously become convinced now that, if there was anything suspicious taking place, Farrell was not acting in any manner antagonistic to him. But the slate-blue eyes were troubled and anxious.
‘Ibsen,’ he ordered, ‘get a file, and remove from Farrell those ugly fetters.’ He rose, and mixing a strong whisky and soda handed it to the latter. ‘Sit down and drink that,’ he bade, ‘it will do you good.’
Farrell obeyed rather wonderingly. It was unusual for the Greek to show much consideration for those who served him. Setting down his empty glass, the man who was endeavouring to earn his pardon looked at Ictinos, and jerked his head significantly at the old man and the ship’s captain. Th
e Greek understood, and smiled.
‘It is quite all right, my friend,’ he assured the ex-pugilist, ‘both these gentlemen can hear what you have to say.’
‘OK,’ nodded Farrell, leaning forward earnestly. ‘Listen, guv’nor; I don’t think I owe you much after the way you bolted last night. It was a dirty trick.’
Ictinos shrugged his shoulders.
‘How could we help it?’ he asked. ‘When we heard the shots, we knew the house had been raided, and the underground passage discovered. It would have been foolish to have attempted to save you, and thus been captured or killed ourselves.’
‘Oh, well, have it your own way.’ Farrell shrugged his shoulders. ‘Still I think you might have tried to rescue me – they already had Paul.’
‘But tell us how it is you are here. How did you know—’
‘I’m coming to that. That swine Wallace, blast him, has had me before him, or some of the others, most of the day trying to get information out of me. I didn’t see him personally this afternoon, but this evening he came back, and asked me what I knew about the Electra. I told him I knew nothing, but I could see he didn’t believe me. Anyhow, I found out that he knew you had gone to a yacht called the Electra. Information had reached him that she had left Rochester, and a boat that might be her was lying in a creek about two or three miles from Tilbury.’
He paused to take breath, for he had been speaking rapidly. All eyes were anxiously fixed on his. Ibsen had returned with the file, but stood listening, too interested to use it.
‘Continue!’ urged Ictinos.
‘He got in his car with another fellow, and brought me along. We stopped at a village called – I’ve forgotten it’s name—’ which was true – he had. ‘Anyway the car was left there, and they came through a lot of bushes and over marshy ground till they could see the yacht. Both of them had a go at asking me if I knew it, if it was the Electra and all the rest of it, but I told them I’d never seen the blasted yacht. Hell! If only I had a chance to get back at them. They pulled me about, and shook me until I was fair dizzy. Then they started to return. Wallace told the other fellow that they couldn’t investigate by themselves, and that he would ring up for reinforcements – that’s the word he used. I also heard him say that the bloke called Shannon was back from Italy at his home in North London, and that they would telephone him as well. He’d be the first to be able to reach them. Well, we’d got about halfway to the village when Wallace slipped and, while the other fellow was helping him, I slung my hook. I think they chased me for a bit, but must have given it up, for when I got to the place where the boats are they were nowhere about. They were in too much of a hurry to telephone I suppose. I didn’t know whether to come here or not, in case this wasn’t the Electra, but I had to get away somewhere, so I risked it.’
Get Wallace! Page 21
