He stopped, and looked round him, hoping that his eyes did not show the anxiety he was feeling. But his audience was too concerned to study his facial expressions. Everyone of them looked dismayed, even Thalia showing more consternation than he had ever known her show before. The old man was the first to speak. He addressed Farrell.
‘They will know, of course, that you have come here,’ he remarked, ‘since they suspect this is the Electra, and are apparently convinced that you are acquainted with her. Still it is well you came, or we would not know they were so near.’ He turned to Ictinos. ‘What do you propose to do?’ he asked.
‘Zere is only vone sing to do,’ put in the captain gruffly. ‘Ve must sail at vonce.’
‘Where to?’ demanded Thalia. ‘Before we could get far we should have torpedo-boats after us. I think it would be best if we all got in the motor-launch, and went to London.’
‘She’s right,’ agreed Hepburn. ‘The sooner we get away the better.’
His face was a sickly white. He was obviously a very scared man. Danson looked in no better case, while Ibsen was nervously playing with the file in his hands. Ictinos sat clenching and unclenching his fists, muttering to himself.
‘How has he done this?’ he asked presently, addressing no one in particular. ‘How could he find out? He is Satan himself, this Wallace. If I could only get my hands on him and that man with him!’ Suddenly a gleam came into his eyes. ‘Why not?’ he demanded and, turning, gripped Farrell by the arm. ‘There are only two, you say?’
‘Two and the driver,’ was the reply.
‘Well, that is three. It must be some time before the others can come. On this boat are two officers and ten sailors then there are six of us here, and Villinoff – I am not counting you, Thalia, or you, my friend –’ He jerked his head at the old man. ‘If we go ashore quickly, and capture these men, we can bring them onboard, and sail away. When the rest come there will be no boat – nobody. They will not know what has happened – perhaps they will think they have come to the wrong place.’
‘What about the car?’ asked the old man.
‘That can be driven away, and left many miles from here. We can arrange to pick up the man who drives it tomorrow, or even later tonight.’
Farrell was delighted that the suggestion had come from Ictinos. It remained only for him to improve on it now. From the expressions on the faces of the others it was easy to see that they regarded favourably the big Greek’s scheme, but the old man shook his head.
‘I do not think,’ he observed, ‘that Sir Leonard Wallace is likely to be caught so easily. He may even be expecting an attack, as he will guess Mr Farrell has come to the boat.’
‘But we can outnumber him by five to one.’
‘That will not matter. Shooting will take place, and the people in the village will perhaps go to his assistance.’
Farrell felt that the time had come for him to make his suggestion. He struck his manacled hands on his knees, as though an idea had suddenly occurred to him.
‘Wasn’t Shannon the bloke that Hepburn impersonated at Sittingbourne, when he took in that little chap Cousins?’ he asked in an eager voice. Ictinos and one or two others nodded. ‘Well, what about him making up like that again, going ashore with three or four of us, who could remain in the background, and pretend to Wallace that he had just arrived from London? So long as he got there before the real Shannon it would be a cinch. Once they took Hepburn for the real bloke, he could lead Wallace and his mate into a trap. After that it would be easy enough to down the shover, and drive away the car. Then the three of them could be brought on board, and there needn’t be any shooting at all.’
The face of the gorilla-man lighted up. He brought down his hand with a sounding thwack on Farrell’s shoulder.
‘It is a magnificent idea – this,’ he applauded. ‘I did not know before you had brains, my friend. We will be saved, and Wallace will be in my power. Ah! What pleasure it will give me to see him die. Hasten, Hepburn, there is no time to lose.’
Farrell’s suggestion seemed to meet with general approval, only the principal actor in the suggested drama appearing to dislike the idea. His objections were quickly overruled, however, and he went away to make himself up for the part. While he was thus occupied, Ictinos, his daughter, the captain, and the old man engaged in a conversation in Greek, during which certain documents were taken from a safe, and handed to the latter, who put them away carefully in his pocket. Farrell did not understand a word, which he regretted. It occurred to him that they were discussing something which Sir Leonard Wallace would have found of interest. Now that he had undertaken to betray his late comrades, the ex-pugilist intended doing the job thoroughly. Rather to his own surprise, he felt a glow of enthusiasm, while the thought that he was getting an opportunity to wash out the past caused him to wonder if there was anything else he could do on behalf of the grey-eyed man, for whom he had suddenly conceived a great admiration. Ibsen tried to file through the handcuffs, but he was not an expert and, by the time Hepburn returned, only one had been severed. The one-time actor had been very quick, but had not sacrificed thoroughness for speed. Having seen the real Shannon so recently, Farrell was all the more able to appreciate the make-up, and was astounded at the remarkable resemblance.
Details of the manner in which Wallace was to be trapped were discussed, and it was decided that three members of the crew, and Ibsen, and Danson and Villinoff were to accompany Hepburn. It transpired that the Bulgarian had run his motorboat ashore at Netley, after his escape from Southampton docks, had gone to Rochester, and joined the yacht there. Farrell was also to go with the party to lead the way.
‘Now, my friends,’ exhorted Ictinos, his eyes gleaming at the thought of, at last, getting Sir Leonard Wallace into his power, ‘let there be no mistakes this time. There must not be. Wallace is too dangerous to live – look how he has tracked us here; he is a man of devilish cunning. Already he has badly interfered with our schemes. Ah, yes! It will be a great pleasure to have him in my power. There is much I have to settle with him. Go! I await your return impatiently.’
‘It is a pity you are so bloodthirsty,’ commented the old man, shaking his head regretfully. ‘Our plans might have gone better, if you had kept your hands clear of human blood. I will now return to London. Will you come with me, Thalia?’
Farrell heard the girl give an affirmative answer as he followed the others up the companionway. There was not room enough for them all in the dinghy, but one of the yacht’s boats had been lowered. The three members of the crew with Hepburn and Farrell, entered this, while Ibsen, Danson, and Villinoff went ashore in the other. Nothing was said until they were close to land; then Hepburn turned to his companion with something that sounded very much like a snarl.
‘To hell with your brilliant ideas,’ he growled. ‘I’m not liking this business at all.’
‘Why not?’ queried Farrell who, now that he had accomplished his mission satisfactorily, was full of jubilation.
‘That fellow Wallace is too damned cute. He must have spotted the deception when I impersonated his chauffeur, and he’s bound to know that I took in Cousins by getting myself up as Shannon. I doubt if it will work again. I tell you, I don’t like it. What if the real Shannon has arrived when we get there?’
‘I don’t think you need worry about that,’ returned Farrell, smiling to himself.
As the boats ran aground, they heard the staccato beat of a motor engine. The launch was leaving the side of the yacht, and Farrell knew the old man and Thalia were on their way to London. Other ears heard the sound also, and Sir Leonard Wallace, his glasses to his eyes, watched the motorboat swing round the island, and disappear from view. He could see that there were three or four people aboard but, of course, it was impossible to make out their features. There was no time for conjecture, however, Farrell and his companions were stepping ashore. Everything was ready for their reception.
They were allowed to walk for some distance unmol
ested, until they were out of sight of anyone on the yacht who might be following their progress with night glasses. Farrell, walking ahead, began to wonder where Sir Leonard’s party was. Suddenly, however, as he was making his way through a particularly dense section of the underwood, figures rose on all sides. Hepburn and company were completely taken by surprise. Before they could lift a hand to defend themselves, or even raise a cry, they were struck down, the revolvers of the Secret Service men, deftly wielded by the barrels, laying them low. Only one, Ibsen the Swede, retained his senses, Cartright overshooting his mark, and hitting him upon the top of the head, protected by his cap, instead of just above and a little behind the ear. However, he was too dazed to raise an outcry, and sank to the ground holding his head between his hands. Farrell looked round at the dark forms strewn out behind him. The suddenness and celerity of it all rather stupefied him for the moment. Rapidly and quietly the seven men were bound with portions of the rope Carter had brought from the car, and gagged with their own handkerchiefs or scarves. Sir Leonard walked up to Farrell, and patted him on the back.
‘Good work!’ was all he said, but the ex-pugilist felt immensely gratified.
‘What’s the idea of giving them the KO, sir?’ he asked.
‘To keep them quiet,’ was the reply. ‘If we had merely held them up, and disarmed them, there would probably have been a certain amount of noise which might have been heard on the boat, and cause an alarm. Who are on board?’
‘There’s Ictinos, the skipper, two ship’s officers, and about seven sailors. There was an old man there also, and Miss Thalia, but I heard them say they were going to London. I suppose that was the motorboat taking them away just as we landed.’
‘Yes; I saw it. An old man did you say? What was he like?’
Farrell gave a careful description of him, adding that he believed he was the man whom Ictinos had spoken of as his partner. Wallace was deeply interested.
‘Do you know if he took anything with him?’ he asked with unwonted eagerness for him.
Farrell told him of the documents that had been taken from the safe, which the old man had put in his pocket. Sir Leonard turned with an exclamation of annoyance to Major Brien who had joined them, and was standing by his side listening.
‘The French plans for a bet, Bill,’ he commented. ‘Apparently our work won’t be completed tonight after all. It’s a pity we couldn’t have got aboard before that fellow left.’
‘How are you going to find out where he’s gone?’
‘I think I know,’ was the quiet reply.
‘Come to think of it, sir,’ put in Farrell, ‘there can only be about five men on board now besides the three officers and Ictinos. There are three sailors here, and two, at least, must have gone with the launch. I heard the guv’nor mention that there were ten in all.’
‘The yacht generally carries a crew of twenty. You’re sure of your figures?’
‘I’m going on what the guv’nor said. He’s not likely to be mistaken.’
‘Well, we’ll say we have about nine or ten men to deal with. I suppose there is a cook, and probably a steward. Let’s have a look at this lot.’
Carefully shielding his tiny torch, Wallace went from one prone man to another, flashing a ray of light on each. The sailors he passed without comment, but stood longer over the four crooks, inspecting them with interest, as Farrell mentioned their names. When they came to Hepburn, Brien gave vent to an exclamation of astonishment.
‘Good Lord!’ he cried. ‘Shannon to the life. Hugh,’ he called, ‘where are you?’
‘Here, sir,’ came from some yards away.
‘Come, and see yourself.’
Shannon strode up, and gazed silently at the unconscious counterfeit of himself lying at his feet.
‘Heavens!’ was his only comment, ‘am I like that?’
‘The Corsican brothers,’ observed Cousin, joining the group. ‘You note that his shoulders are not quite so hefty as yours, Hugh.’ He bent down, and took hold of one. ‘Padded, you see,’ he remarked, as he shook it. ‘That’s how I knew it was not the real blue-eyed boy.’
‘Did you know before you were trapped?’ asked Farrell with interest.
‘I did, battered one.’
‘S’truth!’
‘Who’s this?’ asked Sir Leonard, shining the ray of his torch on the face of the fourth crook.
‘That’s Villinoff, sir, the fellow who was sent to Southampton to croak you.’
‘Oh, it is, is it?’ The gleam in Sir Leonard’s eye passed unnoticed in the darkness, but he was thinking of the action of a curly-headed little boy who had risked his own life to save his father from an assassin’s bullet. ‘It is a great pity,’ he murmured to himself, ‘that I cannot settle personally with you.’ Abruptly he turned away. ‘Seymour,’ he called, ‘here’s a choice collection for the Yard. All wanted for murder as well as other crimes riot perhaps quite so heinous.’
Inspector Seymour sighed a sigh of contentment and satisfaction. He regarded the prostrate quartet almost with eyes of affection, after which he transferred his attention to Farrell.
‘What about the bracelets?’ he demanded. ‘Want to keep them on?’
Farrell held up the wrist to which the handcuffs still hung, nodding to the one that had been filed through.
‘They tried to get them off,’ he explained.
‘One perfectly good pair of handcuffs gone west,’ groaned the inspector. ‘Oh, well, I suppose it was in a good cause.’
He unlocked and removed it, much to Farrell’s relief. Handcuffs were not the sort of ornaments the latter would wear from choice. Sir Leonard stood a little apart talking in low tones to Brien. Presently he called the other Secret Service men round him.
‘Major Brien will come on the yacht with me,’ he announced, ‘as the other man supposedly captured by Hepburn and his gang of cut-throats, Shannon will, of course, go as Hepburn, and I think Farrell had better come too, so that he can answer any questions that may be asked before we ascend the gangway. Cousins, and Cartright, make yourselves resemble Ranson and Ibsen sufficiently to pass muster in an open boat in the moonlight – their caps should do. Once aboard it doesn’t matter what you look like. Seymour, Carter, and Hill, put on those seamen’s berets, and try to look as much like them as you can. Willingdon, and MacFarlane will stay and guard the prisoners. Hurry, all of you, it’s about time we started.’
The men were quickly ready. Shannon merely took Hepburn’s hat, the one he had been wearing being of a different colour. Their coats were identical in cut, material and length; there was no necessity, therefore, to change them. Sir Leonard, Brien, Farrell, and Shannon, rowed by Carter, and Hill, the latter with the borrowed berets pulled well down on their heads, left in the first boat. They were followed closely by Seymour, Cousins, and Cartright in the dinghy. It was only when they were halfway across that Farrell remembered what had been said concerning Johnson and the car. He told Sir Leonard, who promptly assured him that it did not matter. Their progress was undoubtedly being closely observed, for they were hailed as soon as they ran under the lee of the yacht. Shannon answered gruffly. Sir Leonard, and Brien, as prearranged, had their hands tied lightly behind their backs, a jerk being all that would be required to free them. The boat glided alongside the gangway, and Farrell roughly ordered the two supposed prisoners to ascend.
‘So you have them,’ came the exultant voice of Ictinos.
‘Yes; we have them all right,’ called back Farrell, putting as much triumph as he could into his tones.
Sir Leonard, and Brien stepped on the deck of the disguised yacht, and found themselves face-to-face with Ictinos, and the bearded captain.
‘At last,’ boomed the former, ‘you are in my power, Sir Leonard. We have much to settle, is it not so? You will discover that it is dangerous to oppose Stanislaus Ictinos. Tonight you and I will conclude our little feud.’
Wallace bowed mockingly.
‘As you say,’ he agreed, ‘tonig
ht we will conclude our little feud.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Elusive Greek
Ictinos gave orders to Farrell, and the pretended Hepburn to bring the prisoners down to the saloon, and led the way, accompanied by the captain. Carter, and Hill, keeping well out of the moonlight, awaited the coming of their companions in the other boat. As soon as they were joined by Seymour, Cousins, and Cartright, the quintet proceeded quietly and methodically to seize the ship. They found an officer in his cabin writing a letter and, almost before the astonished man gathered that they were not friends, he was tied up, gagged, and deposited on his bunk. Another deck cabin contained a man busily engaged in restringing a mandolin. From various indications it was obvious that he was the engineer. He was quickly rendered helpless in the same manner as the navigating officer. Both cabin doors were locked, and they were left to their own, not very happy, reflections. Three seamen were discovered in their quarters in the fo’c’sle, and quickly overpowered; another in the lamp room suffered the same fate; a fourth was found in the galley with a cook. There they met with a certain amount of resistance, due to the fact that Seymour, before entering, had bumped against a stanchion, and expressed his feelings with a typically British oath. Both men showed fight, but a full-blooded uppercut from Carter quickly laid the sailor low; the cook, however, a saucepan in one hand, a carving knife in the other, strove desperately to keep them off. Eventually he was pummelled into unconsciousness, though not before a considerable amount of noise had been created. Nobody appeared from the saloon to find out the cause of the disturbance, and thereafter the five men distributed themselves about the deck, keeping watch until Sir Leonard came up, or they were summoned below. They had satisfied themselves that everybody in the ship was accounted for apart from the men in the saloon.
Get Wallace! Page 22
