Get Wallace!

by Alexander Wilson

  He only remained at his headquarters long enough to study once again the papers he had brought from the Electra, and the notes he had made from her logbook. He then rang up the hospital at Tilbury, was told that the reception of the wounded men was at that moment taking place, and was assured that the two, whose lives were in danger, had survived the transportation from the yacht to the hospital, were, in fact, doing better than expected. Greatly relieved, he turned away from the telephone. Sir Leonard’s anxiety had not been centred merely in the condition of Hill, he had been as worried over Farrell. The man may have been a crook, but he had nobly carried out the task assigned to him as the price of his pardon, and Sir Leonard intended to see that he obtained the chance of redemption he had earned. A few minutes’ conversation with his assistants, who were awaiting him in Major Brien’s room, and the four once again left the building, all, on this occasion, entering Wallace’s car. Johnson had received his instructions, and the Rolls-Royce was quickly on its way, running swiftly and noiselessly through the slumbering streets. They came to one of London’s most famous residential quarters, and Johnson slowed down. Brien turned to Sir Leonard with a look of astonishment in his eyes.

  ‘What are we going to do here?’ he asked.

  ‘Raid a certain house,’ was the quiet reply. ‘It’s going to be a devilish awkward job too.’ Suddenly he picked up the speaking tube. ‘Drive round the square, Johnson,’ he ordered sharply, ‘and let that car pull up before you stop.’

  The driver promptly turned to the left, and began to encircle the garden in the centre of the square, thus avoiding a taxicab which had appeared on the northern side.

  ‘Ictinos is in that taxi for a bet,’ murmured Sir Leonard. ‘If so, the problem of obtaining an entrance into the house is solved. Stand-by, everybody, to jump out, and make a dash for it.’

  The cab drew up before a residence, like all others in complete darkness. It was a house well known to Brien.

  ‘Why,’ he cried, ‘that belongs to—’

  ‘Of course it does,’ snapped Wallace. ‘He’s the mysterious partner of Ictinos. Come along!’

  ‘Well, I’m—’ began the astonished Major Brien.

  There was no time for more. The Rolls-Royce was drawing up some yards behind the other car, and Sir Leonard, revolver in hand, had already sprung on to the pavement. A great, hulking figure of a man tottered out of the taxi, supported by another, smaller fellow. Even in the gloom it was possible to see that his face was bandaged, and his left arm in something that resembled a sling. He appeared to be in the last stages of exhaustion to judge from the manner in which he lolled over the shoulder of his companion, but he turned his head sharply enough as he caught the sound of running feet. A deep cry that was something between a groan and a shout of alarm broke from him, as he recognised the four men then passing under the rays thrown from a street lamp. His hand went to the pocket of the seaman’s coat he wore, but Wallace had reached him, was holding his revolver close to the bandaged face of the adversary who had given him so much trouble.

  ‘You won’t get away this time, Stanislaus Ictinos,’ he ground out in low, tense tones.

  The Greek was either too ill or too dejected by the unexpected appearance of the Secret Service men to make any resistance. The fellow with him, whose whole appearance, apart from the beret he wore, denoted that he was a sailor, started back, leaving Ictinos staggering drunkenly on the side-walk. Shannon and Carter, however, quickly took hold of him, supporting him between them. Descending from his perch, the taxi-driver peered curiously from one to the other.

  ‘Nah! then,’ he began aggressively, ‘what’s all this ’ere—’ He caught the sound of feet approaching slowly but with determined tread. ‘That’s a copper,’ he asserted. ‘I reckon ’e’d better ’ave a look at you fellers. ’Ere, orficer—’

  Sir Leonard gave a slight nod to Brien, who took the Cockney gently by the arm, and led him protesting towards the approaching constable. He whispered a few words in the latter’s ear. To the driver’s surprise, the policeman drew himself up, and saluted smartly.

  ‘You’d better hop it quick,’ he suggested to the taxi man. ‘You’re not wanted here.’

  ‘But – but what abaht my fare?’ protested the surprised man.

  ‘How much is it?’ asked Brien.

  ‘Eight an’ a tanner, guv’nor,’ replied the other hopefully.

  ‘The gentleman wasn’t asking how much you would sell your car for,’ interposed the policeman scornfully.

  ‘Blimy! I’ve driven those two blokes all the way from Woolwich.’

  ‘Here you are.’ Brien handed him a ten shilling note.

  He took it with a word of thanks. A few moments later the taxi was out of the square, not before Sir Leonard had taken a sharp look into its interior, however. He eyed the policeman reflectively as he approached with Brien, acknowledging his salute with a nod.

  ‘I may want help,’ he decided. ‘Ring up the Yard, and ask them to send along a van with half a dozen men inside. It is to wait here.’

  ‘Outside this house, sir?’

  ‘Outside this house.’

  ‘But – perhaps you don’t know whose residence this is, sir?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ Wallace informed him. ‘Now hurry off!’

  Without another word the man obeyed. Sir Leonard looked anxiously from window to window.

  ‘We don’t seem to have aroused anyone,’ he commented. ‘Still one never knows. Run up the steps, Bill, and ring the night bell. Bring these two along,’ he added to Carter and Shannon.

  They waited outside the door for some minutes before there was any sign of life from within. Brien had rung again, was about to ring a third time, when a light flared up in the hall showing through the stained glass of the door. Immediately Wallace pushed the sailor forward with Ictinos close behind him.

  ‘When they open,’ he ordered in a tense whisper, ‘tell them you have brought Stanislaus Ictinos from the Electra.’

  The feel of a revolver muzzle in his back persuaded the man that it would be distinctly foolish to disregard this stern Englishman’s commands, had he felt inclined to do so. He swallowed a trifle convulsively. The door was unlocked and unbarred then drawn open a little way, the chain not having been removed. The pale oval of a face looked out.

  ‘Who is there?’ asked a voice somewhat tremulously.

  Sir Leonard smiled to himself. There was little resistance to be feared from that quarter. He poked the barrel of his revolver into the seaman’s back. The latter swallowed once more.

  ‘I am from the Electra,’ he told the man inside. ‘I have brought Stanislaus Ictinos.’

  With an exclamation the servant quickly unfastened the chain; pulled the door wide open. Immediately the four Englishmen, pushing Ictinos and the sailor unceremoniously before them, entered the house. The footman uttered a cry of fear as he beheld the uncompromising countenances of the uninvited guests; cowered back fearfully as Brien’s weapon was pointed at him.

  ‘Shut the door, but don’t lock it!’ ordered the latter.

  The trembling man obeyed. At Sir Leonard’s command, he afterwards led them across the great hall into a small reception room, where the lights were switched on. The injured Ictinos, who was too dazed apparently to take any interest in the proceedings, and the sailor were both searched, each being found to possess an automatic which was confiscated. Both men were then pushed into chairs, and told that, if they moved, they did so at their own peril.

  ‘Don’t take your eyes off them,’ warned Wallace, addressing Shannon and Carter. ‘You know what a slippery customer Ictinos is, even though he’s somewhat the worse for wear. Shoot if he makes an attempt to escape. Now then,’ he turned to the quaking servant; ‘take this gentleman and me to your master.’

  ‘But, sir,’ protested the man, ‘he is not here. He has gone away.’

  ‘Lead on!’ ordered Wallace sternly. ‘And don’t make a noise. He may be making preparations to go, but I’m sur
e he hasn’t gone yet.’

  Without further objection the footman preceded them across the hall, and up the broad, beautifully carpeted staircase; then along a wide corridor. He stopped a few yards beyond the gallery overlooking the stairs, dumbly indicating a closed door.

  ‘Take him back, Billy, and leave him in the care of Shannon and Carter,’ whispered Wallace. ‘After you have handed him over, rejoin me.’

  Brien nodded, and brusquely drove the servant before him down the stairs. Sir Leonard contemplated the massive door before which he stood for some moments; then, shrugging his shoulders, softly turned the handle. As he had anticipated, it was not locked, and he quietly stepped into the room. The sound of regular breathing reached his ears, and a gentle sigh of satisfaction escaped him. Feeling round cautiously in the dark it was some moments before his fingers encountered the electric light switches, but he refrained from turning on the illumination, waiting for Brien to rejoin him. It was not long before he heard the latter.

  ‘Are you there, Leonard?’ came in a whisper that was hardly a whisper at all, so faint was it.

  For answer Sir Leonard reached out, found his friend’s arm, and pressed it. A moment later he pulled down a switch. A single light, high up in the ornamental ceiling, blazed into life. The intruders gazed round them curiously. They found themselves in a great, lofty bedchamber decorated expensively but somewhat sombrely. The furniture was of Chinese blackwood, wondrously carved, but giving a distinctly funereal tone to the apartment, the deep carpet was elephant grey in colour, the hangings round the great four-poster bed being also of that hue. Toilet articles of gold on the dressing table, silver-grey wallpaper, and a cheerful blaze in the great open fireplace were all that relieved the depressing atmosphere of a truly remarkable chamber. A door on the opposite side of the apartment, over which hung a silk curtain also elephant grey in colour, obviously led to a dressing room. The electric lights were cunningly concealed in the ornamental work of the ceiling.

  Neither their entrance nor the sudden radiance had disturbed the sleeper in the bed. They walked across the room, and looked down at him as he lay, his head cushioned in a pillow of the softest silk, one arm, uncovered, thrown over the satin coverlet. Whether their intense gaze disturbed his slumbers, or he roused in the natural order of things, it would be difficult to say, but suddenly his eyes opened. He looked earnestly at one, transferred his gaze to the other, but not the slightest sign of fear or even of curiosity showed in his face and, in that moment, Sir Leonard felt a great admiration for the man. His ruddy complexion looked ruddier than ever, his bushy white hair and beard more unkempt than usual, but his eyes, opened so recently from probably untroubled sleep, were sharp and bright and, in them, was actually an expression of friendliness. He was the first to speak.

  ‘Sir Leonard,’ he remarked in conversational tones, ‘I am not quite sure whether I should be sincere if I said this is a pleasure, but, at least, I assure you that I am always more pleased to see you than most people, even though, on the present occasion, the hour is somewhat unusual, and my position distinctly informal.’

  ‘I think you know why I have come, Sir Peter,’ returned Wallace. ‘I have discovered, without doubt, that you are the mysterious partner, in fact the actual head of the organisation of which Stanislaus Ictinos is the supposed leader.’

  Sir Peter Nikoleff raised himself on one elbow.

  ‘You surely have not come to me thus unceremoniously at this hour’ – he looked at a small gold clock standing on the bedside table. The hands showed that the time was twenty minutes to four – ‘in order to relate fairy tales to me.’

  ‘Need we fence?’ returned Wallace a trifle wearily. ‘You probably know me well enough to realise that I do not take stupid chances, or act on a sudden suspicion. I am perfectly well aware that you are the real seller of secrets, the man who thought that by stealing the confidential schemes of nations, and holding them up for auction or ransom not only to enrich himself, but to gain a power that would be unique.’

  Sir Peter looked at his accuser steadfastly.

  ‘How did you arrive at this extraordinary conviction?’ he asked. ‘I thought that you were of the opinion that my friend Senostris was the villain of the piece.’

  ‘I never quite believed in Senostris’ guilt. I know him too well as a man of quiet, unassuming character, uninterested in anything apart from his own very mild hobbies. If you want the truth, Nikoleff, I began to suspect you when you introduced a man and a girl to me in this house yesterday as Stanislaus and Thalia Ictinos who had just come to you from Greece. Your vanity made you think that I would never associate you with such an organisation, and, having met your friends with that name, would necessarily conclude that my information was wrong. Thus the real Ictinos could be shielded, and carry on his nefarious work under your orders as before. For a man as astute as you it was a positively feeble attempt to put me off the track. You made the mistake of taking it for granted that I was going on hearsay, and did not realise, until I admitted as much, that I had not only heard of the real Mr and Miss Ictinos, but had actually seen them, and been present when they were discussing their plans.

  ‘Once my suspicions were roused against you it was not difficult to substantiate them. I put out searching enquiries; discovered, among other things, that the man and his daughter you had calculated to astonish me by producing as Stanislaus and Thalia Ictinos were, in truth, retainers of your family called Nikki, who had been sent from Athens to you in the hope that you would obtain for them employment in England. Various other items of information, into which I need not enter, came quickly into my hands to strengthen my belief that you were the man I wanted. Proof positive came with the intelligence that three weeks ago Michael Senostris, at your request, lent you the Electra for two months, or until such time as your own yacht, which had been damaged in a collision, had been repaired. Tonight on the Electra I studied the logbook. I cannot speak Greek, but I had the assistance of a man who can, and I know enough about the language to be able to read it without a great deal of effort. The captain of the yacht is conscientious, but very unwise. I copied this entry, or rather translated it from the logbook under today’s date –’ he took a notebook from his pocket, opened it, and read: “Orders received from Sir Peter Nikoleff, temporary owner, to disguise yacht with the prepared planks of wood and canvas superstructure in readiness on board. Alterations duly carried out. Sir Peter came aboard and expressed approval”. Sir Leonard closed the book, and returned it to his pocket. ‘I am afraid you can hardly find an argument sound enough to disprove that,’ he observed drily.

  For the first time Sir Peter showed perturbation. He sat bolt upright in bed.

  ‘This is a ridiculous position in which to hold an interview with you,’ he protested. ‘I feel I am rather at a disadvantage. If you permit, I will rise, and don a dressing gown.’

  ‘I’d rather you stayed where you are at present,’ was the reply.

  The ex-Greek was about to ignore the suggestion; made as though to get out of bed, but a revolver flashed in Sir Leonard’s hand. Sir Peter sank back on his pillows.

  ‘So you threaten me?’

  ‘I want you to realise,’ came the retort, ‘that you are my prisoner.’

  ‘Prisoner! On what charge?’

  ‘Certain charges under the Official Secrets Act, and also the criminal charge of being accessory to murders and other misdemeanours committed by your partner Stanislaus Ictinos.’

  ‘That is ridiculous,’ spluttered Nikoleff. ‘You cannot do it. Whatever I may have done, and I admit nothing, I have certainly not been a party to murder.’

  ‘Your mistake was in associating yourself with a bloodthirsty brute like Ictinos. In protecting your joint secrets he committed murder; you can hardly expect, therefore, to avoid being charged as accessory. Altogether, Sir Peter, for a man who has certain control on the money markets of the world, and has more than one nation in his pocket so to speak, you haven’t shone in this business. T
he manner in which you prepared your poor catspaws for their new names yesterday for instance was not brilliant. I’m afraid the unnecessary use of, and the emphasis you laid on, the Stanislaus and Thalia rather suggested to my mind that you were priming them. They certainly fell in with the hidden command with credit to themselves.’

  ‘And you are really convinced of my guilt?’

  ‘Absolutely. I must admit that I do not think that you, probably the richest man in the world today, were very interested in the financial gain expected to accrue from your projects. Your supreme idea was to get nations at your feet in order that you could blackmail them into agreeing to anything you demanded. Ultimately you hoped to become dictator of Europe. The idea, Sir Peter, was colossal, but the preliminary execution has been puerile, simply because you chose Ictinos as the man to carry out your schemes. I have talked enough. Before going any further, I want the copies of the documents and plans relative to the French frontier fortifications which you brought away from the Electra tonight.’

  Nikoleff started. He was too big a man to endeavour to fence with the astute Englishman confronting him. He knew he had been unmasked, and was sensible enough to see that a futile attempt at bluff would not pay. But he was naturally very much surprised at the revelation of Sir Leonard’s knowledge.

  ‘How did you know I was on the Electra tonight?’ he demanded.

  Wallace laughed.

  ‘Does that matter? You left Ictinos in the belief that he was about to trap me – as it happened I trapped him. At the moment he is downstairs under guard. His band of cut-throats is locked up to await trial, the Electra is in the hands of the police at Tilbury. You left her in the company of Thalia Ictinos, and in your pocket were the documents I want. Where are they?’

  ‘Sir Leonard,’ observed Nikoleff quietly, ‘you are a wonderful man.’

  ‘Where are those papers?’

  ‘What does that matter to you? Suppose I have them, how can documents of such a nature possibly interest you?’