Get Wallace!

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘Be careful, Father!’ cried Thalia. ‘Remember—’

  She never finished the warning. Like lightning Sir Leonard’s hand went to his pocket, at the same time he threw himself on the floor and, as he rolled over, fired in reply to the shot which Ictinos had sent viciously, a fraction of a second too late, where his adversary had been. The Greek howled with pain and rage as the gun dropped from his shattered hand. At once the police were on him; ran him and the sailor out of the house. Thalia, screaming maledictions, made as though to follow, but the inspector barred the way.

  ‘Shall I take the woman too, sir?’ he asked, as Sir Leonard rose languidly from the floor.

  The latter shook his head, and advanced towards the girl. Her lips curled with scorn as she stood looking at him, her great eyes glaring hatred. He reflected that he had seldom seen a more beautiful creature. Her slim body was wrapped in a peignoir of pale blue silk which seemed to enhance her loveliness. Full of charm, altogether glamorous, it was difficult to realise that she was anything but a sweet, captivating girl.

  ‘No,’ he decided. ‘I have no desire to make any charge against her. Please remember,’ he added to Thalia, ‘that you are lucky to be allowed your freedom.’

  ‘Send me to prison if you wish,’ she retorted. ‘I have no desire to be under any obligation to you.’

  ‘Perhaps not; nevertheless it might be to your future advantage, if you reflected on the truism that crime does not pay. Go into that room,’ he pointed to the apartment he had recently vacated, ‘and stay there until you are told you can go. Carter, Shannon, go with her, and keep that servant there too for the time being. Perhaps you’d better accompany them, Bill,’ he added.

  She walked across the hall with studied insolence, every step she took the very acme of grace, and disappeared from view followed by her temporary guards. The sergeant of police re-entered the house.

  ‘He struggled like hell, sir,’ he reported descriptively, ‘even though he has all them wounds. Still we’ve got him in the van now with four men holding him down.’

  ‘Good,’ returned Wallace. ‘Take him away, and lock him up in the strongest cell you have.’

  He saw the inspector and sergeant out, and closed the door upon them. Turning he found that the household had been aroused by the noise. Startled men and women in various stages of déshabillé stood on the stairs or peering down from the gallery. An elderly, keen-eyed man, clothed in a dark blue dressing gown, approached him. Sir Leonard knew him well. He was Sir Peter’s principal secretary.

  ‘What has happened, sir? Has there been—’

  ‘Send all those people back to bed,’ ordered Wallace; ‘You can tell them the police have arrested a dangerous criminal who sought refuge here if you like. But get them back to their quarters; then return to me.’

  After a barely perceptible show of hesitation the secretary did as he was ordered. Wallace waited by the front door, intending to open it himself when the two statesmen arrived. Three or four minutes went by; then the man who had been in Sir Peter Nikoleff’s service for many years came back.

  ‘They have all gone to their rooms, Sir Leonard,’ he announced quietly.

  At that moment they heard the sound of a car drawing up outside the house.

  ‘Open the door, Anstruther,’ directed Wallace.

  The elderly man obeyed, his look of perplexity increasing. When he observed the thin, ascetic face of the Foreign Secretary, as the latter ascended the steps, his astonishment knew no bounds. He stood aside to allow the statesman to enter, was about to close the door, when another car drew up. Out of it sprang a figure muffled up to the chin in a thick overcoat, who hurried into the house as though not in the very best of tempers. Anstruther started back with an exclamation of sheer wonderment. He had recognised the Home Secretary. The latter caught sight of Wallace greeting his colleague of the Cabinet, and strode across to him.

  ‘What’s all this, Wallace?’ he demanded. ‘Why have you called us up at this unearthly hour, and brought us here?’

  ‘You’ll know all about it in a minute,’ was the reply. ‘Anstruther,’ he called, as the secretary approached, ‘take us to a room where we can talk.’

  The elderly man led them into an apartment towards the back of the hall, fitted up as an office, apparently his own sanctum. He offered them chairs; then took a decanter of whisky, soda siphon, and glasses from a cellaret, and placed them on a table within easy reach. Wallace accepted a drink gratefully; he felt he needed it.

  ‘Would you like me to call Sir Peter?’ asked Anstruther, surprise still showing in his expression.

  Sir Leonard took a deep drink.

  ‘It wouldn’t be any use I’m afraid,’ he remarked with a sigh.

  The secretary saw something in his face that caused him to gasp. His own paled.

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’ he asked in a hoarse voice.

  The others also had sensed that something was wrong. They leant forward staring into Sir Leonard’s eyes.

  ‘You must be prepared for a shock,’ observed the latter quietly. ‘I am very sorry to have to tell you—’ he paused deliberately, giving them time to prepare for what was coming.

  ‘What? In God’s name, what?’ cried Anstruther, now thoroughly alarmed.

  ‘Sir Peter is dead!’

  His announcement was received in complete silence. The three men who had heard it sat as though carved out of stone, pale-faced, horror-stricken, incapable for some minutes of movement of any kind. Anstruther was the first to speak.

  ‘Sir Peter – dead!’ he whispered incredulously. ‘Why, he was perfectly fit when I saw him last.’

  Sir Leonard rose, set down his glass on an adjacent table, and placed his hand on the secretary’s shoulder.

  ‘I have known you, Anstruther, for some time,’ he said. ‘You are, to the best of my knowledge, a man of absolute integrity and honour. It is because of that that I am admitting you to my confidence in this tragic affair, as well as the necessity I feel in having somebody connected with Sir Peter’s household to aid me in the scheme I have in mind. I can rely absolutely on you?’

  ‘Of course, Sir Leonard,’ replied the white-faced man, ‘but what—’

  ‘Sir Peter committed suicide in the presence of Major Brien and myself about twenty minutes ago.’

  This dramatic announcement had them all on their feet. Again horror held them in shocked immobility; their faces were ghastly.

  ‘But – but why should he have done that?’ gasped the Home Secretary at last.

  ‘Because I had discovered that he was the real head of the organisation that has lately caused so much anxiety by its procuration of national secrets for sale to interested powers.’

  ‘Impossible!’ came from the two statesmen in one voice.

  ‘I cannot believe that—’ began Anstruther.

  ‘Sit down, gentlemen, and listen to me.’

  They obeyed, the horror on their faces having given way, at least in two cases, to utter incredulity. Then, still standing where he was, Sir Leonard quietly but graphically related everything that had happened from the time he had stepped ashore from the Majestic until the arrival of the two cabinet ministers in the house, including the conversation he had had with Sir Peter Nikoleff, and the latter’s efforts to persuade him to keep silent about his part in the conspiracy. When he had finished he sat down, and drained the contents of his glass. For some seconds there was a profound silence then the Foreign Secretary spoke.

  ‘We could never have brought him to trial,’ he dared in a hoarse voice. ‘He was right – we would not have dared to do it.’

  ‘We should have had to,’ interposed the other statesman brusquely. ‘It would have been our duty.’

  ‘Think of what would have happened.’

  ‘Think of what will happen in any case,’ was the retort. ‘But, gentlemen,’ murmured Anstruther – he looked like a man on the verge of death – ‘this is appalling. I had no idea—’

  ‘Of course you
hadn’t,’ Wallace interrupted. ‘I know that. Tell me: is the effect of his sudden death likely to be very disastrous, even if we hush up the reason for it?’

  ‘It will be catastrophic,’ replied the secretary in a hushed voice. ‘He practically had control of the money markets of the world. Almost every nation will suffer; there will be chaos in some; very few will escape without being shaken to their foundations.’

  The four men sought each other’s eyes, in their own the fear of terrible things.

  ‘But,’ protested Wallace, ‘if he had become seriously ill, and died, say after a few days spent in unconsciousness, utterly unable to deal with his affairs, surely there would not be such a world-shaking repercussion?’

  ‘No,’ replied Anstruther; ‘for there would then be time for me and the other secretaries, managers, and agents to adjust things in expectation of his death. Even then there would be a certain reaction in the world’s markets, nothing very serious of course. But what is the use of discussing what—’

  Sir Leonard leant forward; held the eyes of the others.

  ‘Sir Peter is going to become seriously ill,’ he declared; ‘so seriously ill that he can only be seen by Anstruther here. He will be placed in a nursing home under the care of a well-known doctor. In three or four days he will die.’

  His listeners looked at him in bewilderment, but gradually a gleam of understanding came into their eyes.

  ‘You mean—’ began the Foreign Secretary.

  ‘I mean that only we four and Major Brien know that he is dead now, how he died, and why he died. You, Anstruther, must have him removed to the nursing home tonight. I will select the home, and guarantee the silence of the matron, the special nurses employed, and the doctors. The sooner everything is done the better.’

  ‘Is it possible?’ murmured the Home Secretary.

  ‘Leave that part to me,’ was the confident reply. ‘All the rest is in Anstruther’s hands. I am sure we can rely on him.’

  The secretary appeared to be a broken man. He seemed to have aged years since he had met Sir Leonard in the hall less than half an hour previously, but he nodded his head emphatically enough.

  ‘You can rely on me,’ he declared.

  ‘There is no reason why you gentlemen should remain here, unless you wish to,’ remarked Wallace to the two statesmen. ‘Anstruther and I will deal with everything.’

  They declared their intention of stopping. They had both been very friendly with Sir Peter, and thought it might give point to the reported story of his serious illness, if they were seen about. Wallace agreed with them. Announcing his intention of making the necessary arrangements at once, he handed the keys of Sir Peter’s bedroom over to Anstruther; then left the three men. Turning into the room wherein Thalia sat with her custodians he told her to go to bed. She rose from her chair, eyeing him with intense hatred.

  ‘You will be sorry – oh, so sorry for tonight’s work,’ she threatened. ‘If my father dies, you die also – nothing will save you.’

  ‘Take my advice,’ he returned calmly, ‘and try and remove the kinks from your mind. You’ll only end by landing yourself in serious trouble. It would be as well if you went back to your own country at the earliest possible moment.’

  ‘Remember my words,’ was her only reply to that.

  She turned on her heel, and walked away. Wallace beckoned to the footman.

  ‘You are not a prisoner,’ he told him, ‘so you need not look frightened. You can go to the domestic quarters, but remain awake and within call. Your master’s illness may necessitate your being wanted at any moment.’

  Greatly relieved that he was apparently no longer an object of suspicion the man departed. Sir Leonard told his assistants to make themselves comfortable until his return, and left the house. Giving Johnson certain explicit directions, he entered the car, and was driven away.

  The British Secret Service includes among its members all sorts and conditions of people cloaking their activities under the guise of almost every profession it is possible to mention. The greater number of these live abroad, but there are also individuals in Great Britain, holding more or less important civil posts, whose connection with the government department controlled by Sir Leonard Wallace would never be suspected. Among these are two of London’s most famous physicians. One of them is the nominal head of a nursing home in Mayfair of which the matron and the principal nurses on her staff are also trusted members of Sir Leonard’s organisation. The advantages of such an arrangement in connection with a department of the nature of the Secret Service will be too obvious to need explanation. Not infrequently the existence of a nursing home staffed by nurses, and visited by doctors in Sir Leonard’s confidence, has been found of the utmost value. To the house of one of these medical men Wallace was driven on this occasion. Although the hour was so early he found that the man he had gone to visit had already risen. For ten minutes they were closeted together, after which they both left in Sir Leonard’s car for the nursing home. The matron and two nurses were called, and a short conference took place.

  Half an hour after leaving Grosvenor Square, Wallace re-entered Sir Peter Nikoleff’s house accompanied by the doctor and one of the nurses. Anstruther was called, and the four of them went up to the room where the great financier lay dead. The secretary was dispatched to rouse the household, and quickly the news spread that Sir Peter was desperately ill. Servants, with anxious faces, were soon rushing hither and thither, conveying to the bedroom various articles demanded by the doctor, which the nurse always took in at the door. Sir Leonard rejoined the two statesmen; gratefully accepted a cup of coffee handed to him by a footman.

  ‘Double pneumonia,’ he declared succinctly.

  The Cabinet ministers made no reply, except to nod their heads. In the eyes of each, as they regarded the Chief of the Secret Service, was an expression of frank admiration, not unmixed with a look of profound relief. Shortly afterwards they took their leave, warmly shaking Anstruther by the hand, as he stood holding the door open for them. Soon after their departure an ambulance arrived. With the doctor on one side, the nurse on the other, the body of Sir Peter was carried down the stairs and out of the house. Sir Leonard and the secretary followed behind. Pale-faced, wide-eyed servants, and other members of the household, strove to catch a glimpse of their employer as he passed by, but they could see little of his face, blankets being drawn almost up to the closed eyes. Anstruther and Sir Leonard stood on the steps watching until the ambulance glided out of the square on its way to the nursing home; the former, despite the fact that he was clad only in pyjamas and a dressing gown, apparently impervious to the bitter cold; then they re-entered the house. In the centre of the hall, frowning as though in perplexity, stood Thalia Ictinos. Wallace walked up to her. The same look of hatred as before was in her eyes as she watched his approach.

  ‘When you came back on the launch with Sir Peter,’ he asked, ‘did he seem ill?’

  She started a little.

  ‘So you know that we came here together,’ she murmured.

  ‘Of course. That is why I came to ask Sir Peter what connection there was between him and your father. Unfortunately I found him too – er – ill to give me any information.’ She gave an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, which he was quick to notice. ‘Perhaps you will tell me,’ he added.

  ‘I have nothing to tell you,’ she returned sharply.

  ‘At least,’ he urged, ‘you will answer my first question.’

  ‘He did not seem ill. Several times he shivered with the cold that was all.’

  Turning she walked away from him. Sir Leonard watched her ascend the stairs; then joined Anstruther in his sanctum. The latter was engaged in telephoning a carefully framed report of Sir Peter Nikoleff’s supposed illness to the press. Waiting until he had finished, Wallace had a few words with him, shook hands, and went to rejoin his assistants. They had been supplied with refreshments, and had made themselves very comfortable.

  ‘The affair is
finished,’ he remarked simply. ‘Let us go.’

  As they crossed the hall, Anstruther the secretary walked heavily up the stairs. He was on his way to the room so recently and tragically visited by the Angel of Death. The four Secret Service men took their seats in Sir Leonard’s car. Brien whistled softly.

  ‘Do you realise,’ he remarked, ‘that it is only forty-eight hours since you landed from the Majestic?’

  ‘Forty-eight hours!’ repeated Wallace. ‘It seems like forty-eight years.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Yuletide Peace

  Christmas is essentially a festival for the children, and on this occasion particularly there was great jubilation among the younger members of the Wallace and Brien families, the reason being that, for the first time for years, the house party held annually in Sir Leonard’s beautiful residence in New Forest, was complete. There were present, besides Sir Leonard and Lady Wallace and Adrian, Major and Mrs Brien and their children, and Wing-Commander and Mrs Kendal. As Cecil Kendal is Molly’s brother, and Mrs Kendal the sister of Mrs Brien, it was indeed a family party. But, despite the general happiness of everybody, the blissful elation of the children, it is certain that the greatest joy was felt by Molly. To have her husband with her at any time is always her greatest pleasure, to have him at home in that season, which is the very epitome of happiness, was the acme of bliss to her, especially as four years had passed since they had spent the Yuletide together. Her heart was full of thankfulness and, for the time being at least, the shadow of anxiety and suspense, which overhung such a large part of her life, had departed, leaving her without a care in the world. The two days of intense strain, which Sir Leonard had spent immediately on his return from the United States, had left him careworn; there were little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that she had never seen before. She asked no questions, for she was careful never to interfere or intrude in any way in his official life; nevertheless she knew he had undergone a great deal, had suffered severely. But rapidly, under her devoted care, he recovered all the heartiness and joie de vivre which was so typically part of his character.