Wallace of the Secret Service

by Alexander Wilson

  The information caused him to become very thoughtful. André Chalant was one of the most notorious criminals in Europe, a man who stopped at nothing, and for whom the police of almost every European country had been on the watch for months. Wallace’s expression was grave when he and Brien, having assured themselves that Lalére was in good hands, took their leave. Outside they found Mademoiselle Garreau waiting to speak to them. She could add little to what they already knew, however, and having complimented her on her pluck, they departed for Monte Carlo.

  Careful precautions were taken during the run back, but no attempt was made to interfere with them, a fact that caused Sir Leonard’s anxiety to increase. When he and his companion stepped from the car, his face looked white and stern, but Brien was smiling broadly.

  ‘You were wrong, old soldier,’ he observed. ‘There wasn’t the slightest sign of an attack.’

  To his surprise Wallace took no notice of his remark, but hurried into the hotel, leaving him to follow more leisurely, wondering what had come over the chief. The night clerk and a porter were standing in the hall, and welcomed the two Englishmen with exclamations of surprise, but made no further comment until Wallace halted directly in front of them.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘I can see from your faces that you are surprised about something.’

  ‘But no, Monsieur,’ protested the clerk; ‘it is not our business to be surprised if Monsieur alters his arrangements.’

  ‘Ah! What arrangements?’

  ‘On the telephone, Monsieur,’ the man replied in a conciliatory voice, thinking perhaps it were best to humour this strange guest, ‘you gave instructions that the mesdames were to be informed that you and Monsieur the Major were staying the night at Beausoleil; that you desired them to join you, and would send a car for them.’

  Brien had come up, and was listening in perplexity. Wallace, his face now almost bloodless, still spoke calmly.

  ‘And the mesdames?’ he asked. ‘Did they go?’

  ‘But yes, Monsieur. Half an hour ago the car arrived, and they were driven away.’

  ‘Did they depart alone?’

  ‘Yes, Monsieur, but your valet went through the hall directly afterwards. I thought his manner strange.’

  ‘Has he come back?’

  ‘No, Monsieur; at least not this way. He may have entered through the servants’ door.’

  A glimmering of what had happened had begun to penetrate Brien’s mind. He felt suddenly nerveless, and his face became as white as that of his colleague. The two Frenchmen, looking from one to the other, gathered that all was not well.

  ‘Messieurs,’ the clerk cried, ‘I do not understand. Is it that—’

  ‘Those ladies have been abducted,’ interrupted Wallace sternly, ‘and they must be found. Tell me quickly: what was the car like in which they were driven away?’

  ‘I do not know, Monsieur. I did not see it.’

  The porter was also unable to supply the information, having been engaged elsewhere at the time.

  ‘Well, the driver – you must have seen him?’

  The description was so good that both Wallace and Brien recognised it.

  ‘Gibaldi himself,’ cried the latter. ‘In God’s name, Leonard, what are we to do?’

  Wallace drew him away, then turned back to the clerk.

  ‘Keep by the telephone,’ he instructed, ‘and let me know directly if a call comes through for me. My friend and I will be waiting in the lounge. Look here, Billy,’ he went on, as soon as they were well out of hearing, ‘in a sense I almost thought something like this would happen.’

  Brien’s eyes stared at him out of a countenance rendered ghastly by its extreme pallor.

  ‘What?’ he cried.

  ‘I don’t mean to say that I thought they would be abducted. Actually, as you know, I expected that we would be attacked on the road. But all the same, I did not like leaving Molly and Phyllis alone. What I then considered a wild idea flashed through my mind that Gibaldi and his companions might attempt to get at us through them in some manner.’

  ‘Then why on earth—?’ began Brien wrathfully.

  ‘Wait a minute. In case of accidents I warned Batty to keep watch in the corridor so that he could see the doors of both suites, and prevent anybody attempting to get in. I also told him that if Phyllis or Molly left their rooms, he was to follow them, and see that they came to no harm. I did not think that they would be abducted in this barefaced manner, but Batty has obviously followed them somehow, and all we can do is to wait until he rings up or comes back to tell us where they are.’

  A glimmer of hope showed in Brien’s eyes.

  ‘God bless that head of yours, Leonard,’ he murmured, ‘I believe we’ll soon be able to rescue them after all

  ‘Don’t be too sanguine yet, Bill,’ remonstrated the chief. ‘Batty may have failed to follow them, they may even have captured him, but that’s most unlikely. He’s not the sort to be caught napping. I wish to God I had let you go alone to Beausoleil, but what’s the use of wishing now. I went because I expected that an attack would be made on the road, and two of us could have accomplished what one couldn’t.’

  The hope suddenly died out of Brien’s eyes.

  ‘Supposing the clerk is right,’ he cried, ‘and Batty re-entered by the servants’ door. Why, he may be waiting upstairs now.’

  ‘No; if the car had eluded him, he would have waited in the hall for us. But go and look, if you like.’

  Brien hurried away. He returned in five minutes.

  ‘There is no sign of him,’ he announced.

  ‘Good. Then we can be sure he’s on the track somewhere.’

  It was agonising waiting, and both felt the strain badly. Every few minutes either one or the other walked out into the large hall, gloomy now in its half-lighted emptiness, hoping to hear the telephone bell ring in the office; but an hour went by and still there came no news.

  ‘I am convinced now that André Chalant is in this business,’ observed Wallace when, for the twentieth time he returned to his companion, and found him sunk dejectedly in the depths of an armchair. ‘It’s the sort of scheme he would concoct. If we don’t find Molly and Phyllis by breakfast time, we shall receive a note calling on us to hand over the package in some secluded spot, or harm will come to them. I should have been warned that a plot was brewing by the fact that as far as I know, no attempt has been made to search my belongings.’

  ‘Mine haven’t been touched either,’ returned Brien. ‘I made sure of that when we returned from the opera. It was clever of the fiend to anticipate that Lalére would send for us.’

  ‘He couldn’t have known that both of us would go. He must have had an alternative plan of some sort.’

  They lapsed into silence again. Presently a clock struck.

  ‘Damn it!’ ejaculated Brien. ‘Four o’clock. I can’t stand this much longer.’

  He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it and began to puff furiously. Almost at once he took it out, and threw it away, for the porter came running into the lounge.

  ‘Messieurs,’ he cried, ‘your valet – he is here.’

  Batty appeared at the door, and both men made a dash towards him. His round, rubicund face was bright with excitement.

  ‘Come on, sir,’ he called to Wallace. ‘I know where the swabs are – beggin’ yer pardon, sir. I pinched their blinkin’ car, and—’

  ‘Right, Batty,’ interrupted Sir Leonard sharply, ‘tell us on the way. Do you know the address?’

  The ex-sailor scratched his head.

  ‘Can’t say I do, sir,’ he confessed. ‘I know the way all right. It’s a little ’ouse up the ’ill about two mile t’other side o’ that place you told me about near Italy.’

  ‘You mean Mentone?’

  ‘That’s the place, sir.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Take me oath, sir.’

  ‘That’s good enough.’ He turned to the porter. ‘Ring the chef de la Sûreté,�
� he instructed, ‘explain to him that the mesdames have been kidnapped, and that we have gone to rescue them, and ask him to get in touch with the police at Mentone. I will send someone to guide them. There will not be time for us to stop and explain to the police at Mentone ourselves. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, M’sieur.’

  ‘Right. Come on, Bill.’

  With Batty at the wheel, Sir Leonard by his side, and Brien in the back, the car was soon tearing on its way. As he drove, Batty described the manner in which he had managed to keep in touch with Lady Wallace and Mrs Brien.

  ‘I saw her ladyship go across to Mrs Brien’s rooms, sir, fully dressed as yer might say. Arter about ten minutes they both came out, Mrs Brien ’aving ’er ’at and coat on too. They was carryin’ small suitcases, sir, and although I felt a bit surprised like, it wasn’t my business to interfere. ’Er ladyship ses to me: “Batty”, she ses, “we’re goin’ ter join Sir Leonard and the Major at—” I’ve forgotten wot place she said, sir. “’E didn’t say nothin’ about you comin’, so I expect you’d better stay ’ere”, she ses. Well, it didn’t seem right ter me, arter wot you ’ad said, sir, so I ups anchor, and follers in their wake, meanin’ no ’arm, but obeyin’ orders, like, you see, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Batty. You did quite right. Go on!’

  ‘You bet I did right, sir, now I knows the dirty work them swabs was up to. ’Er ladyship and Mrs Brien boarded car wot was waitin’. There wasn’t no other in sight so, when it began to move, I ran out of me ’iding place, and climbed aboard the luggage carrier. I made ’eavy weather on that bloomin’ seat – beggin’ yer pardon, sir – but ’ung on all right. We went through Men – Men – the place wot you said sir – full speed a’ead, and at last dropped anchor on a lonely bit o’ the road. I skipped off me seat quick, and I was glad I did, for three men came up sudden like and, opening the door, ordered the ladies to land. I felt inclined to sail into ’em, but thought it would be better to find out where they went, then give you the nod, sir. Two of ’em took the ladies up an ’ill, t’others pushed the craft closer inshore and follered. I follered them. They climbed to a small ’ouse all by itself about ’alf a mile up and went inside. I watched for a time through a winder. ’Er ladyship and Mrs Brien were lettin’ ’em ’ave it good and proper, but the swabs only laughed at ’em – ugly looking blighters they are, too, sir. As soon as I had taken me bearings, I went back to the car, and turned it round. It was a bit of a job, sir, but I did it. Then I slipped me cables, and ’ere I am.’

  ‘Splendid, Batty! You’ve done magnificently.’

  ‘Wot I can’t understand, sir,’ complained the one-time mariner, ‘is ’ow ’er ladyship ever got it into ’er ’ead that she was goin’ ter you.’

  Wallace explained, and Batty swore roundly and thoroughly, and so incensed was he that he even forgot to add: ‘Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.’

  Very little more was said on the way, each being too full of his own thoughts and too grimly set on exacting retribution from the scoundrels for the manner in which they had abducted the ladies. The car tore through Mentone and, a few minutes later, pulled up on a particularly lonely part of the steep, rugged road. Brien uttered an exclamation.

  ‘It was somewhere about here,’ he observed, ‘where Lalére and I had a smoke this afternoon. Good Lord! What a lot seems to have happened since then!’

  ‘I hope to goodness,’ remarked Sir Leonard, ‘that they haven’t discovered the car was missing, or they may have gone and taken the ladies with them. Perhaps they are even waiting in ambush for us. Which is the way, Batty?’ The ex-sailor pointed it out. ‘Well, you go up, and we’ll follow about a hundred yards behind. If you’re attacked, yell at the top of your voice, or fire, which ever you prefer.’

  Batty set off, and they waited until they judged he was far enough ahead, then followed.

  ‘I didn’t know Batty carried a revolver,’ muttered Brien.

  ‘I gave him one this evening,’ was the whispered reply.

  Brien chuckled softly and almost happily to himself. It was impossible to think that anything could actually go wrong, he decided, when a man like Wallace, who never seemed to overlook or forget anything, was in charge.

  Cautiously they crept up the hill. Wallace, who went first, seemed to be able to see in the dark, so sure-footed and silent was he. Brien, following close behind, was almost as noiseless. At last, a little distance away, they caught a glimmer of light, and the dim outline of a small cottage. At the same time the form of Batty loomed up in front of Sir Leonard.

  ‘It’s all right, sir,’ he whispered. ‘They’re inside. I just ’ad a peep.’

  An involuntary exclamation of relief broke from Brien.

  ‘S’sh!’ warned Wallace. ‘Not a sound now. I’m going to have a look; then we can plan our attack accordingly. Hold yourselves in readiness and, if it comes to a fight, don’t hesitate to shoot, but be careful of the ladies.’

  He faded away in the darkness. Five minutes went by; then he was back, and his voice, when he spoke, was pregnant with fierce emotion.

  ‘They are torturing Molly,’ he whispered, ‘apparently in an effort to force Phyllis to write a letter. There can only be two rooms in the cottage, one at the front and one at the back, with a door opening out from each. Both are locked, I think. At any rate, I tried them, and they wouldn’t budge. There are three windows, two at the back on either side of the door, and one in front to the left. The front one’s a ramshackle affair, though, with a couple of dilapidated shutters closed on it with the view, I suppose, of hiding the interior. The shutters are so full of holes, however, that one can see in quite easily. You swing them open, Bill, when I give the word. Batty, you stand by and smash in the window. Is that clear?’

  They murmured their affirmatives.

  ‘The chances are,’ went on Sir Leonard, ‘that as soon as the alarm comes one of them will blow out the lamp. If that happens, you run to the front door, Batty; and you to the back of the house, Bill, and be prepared to knock out anybody who attempts to get away. I’ll enter by the window.’

  ‘You would choose the most dangerous job for yourself,’ grumbled Brien.

  ‘Don’t question orders, my lad. Are you both ready?’

  Noiselessly they approached the cottage until the three of them were standing by the window looking through the numerous cracks into the room. Lady Wallace sat in a chair, an expression of indomitable courage on her white face. Two men stood by her side, one holding her right arm, which he was engaged in twisting mercilessly, while she bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out in her agony. At a table covered by an ancient cloth, also guarded by two men, sat Phyllis Brien, a pen in her hand, a pad of paper before her, her face as pale as death, obviously torn between her desire to write at the dictation of her captors and thus end Molly’s torture, and a refusal to do something that possibly would bring catastrophe and tragedy upon her husband. Lady Wallace continually shook her head in an endeavour to prevent Phyllis Brien from writing, but it was obvious that the resolution of the latter would not long continue proof against the suffering she saw on her friend’s face. Under his breath Sir Leonard gave vent to an expression that boded ill indeed for the inhuman ruffian who was twisting his wife’s arm.

  ‘Ready, Bill?’ he muttered tensely; then: ‘Right, carry on!’

  Brien flung the shutters wide apart, and Batty, a revolver in one hand, the other wrapped in a large bandana handkerchief, crashed both into the window with such force that not only was the glass splintered but most of the woodwork as well. There came a chorus of startled cries, a suppressed scream, the sharp crack of an automatic followed by a groan; then the light went out. Wallace was through the remains of the window like a flash, tearing his clothes badly in the process, but not bothering about anything so long as he got in. Almost immediately he was tackled by someone, but slipped aside, a grim smile curving his lips as he heard the faint hum of a knife passing close to his ear. He realised that another ma
n was coming towards him, and dashed his hand, revolver and all, into where he judged the face to be. It got home beautifully, a sharp cry of pain rewarding him.

  It was all very confusing, this fighting in the dark. Avoiding the first man again more by instinct than anything else, he edged to the side of the room away from the window, and there came a lull. His opponents did not know where he was and stood still in an effort to trace him by the sound of movement. He did likewise, could hear the heavy breathing of somebody close by, an occasional groan farther away, and took care not to breathe loudly himself. He wondered if the ladies still remained where they had been when he had looked through the shutters, but when the alarm had come and the light been extinguished, Phyllis had risen quickly and darted to Molly’s side. The two girls, their arms round each other, were now cowering in a remote corner of the room, hope rising in their breasts at this unlooked-for intervention, their eyes striving to pierce the pall of blackness round them.

  Almost a minute must have passed before there was any further movement; then Wallace spoke.

  ‘You had better surrender,’ he said in French, the sound of his voice being greeted with a cry of joy from Molly. ‘The house is surrounded.’

  Immediately someone fired in his direction, but, anticipating it, he had dodged aside. He dared not return the shot for fear of hitting his wife, or Phyllis, but his movement had been heard; he knew there was a man groping for him close by. Edging silently in the direction where he knew the front door must be, he suddenly felt the breath of another man on his cheek. There was a shout of exultation, but he slipped rapidly to his knees, and felt a heavy body plunge over him. At once came the horrible sound of men at death grips, and he almost laughed as he realised that two of his adversaries were doing their utmost to kill each other. It was easy to reach the door now and, temporarily putting the revolver in the armpit of his artificial limb, he felt for the key, found it and unlocked the door. At the same time came a blood-curdling groan, accompanied by a cry of triumph.