Devil's Cocktail (Wallace of the Secret Service Series)

by Alexander Wilson

  They entered a small bare room at the back of the house and Jai Singh crossed to a wall and pressed hard against a portion that was rather irregular. Instantly a part of the brick flooring rose and disclosed a flight of steps. At the bottom of the steps were three rooms ventilated by a shaft that ran up through the middle of the house and finished in a group of chimney pots at the top. The underground chambers contained three native beds, a couple of tables and some chairs and enough tinned provisions to last for two weeks at least. One by one the men descended, the trap-door closed, and there remained no trace whatever of the way to the apartments below.

  Hardly had the room resumed its normal appearance than Abdul Rahim entered, still as spick and span as ever. After ringing up the Governor, as he had promised, to report the safety of Joan, he had returned to the scene of his adventures. Hidden opposite the gates he had watched the exodus of about a dozen men with their wives and as many of their household belongings as they could carry; he saw the two cars driven away and the return of one of the drivers. The gates had been locked, and repeating the performance of an earlier hour, he climbed over them into the grounds, followed the driver up to the house, and with the utmost daring crept in after him. By taking the most tremendous risks and at the same time using the greatest caution, he had traced the three Russians and the two Sikhs to the back of the house and watched them disappear below. As soon as the trapdoor had closed all the lights went out and Abdul Rahim concluded that there was a control below. However, he had seen all he desired to see, so retraced his steps to the gates, clambered over them again, and returned to his car, which had been left in the same place as before.

  As he took his place at the wheel he smiled softly.

  ‘Now by the blessing of Allah I will return and have a few hours’ sleep,’ he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Shannon Leaves the College

  An almost boisterously happy young man drove to Sheranwala College the next morning. Shannon’s efforts in India promised to be crowned with success; he had received a most complimentary letter from the Chief; no longer would he have to lecture to the young Muslim and mix with colleagues whom he detested; and above all his sister had been restored to him. There was only one fly in the ointment and that was the treatment to which Joan had been subjected at The Retreat. Before going to bed she had related her experiences without keeping back anything, and the grim, set faces of the three men – who had listened to every word in horror – promised that there would be a stern reckoning with the Russians and Hudson when they met. They had nothing but admiration and delighted wonder for Abdul Rahim’s great exploit in rescuing her, and Joan had laid stress on the calm, resourceful manner in which the Indian had carried out his self-appointed task. It was a very tired, but a wonderfully happy Joan who eventually went to bed, but she was not a whit happier than Hugh, Miles and Cousins. The little man had surpassed himself in the length and frequency of his quotations, but nobody had tried to stop him and he had taken full advantage of his opportunity.

  Hugh reached the College and went straight to Abdullah’s office. He was welcomed by a very sorrowful Principal.

  ‘So you are leaving us, Shannon,’ he said. ‘I am very sorry and I fear my work will become all the heavier for your departure. I feel very disheartened here and am myself almost inclined to resign; however, I will struggle on in the hope that a little success will attend my efforts. But I am speaking selfishly – I must congratulate you on receiving a Government appointment.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Hugh quietly, feeling rather a hypocrite.

  ‘I understand from His Excellency that your work will be confidential, so I will not inquire into its nature, but if, some time in the future, you can reveal it, I shall be most interested to hear all about it. I hope you will not lose touch with me!’

  ‘Of course not,’ declared Hugh. ‘And I promise to let you know what work I am engaged in as soon as I am at liberty to do so.’

  ‘Thank you! I may tell you that I made a special point of calling on the secretary of the Board and three of the leading members last night to explain to them about your leaving the College. They were rather disposed to raise objections and quote rules but, of course, the Governor’s desire was, in its way, a command and that quietened them. A special meeting will be held this afternoon to receive your resignation. It will be accepted with great regret I assure you.’

  Hugh laughed a trifle sarcastically.

  ‘Not so long ago,’ he said, ‘they were anxious to call a special meeting to make me resign.’

  ‘Try not to remember that against them,’ said Abdullah. ‘They have recently begun to realise that in you they had a man who was worth the rest of the staff put together and actually agree with me that apart from you, and one or two others, we possess the poorest set of professors in the University. It will be a great job to get the right man in your place.’

  ‘Persuade them to pay an adequate salary,’ advised Hugh. ‘To expect an Englishman to come out to India and work for five hundred rupees a month is absurd. There are no doubt a good many who would do it, because they would not understand the cost of living out here. But it is absolutely impossible to live on that sum, and a man who tries it will only find himself getting into difficulties, and end by being loaded with debt. Of course in that case I can imagine the authorities raising their sanctimonious eyes to heaven and feeling greatly shocked, but they would be morally responsible for the poor fellow’s troubles.’

  Abdullah laughed.

  ‘You are rather severe, Shannon,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Hugh. ‘Perhaps I am cynical, but I have divided the people of this country into three divisions – sahibs, snobs, and sinners – and I think the authorities of this college, with the addition of some of the professors, are in their proper place amongst the sinners.’

  ‘You are a dreadful young man,’ smiled the Principal. ‘Would you like to attend the meeting this afternoon?’

  ‘No, thanks. I might be inclined to tell a few home truths.’

  ‘Well, if you will write your resignation and hand it to me, I will put it before them.’

  ‘I’ll go and do it now,’ nodded Hugh.

  ‘I understand that you will be leaving India?’

  ‘Probably, but at present I am not sure. Will you come and dine with us on Thursday night? Perhaps I shall be able to give you more information then.’

  ‘I shall be delighted.’

  ‘At eight o’clock then.’

  Hugh left the office and strolled round the College bidding farewell to various professors and students. The fat, elderly man with the chins and walrus moustache expressed the greatest regret at his departure and Hugh regarded him with a bland smile. He knew very well that the other was delighted, for always he had been very jealous of Shannon.

  ‘I cannot conceive how we shall get on without you,’ he of the chins said ponderously. ‘You have become, in the short time you have been with us, a veritable tower of strength. We shall miss you sadly.’

  ‘Very kind of you,’ said Hugh. ‘I assure you I shall never forget Sheranwala College.’

  ‘That is nice of you.’

  But Hugh hardly meant his remark in the way it was taken.

  ‘Are you leaving India?’ inquired the ponderous one.

  ‘Very likely.’

  ‘Then you will never have the opportunity of learning our language.’

  For answer Hugh broke out into a long oration on the delights of Lahore in fluent Hindustani, and when he presently shook the flabby hand of the fat person, he left behind him one of the most astonished men in India. Doctor Sadiq he found genuinely sorry to say farewell. The ugly little man was full of his own importance as usual and spent some time in trying to persuade Hugh to look out for a post for him in England.

  ‘You see,’ he said in explanation, ‘I am utterly wasted in this country. People don’t appreciate my learning as they should. Of course they are fools and don�
��t realise that in their midst is a man of great ability, probably the best psychologist in India.’

  ‘You’re so small, Sadiq,’ said Hugh, ‘that they miss you because they don’t look low enough – they always look up instead of down.’

  The eminent psychologist looked at him with a frown.

  ‘Sometimes, Shannon,’ he said, ‘I think you are pulling my legs.’

  Hugh looked reflectively at the other’s extremities.

  ‘Are those legs?’ he asked with interest.

  ‘Look here,’ said Sadiq, ‘it’s all very well to make fun of me, but I really am eating my heart out in this country. I want to go somewhere where I shall be appreciated at my true worth.’

  ‘And do you think you will be, in England?’

  ‘Of course! Once there I shall settle down and look for a wife.’

  ‘An English girl?’

  Sadiq nodded.

  ‘I could have chosen from three or four when I was there in my student days, but like a fool I came back.’

  Hugh looked at him as though he would like to shake him, then laughed.

  ‘The trouble with you, Sadiq,’ he said, ‘is that you were born without a sense of humour.’

  He completed his goodbyes and wrote a letter of resignation which he took to the Principal. Then jumping into his car he drove away. A crowd of students was standing at the gates and cheered him as he went by.

  In the meantime Miles – who some time before had paid a railway official to watch for the arrival of Oppenheimer – received a telephone message telling him that a man answering to the description of the German had come in on the Calcutta express and had driven to the Punjab Hotel. When Hugh returned home, therefore, he was informed of Oppenheimer’s arrival.

  ‘Perhaps it is not he,’ he said. ‘Why not go along and see?’

  ‘Precisely what I was thinking of doing,’ replied Miles. ‘I kinder thought the old chap might be glad to see me, especially as he must be worried some because his pals didn’t meet him.’

  ‘How do you know they didn’t?’

  ‘Not they! I guess they’ve hidden themselves away as snug as bugs in a rug, and they won’t show their faces anywhere till tomorrow night.’

  ‘They might send a message.’

  ‘M’m, they might do that, but I don’t think so. I bet Oppenheimer has all the necessary information about the meeting.’

  ‘But they might just send word to let him know that they’re in hiding.’

  Miles looked at him thoughtfully then nodded.

  ‘Anyhow I’ll go right along and look him up. The old guy’s pretty cute, but maybe I can get a thoughtless word or two out of him.’

  Hugh smiled and shook his head.

  ‘Not much hope of that,’ he said. Then suddenly he slapped his thigh. ‘By Jove!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve got the idea of a lifetime.’

  ‘Shoot!’ said Miles tersely.

  ‘Let Jerry go! He can speak Russian and explain that he has come from Novar. If he takes one of the papers with the drawings on it, the fact of his having that and speaking Russian may do the trick. And as we are rather vague about the meeting it is just possible he may get some useful information.’

  ‘Gee!’ exclaimed Miles in admiration. ‘You’re the cat’s whiskers, Hugh. He can say a messenger was sent with a note in case there was one, and I guess Oppenheimer will fall for it.’

  ‘Where the devil is Cousins?’ cried Hugh. ‘Jerry!’

  At that moment Joan came out of her room.

  ‘Hugh,’ she said reprovingly, ‘your language is becoming awful. You’re a bad example to Oscar.’

  Miles grinned.

  ‘I guess he’s got nothing on me in that way, Jo,’ he chuckled. ‘You ought to hear me when I get real sore.’

  ‘I hope I never shall,’ she retorted. ‘You’ll have to reform before I marry you!’

  ‘Sure!’ said the American calmly.

  Cousins emerged from his bedroom.

  ‘Did I hear someone speak my name in vain?’ he inquired.

  ‘Not in vain apparently,’ said Hugh. ‘Come here! We want to talk to you.’

  ‘Dear! Dear!’ murmured the little man, coming along the corridor. ‘There is no peace for the wicked. Here have I been pressing my dress suit again and removing sundry strange curves thereon, and you—’ He broke off. ‘Good gracious!’ he exclaimed. ‘I believe I have left the hot iron on—’

  He rushed back, but reappeared a moment later.

  ‘It is all right,’ he said; ‘I thought I had left the iron on a part of – of my nether garments “where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest”. Well, what do you want?’

  Hugh explained his plan and Cousins gazed at him in pretended astonishment.

  ‘Who would think,’ he said, ‘that this bulk of brawn and beef was capable of supporting a brain of such delicate subtlety. Now I know why Mount Everest rears its mighty head so high. It is waiting for your demise, O Hugh, in order that it may remain a perpetual monument of your greatness – “But where the native mountains bare Their foreheads to diviner air, Fit emblem of enduring fame One lofty summit keeps thy name”.’

  Five minutes later, armed with one of the papers on which the map of India and the eagles and dragons were drawn, Cousins set off for the Punjab Hotel. He was soon there, and entering the reception hall, made his way to the desk. He had not met any of the clerks during his sojourn in the hotel with Joan and Hugh; there was no likelihood, therefore, of his being recognised. He had one difficulty with which to contend, namely, the possibility that the German was staying there under an assumed name, if indeed it was he who had arrived by the Calcutta express. However, his doubts were soon laid at rest for he was informed by the reception clerk that a Mr Oppenheimer had arrived that morning. He asked to see him and five minutes later was shown to suite forty-four.

  He found a tallish, fat man with a round, clean-shaven face, fair hair and blue eyes awaiting his advent. The fellow was a German of the most obvious type. He waved Cousins to a chair.

  ‘Oppenheimer I am,’ he said in a deep, guttural voice.

  Cousins closed the door carefully, and looked searchingly round.

  ‘Are we quite safe from eavesdroppers?’ he asked in Russian.

  The German started. Then he walked into the bedroom and Cousins could hear him closing the outer door. Presently he returned and shut the bedroom door behind him.

  ‘All is well now,’ he said.

  ‘I am from Novar,’ said Cousins, still in the same language. ‘Did you get his message?’

  ‘Who is this Novar?’ asked Oppenheimer, peering cautiously at him.

  ‘Russia, Germany, China!’ replied Cousins.

  He drew from his pocket the precious paper and held it towards the German. The latter took it and a smile appeared on his face. He returned it, and sank into a deep armchair with a sigh of relief.

  ‘It is enough,’ he said. ‘I now am sure that you come from our friend Novar. But I speak not the Russian well.’

  ‘My German is not very good,’ confessed Cousins.

  ‘Then we will in the English spik,’ said Oppenheimer in that tongue. ‘It a country I hate is, but the language well I spik.’

  ‘Is it quite safe?’ asked Cousins.

  ‘Yes, there no danger is, now that the doors I have locked.’

  The other nodded as though satisfied.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘first of all, did you receive the message?’

  ‘Yes! Half an hour ago by a Sikh it came. But, my friend, there some things are I do not understand. Why Novar and Rahtz into hiding have gone?’

  ‘Surely that was explained to you?’

  ‘Yes, yes! But exblanations on baper sometimes vague are.’

  ‘Well, I did not see the letter, but I understood that it would make everything clear to you.’

  ‘But it nodings make clear. Novar simply says, “into hiding we have gone, in order that no shadow of susbicion there ca
n be.” Why a shadow of susbicion should there be? I think that if Novar and Rahtz and Hudson out and about as usual went, much safer it would be.’

  ‘The fact is that in Lahore there is an Englishman called Shannon and his valet, whom we think are connected with the British Secret Service—’

  Oppenheimer nodded.

  ‘Yes; already of him I know.’ Then he looked at Cousins anxiously. ‘Do you mean that these Englishmen anything of imbortance have discovered?’

  Cousins laughed and shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘they’re both absolute fools. But in order to be on the safe side Novar and Rahtz decided that it would be better to give out that they were going away for the Christmas holidays, so that in no way would there be any risk of the meeting being discovered.’

  Oppenheimer waved his hand.

  ‘It unnecessary was, mine friend,’ he said. ‘However, to be too cautious instead of not enough cautious much better is. So!’

  He took a well-filled cigar case from his pocket and selected a cigar, then he looked at Cousins and back at the case, and after a second’s reflection he sighed and offered his companion one. Cousins helped himself.

  ‘Now, Herr Oppenheimer,’ he said, when the cigar was going to his satisfaction, ‘I suppose you understand perfectly how to get into the College tomorrow night?’

  ‘But of course. The instructions very clear were.’

  ‘Quite so, but as one of our friends wrote to have them repeated even more clearly, I have been instructed by Novar to call on every – emissary shall I say? – and make sure that there is no shadow of doubt in anyone’s mind.’

  Cousins waited anxiously for the result of his masterstroke. Oppenheimer waved his hand again – it appeared to be a habit of his when he approved of anything – and nodded solemnly.

  ‘A good brecaution to take it is,’ he said. ‘But for me no necessity there is – every word in my brain buried has been.’

  ‘I am glad to hear that,’ smiled Cousins genially. ‘Therefore it will be unnecessary for you to repeat the instructions to me in order that I can check you as Rahtz insisted I should. I’m afraid he is very anxious in case anyone makes a mistake.’