The Mystery of Tunnel 51

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the Colonel, ‘it’s my business! Now, before I go I want to see the room where the outrage occurred and look around the grounds a bit.’

  ‘Elliott will show you,’ said Sir Henry. ‘I’ll get through to the stationmaster at once and arrange for the special.’

  ‘Don’t let him suspect that it is bogus,’ said Sanders. ‘And don’t be shy about it. Let your clerks know that it is a special at seven. Perhaps they’ll help to give it out! Tell them you don’t want it generally known and they’ll blab it to all their friends!’

  He followed Elliott out of the office and along to the room in which the latter had been attacked. He walked straight to the window, and gazed out.

  ‘Is that the tree?’ he asked, pointing to the tall pine that raised its stately head outside.

  ‘Yes,’ said Elliott. ‘I don’t know whether he came in that way, but he certainly departed by that tree.’

  ‘H’m! A bit of a jump, but nothing to a Hillman – nothing! How did you know he was in the room?’

  Elliott told him the whole story of his awakening, and the subsequent events. Sanders listened in his usual bored manner.

  ‘Of course it’s an impossibility to lay this fellow by the heels,’ he said at the end of the recital. ‘Neither of you saw him clearly and even if you had all hillmen are more or less alike. And supposing I could get hold of him, a dozen of his friends would turn up with alibis. Pity you didn’t get him last night. Still, it doesn’t matter much; if he was finished, there would have been others!’

  ‘Just what I thought,’ said Elliott.

  ‘Well, we’ll go outside,’ muttered the Colonel, almost to himself. ‘Nothing to be seen, of course, but might as well go.’

  They went out of the house and wandered round the grounds. It all appeared very aimless to Elliott, especially as Sanders walked along with his chin on his chest and appeared to be deeply in thought. When they came to the tree, of which the assassin had made such use, the Commissioner gazed at it as though he had never seen a tree before. Presently he looked at Elliott and asked a surprising question.

  ‘Are you pretty strong?’ he enquired.

  The sapper laughed.

  ‘Fairly,’ he replied. ‘Why?’

  ‘I want you to give me a back up.’

  Feeling that the suns of India had turned the Commissioner’s brain, Elliott did as he was asked. At that moment Sir Henry Muir came out of the house and stopped with astonishment when he saw the Major bent double with Colonel Sanders standing on his back and gazing intently at a smooth part of the tree from which the bark had come off. Presently the Colonel jumped down and Elliott straightened up.

  ‘Hope I didn’t hurt you,’ said the former. ‘Hullo, Muir, fixed everything up?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sir Henry. ‘A special rail motor will be at Summer Hill station at seven sharp for us.’

  ‘H’m! That’s all right then!’

  ‘What on earth were you two doing?’ asked Muir curiously.

  ‘Nothing much,’ replied the Commissioner, ‘but you’re a better shot than you thought you were, Muir. Do you see that blur on the bare patch there?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Secretary eagerly.

  ‘It’s blood, dried of course! I may be able to find a man who’s been wounded. Not that I’ve any hope,’ he added.

  Did you tell Sanders about your Jew, Elliott?’ asked Sir Henry.

  ‘No – I haven’t done so.’

  ‘What about a Jew?’ asked the Deputy, who once again wore a look of boredom.

  ‘I saw a tall Jewish-looking fellow watching me rather intently when I arrived here,’ explained Elliott, ‘and his face seemed rather familiar. When he saw I was looking at him he moved away.’

  ‘H’m! Nothing in that,’ growled the Colonel. ‘It’s not a crime for a man to look at you, and you might have seen him anywhere.’

  ‘I know, but – by Jove!’ Elliott almost shouted, and even the Commissioner looked at him with interest. ‘I remember now where I saw him – the first time was in Kabul, and the second time in the railway station at Peshawar.’

  ‘Great Scott!’ exclaimed Muir. ‘Then it looks as if—’

  ‘He’s a damn fool to let himself be seen,’ interrupted Sanders, ‘if he were following you – an absolute idiot!’

  Elliott laughed with whole-hearted enjoyment at this remark.

  ‘Give me a description of him!’ went on the commissioner.

  ‘What’s the good of that?’ asked Muir. ‘You can’t arrest a man because he was in Kabul and Peshawar the same time as Elliott.’

  ‘No, but I can have him watched and find out his antecedents,’ snapped the other.

  ‘Well,’ said Elliott, ‘he was tall, quite six feet in height I should say, fairly broad, had a small black moustache, black hair, sallow complexion and large Jewish-looking nose.’

  Colonel Sanders made some notes in a small pocket book.

  ‘Eyes?’ he questioned.

  ‘I was never near enough to see much of them, but I should say they were of some dark colour and very small.’

  ‘How was he dressed the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Blue lounge suit, brown shoes and a white topee.’

  ‘Pity everybody can’t give such lucid descriptions when they’re wanted to,’ said the Colonel, and actually smiled. He closed up his book, and put it in a pocket. ‘Well, I’ll be off now,’ he added. ‘Goodbye in case I don’t see you again before you go, and keep your eyes open and revolvers handy.’

  He shook hands with Muir and Elliott, and, turning abruptly, strode off to the gate where his ricksha patiently awaited him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What Happened in the Tunnel

  The rail motor car ran into Summer Hill station promptly to time and Sir Henry Muir and Major Elliott, who had arrived a minute or two earlier, emerged from the waiting room, where they had concealed themselves from general observation, and boarded it.

  There were only two other passengers, a Captain Williams of the 107th Horse, who was known to both Muir and Elliott, and a small, sharp-featured man, whom Sir Henry recognised as one of the astutest police officers in Simla. The rail car was a small one and had only seats for ten, apart from the driver. All the seats faced in the direction the car was going. In front sat the driver and next to him was seating accommodation for two; behind these were seats for four more, and to the rear of these again were another four seats. Captain Williams was seated by the driver and the policeman was sitting by him; directly behind them Elliott and Muir took their places, the Major being on the outside and Muir sitting practically in the centre.

  ‘Hullo, Williams!’ said Sir Henry. ‘Where are you bound for?’

  ‘Lahore,’ replied Williams. ‘I’ve only had a few days’ leave, but it’s been a change.’

  ‘I thought your troop was at Pindi! Have you been transferred?’

  ‘Yes, about a week ago,’ said the young officer.

  He was a man of apparently not more than twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age. He had fair hair, blue eyes, good features and a pleasant, open countenance. He was extremely popular in his regiment and had innumerable friends in various parts of India. Both Muir and Elliott had known him for some years.

  ‘We are quite a small party,’ remarked Elliott. ‘I thought there would have been quite a number of people travelling.’

  ‘Most of them have already gone down, I suppose,’ said Sir Henry. ‘We are a safe party anyway,’ he added in a whisper.

  Elliott nodded, and then suddenly gripped the Secretary’s arm so fiercely that the latter winced.

  ‘There’s the Jew!’ said the sapper in a tense undertone.

  Muir looked startled.

  ‘Good Lord! Where?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Over by that native with the box on his head! Quick! He’s going!’

  Sir Henry looked sharply at the place indicated, and was just in time to catch a glimpse of a tall, broad-shouldered man sau
ntering away towards the exit of the station. Just then Colonel Sanders appeared and Muir beckoned to him. The Commissioner wandered leisurely across, and at that moment the rail car started.

  ‘Everything’s all right,’ began Sanders, ‘I—’

  ‘The Jew’s just gone out of the station!’ jerked Sir Henry. ‘Was here – watching us!’

  ‘Which exit?’ snapped the Colonel.

  ‘That one!’ pointed the Secretary, and, without another word, the Deputy Commissioner turned and walked away.

  The car gathered speed and had soon left Simla behind. Elliott’s face was a bit pale, and he and Muir looked at each other with foreboding.

  ‘He was smiling,’ said the former, ‘as though with triumph.’

  ‘Hang him!’ said Sir Henry uneasily. ‘I thought our plans were going so well.’ Then he laughed. ‘What a couple of fools we are!’ he said. ‘The man may be, and probably is, entirely innocent, and not a bit interested in you or me.’

  Elliott shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘that fellow has trailed me right down from the frontier, I’m sure of it. I didn’t like his smile, it was so full of satisfaction.’

  ‘Well,’ said the Secretary, ‘we can only keep our eyes open and look out for trouble. Have you your revolver ready?’

  Elliott smiled grimly.

  ‘I have my hand on it at this moment,’ he said, ‘and I am perfectly prepared to shoot at the slightest sign of danger.’

  ‘Good! So am I!’

  The two men relapsed into silence, each finding much to occupy his thoughts. The rail motor ran on, swinging around a corner one moment, the next down a steep grade and then for a little time on the level. Tunnel after tunnel was passed through, some were very short, one or two quite long. There are no less than a hundred and two tunnels between Simla and Kalka and each of them is numbered. They are cut through the solid rock, and the longest of them, No. 51, has a sharp curve in the very middle.

  Daylight had almost faded as this tunnel was approached, and the driver switched on the lights without waiting for the deeper darkness within to compel him to do so. There was only one electric light in the interior of the car, which gave but a poor illumination. Captain Williams turned round and smiled at Elliott.

  ‘They don’t give one much light to read by,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t suppose anybody wants to read,’ said Elliott. ‘There is too much vibration.’

  At that moment with a shrill whistle the rail motor ran into the tunnel, and the rattle of the wheels, rendered twenty times louder by the confined space, prevented further conversation. Then suddenly the light inside the car went out, and they were plunged into complete darkness. The driver slowed down but did not stop, preferring to wait until he got out of the tunnel before trying to find out what had gone wrong. Sir Henry’s voice could be heard shouting unnecessarily that the light had fused. And then, just as suddenly as it had gone out, it relit, and a moment or two later the car ran out into the open.

  ‘What happened to the light, driver?’ asked Muir, leaning forward.

  ‘I think lamp loose, sahib.’

  ‘Well, it had a most weird effect,’ said the Secretary, and turned smilingly to Elliott.

  Then suddenly the smile turned into a look of frozen horror. The Major’s body was lying as though he had slipped, and his head was lolling back on the cushion. But it was not the position of Elliott’s body that caused such distress to Muir; it was his face. It wore a look of startled surprise, and was deadly pale. The eyes were wide open, and staring in a fixed and grotesque manner, while there was a trickle of blood running from the corner of the mouth.

  ‘Good God!’ cried Muir, and his face was nearly as white as the other’s. He leant forward and, lifting the Major’s hand, let it go again. It fell back dully on to the seat, and immediately the Secretary was galvanised into action.

  ‘Stop, for God’s sake, stop!’ he shouted, hitting the driver such a blow on the back that the latter looked over his shoulder with a startled countenance before bringing the motor to a sudden halt. Captain Williams and the police officer glanced around enquiringly, and both faces became suffused with horror as they saw Elliott.

  ‘Is he ill, sir?’ asked the policeman, starting to his feet.

  ‘Ill!’ almost sobbed Sir Henry, who had his hand over Elliott’s heart. ‘He’s dead!’

  ‘Dead!’ gasped Williams. ‘Are you sure, Sir Henry?’

  The policeman climbed over the back of the seat and, pulling open the Major’s coat, laid his ear on the latter’s heart. Then he stood up and gazed down at the dead man.

  ‘He’s been stabbed!’ he said. ‘Look at that trickle of blood from his mouth!’

  While the others watched him, he pulled the body forward, and looked at the back, and there, between the shoulder blades, was a small wound from which the blood was still oozing.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘he’s been murdered right enough!’

  ‘How can he have been murdered?’ exclaimed Williams.

  ‘I can’t tell you that, sir, but he has. Somebody boarded the car in that tunnel and stabbed him!’

  ‘But, man alive,’ cried the cavalry man, ‘there wasn’t time, and why should he be murdered?’

  ‘There’s reason enough,’ said Sir Henry quietly. ‘He was carrying a most important document on him, and—’

  ‘Where was he carrying it, sir?’ interrupted the policeman quickly. ‘Have you any idea?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Muir, and tenderly opening the dead man’s coat and shirt, he felt underneath, and presently drew forth a square case, which was heavily sealed.

  ‘This is safe enough,’ he muttered; ‘but why in Heaven’s name was he murdered, obviously for this, when there was no chance of the murderer obtaining it?’

  The three men stared at each other for a few seconds. Sir Henry put the case away in an inside pocket and buttoned up his coat. Then he looked at the police officer.

  ‘What is to be done, Hartley?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m going back to search that tunnel, sir. You get on to Barog as quickly as you can – you’ll get a doctor there. Ring up Colonel Sanders, tell him what’s happened, and ask him to send somebody down to me.’

  Sir Henry nodded, and Hartley stepped on to the line and immediately started to walk back towards the tunnel. The driver, who had watched everything with a look of terror, was directed to drive on as fast as he could safely do so.

  At last, after what seemed to Muir an interminable time, in spite of the dangerous rate of speed at which they travelled, Barog was reached. As soon as it was known that a man had been murdered, the little station buzzed with activity. Elliott’s body was carried into a small room adjoining the restaurant, a doctor was sent for, and Sir Henry immediately got on the telephone to Colonel Sanders’ office in Simla.

  He was not there, but had gone home, so Muir rang up the Commissioner’s house and, to his relief, heard the latter’s voice at the other end of the wire. He immediately related what had happened, and a startled exclamation answered him.

  ‘Hartley is in the tunnel,’ said Muir, ‘and he wants you to send a man down to him.’

  ‘I’ll go myself. Are the plans safe?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got them.’

  ‘Then get to Delhi as quickly as you can with them! Don’t lose a minute!’

  ‘But I can’t leave poor Elliott!’

  ‘You can’t do anything for him, and if you don’t get away with those plans at once you’ll go the same way as he did.’

  ‘Good Lord!’

  ‘Don’t say “Good Lord”, but get away. I’ll come on to Barog from the tunnel, and take charge of everything. Let me see, who was in the rail motor with you besides Hartley?’

  ‘Williams of the 107th Horse.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember. Tell him to stop at Barog until I arrive. Instruct him to see that Elliott’s body is locked in a room, nobody is to have the key but himself, and he is to allow only the doctor to go
in. Do you understand?’

  ‘Quite!’

  ‘Right! Now get off! Commandeer a car and don’t stop for a moment until you get to Delhi and have handed those plans to the Viceroy. Good luck!’

  The Commissioner rang off, and Muir hastened back to Williams, who was just about to take the doctor into the room where Elliott lay. He repeated the Commissioner’s instructions to the young officer. The latter listened attentively and nodded. Then Sir Henry turned to the stationmaster.

  ‘I want the highest powered car you have in the place,’ he said, ‘and at once!’

  The stationmaster looked thoughtful, and stood rubbing his chin for a moment.

  ‘The most powerful car here is the doctor’s Fiat,’ he said at last.

  Sir Henry immediately went after the medical man; the latter was examining the body and the Secretary stood by, waiting until the examination was complete. At last the doctor concluded and turned to his two companions.

  ‘He was stabbed by a very thin-bladed knife which has made quite a small wound,’ he said. ‘The blow was driven downwards with great force, and pierced the heart. The Major must have died instantaneously.’

  ‘I don’t think he uttered a sound,’ said Muir. ‘I heard nothing; though, of course, there was a lot of noise at the time. And now, Doctor, I have a very urgent request to make.’

  The doctor looked at him enquiringly, and he explained his need. When the medical man understood the importance of the matter he at once agreed to lend the car.

  ‘I have no driver,’ he said, ‘but if you—’

  ‘Yes, I’ll drive myself.’

  ‘Then come with me; my house is close by and we’ll soon get the car out!’

  Muir shook hands with Williams.

  ‘You’ll keep that door locked,’ he said, ‘and not leave the vicinity till Sanders arrives? You may have to wait here, or in Simla, for some days. I’ll communicate officially with your Colonel about any extra leave it may be necessary for you to have.’