Batty looked up with astonishment, and discovered a Chinaman standing by watching him with interest.
‘Why, swab me decks, John, if this ain’t a surprise. Fancy finding a Chinaman in these parts!’
John smiled broadly.
‘Me making plenty tlade,’ he said. ‘Comee India side thlee four times catchee pidgin!’
‘Well, I’m glad to see yer. It’s years since I were in China! ’Ere can you speak the lingo?’
‘Yes, sare! Plenty too muchee spik Engleesh, Hindustani, and Amelican!’
‘Then tell this bloke not to cut muchee off topside, savvy?’
The Chinaman repeated the instruction, and soon the operation was finished. With the assistance of his new-found friend, Batty paid the napi and they departed together.
‘You come lookee see my shop!’ said John. ‘Got plenty plesent for memsahibs.’
‘I ain’t out to buy anythin’, an’ I’ve ’ad about enough of this ’ere city. Besides I ain’t got no memsahibs!’
However, he was persuaded into visiting the Chinaman’s shop, and in spite of his assertion that he had not come to buy anything, left it, half an hour later, with a kimono, two ivory statuettes, a carved pencil case, and a black wood walking stick:
‘The least you can do arter planting these ’ere things on me,’ he said to the smiling John, ‘is to stand by an’ pilot me to Annandale.’
The Chinaman politely took him part of the way, and showed him the road leading to his destination.
‘Too muchee easy looksee now,’ he said. ‘Walkee down hill, and findee Annandale bottom side.’
‘Well, thanks very much, John! You’ve been a pal, an’ it’s done me good to run up agin a Chink once more.’
The two shook hands solemnly.
‘Me knowee plenty Blitish sailormens. Allo time plenty good chop.’
‘’Ow d’yer know I was a sailor?’
‘Velly clever man me! Plenty time talkee talkee sailormen – allo time knowee!’
‘You’re a cute old bird. Well, so long!’
Batty had almost reached the bottom of the hill, when he was arrested by the sight of a native crawling through the bushes. The aeroplane stood quite close to a mass of shrubbery, and it was towards this that the fellow was creeping. Whoever was guarding the machine was apparently inside the saloon, for there was no one to be seen. Batty at once decided that the man could be up to no good, so taking every precaution he followed. The native was apparently too intent on his purpose to suspect that he himself might be followed, and the ex-naval man was able to get quite close to him. Then he hid behind a tree and watched proceedings.
Having reached the shrubbery the fellow lay for some time looking about him, then rising suddenly he ran rapidly forward and dived under the plane. He appeared to put something there, and scraped handfuls of grass and earth round it. Then he darted back to the shrubbery, and, at that moment, Batty – dropping his parcels, with the exception of the black wood stick – sprang; at the same time shouting a warning. The native made a dash for liberty, and would have got away had not the sailor thrown himself at full length, and, catching the other by the ankle, pulled him to the ground. The miscreant was immediately up again, but Batty was upon him, and he turned with a snarl, at the same time pulling an ugly looking knife from somewhere on his person, and striking. The movement was so rapid that the sailor had barely time to skip aside: as it was, his left sleeve was split from shoulder to wrist. But he had not forgotten his stick, and, as the man partially lost his balance from the force of his blow, Batty swung it with deadly precision; the heavy black wood caught the intruder on the left side of the head, and he went down with a gasp and lay still.
Woodhouse, who had heard Batty’s hail, came running up.
‘Phew!’ he said. ‘You’ve laid him out all right. What’s he been up to?’
The seaman described the whole business, and lifting the native between them they carried him to the door of the saloon, and laid him on the ground outside it.
‘Better see wot ’e put under the aeroplane!’ said Batty.
Woodhouse promptly crawled underneath and looked. ‘My God!,’ he gasped. ‘Fetch a pail of water – quick!’
The sailor was ever a man of action, and he acted now. Darting into the saloon, in less than a minute he reappeared with a bucket full of water. Woodhouse, with a face as white as a sheet, dropped the small cylindrical object he held in his hand into the pail.
‘Wot is it?’ asked Batty, curiously.
‘A bomb!’
The two looked at each other in horror for a moment. ‘We’d better tie this bloke up, afore ’e comes round.’
Woodhouse nodded, and they made a very good job of it. Then Batty went back and retrieved his parcels. He sat on the ground and slowly filled his pipe.
‘’Ave yer got a bit o’ chalk, mate?’ he asked.
The mechanic looked at him in surprise, but went off, and presently returned with the required article.
‘Now mark the figure one, on that bloke’s forehead, and two on the bucket!’
Woodhouse did as he was directed.
‘What’s that for?’ he queried.
‘Exhibit number one, and exhibit number two!’ He held up the stick, and looked at it lovingly. ‘I thought that there John Chinaman was trying to make a bit out o’ me,’ he remarked, ‘but, swab me decks, ’e never did a better day’s work in ’is life!’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wallace Has a Narrow Escape
Green, the other mechanic, was the next member of the party to arrive back from sightseeing. He was a man of few words, but deep thought, and when the phenomenon of the trussed-up native had been explained to him, and he had looked inside the basket, he stood in silence, apparently philosophising on the occurrence.
Forsyth and Hallows came back in rickshas, loaded with parcels. They had been curio-hunting. Batty repeated his tale for their benefit, and the two airmen looked at each other. Forsyth smiled a trifle grimly.
‘I don’t know altogether what is on,’ he remarked to Hallows, ‘though I could make a fairly good guess; but things are certainly happening.’
‘They are!’ agreed Hallows, with deep conviction.
At five minutes to two Batty and Woodhouse were just clearing up the debris from a hearty meal, when Wallace, Brien and Sanders made their appearance. They strolled across the field deep in conversation, and it was not until they were close to the machine that they noticed anything unusual. Then Billy’s eye fell on the captive.
‘Who on earth is that?’ he asked.
His companions followed the direction of his gaze, and Batty cleared his throat preparatory to another recital – he was word perfect by now, and was enjoying himself immensely.
‘It was like this, sir,’ he commenced, addressing himself to Wallace. ‘I was just sailing down the road, ’aving ’ad a look round, so to speak, when I saw this bloke – beg pardon, sir – er – native, sir, crawling through the bushes. “Now,” I ses to meself, “that don’t look no’ow ’onest,” an’ it struck me that—’
‘Never mind what struck you, Batty,’ interrupted Leonard. ‘Tell us what struck him, for he looks as though he has been very much struck!’
The sailor looked hurt at the interruption, but went on.
‘Well, sir, to cut a long story short—’
‘That’s exactly what I want you to do!’
‘I follered ’im through the bushes, sir, an’ watched ’im crawl under the aeroplane, an’ put somethin’ there. As soon as he done that, back to the bushes ’e come, an’ I grappled him, sir. ’E almost got away – ’e’s as slippery as a eel – but I pulled ’im down by the leg. ’E drew this ’ere knife an’ stabbed at me, but I just got out o’ ’is way in time, and ’e only cut me sleeve. I sloshed ’im one across the ’ead with this stick, wot I bought from a Chinaman who—’
‘He’s certainly made a mess of your sleeve,’ interrupted Wallace. He took the knife, and looked a
t it, then passed it on to Sanders who examined it with interest. Billy held the stick in his hand and weighted it.
‘No wonder you put him to sleep, Batty,’ he said, ‘this is a remarkably heavy piece of wood, and you caught him right on the temple.’
Batty smiled with satisfaction.
‘What did he put under the plane?’ demanded Wallace.
Without elaboration, and with an eye to dramatic effect, Woodhouse replied.
‘A bomb, sir!’
‘A bomb!’ ejaculated Brien, and Sanders swore. Even Leonard looked slightly startled.
‘What did you do with it?’ he asked.
‘Exhibit number two, sir. In the bucket, sir!’ replied Batty.
The three examined it.
‘You had better send it to police headquarters, Colonel,’ said Wallace, ‘and have it examined. And as for this fellow,’ he continued, ‘we might get some information out of him. I think he must have made a mistake in the time, and placed the bomb too soon or else he got too nervy to wait. Throw some water over him, somebody, and bring him round!’
Willing hands procured water, and, in a few seconds, the man looked like a drowned rat. Batty had certainly made no mistake when he struck the blow, for it took some time to revive him. In the meantime Sanders turned to Wallace.
‘Can I borrow one of your men to go to headquarters?’ he asked.
‘Certainly!’ was the reply. ‘Here, Batty, take the Colonel’s message!’
‘Aye, aye, sir!’
Sanders handed him a card, having scribbled a few words on the back.
‘Take this to Mr Hartley, and tell him to come down to Annandale immediately with two Indian policemen.’
‘Better make it a detachment!’ said Wallace laconically. ‘There may be an attempt to rescue this devil, for fear he gives anything away.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I do.’
The Commissioner’s face looked grimmer than ever, as he turned and gave additional instructions to the ex-naval man. Two rickshas were still at the gate.
‘Get into one of those rickshas – I’ll direct them!’ added the Colonel.
Batty piously raised his eyes upwards, and muttered a prayer, while Woodhouse grinned, and winked at him. Sanders saw him off and returned to Wallace.
‘I suppose your man won’t make a mess of my orders, Sir Leonard?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Batty never makes a mess of anything! Now, as this kindhearted fellow is beginning to come to his senses, I think that it would be a good idea if you did a little questioning now, because I am very doubtful if you will ever see him again!’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ said the Commissioner brusquely, then apologised. ‘But hang it all, Sir Leonard,’ he added, ‘I’ve actually taken your advice, and sent for a detachment of police, and he couldn’t get away from them!’
‘He might get away from an army; at least his soul might, if he’s got one. Anybody could take a pot shot at him from among the trees and escape quite easily!’
‘Good God! You don’t mean to say—’
‘I mean to say that if he is likely to give away any information that is at all dangerous to his employers, they will not hesitate to attempt to rescue him, or, if that is too risky, exterminate him to prevent his talking.’
‘How are they to know he has been captured?’
Wallace leisurely started to fill his pipe.
‘Of course they know,’ he said. ‘I daresay they are watching us now. In fact we had better get into the saloon, and you can question him there, in case they try pot shots at him now.’
‘Good Lord! You’re making me feel that I have got mixed up in a sensational novel!’
‘Well, I stepped out of one, so probably I brought a little of the atmosphere with me.’
The Colonel reddened, then smiled.
‘I shall never be allowed to forget that unfortunate remark of mine,’ he said.
At that moment something struck Wallace’s topee with a thud, and it flew off his head.
‘What the devil was that?’ gasped Hallows.
‘Get under cover, all of you – quick!’ commanded Wallace. ‘Green and Woodhouse, carry this fellow into the saloon. Billy, bring Batty’s exhibit number two.’
They all obeyed his orders in a state of bewilderment. Leonard picked up his topee, and quietly followed them into the interior of the aeroplane.
‘We’re safe enough here!’ he said. ‘They won’t dare to come out into the open, and I don’t think a bomb could be thrown near enough to do us any damage!’
‘Do – you – mean – to – say—?’ roared the Colonel.
‘Quietly, Sanders, quietly! You mustn’t get excited at a little thing like that. They’ve put two nice air-holes in my topee!’
He showed the others where a bullet had entered the front of the helmet, and gone out at the back, probably missing his head by less than half an inch.
‘Stupid to aim at the head,’ he added reflectively. ‘The body presents a much better mark.’
Billy was as white as a sheet of paper.
‘And I told her you wouldn’t be in any danger,’ he muttered. He drew his revolver. ‘I’m going to rout those fellows out – who’s coming?’
An eager reply came from Forsyth and Hallows, and the two mechanics.
‘Don’t be a fool, Brien!’ said Wallace brusquely. ‘You’d be in the open, and they could pick the lot of you off without your ever seeing them, and with hardly a sound. They specialise in silencers apparently, though on a rifle, or rifles, this time. Well, we’ve discovered that the Russians still have some of their emissaries up here – perhaps they expected us! In fact, I am sure they did. Friend Levinsky may even have returned for the occasion himself. I hope Batty got through safely!’ he added anxiously.
Colonel Sanders was growling the most blood-curdling threats to himself, and Brien sat down with a look of grimness on his face that was seldom seen there. The prisoner had moved once or twice, but had not fully revived. Now suddenly he groaned, and, opening his eyes, gazed with a look of hatred at his captors, when he became aware of his position.
‘Now’s your opportunity, Sanders!’ said Leonard. ‘Put the fear of death into him, and you may learn something.’
‘Can’t put the fear of death into these fellows,’ grunted the Commissioner. ‘He’s a Mahsaud!’
‘Ah! I thought I recognised the peculiar shape of that knife!’
‘Undo his bonds, but leave his hands tied,’ commanded the Colonel, and the two mechanics did his bidding. ‘Stand up!’ he snapped at the prisoner in his own language.
The latter obeyed sullenly, but shakily, and stood glaring from one to another like an angry wolf. The Commissioner questioned him rapidly. He asked who had employed him, what he was doing in Simla, if there were any more of his tribe concerned in the outrage with him, and a host of other questions, but the fellow maintained an absolute silence. Then Sanders tried threats; he told him that he would be tried, and sent to many years’ imprisonment, but if he replied to the questions he would escape with a small sentence; he even told him that he would shoot him out of hand himself if he did not speak. But it was no use, not a word would the man say. The Colonel tried cajolery, promised a free pardon, even a reward, still with the same result.
Then an idea occurred to him. He knew that he could not frighten men of this type with the fear of death or imprisonment or even torture; but he knew that they feared anything that appeared to them unnatural, and flying like a bird was not a human sort of thing to do according to them. So he told the fellow that he would be taken up in the clouds in the flying machine when the sahibs went, and looked eagerly for a fruitful result. It seemed that he was about to get it too, the man’s face became overshadowed with fear, but then, with a look of fatalism, he shrugged his shoulders and spoke for the first time.
‘If the sahibs desire to take me among the clouds, I cannot refuse to go,’ he said.
‘Damnation!’ snapped
Sanders, and sat down.
Wallace grinned.
‘He’s an obstinate sort of bird!’ he remarked. ‘Hadn’t you better search him?’
‘There’s hardly likely to be anything useful on him, but we might try. Have a look!’ he added to Green.
The mechanic hesitated, and looked with disgust at the man, whose scanty, filthy garments were enough to repulse any decentminded individual.
One of Sir Leonard Wallace’s greatest characteristics was that he never expected a man to do a thing he would not do himself, and he acted on it now. Rolling up the sleeves of his jacket he started to search the captive. Immediately Green and Woodhouse followed his example, the former looking a little shamefaced. And they did it thoroughly, practically stripping the fellow naked. They found very little on him, and certainly nothing to give them any clue to his employers. Round his upper left arm was a dirty-looking bandage; Leonard gazed at it intently for a minute or two, and then took it off.
‘Hm! I thought so,’ he remarked. ‘We’ve made one discovery, Colonel!’
‘What’s that, Sir Leonard?’
‘This is the fellow who got into Elliott’s Viceregal Lodge!’
‘How do you know?’ gasped Sanders, starting to his feet.
Wallace pointed to the place where the bandage had been.
‘A bullet wound!’ he said.
‘By Jove, yes! And in the right place too!’
‘What do you mean by the “right place”?’
‘I found a smudge of blood on the tree by which he had to climb down from the window. And as he would have been compelled to put his arm round it to slide down, this part must have touched it, and left the patch of blood.’
Wallace nodded.
‘Well, you’ve got two charges of attempted murder against him.’
‘And perhaps one of murder! He’s very likely the fellow who murdered Elliott in the rail motor.’
‘You’ve got to find that out.’
The other nodded grimly, then looking straight at the native, who still remained philosophically calm, he said:
‘You are in a very serious position. You will be tried on three charges, two of attempted murder, and the other of having murdered a British officer, Major Elliott, in the little rail motor that goes between Simla and Kalka!’
The Mystery of Tunnel 51 Page 16
