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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: Wallace of the Secret Service
- Sprache: Englisch
BOOK 6 in the Wallace of the Secret Service series When two ex-ministers of Greece are given an effusive welcome in Cyprus following their failed attempt to overthrow the Greek government, Sir Leonard Wallace suspects something other than intense sympathy is afoot. He dispatches Captain Hugh Shannon to investigate, leading to a full-blooded, stirring yarn which grips the interest and carries the reader through a host of adventures to a breathless and highly exciting climax.
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Seitenzahl: 530
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
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Microbes of Power
ALEXANDER WILSON
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
A Report from Cyprus
‘Good morning, Maddison. Glorious weather, isn’t it?’
The speaker, tall, upright, and essentially military-looking, passed into his office followed by the grey-haired, keen-eyed man who had unlocked the door for him.
‘Beautiful, sir,’ responded the latter. ‘I hope you had a pleasant weekend.’
‘It was delightful. Possibly the fact that it was the first real weekend I have had for a couple of months helped it to be more enjoyable than it otherwise would have been, but I revelled in every moment of it. The country is wonderful just now. I must confess to a weakness for primroses, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them growing in such profusion. Wasn’t it Browning who wrote, “Oh, to be in England now that April’s here”?’
‘I believe it was, sir,’ smiled Maddison, ‘though Cousins is the authority on that sort of thing.’
Major Brien’s blue eyes twinkled, he ran his fingers through his fair hair, settled his jacket more comfortably to his shoulders.
‘Weather like this is calculated to make him lyrical,’ he remarked. ‘If he is experiencing it in the United States, I can imagine him bubbling over with appropriate quotations. And now for work.’ He glanced at his desk, made a little grimace at the heap of documents neatly piled in the centre. ‘You don’t spare me, Maddison, do you?’ he grunted. ‘If you had a kind heart, you would break me in gradually after a weekend spent trying to forget delicate international situations, foreign intrigues, diplomatic imbroglios, and that sort of thing.’
‘I have dealt with the majority of the reports, sir,’ the other assured him. ‘You will not find more than three, possibly four, that require much attention.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. I must confess I feel very Mondayish.’
He sat down at the large desk; filled and lit his pipe; then, with Maddison standing by his side like a guardian angel, proceeded to go diligently through the mass of documents. Most of them had marginal notes in the calligraphy of his chief assistant, which he read carefully. In some cases he commented upon them, or asked questions, invariably signifying his approval, and appending his initials. Three were without any annotations. These were placed on one side until the bulk had been dealt with. Brien then drew them before him one by one, reading them carefully and, every now and again, sitting back in his chair, and entering into a discussion with Maddison on some knotty point. At length he made a decision concerning two of them.
‘It may turn out,’ he pronounced, ‘that there is some connection between these affairs. It would be as well if we learn something more definite before putting the matter to Sir Leonard. Is Cartright available?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very good. Send him to Copenhagen and Brussels, with instructions to investigate the reports and ascertain, if possible, what relation exists between the two affairs. There are so many points of resemblance that I feel convinced there is a connection. He can fly to Brussels this afternoon, and go on to Copenhagen tomorrow. All being well, he should be able to get back on Wednesday evening. Now for this Cyprus business.’
He read again the decoded report from the Secret Service agent in Nicosia. It appeared to give him a considerable amount of thought for, after he had gone through it for the third time, and had assimilated the information contained therein, he sat back in his chair stroking his moustache and frowning, as though puzzled.
‘What do you make of it?’ he asked Maddison at length.
‘It is difficult to say, sir,’ was the reply. ‘There seems so very little to go on. On the face of it there is no reason why Plasiras and Bikelas should not visit Cyprus. We know they have many friends there. It is significant, though, that such an effusive welcome should have been accorded them in the light of their present relations with the Greek government, and that their arrival should have been followed by a sense of excitement among the Cypriots. If you remember, there was noticeably a certain amount of unsettlement after their last visit in November.’
‘Ah! That’s just the point that has occurred to me. We did not take very much notice then, attributing it to the fact that the Greek part of the population was sympathetic with their aspirations. But they failed to overthrow the government in Athens, and everything seemed to have settled down, just as it did after Venizelos failed. Now it looks as though—’ He rose to his feet. ‘This,’ he announced, ‘is decidedly an affair in which the chief will be interested. He will probably send someone out. At all events, I’ll see him at once.’ He took up the report under discussion, nodding at those with which he had dealt. ‘You can carry on with that little lot, Maddison, and tell Cartright to see me before he leaves for Brussels.’
He walked along to the office of Sir Leonard Wallace and, knocking, entered to find his chief standing with his back to the fireplace, puffing placidly at his pipe, his hands in the pockets of his immaculate lounge jacket, his whole air denoting thorough ease, if not entire repose.
‘Giving your celebrated imitation of a man loitering his way through life, Leonard?’ asked his second in command.
‘Something like that,’ was the response. ‘I suppose you have come to interrupt the even tenor of my existence?’
Brien laughed. Knowing Sir Leonard better than anyone else, except possibly his wife, he was never deceived by the air of utter nonchalance with which the famous Chief of the British Intelligence Department invariably surrounded himself. It was not that Wallace’s attitude was a pose, nobody realised that better than the man who had known him since they had been little boys at a preparatory school together, but he possesses such an easy-going, unruffled disposition, such an unexcitable temperament and perfect self-control that he is apt to deceive those who do not understand him. Ministers of State, when coming into contact with him for the first time, have often been deluded into regarding him as an unconcerned, inattentive figurehead; they have been persuaded into believing that his fame has been achieved from the exploits of his assistants. They have always been compelled to alter their opinions abruptly and sometimes to their own chagrin. He certainly gives little indication that there are even the elements of adventure and romance in his make-up. Yet in Sir Leonard Wallace are the ingredients which sent those glorious adventurers, Drake, Frobisher and Raleigh out in little cockleshells of boats against seemingly impossible odds. His is the same spirit as that which influenced Nelson to raise the telescope to his blind eye, and thus fail to see the signal of recall at Copenhagen; he is of the breed of men who faced indescribable perils and hardships and, without thought of fame or reward for themselves, built the British Empire into the greatest the world has ever seen.
Those who work with him, and under his direction, are of the same fine calibre. They may not be so cool, so unconcerned, so apparently insouciant, but they are of his quality. How few, who are proud of the might of their country, realise what Great Britain owes to the gallant men of the Secret Service. Their exploits are rarely made public; in fact, to all intents and purposes, the department under which they serve is non-existent. It appears in no reference books, is never mentioned in print, except in very confidential records, yet all the time it is a hive of quiet, efficient, silent work which goes on day and night, never ceasing. The men of the Secret Service have, of necessity, to live their lives on a higher, nobler eminence than those of ordinary individuals. They cannot be influenced by the commonplace, petty things of existence. When at leisure they enjoy themselves as other men do, but that leisure is rare, and cannot be spoilt by the unsavoury incidents that mar most other lives. They have learnt to rise above the little meannesses of life; their training teaches them that only the big things count. Before everything they put the country they serve so selflessly, knowing that at any time they may be asked to lay down their lives for her. That, to them, is the greatest of all honours. They face death, as they face life, with a smile on their lips.
Eyeing Sir Leonard Wallace, as he stood on the rug before the fireplace, Major Brien was conscious of a momentary feeling of astonishment. The years spent in the most exacting profession in the world had left little evidence of strain or stress on the attractive, good-humoured face of his friend. True, there were lines at the corners of his expressive steel-grey eyes, others between his smooth, dark, well-shaped brows; his brown hair was greying a little at the temples, but those were the only indications of the ravages of time. Brien felt that he himself showed far more evidence of tension, and his work was generally confined to the office, while Sir Leonard, on innumerable occasions, had undertaken the most hazardous enterprises, which had often resulted in his being very seriously wounded or injured.
‘How old are we, Leonard?’ asked the tall, fair-haired man abruptly.
Wallace’s eyes twinkled.
‘Anyone would imagine we are twins to hear you speak,’ he commented.
‘Well, we’re practically the same age. I was wondering how you manage to look so outrageously young, while I—’
‘While you, poor overworked mortal,’ interrupted the other mockingly, ‘look so aged and senile. One of your vanities, Billy my lad, is your belief that you appear older than I. Well, you’re wrong; you don’t. Both of us look our ages, which in my case is thirty-eight years and seven months, and in yours is thirty-eight years and two months.’
‘You don’t look a day older than thirty-two or three.’
Wallace laughed.
‘I feel very much flattered,’ he remarked. ‘I’ll return the compliment. You don’t look a day older than thirty.’
‘Bah! What about my bald spot?’
‘What about it? You don’t think, do you, that because you’re a little thin on top you appear a kind of old inhabitant? What is that you have in your hand?’
‘It is a report from Number Thirty-Three,’ was the reply. He held the paper out to the chief.
Sir Leonard shook his head.
‘Let me hear what you have to say about it first,’ he suggested. ‘You’re an interesting talker, Bill, and I can very often grasp facts better when you put them before me in your usual succinct manner.’
Brien regarded him doubtfully, rather inclined to think that he was jesting. Sir Leonard’s face, however, was perfectly serious.
‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’ asked the former.
‘No; I’m perfectly comfortable here, thanks.’
‘But what’s the good of standing there when there’s no fire?’
‘You know as well as I that it’s a favourite position of mine. Hang it all! Can’t I do what I like in my own office?’
‘Well, I don’t see why I should stand?’
‘I didn’t ask you to do so, did I? In fact, I wouldn’t think of it – an old chap like you can’t be expected to stand for long. Sit down, ancient! There’s a seat behind you nicely upholstered in leather, and thoroughly comfortable. I can recommend it.’
Major Brien grunted something uncomplimentary, and sank into the chair indicated.
‘You remember, of course,’ he began, ‘that, towards the end of last December, Plasiras and Bikelas the Greek ex-ministers, who were members of the government turned out of office in July, made a determined effort to overthrow the present government.’ Wallace nodded. ‘You probably remember also that in November, that is, about six weeks before their attempted coup, they were in Cyprus and, whether or not it had anything to do with their visit, there was afterwards a good deal of unrest on the island, especially noticeable in Nicosia.’ Again Sir Leonard nodded. ‘Well, this report from Number Thirty-Three states that they arrived with several other people – the names are given – in Nicosia on Friday afternoon from Smyrna. It seems that their arrival was expected by the population, for they received a most effusive welcome. The streets through which they drove were lined with Cypriots, who cheered them with great heartiness, numerous Greek flags decorated the buildings, and altogether their advent had the appearance of a triumphant homecoming. Since Friday, Nicosia has been in a state of excitement. There has been no disorder or anything of that sort, but the people have congregated continually in the streets and other public places, and an air of tension seems to be prevailing.’
Sir Leonard’s manner did not seem to denote that he was particularly interested. He removed the pipe from his mouth; knocked out the dottle into the fireplace.
‘The Greek government will be sending a protest, I expect,’ he commented, ‘at the welcome accorded to the two. They have been declared enemies of the Greek State, and that such a greeting should have been given to them in the crown colony of a friendly country may be regarded as an unfriendly act.’
‘You do not regard the matter as particularly important?’
‘On the contrary, I regard it as one that merits the fullest investigation. It is significant that they should pay two such visits to Cyprus. There is nothing particularly striking in the fact that they are regarded with sympathy by some of the Cypriots of Greek extraction – we already knew they had warm friends on the island – but it is a trifle ominous that practically the whole population should turn out and give them a demonstrative reception. One would have thought that their dismal failure to snatch power with their followers in December would have put them entirely out of court as likely aspirants for power in the future. I want to know; one: what interest the Cypriots have in them; in other words, what does it matter to the inhabitants of a British colony who is in power in Greece; two: why have Plasiras and Bikelas gone to Cyprus; three: why did they receive such a welcome; four: who accompanied them; five: with whom they are staying and for how long six: has there been any rumour of the coming fall of the present Greek government? I think I can answer number six myself with a fairly decided negative, for if there had been any trouble in government circles we should have known about it. Now, Bill, can you answer the other five?’
‘I can answer two of them,’ replied Brien, consulting his report. ‘I can tell you with whom they are staying and who accompanied them to Cyprus.’
‘Doesn’t our agent give any explanation of the welcome or of the interest the Cypriots seem to have in them?’
‘No; she admits that she is puzzled.’
‘But surely, when a whole population is so effusive, someone is bound to divulge the reason for the effusion. You don’t mean to tell me that it is being kept a secret by so many thousands. My dear chap, it isn’t possible.’
‘She thinks that for some reason the Cypriots, at least those of Greek extraction, are antagonistic to the present Greek government. Plasiras and Bikelas are spoken of as deliverers.’
‘Ah! Deliverers of Greece, of course – on the surface – but what if deliverers of Cyprus from British rule is really meant?’
Brien whistled.
‘Do you really think that the Cypriots would welcome a change of owners?’
‘The Greek part of the population would, no doubt. It is possible that Plasiras and Bikelas have hinted that on obtaining power they would work for the cession of Cyprus to Greece. It puzzles me, however, to know what they can expect to gain from such a promise. It isn’t as though the Cypriots are in a position to send a naval or military force to their aid.’ He walked to his desk, and sat down. Unlocking a drawer, he took out a small, leather-bound book, and commenced to turn the pages. ‘Number Thirty-Three,’ he murmured to himself, ‘Barbara Havelock, teacher at the Nicosia High School for Girls. She’s the girl for whose education you took responsibility when her father was killed, isn’t she?’ Brien nodded. ‘She seems to have done pretty good work out there, Bill. Have you ever had any reason to suspect any lack of efficiency on her part since you obtained the job for her?’
‘None at all. Why? Aren’t you satisfied?’
‘Quite. I was only thinking that in a high school her activities are bound to be rather limited. Make a note to get her promoted to an inspectorship of schools, will you? Now for those questions you can answer.’ He locked the book away in the drawer again. ‘Who accompanied Bikelas and Plasiras to Cyprus, and where are they staying or with whom?’
Again Brien consulted the report.
‘General Radoloff, Signor Bruno, Monsieur Doreff, and two secretaries are with them,’ he replied, ‘and they are the guests of Michalis, the wealthy landowner with whom they stayed before.’
‘H’m! Very interesting.’ Sir Leonard leant on his desk and regarded his companion thoughtfully. ‘The affair begins to have great possibilities. General Radoloff and Monsieur Doreff are Bulgarians, very prominent at the moment, and likely to be important members of the next ministry. Signor Bruno, if I mistake not, is the ambitious Italian who nearly caused an upheaval when he was minister at Belgrade two years ago. He seems to have dropped out of diplomatic circles since, which is not to be wondered at. Michalis is the wealthiest man in Cyprus. With the lot of them in association, the situation is most intriguing. I certainly think we shall have to take a hand. Let me see – Cousins is in the United States, Carter is in Paris, Hill is in Madrid, Willingdon is too inexperienced yet to tackle such an important job, and Shannon deserves a rest after his work in Lucerne. By Jove! We are short-handed at the moment; that is, of experts. Cartright is the only man available for the job, and he doesn’t speak Greek, does he?’
Brien shook his head.
‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I am sending him to Brussels and Copenhagen on a rather peculiar affair that I wanted fully investigated before bothering you with it. Of course, if you wish him to go to Cyprus, I’ll countermand the order.’
‘No; send him to Brussels. It will have to be Shannon.’ He pressed one of the numerous buttons under the ledge of his desk. A clerk entered almost at once. ‘Tell Captain Shannon I wish to speak to him,’ he directed. While waiting for the coming of the man for whom he had asked, he accepted from Brien the report from the agent in Cyprus, and glanced through it. A few minutes later the tall, amazingly broad-shouldered man, who was quite the most powerful individual in the Intelligence Service, entered the office, and walked across to Sir Leonard’s desk with that swing which is typical of the well-trained athlete. Although Sir Leonard’s comfortable room is large and lofty, he contrived somehow to make it appear of moderate size. He is over six feet in height, but his mighty shoulders cause him to look shorter. One of the most popular as well as one of the most efficient men in the service, he is as capable mentally as he is powerful physically. His clean-shaven face with its determined, almost aggressive jaw, other well-defined features, and clear grey eyes is exceedingly attractive. As he is thoroughly unassuming and possesses a great sense of humour, it is not difficult to understand why everyone who knows him likes him.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he boomed cheerfully. ‘You sent for me?’
Sir Leonard indicated a chair into which Captain Hugh Shannon sank easily.
‘I intended giving you a rest after your successful work in Lucerne, Shannon,’ observed the chief, ‘but I’m afraid Fate has decided otherwise.’
‘Thank God for that,’ murmured the big man fervently.
Sir Leonard smiled approvingly. The keenness of his assistants, who, as soon as they had accomplished one job, were invariably anxious to be away on another, was one of his greatest delights.
‘Perhaps Helen will not feel quite the same about it,’ he remarked. ‘She will probably think, and quite rightly, that it is time she had you to herself for a while.’
‘There’s no nonsense about Helen, sir,’ returned Shannon. ‘She’s as proud of the service as I am. She knew very well, when she married me, that she would be called upon to make a lot of sacrifices, and she has kept a firm upper lip ever since.’
‘Good girl!’ murmured Brien. ‘You’re a lucky fellow, Hugh.’
‘Don’t I know it, sir,’ agreed Shannon, beaming expansively. ‘She’s one of God’s own. It makes me feel pretty sick sometimes to reflect that, if Sir Leonard hadn’t sent me out to India on that Rahtz and Novar business, I might never have met her.’
‘Things like that are preordained, my dear chap,’ observed Sir Leonard. ‘You were intended for each other, and that’s the end of it. By the way, I’m glad to see her father has been appointed Home Secretary in the Indian government. A very fine fellow, Rainer. It won’t be long before he becomes governor of a province. And now to business. Have you ever been to Cyprus, Shannon?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So much the better. You will not be known to anyone there. I want you to go out at once. You’d better fly to Athens, and cross from there by boat to Famagusta; thence by train to Nicosia – it’s about thirty-six miles, I think. You’re to be a thoroughly unobtrusive visitor, but I’ll get in touch with the High Commissioner, and arrange for you to be made an honorary member of all the clubs. Your main object is to become acquainted with Mr Paul Michalis, who is the greatest landowner and wealthiest man in the colony. He is entertaining Bikelas and Plasiras, the two Greek ex-ministers, who attempted a coup d’état in Athens last December and failed signally. They have been proclaimed enemies of the state by the present Greek government. Yet they make what practically amounts to a formal visit to Nicosia accompanied by two prominent Bulgarians and an Italian firebrand, and are given an enthusiastic welcome from the people of Greek extraction or sympathies. They must have entered Famagusta quietly and without ostentation of any sort, otherwise steps would have been taken to prevent the public reception accorded them. I want you to discover, if possible, what is in the wind. The report from Number Thirty-Three speaks of an air of tension reigning in the capital, and a vague statement that the Cypriots talk of Bikelas and Plasiras as deliverers. Number Thirty-Three is a teacher in the Nicosia High School for Girls and her name is Barbara Havelock. You will get in touch with her by the usual means, but don’t draw her into your activities in any way, or be seen too much with her. It is possible, of course, that there is nothing behind this business, apart from an intense sympathy with Bikelas and Plasiras, but I am of the opinion that there is something much more significant than that in it. This vague talk of deliverers, the fact that they are accompanied by Radoloff, Doreff, and Bruno suggests possibilities which may have tremendous results. We cannot have a Balkan plot hatched on British soil in any case, even if there is no hostile purpose against this country in their scheming.’
A telephone rang. He picked up the receiver of one of the instruments on his desk. ‘Yes, put him through,’ he directed the operator. ‘Read that, and get yourself thoroughly cognisant with the facts,’ he added to Shannon, tossing across the desk the report from the secret agent known as Number Thirty-Three. ‘Hullo! Yes, Wallace speaking … I have just been discussing a report concerning the same affair with Brien … Sent in a protest, have they? I thought they would. I’ll come across.’ He laid down the receiver; smiled at his second in command. ‘It was Spencer,’ he announced. ‘A protest has been received from Greece by the Foreign Office and passed on to him regarding the almost regal reception accorded to Plasiras and Bikelas. I am going round to the Colonial Office.’ He turned to Shannon. ‘Make your arrangements as soon as possible,’ he ordered. ‘Maddison will give you all the information you require concerning the people you are going to watch. Keep in touch daily with us from the moment you arrive in Cyprus. If you find it is necessary to put someone into the household of Michalis, cable at once in number four code.’
A few minutes later a slim man of medium height, carefully, almost fastidiously, attired, crossed Whitehall and entered the portals of the Colonial Office. It is doubtful if anybody who had noticed him would have thought that behind his calm, unruffled exterior was the brilliant brain which supplied the forethought, imagination and acute perception upon which Great Britain depends so tremendously for her safety. He looked more like an idler about town than the famous head of the greatest espionage service in the world.
CHAPTER TWO
A Spot of Bother
The Right Honourable Sir Edwin Robert Spencer, Secretary of State for the Colonies, motioned his visitor to a chair. Sir Leonard accepted it, but refused a cigarette.
‘I gather,’ remarked the colonial secretary, ‘that you are acquainted with the rather queer situation that has arisen in Cyprus.’
‘I am quite well aware of what has happened,’ responded Wallace. ‘In what way do you regard it as a queer situation?’
‘Don’t you? These two ex-ministers of Greece have been exiled from their own country and declared enemies of the State, which means to say that if they set foot in Greece they will be apprehended, tried and probably executed. But the internal affairs of Greece have nothing to do with us. Personally, I consider this protest from Athens exceedingly high-handed. As far as we are concerned, there is no reason why they should not land at Famagusta and stay with a friend at Nicosia and, if a public reception is given them expressive of sympathy, what possible harm can there be in that?’
‘You are losing sight of the fact that we are supposed to be on terms of cordial friendship with the present regime in Greece. As Plasiras and Bikelas are enemies of Greece, and have been received on British soil with every appearance of sympathetic enthusiasm, that, to a sensitive government not too sure of itself, no doubt constitutes an unfriendly act. Thus the protest.’
‘All rubbish!’ grunted the statesman, who was generally more forcible than tactful. ‘I call it behaving in a schoolgirl fashion. It is a pity the Greek government hasn’t something better to do. Of course the Foreign Office is making a big thing of it. Of all the old women who sit in the present cabinet, Ainsley is the worst. He is forever on tenterhooks lest we tread on someone’s corns. I’ve been suave and polite, and explained that the reception to the two was in no way countenanced by the Legislative Council; that, in fact, it seems to have originated as a private welcome, and developed into a public affair through the undoubted sympathy which the Cypriots evince for Messieurs Bikelas and Plasiras.’
Sir Leonard chuckled.
‘Not very tactful,’ he commented.
‘Perhaps not,’ smiled the statesman, ‘but Ainsley can do all the wrapping up he likes. The reply goes from his department, not mine. The reason I wanted to talk to you about the affair is not because I, in any way, regard it as serious, but because Stevenson has sent me such a long note concerning it. Stevenson is the Governor, as perhaps you know. He is one of these over-efficient people, who find specks of dust where there are not any – a splendid man, of course, but fussy. He thinks that there is something serious looming in the background, and asks if he can give Plasiras and Bikelas a hint to move on. How can he do that? It is not a crime to be popular and receive a public greeting, and he certainly seems to have nothing else against them.’
‘Nevertheless,’ remarked Wallace with quiet emphasis, ‘it would be better for Cyprus, I think, if they did move on.’
Sir Edwin Spencer stared at him questioningly for several seconds.
‘Do you know something,’ he asked, ‘that I do not know?’
‘Probably. May I see Stevenson’s note?’ The document was handed to him. He read it through carefully. ‘From this report there appears nothing,’ he observed, as he handed it back, ‘that should have caused him any perturbation. The essential points are missing. They are these: the people who welcomed Plasiras and Bikelas spoke of them, indefinitely it is true, as deliverers. The question, to my mind, is: was the term used because the Cypriots are antagonistic to the present Greek government and consider that Plasiras or Bikelas or both in power would do more good for Greece, or are they, in some manner, hoping that the two are going to encompass their freedom from British rule?
‘The second significant point is that the two Greeks are accompanied on their visit to Paul Michalis by General Radoloff and Monsieur Doreff, both very prominent Bulgarians, and Signor Bruno, the fiery Italian, whose excess of zeal over discretion almost caused a war between Yugoslavia and Italy some time ago.’
The colonial secretary pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.
‘That does alter the situation,’ he commented. ‘Radoloff and Doreff have been very conspicuous in Bulgarian politics lately. I wonder what is in the air.’
‘That is exactly what I intend to find out. I don’t like this talk of deliverers. It may sound rather fantastic to imagine that these ex-ministers contemplate any move against Great Britain, but why should Cypriots, even though they are of Greek blood, be so interested in a change of government in Greece? They are British, not Greek subjects, and whatever happens in Greece can mean absolutely nothing to them. Again, where do Radoloff, Doreff, and Bruno come into the scheme of things? They are hardly likely to be making a tour for their health in company with Plasiras and Bikelas. You can’t very well give instructions to Stevenson to order them to leave the colony without something more definite to go on, but you can order him to see that no further demonstrations take place. No doubt they have called on him by now. I should like to know what they have had to say for themselves. As for the rest, leave it to me. I am sending—’ He stopped abruptly; his eyes being fixed on a large painting of Hong Kong harbour hanging on the wall opposite Sir Edwin Spencer’s desk. ‘I am sending for news,’ he ended emphatically.
The colonial secretary frowned as though puzzled.
‘What do you mean by—’ he commenced.
Sir Leonard placed a finger to his lips to solicit silence. He rose quietly, tiptoed across the room until he was standing directly below the picture; then, drawing up a chair, climbed on it, and lifted the painting away from the wall. A smile flickered momentarily round his lips, though his eyes grew hard in their expression. Resting the heavy frame on his artificial arm, he beckoned to the puzzled statesman, who immediately crossed the room to him. The latter had great difficulty in suppressing an exclamation when he saw that neatly fitted into the wall behind the picture was a microphone. Wallace allowed the heavy frame to fall gently back into place. He signed to Sir Edwin to return to his seat; then sauntered back to his own chair.
‘A very interesting document this,’ he remarked, apropos of nothing in particular, the comment being made to delude the unseen listener into the belief that he had been engaged in reading some communication or other. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll take it along to Masterson. There are a few questions about it I should like to ask him.’
‘By all means,’ returned the cabinet minister, playing up to him admirably.
Wallace leant towards him until his lips were very nearly touching the statesman’s ear.
‘Carry on as though you did not know that thing was there,’ he breathed.
He left the room, and walked along to the office of the permanent undersecretary, Sir James Masterson. There he told a greatly perturbed and indignant individual what he had discovered. Sir James showed signs of an anxiety to rush off, and make drastic investigations – forty years in the calm, unhurried surroundings of government offices had not altered a naturally fiery temperament. Wallace calmed him down.
‘We won’t find out anything if you dash about like a dog chasing rabbits,’ he observed. ‘What is behind the wall on which that picture of Hong Kong hangs?’
Masterson thought a moment.
‘Why, it must be the room shared by Barton, Marsh and Fellowes, three of the private secretaries,’ he declared, and laughed. ‘You’re not going to suggest—’
‘No,’ interrupted Sir Leonard, ‘I am not going to suggest that one of them has erected a microphone in order to listen in to discussions in the colonial secretary’s room.’
‘If, as you say, the instrument is behind the picture of Hong Kong harbour, I can’t see how anyone can listen in unless he is actually in the secretaries’ room.’
‘Dear me!’ murmured Wallace, ‘you’re a little bit behind the times, aren’t you? I suppose a fellow who is shut within the walls of a government office most of his life does miss noticing progress in the outside world. But they let you out sometimes, don’t they?’ Sir James Masterson vouchsafed no reply to such rank flippancy. Indeed his look rather suggested that he was shocked that a man of Wallace’s high position should sink so low. Sir Leonard smiled cheerfully at him. ‘If you could procure me a plan of this building,’ he suggested, ‘it would probably save me a good deal of trouble.’
‘I have one here.’
‘Excellent.’
Sir James went to a cupboard; took therefrom a large plan which he unrolled and spread on his desk. Together they studied it, the undersecretary pointing out the statesman’s room and those in its neighbourhood. Before long Sir Leonard gave vent to a soft exclamation. His finger traced a line from the office of the Secretary of State up to the roof.
‘An airshaft,’ he commented; ‘exactly what I was looking for. It’s disused now, of course, and probably forgotten, but the enterprising fellow who inserted that microphone found out about it. The wires no doubt run up to the roof, where he sits comfortably and safely listening in to the most private conversations.’
‘How could he have obtained access to Sir Edwin’s room?’ queried the outraged undersecretary.
‘That is to be found out. And,’ Wallace added grimly, ‘I propose to set about the job at once. May I use your private phone?’
‘Of course.’
Sir Leonard rang through to his own headquarters, and instructed the operator to connect him with the mess room. This was a large apartment in the basement of the building, comfortably furnished and containing a buffet, reserved as a rule for the use of senior members of the Intelligence Service. It was under the charge of an ex-sergeant of the artillery and a retired policeman, both of unexceptionable characters and records. The latter answered the telephone.
‘Is Mr Cartright or Captain Shannon there?’ asked Sir Leonard.
‘Captain Shannon is, sir.’
‘Ask him to join me at once in Sir James Masterson’s room at the Colonial Office.’
‘Very well, sir.’
In less than five minutes the young giant was shown in. Wallace explained.
‘You and I are going to investigate, Shannon.’ He added, ‘You may have an opportunity to work off a little of your superfluous energy.’
‘I suppose the blighter hasn’t another microphone connected in this room, sir,’ hazarded his assistant.
Sir Leonard shook his head.
‘No,’ he declared, ‘I had a good look round when I entered.’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Sir James with the air of a man who has made a great discovery. ‘Now I understand why you were wandering about as though looking for something. You got on my nerves a bit I must confess – in fact I thought you a trifle – er – impolite. Sorry!’
Wallace laughed.
‘Don’t apologise, Masterson. I suppose my conduct did seem a little cool. Now will you go along to the colonial secretary’s room, and start a discussion with him about something that sounds important but isn’t. I hope to catch the delinquent red-handed.’
The undersecretary nodded, and obeyed. Sir Leonard and Shannon made a further study of the plan, ascertaining the exact position on the roof where the ventilating shaft commenced. They then made their way up the stairs, preferring not to use the lift. On the top floor were two ladders, one at each end of the corridor, connecting with the roof above. They chose that which they had calculated would be farther from the man, if indeed there was anybody up there listening in to the colonial secretary’s room. Sir Leonard went first. He raised the trapdoor very gently and, cautiously lifting his head through the opening, surveyed the scene. Close by was a chimney stack, a little farther away was another, in fact it would not be very much exaggerated to describe the roof as a forest of chimney pots, so many were there. He saw no sign of a man or men and, stepping through, motioned to Shannon to follow him.
Presently they stood hidden behind the stack; then, taking advantage of all the cover afforded them, went softly towards the spot where Wallace calculated their quarry should be situated. They caught sight of him at the same time. He was leaning on one of the chimneys in an attitude of ease. On his head was fastened a pair of earphones, the wires connecting them with the microphone below, running into the mouth of a ventilator. He was a big fellow wearing the regulation government uniform. Shannon sighed softly to himself as his eyes fell on him; he was hoping, it must be confessed, that the man would make a fight of it. Something appeared to alarm him, for suddenly he straightened himself and looked round. A cry of astonishment and fear broke from him and, snatching off the earphones, he dashed them on to the roof, and made a desperate rush for the other trapdoor, convinced without doubt that it would be useless to stay and attempt to bluff out the situation. Shannon was after him like a greyhound. Anticipating his intentions, the Secret Service man went straight for the trapdoor; succeeded in cutting the fellow off from his objective. Then commenced a regular game of hide-and-seek round the chimney stacks. Sir Leonard stood and watched, content to bar any attempt the man might make to reach the other descent.
For a while Shannon was quite cleverly baulked. Once or twice they approached perilously near to the edge of the roof, and Wallace was impelled to shout a warning to his assistant. At length the latter feinted to go one way, promptly went the other and, throwing himself forward, tackled his quarry in rugby fashion. He caught and brought him down with a crash, but the fellow had no intention of giving in without a struggle. He resisted desperately with a pluck that was worthy of a better cause; but, although a big man himself, he was not the equal of the young man whose strength was the admiration of his colleagues and the fear of opponents who had, to their great regret, attempted to measure theirs against his. Before long Shannon had rendered his antagonist helpless and very nearly lifeless. He took him by the collar of his coat, and dragged him along to Sir Leonard, depositing him at the latter’s feet in the manner of a dog that has retrieved a stick for its master. Wallace looked down at the purple countenance of the gasping victim of a Shannon hug, and sighed.
‘Isn’t it a pity to think,’ he commented, ‘that there are, among our own people, a number who are ready to sell their country and their souls for paltry gain. Thank God there are not many of them! This fellow was probably once a soldier with a good record, otherwise he wouldn’t have been given a government job. He’s allowed himself to be tempted, no doubt, by a worm of a dago, and thrown everything away – pension, job, all. Good work, Shannon.’
‘It might have been more interesting, sir,’ returned that burly individual. ‘Still it wasn’t a bad spot of bother, everything considered.’
The man still lay breathing painfully. He was obviously in poor condition, and the treatment he had received had taken all the stuffing out of him. Shannon dragged him to the trapdoor and, letting him down at the full length of his arms, dropped him unceremoniously through. The Secret Service man followed; stood guard over him until Sir Leonard joined him. The chief had stayed behind to examine the earphones and detach the wire. The sound of Shannon’s captive being loudly deposited on the floor had brought several clerks, both male and female, from their rooms. Their exclamations and remarks told Shannon that the man’s name was Wright, and that he was one of the night watchmen. On Sir Leonard’s arrival, he sent the congregation, as Shannon described them, back to their rooms, with the exception of a young man who was dispatched to find a couple of orderlies. The latter, who knew Sir Leonard by sight, choked back the astonished ejaculations that rose to their lips, and lifting Wright between them, at his command, helped the man to a lift, thence along to the room of the Secretary of State. Leaving Shannon outside in charge of the prisoner, Sir Leonard arrived. The statesman and the undersecretary eyed him eagerly as he entered.
‘Have you been successful?’ asked the former.
Wallace nodded.
‘We were lucky enough to catch him at it,’ he informed them. ‘He is one of your night watchmen, a man named Wright.’
‘Good heavens!’ ejaculated Masterson. ‘He has been here for a considerable time, and I would have said he was a most reliable man. He came to the Colonial Office from the army, having served during the War in the tenth Hants.’
‘I thought he probably had,’ nodded Sir Leonard. ‘He looks like an ex-soldier.’
‘What has he to say for himself?’ demanded the colonial secretary sternly.
‘Nothing at present,’ smiled Wallace. ‘I am afraid he came up against one of the most powerful men in London, and is taking a little time to recover in consequence.’
Sir Edwin Spencer, who knew Shannon quite well, laughed quietly.
‘Do you mean to say,’ he asked, ‘that he tried conclusions with Shannon?’
‘Well, it would hardly be correct to say that he tried conclusions. As a matter of fact, he made desperate efforts to avoid him; they played quite an interesting little game round the chimney pots before Shannon caught him, but Shannon is not only extraordinarily powerful, he is quite the fittest man I know.’
‘All you fellows are as hard as nails I should imagine,’ commented the statesman. ‘I suppose you have to be in your job.’
‘We wouldn’t last long, if we were not,’ returned Sir Leonard a trifle grimly; ‘but Shannon surpasses everyone for sheer physical fitness. In fact, he is so fit and strong that it is positively necessary for him to let off energy every now and again. Well, I suppose Wright has recovered sufficiently by now to answer questions. Would you like to hear what he has to say for himself, or will you leave it to me?’
‘No; I’d like to know why he has been such a fool. Is he married, Masterson?’
The undersecretary nodded.
‘He is,’ he sighed, ‘and has a fairly large family, I believe.’
‘God help them! Why do men do such foolish things when they have families depending on them? He had a good post, with the promise of a pension to follow, and now –’ He shrugged his shoulders, and turned to Sir Leonard. ‘Tell me, Wallace,’ he urged; ‘how in the name of all that’s wonderful did you know there was a microphone behind that painting?’
‘It wasn’t very difficult,’ replied Sir Leonard. ‘Sometimes when a microphone is in an enclosed space or there is something in front of it, sound comes back at one. Have you never noticed it?’ Both his companions shook their heads. ‘While I was talking to you it seemed to me that there was a faint echo. It puzzled me at first until I realised what was causing it. If you listen carefully now, you will hear it. Are you listening, Sir Edwin?’ he went on, speaking with great distinctness, ‘and you, Masterson?’
Sure enough, a faint echo of his voice reached their ears.
‘I would never have noticed it,’ confessed the Secretary of State, ‘if you had not drawn my attention to it.’
‘Which goes to prove,’ smiled Wallace, ‘that you are not observant.’ He sank into a chair, and commenced to fill his pipe, using his single hand with almost fascinating celerity and skill. ‘Do you mind telling Shannon to bring in Wright?’ he asked Sir James Masterson.
The night watchman presently stood, a great, hulking figure, with bent head, before the Secretary of State. Sir Edwin regarded him very sternly, but on the face of Sir James Masterson, who had sunk into a chair on the minister’s left, could be seen a certain amount of pity. Sir Leonard Wallace, lounging in an armchair on the other side of the desk, seemed to be the least interested of the three, but his eyes were keenly studying the man.
‘I think,’ remarked the statesman, ‘that your best course, Wright, will be to make a clean breast of everything.’
There was silence for a few seconds; then the fellow raised his head. He looked abjectly miserable.
‘I suppose it ain’t much good saying I’m sorry, sir,’ he muttered huskily, ‘but I am. I – I’d never have done it only – only – Well, you see, it was like this; I’ve always been a – an inquisitive kind of chap, and, when I saw a microphone and headphones in a shop cheap, I bought ’em and set ’em up in various places for fun like. I used to listen in to what other people were saying, not for any bad purpose, as you might say, but out of curiosity. It interested me to use the things and—’
‘You are not trying to persuade us into believing that you were operating in the cause of science?’ murmured Sir Edwin sarcastically.
Wright looked at him for a moment as though not quite certain how to take the remark, lowered his eyes again and, licking his lips as though they were dry, continued:
‘No, sir. I don’t know nothing about science, but I’m keen on wireless and loudspeakers and such. I didn’t mean no harm. I found out that there was a ventilating shaft running down from the roof to this room, and one night, when I was on duty, I fixed the microphone in here. I only had to take out a couple of bricks what had been put in to close up the hole in the wall and plastered over. I thought I’d like to hear what you gentlemen talk about. I – I’d often wondered. I wasn’t going to repeat what I heard.’
‘Are you quite sure?’ asked Sir James Masterson, who seemed inclined to believe the man.
Wright looked at him eagerly.
‘Take my oath, sir,’ he replied. ‘I would rather have me tongue cut out than give any information to – to unauthorised people about what went on in here.’
‘Quite forgetful of the fact,’ drawled the Secretary of State, ‘that you yourself were an unauthorised person and were committing a very serious breach of discipline as well as betraying trust. You were selected for your post here because your record and character were considered good enough to merit reliance being placed on you. You have repaid the confidence of those who selected you by a rank display of misconduct which merits severe punishment. I have nothing to do with selections or dismissals, but I presume that Sir James Masterson will give the necessary orders regarding your case to your direct superiors. All I wish to say is that you have rendered yourself liable to prosecution under the Official Secrets Act, and, if you are merely summarily dismissed, you can regard yourself as extremely fortunate.’
‘I think,’ observed the soft-hearted undersecretary, ‘that since he has made a clean breast of his – er – unprincipled curiosity, we may waive any consideration of prosecution we would otherwise have had. In losing his post as, of course, he must, without references and no hope of pension, he is perhaps being sufficiently punished.’
Shannon, who was standing behind Wright, caught the expression on his chief’s face, and smiled slightly. Sir Leonard removed the pipe from his mouth; rose to his feet languidly.
‘I presume, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘that, as you have made up your minds regarding this fellow, there is no more to be said. I will leave him to you.’
‘Just a minute, Sir Leonard,’ begged the Secretary of State. ‘We should like to know, of course, if you have any objection to the procedure Sir James Masterson has suggested.’
A fleeting smile passed quickly across Sir Leonard’s face. Abruptly he placed himself directly in front of Wright; his steel-grey eyes bored deeply into those of the night watchman, causing them to drop in confusion, or perhaps it was fear.
‘Do you repeat,’ he demanded, ‘that you bought and fixed up the microphone of your own accord?’
‘I do, sir,’ came huskily from the other, after a moment of hesitation.
‘You were not persuaded, bribed, coerced, or forced to take such an action?’
‘No, sir.’
‘A certain man or men did not come to you, give you the microphone, and ask you to listen in to conversations held in this room?’
‘N-no, sir.’
‘You are quite certain that your memory is not misleading you? You did not have a conversation yesterday or the day before with a foreigner who persuaded you into doing this thing? You did not take advantage of the fact that yesterday was Sunday to install the microphone?’
The Secretary of State, Sir James Masterson, and Captain Shannon listened to the battery of questions with great interest. The first two noticed that Wright’s face had gone a sickly white. The watchman was visibly agitated; he looked a very much frightened man.
‘I tell you,’ he persisted, but in a voice that could hardly be heard, ‘that I bought the microphone myself, and only put it in because I was inquisitive like, and wanted to hear what was being talked about.’
‘Where did you purchase the microphone?’
‘In – in a shop in – in Lambeth.’
Sir Leonard looked him up and down, an expression of the greatest contempt on his face. ‘You’re a liar!’ came in scornful, biting words from his lips. He turned to Sir Edwin Spencer. ‘I might have been disposed to believe his story,’ he added. ‘I say “might”, because it is unlikely, but, as it happens, I do not believe a word of it. The headphones he was using on the roof are stamped with the name of a firm in Athens. They came from Greece!’
CHAPTER THREE
The Tale of a Microphone
Sir Leonard’s announcement was received in varying ways by the men in the room. The colonial secretary’s face became harsh and full of contempt as he gazed at the culprit, Masterson appeared shocked, Shannon showed no particular emotion, but edged closer to Wright as though anticipating that the fellow might make a sudden break for freedom. He did nothing of the sort, however; seemed utterly crushed. Wallace eyed his drooping form for some seconds in silence. Then at last he spoke again.
‘Do you still hold to the same story?’ he asked. There was no answer. ‘A few minutes ago,’ went on the Chief of the Intelligence Department, ‘Sir Edwin Spencer advised you to make a clean breast of everything. You will be wise, if you take the opportunity I am giving you now of renouncing your lies and telling the truth.’ Wright continued to maintain a stubborn silence. Sir Leonard slightly shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very well, there is nothing for it but trial for you under the Official Secrets Act, with, of course, imprisonment to follow.’
At that the fellow looked up at the slim, upright man facing him.
‘Not that, sir,’ he pleaded hoarsely; ‘for God’s sake don’t send me to prison. Until now I’ve been straight, and—’
‘Are you prepared to confess?’
Wright was silent for a little while; then he slowly nodded his head.
‘Yes,’ he muttered, ‘if – if you promise not to send me to jail.’
‘I make no conditions,’ returned Sir Leonard sternly. ‘What is done with you is entirely at the discretion of Sir James Masterson, but, if you present us with another bundle of falsehoods, I shall advise your prosecution most emphatically. On the other hand, if I feel you have told the truth, I shall make no objection if he decides to take no further steps against you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ muttered Wright. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything. First of all, tell me: did you serve in Salonika during the War?’
The apparently irrelevant question surprised Spencer and Masterson. Wright, however, did not appear to regard it as inconsequent. He had reached the conclusion that the man examining him had a deadly brain that seemed capable of ferreting out even one’s innermost thoughts; it would be useless to attempt to deceive him. He told Wallace, therefore, that he had served in Salonika.
‘I thought so,’ nodded the Chief of the Secret Service. ‘I knew, of course, that your battalion was there. Did you, by any chance, meet your wife there?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Ah! That explains a lot. It was through your wife then, I presume, who is a Greek woman, that you met the man or men who have succeeded in plunging you into this unpleasant situation?’ Wright was silent for so long that Sir Leonard repeated the question, adding: ‘It is no use your hesitating. Either make a clean breast of the whole business or prepare to stand your trial, when you must expect everything to be dragged from you in open court.’
Wright appeared to have a great fear of imprisonment. The idea of being tried by a judge and jury with perhaps two or three year’s hard labour to follow dismayed him. He told the whole story now of his fall from the path of rectitude without faltering. In fact he spoke so quickly that Sir Leonard, who had returned to his chair, had on two or three occasions to pull him up. It appeared that, on his marriage, his wife had presented him with several hundred pounds with which he had bought a house and furnished it. Unfortunately, with the unkind practise peculiar to some women, she had never allowed him to forget the fact that her money had provided the home? As she was also in the habit of inviting compatriots of hers, who happened to be visiting England, to stay at the house during their sojourn, Wright had quickly found that he was more of a lodger, and not a very popular one at that, than anything else.
During the previous year, the house had been visited on several occasions by two men, one of whom was a Greek and the other a Cypriot, who appeared to have a considerable amount of somewhat mysterious business in London. They had arrived again on Saturday evening. Before Wright had started off for his nightly duty, they had taken him into a public house, and had insisted on treating him, behaving altogether as though they were bosom friends of his instead of comparative strangers. The ex-soldier, far from suspecting ulterior designs, was flattered by their attentions, which they had continued on Sunday morning. It was then that they asked him if it were possible for him to listen to conferences or discussions held in the room of the Secretary of State for the Colonies. He had, according to his own story, replied that it was not, and had vehemently asserted that he would not attempt anything of that nature even if it were possible. They had plied him with drink after drink; then had asked him if he could install a microphone in the room, and listen in to conversations from a place where he would be perfectly safe. If he would oblige them in that manner for a week or two, they would pay him three hundred pounds. At this point in his narrative, Wright took pains to make it appear to his listeners that he had time after time resisted the temptation. He had only fallen when the drink and the thought of possessing three hundred pounds, which would mean independence, as he expressed it, from his wife’s hold over him, had proved too much for him. He did not explain in what manner the possession of three hundred pounds would render him independent of the woman. Sir Leonard did not trouble to inquire, curtly cutting short the man’s efforts to show how he had at first resisted their insidious temptations, and bidding him to continue his story.
