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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: Wallace of the Secret Service
- Sprache: Englisch
BOOK 1 in the Wallace of the Secret Service Series Chief of the Intelligence Department Sir Leonard Wallace - bearing always the hall mark of coolness and wit - is up to his earlobes in trouble. Summoned by the Viceroy of India, he makes a rapid flight to India to investigate the mysterious death of British officer Major Elliot and the theft of some very important dispatches.
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Seitenzahl: 507
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
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The Mystery of Tunnel 51
ALEXANDER WILSON
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Simla
A jarring of brakes, and the long train gradually slowed down and stopped in Kalka station at the foot of the Simla Hills. There was the usual conglomeration of noise and bustle always associated with the arrival of a train in an Indian station. Bearers hurried about at the behest of their masters; fruit vendors, cake vendors and purveyors of chota hazri kept up the shrill cry which is so confusing to the untutored ear, and the babel of talk from the native travellers completed the din.
The door of a first-class compartment opened and a tall, lean, weary-looking man, with a small suitcase in one hand and a haversack on his back, stepped on to the platform. Immediately he was surrounded by a clamouring mob of carriers, but waving them imperiously aside he stepped up to the stationmaster, who was giving instructions to an underling, and, waiting until the official was disengaged, he enquired if there was any possibility of booking a seat in the rail motor for Simla.
‘Certainly, sir,’ replied that worthy. ‘Will you come this way and I’ll fix you up. There are not very many people travelling upwards now – all the rush is for the plains.’
They entered the office, and the matter was soon completed, the tall traveller giving his name as Major Elliott of the ‘Sappers and Miners’.
‘Is there time to have breakfast here?’ he asked.
‘Well, there is, for a hasty one, sir, but the rail motor stops at Barog about nine for breakfast and you can take your time there.’
‘Then I’ll wait – Thanks!’
‘What about your baggage, sir? Is your servant booking it through?’
Major Elliott smiled.
‘I have no servant with me,’ he replied, ‘and this is my baggage.’
He indicated the haversack and small suitcase. The stationmaster raised his eyebrows, but made no comment. So wishing him ‘good morning’ Elliott walked out of the office and strolled along in the direction of the rail motor. He stopped where the small car was drawn up, and stood for some minutes looking ahead towards where the mountains rose, which were the Mecca of so many jaded Europeans during the hot season. A look of relief came over his face, and he sighed with the satisfaction of a man who has done his duty and done that duty well.
‘At last!’ he murmured. ‘Ten months’ drudgery, and now relief and a little rest!’
He was about to take his seat in the rail motor, when a hand clapped him on the back and a boisterous voice exclaimed:
‘Elliott, by all that’s wonderful!’
He turned sharply, and the next moment was shaking hands with a big, burly man whose good-humoured face was lit up with pleasure.
‘Hallo, Willoughby, where did you spring from?’
‘I haven’t done any springing,’ said the boisterous one. ‘I am merely a lone male going up the hills in the hope of bringing back a memsahib. But you? Nobody has seen or heard of you for a year! Where the devil have you been?’
‘That is a secret,’ said Elliott, ‘which I am not at present at liberty to divulge!’
‘Always the mystery man, eh Elliott?’ grinned Willoughby. ‘Righto! But having been the first to find you, I claim to be the first to hear all about your disappearance. Going up?’
‘Yes, for a few days, I suppose. How long are you staying in Simla?’
‘Only till Monday. Simla will be tame now the Viceroy and all the big-wigs have returned to the plains.’
Elliott gripped Willoughby’s arm so tightly that the latter looked at him in surprise.
‘Did you say the Viceroy had come down?’
‘I did. He came down yesterday.’
‘Damnation!’
Willoughby stared at his friend questioningly.
‘His Excellency’s movements seem to annoy you,’ he said. ‘You weren’t going to see him, were you?’
‘I was!’
Willoughby whistled and stared harder than ever.
‘What a pity he didn’t know!’ he said sarcastically. ‘He might have waited for you!’
Elliott shrugged his shoulders, then:
‘Perhaps he would have done,’ he said.
His friend looked as if he were not quite sure of the Major’s sanity; then with a roar of laughter he gave him another pat on the back and said:
‘You’re the queerest fellow I ever met. Come and take your seat; we’ll soon be off.’
Elliott hesitated.
‘I don’t know whether to go up now or carry on to Delhi,’ he said, almost to himself; and then apparently making up his mind, he added: ‘Oh well, there’s bound to be a message, so perhaps I had better go up.’
Five minutes later the little rail motor drew out of the station, and was soon climbing up the mountains on its way to Simla.
Those who are making the journey to the famous hill station for the first time find a peculiar fascination in the trip. On all sides rise jagged heights and densely wooded slopes; now the train is climbing a steep incline, now running through a narrow tunnel, or again along a ledge from which the traveller looks down hundreds of feet into a valley below. As one rises higher and higher the panorama spread before one becomes more and more magnificent, and after a while one feels hemmed in from the outside world by the heights which rise all round. The air becomes cooler and sharper, and those who have not troubled to discard the thin clothes of the plains for something warmer begin to shiver and regret their lack of foresight. Tiny little stations are passed on the way at each of which a signalman waits to show if the line is clear. Halfway up there is a beautiful little spot called Barog, where a first-class dining room gladdens the traveller’s heart and reminds him that the rarefied atmosphere has reborn an appetite which the hot weather on the plains had apparently destroyed. Sixty miles of climbing and circling the hills brings the train at last to Simla, with its steep roads, its beautiful scenery, its rickshas, which are the only means of conveyance, and its many and varied races, tribes and religions.
From Kalka to Barog neither Elliott nor Willoughby spoke much. The former appeared to be deep in thought and Willoughby instinctively refrained from breaking in upon his meditations. But as soon as they had breakfasted and had both lighted cigarettes, Elliott cast off the cloak of reserve in which he had hitherto enveloped himself, and for the rest of the journey the two friends found much to discuss, so that they were quite surprised when the motor ran into Summer Hill station, which is the official station of Simla.
‘I think I had better alight here,’ said Elliott. ‘The sooner I get to Viceregal Lodge the better I shall be pleased.’
He shook hands with Willoughby and, renewing a promise to call on the latter and his wife as soon as circumstances permitted, stepped down from the car and made his way to the stationmaster’s office where he asked for a ricksha to be sent for. This was soon procured and he was presently on his way to the Lodge.
As he left the station he noticed a tall, dark man, with a decided Semitic cast of countenance, lounging at the door of the waiting room and watching him intently. Somehow the face seemed familiar, but try as he would, he could not place it. The man, apparently noticing the interest Elliot showed in him, moved hastily away, and presently disappeared.
‘I wonder where I have seen that fellow before,’ muttered the sapper. ‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter! It’s not likely that I have been shadowed up here! Still one never knows.’
He lit a cigarette and presently forgot the Jewish-looking man in his enjoyable contemplation of the beauties of Simla.
CHAPTER TWO
A Confidential Discussion
Perched right on the top of a hill, Viceregal Lodge stands in an imposing position and the view from its many windows, is glorious. During the season it is the hub of the official and social life of the hill capital and many great national secrets have been whispered inside those walls, which have housed so many successive viceroys.
When Elliott reached it, it wore a dignified, restful aspect, which would have immediately told him, if he had not already known, that the man who controlled the destinies of the Indian Empire was not in residence. A solitary sentry stood at the gates, and he saluted the Major as though he regarded the latter’s advent as rather unusual. A servant showed him into an office where two Indian clerks were seated engaged in animated conversation. They looked up at his entry and one, who appeared to be the senior, said in a supercilious tone:
‘What can I do for you?’
He looked rather disparagingly at Elliott’s travel-worn appearance, which the Major was quick to notice and resent. The latter coolly seated himself.
‘I am Major Elliott,’ he said. ‘Is there any message for me?’
The clerk seemed galvanised as if by an electric shock. He stood up and bowed.
‘Sir,’ he said, no longer supercilious, ‘I have instructions with regard to you. Will you be so good as to come with me. Sir Henry Muir, His Excellency’s Private Secretary, awaits you.’
He led the Major along a corridor, up some richly carpeted stairs, and knocked on a door halfway along another corridor. A deep voice answered, and the clerk opened the door and announced:
‘Major Elliott!’ and withdrew.
The sapper entered a room tastefully furnished, but which had the look of an office. It was lighted by two large windows and in the centre stood a beautifully carved desk at which a man was seated. He rose and came towards Elliott as the latter entered the room, and showed himself to be a small, alert man of about thirty-five. He wore pince-nez, but they failed to hide the keen, penetrating eyes behind them. His hair was greying at the temples and he had the bearing of a man of quick decisions and authority. He strode quickly to Elliott, his hand outstretched in welcome. ‘My dear Elliott,’ he said. ‘At last!’
‘Sir Henry Muir of all people!’ said Elliott, warmly returning the hand-clasp. ‘This is a greater pleasure than I expected.’
‘Then you knew His Excellency had returned to Delhi?’ asked Sir Henry, pushing a chair towards him and reseating himself at the desk.
‘Yes, I heard it at Kalka. I almost decided to go on to Delhi, but guessed there would be instructions for me here.’
‘I’m glad you came,’ said Sir Henry, ‘otherwise I should have been cooped up here for a few days longer and I am not a great lover of Simla.’
‘Then you waited specially for me?’ asked Elliott.
‘I did. The Viceroy’s instructions were to await your arrival and accompany you straight to Delhi. I suppose you’ll want a day’s rest after all your travels, so I’ll make arrangements for us to leave tomorrow evening and go through by the Calcutta express.’
‘I’m ready to travel tonight if you wish.’
‘Nonsense! We’re not altogether heartless, you know. I’ll have a room prepared for you here, and no doubt you’ll be glad of a bath and change right away!’
‘Thanks, I shall. You must think me pretty cool walking in like a scarecrow.’
Sir Henry laughed.
‘Quite a tidy-looking scarecrow. You surprise me – I expected a totally different-looking personage, and you turn up almost brand new.’
He rang a bell, and, to the bearer who entered, gave instructions in rapid Urdu. The bearer bowed and noiselessly went out. Sir Henry gazed intently at his companion, and noted the haggard, worn look on his face and the tired eyes.
‘You’ve had a pretty thick time of it, haven’t you?’ he asked sympathetically.
‘Well, it hasn’t been a bed of roses,’ replied the soldier. ‘Ten months of strain doesn’t improve one’s looks, but I’ve completed the job I went to do, and that’s my satisfaction.’
Sir Henry dropped his voice.
‘Did you have any trouble in getting back? Any attempts to rob you?’
‘No, though I’ve thought myself shadowed several times. Of course I was watched on the frontier, and three attempts made to assassinate me.’
‘Good Lord!’
Elliott laughed.
‘I remained too wide awake for them, however. But that’s nothing – I expected it! I had to shoot one fellow, though, but he might have been an ordinary thief.’
‘What was he?’
‘A Pathan.’
‘H’m! And the plans—?’
‘Are quite intact and as safe as houses. I carry them in a case under my shirt, and they’ve never left me night or day.’
‘Good!’
At that point the bearer re-entered to announce that the room and bath were ready. Sir Henry rose with his guest and walked with him to the door.
‘As soon as you’re ready we’ll have lunch,’ he said.
Elliott thanked him and withdrew.
After luncheon the two men returned to Sir Henry’s study and over some excellent cigars Elliott gave an account of his ten months’ wanderings.
‘The plans are complete in every way,’ he said. ‘I went over the same ground two or three times to make certain there could be no mistake. Each pass is marked with full information as to when it is open and when not. All our defences and fortifications are down to the minutest detail. The notes contained on my report are exhaustive and I flatter myself that the map is the most complete that could possibly be drawn.’
‘Splendid!’ said Sir Henry. ‘If all we hear about the activities of the Russian spies is true, they would possibly give a fortune to possess that case of yours.’
‘Then I’m glad I’m back. But honestly I think the Bolshevik spy scare is a bit exaggerated, don’t you? I did not see one man whom any stretch of imagination could convert into a spy.’
‘What about the attempts at assassinating you?’
‘Nothing to do with spies. You must remember that I was compelled to go into some pretty sticky places, and the folk up there regard a murder or two as deeds well done!’
‘H’m, I’m not so sure that there wasn’t something behind it. Did you search the Pathan you shot?’
Elliott carefully removed his cigar ash.
‘Yes, but there wasn’t a scrap of paper to tell me anything. One curious fact struck me, however: he had two hundred rupees on him in notes.’
Sir Henry looked at the other sharply.
‘That’s an interesting item,’ he said; ‘one does not expect a fellow of his type to carry a large amount of money about with him. He may have been paid that sum to kill you’
‘Well, he failed, and I’m back in civilisation now, thank goodness.’
There was silence for some time; then Muir leant closer towards the other and spoke quietly.
‘We cannot afford to take any risks even now,’ he said, ‘and I am going to keep as close as a leech to you all the way to Delhi. Three times during the last three months there have been attempts at burglary at the Secretariat and I am firmly convinced that on each occasion it was the work of Russian Bolshevik spies. Russia has her eyes set on India now more than she ever had, and the country is overrun with her agents.’
Major Elliott stretched back luxuriously in his chair, and smiled.
‘You’ve still got it badly, Sir Henry,’ he said. ‘If I remember correctly you have always been rather prone to the Russian menace. Why should Russia, more than any other nation, hunger for India? Surely their internal troubles must keep them fully occupied without that.’
‘But think what India would mean to Russia Why, this country would be a Godsend to a nation like that. The possibilities to her would be immense – stupendous.’
‘I know all that, but then she is not in a condition even to consider India, much less make a grasp at her.’
‘One cannot tell what Russia is in a condition to do,’ said Sir Henry portentously. ‘She may have resources which we never dream of, and I do think that at present there is a very decided danger from her, and that this country is full of her agents gleaning information from every possible source. I am not alone in my opinion. The Viceroy shares it with me!’
Elliott shrugged his shoulders and gazed reflectively at the end of his cigar.
‘You may be right,’ he said, ‘and of course every precaution should be taken, but personally I think the greatest trouble India is suffering from just now is the unfortunate misunderstandings that exist between her own peoples.’
‘Oh, those!’ Sir Henry waved his hand contemptuously. ‘They are nothing! In time the country will settle down and there will be nothing but perfect amity between all those who are now at loggerheads. I think I can speak with authority on that point.’
CHAPTER THREE
A Midnight Visit
That night the two men visited a theatrical performance at the Gaiety Theatre, and afterwards went to the Club where Major Elliott met several acquaintances.
It was late when they returned to Viceregal Lodge, and as Elliott undressed for bed he felt tired and looked forward with some degree of pleasure to a really good night’s rest, a luxury which he had not enjoyed for months.
He got into bed and was almost immediately asleep. He awoke a couple of hours later with a feeling that he was in danger. He lay perfectly quiet and listened, but not a sound disturbed the stillness and presently, thinking he had been dreaming, he turned on his side. But at that moment there was a thud and he felt something touch his back. He fell rather than sprang out of bed and waited. He now heard the sibilant hissing of an indrawn breath and knew that in turning in the bed he had saved his life, for what he had felt was a hand containing a knife which had stabbed at the place where he had been lying.
For some moments there was no sound and Elliott gradually, carefully, felt for the switch of the electric light. He had just reached it when something bounded through the air, and the next moment he was fighting for his life with a practically naked creature, whose body was oiled to an extent that made a grip almost impossible. Elliott searched for and found an arm that was obviously raised to strike, then commenced a terrible struggle. Backwards and forwards the two went, their breath coming in great gasps. Two or three articles of furniture were knocked over, and presently, with a crash, they fell to the floor.
Elliott felt his hand slipping from his opponent’s wrist. The latter, though apparently small, was a man of immense strength and was obviously getting the upper hand. The Major lost his hold, the arm was once again raised to strike, and at that moment the door was flung open and a flood of light lit up the scene. The intruder sprang for the open window, and as he disappeared Sir Henry – for he it was who had entered – fired. He ran to the window and looked out just as the man reached the ground by way of a tree that rose close by. Again he fired, but the dim light spoilt his aim and the ruffian disappeared. Muir quickly returned to Elliott, who was rising rather shakily from the floor.
‘Phew!’ gasped the latter. ‘That was a near thing. I should have been a dead man if you hadn’t turned up, Sir Henry.’
He sat limply on the edge of the bed. Muir walked to the door and called loudly for whisky and sodas, which presently forthcoming, he mixed two stiff drinks and giving one to Elliott, took the other himself.
‘So they’re still after you!’ he said. ‘Thank God your room was close to mine, otherwise I would never have heard a sound. That little brute was a hillman, up to all the tricks of the trade. It never occurred to me that that tree might be used as a means of entrance. Those fellows are as agile as monkeys.’
Elliott took a long drink.
‘That’s better,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘I shall be jolly glad when these plans are handed over. I didn’t expect to be interfered with here!’
‘The question is, who employed that little devil?’
‘By Jove!’ Elliott sat up stiffly. ‘When I arrived at Summer Hill station there was a tall Jewish-looking fellow there watching me as though he were interested in me. Now I’d swear I have seen him two or three times before, but I can’t think where and under what circumstances. It is only an idea, but perhaps he is the key to this business!’
‘He probably is,’ said Sir Henry thoughtfully, ‘but even if we knew where he is, we could not have him arrested just because he was looking at you and you think you have seen him before. The sooner we get those plans to Delhi the better, there certainly is someone who wants them very badly. Then I am going to persuade the Viceroy to comb out India for Bolshevik spies.’
Elliott smiled.
‘What a job!’ he murmured.
Muir drank off his whisky and soda.
‘Now,’ he said briskly, ‘I’m going to interview the sentry and then get the guard to search the grounds. I don’t suppose we’ll find anybody there, unless he, or they, are waiting to make a further attempt, in which case I hope to get them. Do you feel fit enough to come with me? I don’t want to let you out of my sight between now and our arrival in Delhi!’
Elliott laughed and stood up.
‘I’m perfectly fit now,’ he declared. ‘I’ll put some clothes on and come along with pleasure.’
‘Very well,’ said Sir Henry, ‘I’ll wait until you’re ready, and then if you’ll come with me I’ll put something warm over these things.’
Elliott laughed again and walked towards a wardrobe. As he turned Muir uttered a startled exclamation and the Major looked round enquiringly.
‘You’ve had a narrower shave than I thought,’ said the Secretary. ‘Your pyjama jacket is cut right across the back.’
The sapper took it off and surveyed it ruefully.
‘That must have been done when I turned over in bed,’ he said. ‘You see, I thought I heard a sound and lay on my back listening; nothing happened, so I decided that it must have been imagination and turned on my side, and as I turned something struck. I knew that the movement had saved my life, but I didn’t know it was as close as that.’
He was soon dressed, and together the two men entered Sir Henry’s room.
‘We’ll leave the lights on,’ said the latter, as he quickly pulled on some clothes over his pyjamas, ‘then if there is anybody watching, they can go on gazing at the lighted rooms until we pounce on them.’
‘Sounds simple enough,’ remarked Elliott. ‘If only it were, we’d have a chance of getting to Delhi safely. As it is—’ He shrugged his shoulders.
Muir stopped in the act of buttoning up his coat and stared.
‘You’re not having premonitions, are you?’ he asked sharply.
Elliott laughed a little shamefacedly.
‘Well, to tell you the truth I have an uncanny sort of feeling that I’m booked,’ he said. ‘How, or where, or when, I can’t tell you, but it’s there, and I’m going to make extra certain of those plans!’
Sir Henry grunted.
‘Nonsense!’ he snapped. ‘That’s sheer foolishness. I’m going to see that you get to Delhi or my name’s not Muir. Come along!’
He strode to the door, and Elliott followed him. They descended the stairs, and, having let themselves out of the house, went up to the sentry at the gate and accosted him. Sir Henry asked him in Hindustani if he had let anybody pass into the grounds. The man, a smart, alert-looking Gurkha, seemed deeply hurt at such a question, and immediately replied that he had not.
‘Have you noticed any suspicious-looking characters about?’
‘No, sahib.’
‘H’m! Call out the guard!’
This was done and Muir spoke rapidly to the sergeant telling him that he wanted the grounds thoroughly searched and anybody found in them arrested.
‘If they resist, don’t hesitate to use as much force as you like,’ he added.
The soldiers departed eagerly on their errand. Sir Henry turned to Elliott with a smile.
‘Very little will escape them,’ he said. ‘Come along; we’ll have a look round ourselves while we’re here!’
They walked to a tall pine which grew close to the house. Muir stood by it and gazed reflectively upwards.
‘This is the tree your assailant came down by, and probably got up into the room by,’ he said.
‘It seems hardly possible that anything but a monkey could climb that,’ said Elliott. ‘There’s no foothold at all!’
‘No, but these hillmen are first cousins to monkeys,’ replied Sir Henry. ‘He had a jump of not quite four feet from the tree to your window. Pretty daring, you know.’
They wandered on down the slopes and searched among bushes and anywhere that looked as though it could afford shelter for a cat. But they found not a sign of a hidden man, and retraced their steps towards the Lodge. Under the tree again they stopped, and searched the ground round it. There was not even a footprint to suggest that anyone had been there, and they were about to give up their quest and go indoors, when there was a shout. The two men stood still and stared in the direction whence it had come, and presently a shadowy figure darted out from some bushes, and sped rapidly across the lawn closely followed by two others, undoubtedly Gurkhas. Quickly drawing a revolver from his pocket, Sir Henry fired, but missed, and the figure vanished down a slope.
Half an hour later the sergeant reported that the man had got away in spite of being closely followed, so giving him instructions to set a very close watch, Muir led the way into the house, and they ascended to his bedroom.
‘I’m very annoyed at missing that fellow,’ he grumbled. ‘That’s the third time and I used to think I was a good shot!’
‘It would have been rather wonderful if you had hit him in that light and considering the pace he was moving at. Well, it doesn’t matter much. I don’t suppose he’ll trouble us again tonight.’
‘No, he’ll probably keep well away for the time being, but he’s at liberty and will be able to attempt further mischief. Dash it, I was a fool to miss him!’
He sat on his bed, and lit a cigar with an air of disgust.
‘I don’t suppose he’s the only pebble on the beach,’ said Elliott. ‘If you had winged him, there are no doubt others. What I can’t understand is: why are they showing this activity now? Why wasn’t a more determined attempt made to get me when I was out in the wilds?’
Sir Henry shrugged his shoulders.
‘They did try thrice!’ he remarked.
‘Yes, but they might have tried a dozen, two dozen times, and they would have been bound to get me sooner or later.’
He threw himself into a chair.
‘The funny thing is, I never had the slightest doubt of my ability to get through up there. And now I’m full of absurd presentiments like a nervy girl.’
Muir rose from the bed and crossing to the other, clapped him on the shoulder.
‘You’ve had a pretty rotten time one way and another,’ he said. ‘I don’t wonder at your feeling a bit run down. You’ll have to go in for a course of dinners and dances – in fact have a thoroughly gay time when you get to Delhi to make up for it.’
Elliott laughed.
‘Not in Delhi, Sir Henry,’ he said. ‘I’m off to England as soon as I can get away. It’s time the old country saw a bit of me again. I haven’t been home since the War. Gad!’ His eyes lighted up enthusiastically. ‘Just think of it: a cold sharp morning, full cry across country after the hounds, with one’s blood racing through one’s veins in the sheer joy of being alive. Why, the very thought makes me feel young again!’
He rose and walked to the window, stood staring out a moment or two and then returned to Sir Henry.
‘Away with premonitions,’ he said, ‘they’re foolish and childish. I’m going to bed – I’ve a lot of sleep to make up.’
‘Tumble into my bed for the rest of the night,’ said the Secretary. ‘I’m going to lie down on that couch by the window.’
‘Nonsense, I’m not going to turn you out of your bed.’
‘The couch is very comfortable and I shall be perfectly happy there. At any rate I have determined to watch over you like a guardian angel, so here in this room you stop.’
‘Well, I’ll have the couch.’
‘No, you won’t. So turn in and go to sleep!’
Elliott shrugged his shoulders and without further argument undressed and got into bed. In two minutes he was fast asleep. Muir looked at him for a minute or two and then thoughtfully took off his clothes. He took a couple of rugs from a cupboard, switched off the light, and lay down on the couch. The glowing end of his cigar shone in the darkness like a beacon light.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Deputy Commissioner
The next morning Sir Henry Muir rang up the Deputy Commissioner of Police, Colonel Sanders, and asked him to call at Viceregal Lodge. The Colonel came and was met by Muir who immediately took him into his office, where Elliott was seated reading a newspaper. The latter was introduced to the Commissioner, and the three men sat down by the desk.
‘I asked you to come up here, Colonel Sanders,’ said Muir, ‘because I felt that this was the best place to tell you our little story.’
The Commissioner grunted. He was a morose-looking man of about fifty, with a small grey moustache, thinning grey hair and tired blue eyes. He never under any circumstances became agitated, and his general air was one of languor and boredom. But, in spite of that, he had a very sharp brain, and a reputation for shrewdness which was unequalled in the Punjab. His manner was non-committal, and people who did not know him were apt to regard him as a person with a limited amount of intelligence, and a boor.
‘Major Elliott,’ continued Sir Henry, ‘has been away on the frontier for ten months making the most exhaustive plans of our fortifications, passes by which it would be possible for an – er – invading army to cross from Russia to India, and a general detailed survey map of the whole frontier. His instructions were to come direct to the Viceroy at Simla when he had finished and he arrived yesterday – to find that His Excellency had left the day before for Delhi.’
Colonel Sanders nodded, and looked as though he were about to suppress a fawn.
‘Last night,’ went on the Secretary, ‘Major Elliott, who slept in a room here next to mine, had a visitant, who was obviously after his plans, and he very nearly lost his life. I heard the sounds of a struggle and went into the room, but the intruder, a hillman, escaped by climbing down a tree just outside Elliott’s window. I had a revolver and fired, but missed unfortunately. The guard was called out and the grounds searched, and we almost had the fellow, but he got away. This is the fourth time Elliott’s life has been attempted, but the other three attempts were made on the frontier.’
Muir ceased speaking and for a minute or two there was silence. Then:
‘Russian money behind this,’ grunted the Colonel. ‘The whole country is under espionage now.’
‘Exactly,’ said the Secretary, looking rather triumphantly at Elliott.
Again there was a silence. The Commissioner got up, and walked up and down the room once or twice.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked suddenly, stopping in front of Sir Henry.
‘To see that we are protected as far as possible from any further outrages between here and Delhi.’
‘When are you travelling?’
‘We are leaving here by the six-fifteen rail motor this evening to Kalka, and thence to Delhi by the Calcutta express.’
‘Why not travel by private car to Kalka – the rail motor can be derailed!’
‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Elliott, speaking for the first time. ‘You’re not very cheerful, Colonel.’
‘If these people are after your plans, they’ll stick at nothing to get them,’ snapped Sanders. ‘A private car would be safer! And leave during the afternoon so that you’ll have daylight all the way!’
Sir Henry rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘that a motor car could be more easily held up or tampered with than the rail motor.’
Elliott nodded in agreement.
‘How are they to know when you are travelling if you go by road?’ demanded the Commissioner.
‘You may be sure that if they can find out one thing, they can find out another,’ said Elliott.
‘But if they discovered you were travelling by road,’ said the Colonel, ‘it doesn’t follow that they would have time to make arrangements to interfere with you.’
Sir Henry leant back in his chair, and looked questioningly at Elliott.
‘What do you say, Major?’ he asked.
Elliott smiled.
‘I’d feel a great deal safer in the rail motor,’ he said. Muir nodded.
‘I agree with you.’
Colonel Sanders helped himself to a cigarette from a box on the table, lit it, and, holding the spent match in his fingers, looked from Muir to Elliott and back again.
‘Well, you’ll have your own way, but don’t forget that I advised you to travel by road! You’re going at six-fifteen, you say? Well, be advised in this particular – ring up the stationmaster and order a private rail motor for seven o’clock.’
Sir Henry looked surprised.
‘What on earth for?’ he ejaculated.
‘A blind! There’s bound to be a certain amount of fuss getting a special ready and these people who are so interested in you will get to hear of it somehow. Actually travel by the six-fifteen and nobody will turn up for the other. Only we three will know that it isn’t wanted, and I’ll explain to the railway authorities once you are away.’
‘By Jove!’ said Elliott, ‘that’s a notion.’
‘I’ve got to save you from yourselves somehow,’ growled the Colonel.
‘But supposing there is no other rail motor available,’ questioned Sir Henry.
‘There’s got to be!’ snapped Sanders. ‘No car available and Sir Henry Muir demanding one in the name of the Viceroy! Pshaw!’
Muir looked properly subdued.
‘I’ll see that every station from Kalka to Delhi is watched by the police,’ continued the Colonel. ‘You’ll be all right going down the hill, as you’ll only stop at Barog, and there’ll be a special police officer on the car all the way down who’ll shadow you there. That’s the best I can do for you.’
Both Muir and Elliott expressed their thanks, but the Commissioner waved them aside.
‘If you weren’t fools,’ he said, ‘you’d go down in a private car. I could have sent a police car ahead and one behind you and there wouldn’t have been the slightest danger. However, you’ll go your own way, I suppose.’
‘It’s jolly good of you, Colonel,’ said Elliott, ‘but I don’t see how we can possibly go wrong on the rail motor. There will be other passengers and your policeman. It’s between Kalka and Delhi where the real danger is to be feared and, as you say you’ll arrange for the police to watch every station en route, I shall be perfectly safe. I don’t mind telling you that you’ve lifted a great load from my mind. The thanks of the Government will be due to you, if I get through all right.’
‘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 sauntering 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.’
‘Thanks,’ said Williams. ‘Goodbye and good luck!’
Sir Henry followed the doctor out of the station, and they soon arrived at the latter’s house. The car was taken out of the garage without delay, and the tank filled with petrol. Then the doctor insisted on his taking a packet of sandwiches and a flask of brandy. At last all was in readiness for his departure, so shaking the worthy medico’s hand, and thanking him, Muir got into the car and started. Just outside Barog he stopped a moment, looked at his revolver to make sure that it was ready for action, felt to see that the case containing the plans was quite safe, and then, with his face grimly set, drove forward on his lonely two hundred mile journey to Delhi.
CHAPTER SIX
His Excellency the Viceroy
Sir Henry Muir never remembered clearly, in after years, that frantic race of his to Delhi. Mile after mile flew by and he sat grimly, leaning a little forward, his lips set in a desperate line, his eyes glued to the stretch of road in front of him and his hands holding the steering wheel with a grip that betrayed his thoughts. He stopped for a few minutes at Kalka station to instruct his bearer, who had travelled down with his baggage during the afternoon, to go on to Delhi by the train. Then on again.
The car seemed to respond to his mood and tore onwards, the engine purring rhythmically, beautifully; firing perfectly, as though in very exultation at its ability to eat up space.
Muir expected every moment to be stopped; that death in some terrible form would overtake him; once he glanced over his shoulder apprehensively into the tonneau and the car swerved violently. But he never slackened pace. The events of the last few hours had affected his nerves to such an extent that he almost thought of the mysterious assassins with superstitious dread; nothing seemed beyond them; they appeared supernatural, uncanny, weird; a malignant force, cloaked in invisibility, with the power to do evil at will.
It was a dark night, and the glare of the headlights threw the trees on either side into ghostly relief. Muir imagined the shadows to contain men waiting there with diabolical purpose; the wind had risen and seemed to contain the sound of fiendish, laughing voices, mocking at his puny attempts to escape them. He passed bullock carts wending their peaceful way on their lawful business, but the eyes of the bullocks approaching him, shining a brilliant green in the powerful lights of the car, looked like the eyes of devils glaring at him with hatred.
He had several narrow escapes of collision. The Indian bullock cart wending its somnolent way never worries about other traffic on the road. The driver invariably sleeps while his bullocks wander on at their own sweet will, mostly in the centre of the highway, often on the wrong side. Sir Henry approaching one bullock cart in the way, sounded his Klaxon horn loudly, viciously. The driver woke up with a start and, with shouts, turned his animals aside, but just as Muir was about to pass the bullocks swerved back across his path. He was right on top of them, but with wonderful skill he swung his car aside just in time, trod hard on his accelerator and shot by, the yoke of the oxen scraping the paintwork and his off-wheels being half an inch over the edge of the road. The perspiration broke out on his forehead and trickled down his face; he almost thought that a collision had been contrived there by those enemies of whom he knew so little.
He passed Umbala going at forty miles an hour, and the lights of the cantonments heartened him a little, braced him up. He had a great yearning to stop there, take his ease, and rest; for an
