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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Wallace of the Secret Service
- Sprache: Englisch
BOOK 3 in the Wallace of the Secret Service series Extreme Nationalists are fighting to relinquish the British government's power in Egypt. Secret agent Henderson, deployed to Egypt to assess the trouble, sends a coded message to say he's on the trail of something big. But there's been no word since.
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Seitenzahl: 547
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
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Wallace of the Secret Service
ALEXANDER WILSON
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
In accepting the invitation to write an introduction to certain records of the career of Sir Leonard Wallace, I was actuated not so much by the friendship and admiration I feel for the famous Chief of the Intelligence Corps, as by the fact that I was luckily instrumental in obtaining his services for the department. At the time of which I write, I was Secretary of State for Home Affairs, and Sir Leonard was recuperating, after being discharged from hospital, at the tiny seaside village of Kimmeridge in Dorset. He had been badly wounded in the left arm, and, with his great friend, William Brien, also on sick leave, and his charming wife, Molly, had originally gone to Kimmeridge merely to laze about, as he himself puts it. But that astuteness of his, which since has proved of such great value to the country, enabled him to ferret out a German submarine base actually on the Dorset coast. He immediately travelled up to London, and got into communication with me through his father, the Earl of Westcliff.
The story he told was astounding, and I found the utmost difficulty in crediting it. I was in favour of putting the matter in the hands of the Intelligence Department, and also making arrangements for a force of troops and a squadron of destroyers to proceed to the spot, but Sir Leonard – he was Major Wallace then – pointed out that the Germans would be certain to get wind of the operations against them, and decamp before there was time to invest their headquarters. He declared that he believed it to be not only a submarine base but also a distributing centre from where spies were sent to all parts of Great Britain. In reply to my question concerning what he himself proposed, he put before me a plan that for sheer ingenuity and daring almost took my breath away. He asked to be given charge of the affair, with full authority to call in the aid of the coastguards and troops from Wareham, if necessary. Naturally I was very reluctant, but he had impressed me so much by his obvious ability and sagacity that eventually I agreed, not without a great deal of misgiving, however.
The result was stupendous, and reads, even in the cold, official report, like a page from the chronicles of the old Greek and Trojan heroes. It is too long a story to tell here; perhaps some day it may be given to the public – I hope so, for it is quite one of his greatest exploits. Suffice it to say that, with Brien, Cecil Kendal, his brother-in-law, half a dozen troops from the camp at Wareham, and a few coastguards, he actually entered the large cave which the Germans had so ingeniously turned into a secret base and, effecting a complete surprise, captured five submarines and killed or captured their crews. Not only that, but he also apprehended several spies. Unfortunately he was shot again in his damaged arm during the fight, with the result that it was later found imperative to amputate it.
In a sense his triumph was one of the greatest feats of the War, for it not only badly interfered with Germany’s submarine campaign but supplied us with a mass of information that was priceless. Major Wallace richly deserved the KCB which was conferred on him and the full rank of colonel to which he was promoted. Brien received his majority and the CMG while others, who took part in the historic exploit, were adequately rewarded.
Without an arm, Sir Leonard’s active military career received a set-back, but it was impossible for such a man to be shelved. I suggested his being attached to the Intelligence Service, a suggestion received with enthusiasm by my colleagues, and immediately acted upon. It was not long before he became head of the bureau, and his work since then has been remarkably successful, bearing always the hall-mark of that astuteness, ingenuity, coolness, and wit which have always placed him above his fellows. Major Brien returned to the front, but after the War, at Sir Leonard’s special request, was transferred to his department.
I am delighted that certain deeds are now to be chronicled and given to the public. They should prove most absorbing to people who are interested in the workings of the Secret Service. Sir Leonard himself, though not actually objecting to the publication of his achievements, would much prefer, I think, that they were lost in obscurity. He is not the man to desire fame or notoriety; rather he prefers seclusion and privacy. His chronicler has, therefore, been forced to fall back on office records and information supplied by various members of the service who, once they understood there was no objection to their divulging certain happenings, eagerly prepared the way for the publication of a few of the exploits of the chief to whom they are all devoted.
Romance and adventure are not dead while there exist men of the type of Sir Leonard Wallace. He proves that fact is stranger than fiction, and into the cold, matter-of-fact atmosphere of the twentieth century brings a flavour of daring enterprise that is reminiscent of more adventurous times. Yet to look at him you would not imagine that there were even the elements of romance and adventure in him, unless he gave you the opportunity of gazing deep into his expressive, steel-grey eyes. He is a slightly-built man of about five feet eight in height with an attractive but by no means handsome face, the curves of which show that he possesses a great sense of humour. He has an easy-going disposition, and rather gives the impression of being a man who loves to loiter his way through life. He has a cool, calculating mind, behind an unruffled exterior, which provides him with the imagination and quick perception that make him so successful in detective work. Perhaps his greatest asset is his unexcitable temperament and perfect self-control. I have known ministers of State exasperated at his nonchalance but, being no respecter of persons, that worries him not at all. I must confess to a sneaking fear that he does not always regard His Majesty’s statesmen with the respect they invariably think is their due.
Sir Leonard himself would be the first to admit that he owes a great deal to those assistants of his of whom the names of Major Brien, Cousins, Maddison, Carter and Shannon come most readily to mind. They have shared dangers and difficulties with him, or undertaken duties at his behest, which would cause the ordinary man to blench. Then there are the others of both sexes distributed throughout the world who, often carrying their lives in their hands, supply him with the information which enables Great Britain to deal with the delicate international situations which constantly arise, and combat the still frequent foreign plots. The agents, who live abroad, generally follow some harmless profession in order to cloak their real activities, but their lives are full of danger, and they know well that once unmasked their chances of avoiding long terms of imprisonment, sometimes even death, are small indeed. Then there is the enormous office staff which deals with the many documents relative to foreign intrigue and international diplomacy. This staff nowadays is directly under the orders of Major Brien, an arrangement that saves Sir Leonard Wallace a considerable amount of routine work.
It is remarkable the degree of proficiency which the Intelligence Department has attained. Every branch dovetails into the others with meticulous exactitude, and the work proceeds day and night, quietly, silently, efficiently. Few people realise what the country owes to the gallant men of this silent service. To them fame and glory seldom come, riches never. Often they die shameful, inglorious deaths, honoured only by their colleagues, who mourn them mutely, unable to make public their devotion, or acknowledge them as associates. Theirs is the ideal patriotism, the love of country which takes no account of self, but is prepared to sacrifice home, family, everything for the sake of the land that gave them birth.
I do not feel that I can deal adequately with such a subject. The Secret Service has naturally far more to do with the Foreign Office than any other government department, and my political activities were mostly confined to the Home Office and law departments. However, as I have stated, I was associated with Sir Leonard Wallace in his first adventure, and I am honoured now to be associated, even though so insignificantly, with a volume narrating a few of his exploits.
C.
CHAPTER ONE
Out of the Land of Egypt
‘I’m worried, Bill, and there’s no use disguising it. It’s over a week now since we heard from Henderson.’
The speaker strolled to one of the two large windows, and eyed the busy stream of traffic passing in Whitehall almost as though he hoped to gain inspiration from it. The tall, fair man, whose upright carriage and small moustache suggested a soldier, remained standing by the large oak desk thoughtfully tapping his fingers on its polished surface.
‘It isn’t often you admit feeling worried,’ he commented. ‘Surely a week without news is not very disquieting. Perhaps circumstances have caused a delay, or Henderson has no news to send.’
‘He was ordered to keep in communication with us,’ retorted the other without turning round, ‘and he would have done so – if he could.’
The significance of the last three words was not lost upon Major Brien. The lids half-closed over his twinkling blue eyes, banishing their humour, and rendering them very nearly sinister.
‘Are you suspecting foul play?’
There was no answer, and he helped himself to a cigarette from a large silver box on the desk, apparently quite content to wait until his chief came out of the brown study into which he appeared to have fallen. Sir Leonard Wallace remained at the window for some minutes longer, then walked slowly back to the desk.
‘I am going out to Egypt myself,’ he announced quietly.
His companion looked sharply at him.
‘You really think it is serious then?’
‘Very serious,’ was the reply. ‘I believe that Henderson’s object has been discovered, and he himself imprisoned, or perhaps even assassinated.’
Brien’s lips pursed in a low whistle, but he smiled.
‘You’re imaginative this morning, Leonard,’ he observed.
‘Have you ever known me allow my imagination to run away with me?’ demanded the other sharply. ‘No, you haven’t!’ replying to his own question. ‘You possibly have not studied affairs in Egypt as I have. The country is seething with intrigue, and the extreme Nationalists under that impracticable fanatic, Zaghlul Pasha, are going to make a lot of trouble before very long.’
‘But, dash it all! The independence of Egypt has been recognised. What more do they want?’
‘My son, they want full control. They resent the powers which the British Government retain, particularly with regard to the Sudan. Henderson’s job, as you know, was to find out exactly what is happening; if possible to unmask any plot that might be brewing, and bring us details. All we’ve had from him was his code message a week ago saying that he was on the track of something big. Since then there hasn’t been a word. It’s all wrong, Bill and I’m going to find out what has happened.’
He took a pipe from the desk, filled it from a large tobacco bowl, and lit it carefully. An onlooker would never have suspected that one of his arms was artificial, so cleverly did he use it. The only noticeable peculiarity was that his left hand was covered by a glove, which was seldom removed.
‘When are you leaving?’
‘Tonight. I thought at first of taking you with me, but it’s not necessary. Besides I may want you here.’
He walked to the fireplace, and stood with his back leaning against the high mantelpiece. He hardly gave one the impression that his mind was full of great issues; in fact he looked thoroughly indolent as he stood placidly puffing at his briar, and gazing round his comfortable office with an air of proprietorship.
It was a large room unusually well-furnished for a government office. The carpet which covered the floor was an Axminster; a warm-looking thick pile rug lay in front of the fireplace, which was deep and surmounted by a massive mantelpiece. A large, beautifully carved clock stood on the latter with heavy brass ornaments, reminiscent of the War, on each flank. Against the opposite wall of the room were bookshelves, containing practically every known reference book as well as voluminous reports from all the government departments. On one side of the great oak desk was Sir Leonard’s swing chair, on the other, two leather armchairs, another standing close to the fire. The desk itself was covered with official-looking documents and books, while from most of the available wall space hung maps. Obviously the office of a busy man, it was just as obviously the room of a man who liked comfort.
‘I think I’d better come with you,’ observed Brien. ‘If there’s likely to be trouble, I might come in useful.’
‘You might be very much in the way,’ was the blunt retort. ‘No, Bill, I’d much rather you remained at headquarters. I’ll go alone – I don’t think I’ll even take Batty with me.’
It was so unusual for Wallace to go abroad without his manservant that the frown on Brien’s face grew deeper, and his forehead became wrinkled with perplexity.
‘What is the game?’ he demanded.
‘Deck tennis and quoits on boardship,’ was the joking reply, ‘and possibly a round or two of golf in Cairo.’
Brien, muttering something that sounded uncomplimentary, threw himself into one of the armchairs.
‘What are the orders?’ he asked.
Wallace strolled back to the desk, sat himself in his chair, and leant towards his companion. All the flippancy was gone now from his face and manner, his whole attitude denoting grave purposefulness. For the next quarter of an hour he spoke rapidly, Brien listening to him intently and occasionally making notes in a small book that he had drawn from his pocket.
A few days later Sir Leonard arrived in Port Said on board an Italian mail boat from Brindisi. The pontoon had hardly connected the liner to the shore, when he was walking rapidly along it, followed by a man carrying his meagre luggage consisting of two large suitcases. He went direct to the Eastern Exchange Hotel, booked a room under the name of Collins, then choosing a secluded table, under the awning in front of the hotel, sat down and ordered coffee. He was pestered by the usual crowd of street vendors, conjurers and the like but chased them all away until a tall, good-looking native approached, carrying upon his head a tray full of boxes of Turkish delight. Sir Leonard at first ignored him as he had done the rest, but presently, as though allowing himself to be persuaded, took a gaudily decorated box in his hand and asked the price. They were alone for the moment, and the seller of the sticky sweetmeat spoke in a low voice, but his reply had nothing to do with the question asked.
‘I received your cable, Excellency, and am here as you see. What is it you wish of me?’
‘Have you any news of Mr Henderson?’ asked Sir Leonard also in a low voice.
‘No; he was here two weeks ago, then left for Cairo.’
‘You have seen nothing of him since?’
‘Nothing.’
‘He had not communicated with us for over a week before I left England. I think his mission must have been discovered. I want you to trace him to Cairo, Achmet, and, if possible, find out what has happened to him there. I’ll wait here until I hear from you. But hurry; there may be no time to lose.’
‘I understand, effendi.’ Then, in a louder voice, for people had approached and several other vendors were nearby, he added: ‘I know you, Mr Macpherson; my name Macpherson too. Buy my Turkish delight – ver-ry good!’
Sir Leonard laughingly bought a couple of boxes, thinking of his little son’s glee when they were presented to him. The sight of their compatriot’s success caused a horde of the chattering Arabs to descend on Wallace with their goods and, to escape them, he was forced to retire into the hotel. In the meantime Achmet, one of the most astute members of the rank and file of the Secret Service, who cloaked his real identity under the guise of a purveyor of Turkish delight, had slipped away and before long, through channels known only to himself, was commencing his task of tracing Henderson.
Three days passed slowly by, and Sir Leonard, having exhausted the diversions that Port Said presented for his amusement or delectation, impatiently awaited news from his assistant. It came in the form of a cryptic telegram regarding the despatch of curios to Europe. It did not take him long to decipher the message, and he frowned deeply at the news it contained. It told him, as he had feared, that Henderson was a prisoner in the hands of the people whose doings he had come to Egypt to study. Achmet was waiting in Cairo, and would watch at Shepheard’s Hotel for Sir Leonard’s advent.
That same afternoon the latter left for the capital, and on arrival was driven to the hotel. He still retained the name of Collins and let it be known that he was a retired army officer travelling for his health.
It was the wrong time of the year for tourists. The trouble in Egypt, too, was keeping a lot of visitors away. The hotel, therefore, was not overburdened with guests, a state of affairs which did not altogether please Sir Leonard. Inquisitiveness and speculation concerning him were more likely to be rife than if the hotel were crowded. However, it could not be helped; it behoved him to take extra precautions, that was all.
Achmet came to him before he had been long installed in the hotel. He wore now the dress of a dragoman, and had told the servant, who announced him to the Englishman, that he had been ordered to attend, as the white lord had need of his services on the various excursions he contemplated making to the pyramids and other places of interest. When they were together, even though there was apparently no one within hearing of their conversation, little of a private nature passed between Wallace and his subordinate. The former merely detailed his plans for a trip up the Nile and asked Achmet to engage a dahabeeyah to be ready for him early the following morning. The spy stood obsequiously before the languid-looking Englishman, listening carefully to the instructions he was receiving, and appearing for all the world the typical dragoman.
Wallace had no intention of travelling up the Nile at all, but he was careful to give the appearance of complete innocence to his meeting with the Arab, knowing perfectly well that the main lounge of Shepheard’s was hardly the place, under any circumstances, in which to discuss confidential matters. Apart from that, Achmet on arrival had uttered a warning.
‘This place is full of spies,’ he had said, as he bowed low before the other. ‘Command me to engage a small dahabeeyah. Tomorrow we will go a few miles beyond Cairo for a little trip. It will be safer to speak then.’
Thus it was arranged, and Achmet departed. A little later Sir Leonard left the hotel for a stroll. It had been an intolerably hot day, but now, with the setting of the sun, a breeze had sprung up which materially cooled the atmosphere. He walked as far as the bridge, guarded so strikingly by the two bronze lions, and watched the heterogeneous crowd that was crossing over the Nile. Several years had passed since he had looked on that scene with its riot of gaudy colouring and its confused uproar, but nothing appeared to have altered. Motor cars, donkey carts, carriages, asses, and camels were mixed up in apparently hopeless disorder, but somehow managed to move and be content with the slowness of their pace. An ancient vehicle, drawn by a donkey almost as ancient, and containing two veiled women, did manage to cause a stoppage by becoming entangled with a stylish carriage. The driver of the latter belaboured the donkey boy unmercifully, while the women added their shrill voices to the general din, but a policeman succeeded in separating the two vehicles and, with a final hearty cuff to the old donkey, sent the creaking cart on its way.
Wallace had watched the scene with amusement, indeed had even added his efforts to the process of extrication. At first he thought the carriage empty, but as it moved by he caught a glimpse of a pair of dark eyes, flashing seductively under thick black eyelashes. The woman, whoever she was, wore the thinnest of yashmaks, and it seemed to Sir Leonard that he could faintly discern a mocking smile lurking at the corners of her lips as she glanced at him. He wondered idly who she was, as he walked slowly back to the hotel, but soon forgot her existence.
After dinner that night, a note was brought to him and, feeling perplexed and a trifle concerned, he took it from the tray which the soffraghi held towards him. His mystification was further increased as he caught the elusive scent of some perfume and, for a moment, he balanced the note in his hand frowning thoughtfully. The waiter remained standing by and, on being told to go, informed Sir Leonard that an answer was awaited.
The Englishman then tore the envelope open, and extracted the half sheet of dainty notepaper which it contained. His bewilderment, instead of being diminished by what he read, increased to a state of sheer astonishment. There were only two sentences, and neither superscription nor signature. The writing was obviously that of a female.
The lady in the carriage on the bridge would like to meet Mr Collins. If he follows the bearer of this note, he will learn something to his advantage.
For several moments Wallace sat staring at the paper in his hand, and he was doing the hardest thinking he had engaged in for some time. He was by no means a ladies’ man, his wife, Molly, being all in all to him, and not for one moment did he imagine that the dark-haired woman, of whom he had caught such a fleeting glance, had been attracted by him, and desired his acquaintance, merely for the sake of coquetry. There was something deeper underlying her motive in sending him such an extraordinary invitation. Of that he was assured. What could she have to tell him that would be to his advantage? And how did she know his spurious name? So many possibilities hinged on the note that a feeling of intense disquiet troubled him, and he came to the conclusion that speculation was useless.
‘Where is the messenger?’ he asked suddenly.
In the foyer, he was informed, and directed the waiter to lead him to the man. A gigantic Ethiopian stood stiffly at the entrance like a picturesque statue, but to all Sir Leonard’s questions he shook his head, either indicating that he could not answer them or did not understand. The situation was growing momentarily more perplexing, but, although anxious to solve the problem, he had no intention of accepting the invitation of the letter, and following the lady’s sable messenger. Bidding the soffraghi, who still remained in attendance, to tell the man to wait, he walked off to the writing room. Some instinct caused him to glance round after he had gone a few paces, and he saw the two in earnest conversation – much more earnest than Wallace’s instruction to the waiter would appear to warrant. It looked as though the latter was in collusion with the other or, at least, knew more about the affair than a disinterested member of the hotel staff should know.
Sir Leonard sat for some minutes at a writing-table idly tapping, with a pen, the notepaper he had drawn towards him. He remembered Achmet’s words: ‘This place is full of spies,’ and wondered if the soffraghi and the eunuch were connected with the people he had come to Cairo to unmask. If so, it would mean that he and his purpose were known, and that a plot was on foot to get him into their power. It seemed impossible that such could be the case, but nobody knew better than Wallace himself how often the seemingly impossible happened in life, especially in his profession. A smile curled his lips for an instant as he reflected on the nature of the attempt. It was crude and gave him a poor opinion of the craftiness of those in opposition to him. Did they actually expect him to go blindly into the zenana of a private house, there to be killed or captured, or found by a professedly scandalised husband, reported to the government and sent back to England in disgrace? To use a woman as a decoy in a country where women are segregated from men was, in his opinion, a clumsy sort of ruse. The very banality of it gave his thoughts pause. Surely if he were actually known, and a conspiracy in operation to seize his person, there were dozens of ways of accomplishing their designs without causing suspicion to their proposed victim by the very puerility of the venture. Perhaps, after all, the message was genuine, and the lady was actually in possession of information which would be of use to him. Then he remembered the mocking smile which he could have sworn he had perceived beneath the gossamer veil, when she had passed him on the bridge, and he slowly shook his head. But whichever way he contemplated the matter, it appeared evident that he was known to a certain party in Cairo, a contingency which caused him to look very grave. With a slight shrug of the shoulders he commenced to write.
Mr Collins is honoured by the invitation of the lady in the carriage. He feels, however, that a visit to her might be misconstrued, and regrets, therefore, his inability to accept. The information which the lady desires to impart may be sent by letter, but Mr Collins is certain that a mistake of some kind has been made.
Sir Leonard smiled grimly as he read over what he had written, then folding the paper he placed it in an envelope, which he sealed. He found the Ethiopian and soffraghi still together, but now they were apparently ignoring each other. He caught a fleeting expression of surprise on the latter’s face, which roused his suspicions more than ever. The man knew the contents of the letter, he surmised, and had expected him to be dressed to go out. Handing his note to the messenger, Wallace directed him to take it to the person who had sent him. At once the tall eunuch broke into a string of voluble Arabic, which the waiter translated to mean that the fellow had received instructions to take the English Lord with him.
‘Tell him that the letter explains,’ Wallace ordered curtly and, without further ado, turned and walked away.
He was tempted to question the soffraghi in an effort to learn how much the man knew, but decided that such an essay would be injudicious and certainly unsuccessful. He went to his room, locked himself in and, filling and lighting a pipe, threw himself into a cane chair and thought things over. But he failed to come to any definite conclusion, and eventually prepared himself for bed, reflecting that perhaps Achmet would be able to give him a clue on the morrow.
Selecting a novel from a pile on the table, he lay reading until close on midnight when, with a yawn, he put the book down and, switching off the light, composed himself for sleep. But, try as he would, he was unable to entice the requisite drowsiness, his mind persisting in dwelling upon the woman with the dark eyes and her extraordinary message to him. At last, with an impatient grunt, he reached out and turned on the light again, having decided to resume reading, when there came a gentle rap on the door. It was so soft that, at first, he thought he had imagined it, but a few seconds later it was repeated. Wondering who could want him at that time of night, Wallace slipped out of bed, and hastily donned a dressing-gown. He strode towards the door, but stopped half-way to return and rummage in a suitcase, from which he extracted a revolver. Smiling a trifle grimly to himself, he put it into his pocket. The knock came again and, a moment later, he unlocked the door to stand almost bereft of movement as his eyes took in the dim outlines of the person standing on the threshold. It was a woman.
With an effort he pulled himself together, and was about to ask her business, when she pushed him aside and quickly entered the room.
‘Shut the door, Monsieur,’ she commanded, speaking in French.
‘Pardon me,’ he retorted, also in that language, ‘but I think some sort of explanation is necessary before I—’
‘Please! Please!’ she interrupted urgently. ‘I will explain when you have done what I ask.’
He still hesitated and, with an exclamation that sounded very much like a cry of fear, she swept past him and closed the door herself. Then, returning to the centre of the apartment, she threw herself into a chair, and gave a sigh of relief. She was clothed in Egyptian dress, and a suspicion in Sir Leonard’s mind that she was the lady of the bridge was turned into fact, when she deftly removed the Spanish shawl, which had enveloped her head and shoulders, and turned her uncovered face to him. Its beauty almost caused him to gasp, but he restrained himself and looked at her as though unaware of the flawless complexion, the allure of those perfectly shaped scarlet lips and large, dark eyes surmounted by long black lashes and delicately pencilled brows. It seemed to him that her face was familiar, but he could not remember on what previous occasion he had seen it.
‘I am waiting, Madame,’ he reminded her, ‘for the explanation you promised me.’
She smiled, but the shadow of fear lurked in her wonderful eyes.
‘I have come to you,’ she told him, ‘because you would not come to me.’
‘But why? Do you realise that you have compromised yourself by forcing your way into this room?’
She nodded.
‘Of course I realise it,’ she returned in subdued tones. ‘Oh, why did you compel me to come here?’
‘I compel you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I did nothing of the sort.’
‘But you did, by declining my invitation. That made it necessary for me to come to you.’
‘I am afraid I don’t understand.’
‘It was to warn you that I took the risk of writing to you, and now of coming here.’
Sir Leonard frowned at her.
‘Warn me of what?’ he demanded.
‘You are known, and there is a plot to murder you.’
For a few seconds he stood gazing at her, then took a chair opposite hers and leant forward.
‘May I ask you to be more explicit?’ he requested quietly.
‘Listen then, Monsieur,’ she complied. ‘My husband is one of the leaders of the extreme Nationalist party, whose object is the entire freedom of Egypt, recognition of the Sudan as part of the Egyptian Kingdom, control of the Suez Canal, and other matters not so important. Perhaps you are already aware of that?’
Wallace nodded.
‘The party has spies everywhere,’ she went on, ‘and when you stepped ashore at Port Said it was known here almost at once. You have been watched ever since, and it has been decided to murder you as the safest means of preventing you from prying into the secrets of the extremists.’
‘But this is absurd,’ protested Sir Leonard. ‘Why should these people be interested in a retired officer spending a well-earned holiday in Egypt? And as for prying into their secrets, I—’
She interrupted him with a little exclamation of impatience.
‘Monsieur,’ she pleaded, ‘let us be frank with each other. I have come here at great danger to my reputation, perhaps my life, and there is no time to lose in this pretence. The extremists know you are not Monsieur Collins – they know your real name is Sir Leonard Wallace, and that you are the Chief of the British Intelligence Department; so do I!’
‘This is most interesting,’ commented Wallace. ‘And how do they know that?’
‘Yours is not the only secret service in the world, Monsieur Wallace,’ she retorted. ‘Apart from that, you are well known in London, are you not? Many Egyptians go to your country in the season and attend your functions. My husband and I go frequently, and both of us know you well by sight.’
Sir Leonard remembered then that it was in London where he had seen her before. She had been in European dress, of course, which explained why he had not readily recognised her. He decided that it was useless to continue to pose as Collins.
‘Since I am known so well, Madame,’ he observed regretfully, ‘I suppose I must admit my identity. I still don’t quite understand, however, why I should be watched and suspected of ulterior motives. My object in coming to Egypt may be quite innocent.’
She smiled mockingly.
‘Is it likely that Sir Leonard Wallace would leave his beautiful wife and come to Egypt for a holiday during the wrong season of the year? Nobody with sense would believe that, Monsieur. My husband’s party was expecting you to send out a man to investigate, and every Englishman landing in Alexandria, Port Said, and Suez has been subjected to the keenest scrutiny for a long time. The arrival of the great Sir Leonard himself made things for them so much the easier.’
Again came that mocking smile. Despite the fact that he was beginning to feel that she was really actuated by a desire to save him from her husband and his party, that smile prevented him from dismissing his suspicions altogether. He was about to ask her if she knew of Henderson’s fate, but instinct restrained him, instead:
‘How do you know all this, Madame,’ he asked; ‘and why are you telling me?’
‘Because I do not wish you to be murdered,’ she replied earnestly, answering his second question first. ‘Also I am not in sympathy with the extremists, although I am a Nationalist. As for my knowledge of these things, it is easily explained. My husband thinks my ideas are the same as his and, in consequence, he does not keep anything from me.’
‘You recognised me on the bridge today?’ he questioned.
‘Yes. It was then that I made up my mind to warn you.’
He rose and stood looking down at her.
‘It is extremely good of you, Madame. I appreciate the service you are doing me, and your risking so much to come here.’
‘And you will leave Egypt at once, will you not?’ she pleaded earnestly.
He smiled at her.
‘If I am here for the reason you suspect,’ he observed, ‘I can hardly let a little danger deter me from my purpose, can I?’
‘Oh, but, Monsieur, you must! You are in deadly peril.’
‘If I am, then that shows me very clearly that there must be something going on which requires my attention.’
He caught a gleam very much like antipathy in her eyes, but it was gone almost before it had come. It sufficed to put him immediately on his guard, however, and to cause his suspicions to return in force. He thanked her once again for her warning, and urged her to depart. At once she was on her feet entreating him to leave Cairo. She came so close to him that he felt her breath on his cheek, and drew back involuntarily. All the time his thoughts were busy, trying desperately to guess the real reason for her presence in his room, for he had suddenly become convinced that her motives were detrimental to him. Continuing her pleas, she persistently drew near him, while he as persistently stepped back. Then, turning from her, he walked towards the door.
‘I dare not let you stay longer, Madame,’ he observed. ‘The risk to you is too great.’
Before he quite realised what she was doing, she flung her arms round him, as though in a paroxysm of fear.
‘You must go! You must!’ she implored.
He was commencing gently to disengage her hands, when she cried out something in Turkish. Immediately the door opened, three men slid quickly into the room, and closed the door behind them. One, a dark, refined-looking fellow in evening dress, held a revolver in his hand; the others, low class Arabs, carried long, sharp knives. They advanced on Wallace, while the woman held him tightly, pressing convulsively on his arms, but with that steel-like strength of his, upon which she had not reckoned, he suddenly flung her aside and stepped quickly back, placing the bed between him and his would-be assailants. For a few moments they stood eyeing him malevolently, then he laughed quietly.
‘So, Madame,’ he remarked, bowing coolly to her, ‘your job was to get me to unlock the door, and lull me into a state of trusting innocence. You nearly succeeded, too.’
The woman, who had stumbled to her knees when flung aside, rose to her feet, in her eyes a look of undisguised hatred.
‘What are you hesitating for?’ she demanded harshly of the three newcomers, still speaking in French.
The man in evening dress lifted his left hand in peremptory command for her to be quiet. He smiled sardonically at Wallace.
‘There is little use your attempting to resist,’ he remarked in perfect English. ‘We have you in our power.’
‘Not quite,’ retorted Sir Leonard quietly. ‘You probably expected to be able to enter quickly and stab me while the lady held me for you. However, reluctant as I was to tear myself away from the arms of such a beautiful woman, I did not quite see eye to eye with you concerning the stabbing part of the business. I rather imagine the tables are turned.’
He stood, his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown, and smiled triumphantly at the other. Despite his peril, he actually appeared to be enjoying himself.
‘The tables are certainly not turned,’ retorted the Egyptian. ‘As you perceive, I am covering you with a revolver, which, after all, is more effective than a knife.’
Wallace, still smiling, shook his head.
‘You daren’t fire,’ he commented, ‘for you have no desire to rouse the hotel. Your only hope was to enter and stab me before I had time to cry out. That hope has gone and, I think, as it is very late, you had better go also.’
The man in dress clothes nodded almost imperceptibly to the two Arabs, who immediately sprang on the bed and made a dive for the Englishman, their knives glittering balefully in the light, but, almost like a conjuring trick, a revolver appeared in his hand, and drew a steady bead on them. The presence of a weapon, where they had expected none, nonplussed the scoundrels, and they halted in their onrush, balancing themselves on the bed, and uncertain what course to pursue.
As they looked into the cold, steel grey eyes of the man they had expected to murder with such ease, they saw death there, and involuntarily retreated until they stood once again on the floor at the other side of the bed.
‘Your hired bravoes are sensible men,’ observed Sir Leonard to the Egyptian. ‘Although you dare not shoot, I shall do so with pleasure, if you give me any necessity. In fact,’ he went on with the air of a man discussing the fluctuations of the money market or some other commonplace topic, ‘it would be just as well if I shot the lot of you. Nobody could blame me, and such an act would do Egypt quite a lot of good.’
A look of baffled fury disfigured the beautiful face of the woman. Her husband, for such Wallace presumed the man in evening dress to be, showed no emotion at all.
‘What do you think I should be doing while you were shooting us?’ he sneered. ‘You appear to have overlooked the fact that I also have a revolver.’
‘I’d fire at you first,’ retorted the Englishman, ‘and I bet you’d be disabled before you could press the trigger. Shall we try it?’ he added pleasantly. ‘If not, throw your revolver, and tell your men to throw their knives on the bed.’
After a momentary hesitation, his orders were complied with, and the four stood sullenly looking at him, the two Arabs with fear shining out of their dark eyes, wondering what would be his next move. Wallace was rather puzzled what to do with them himself. If he roused the hotel, and caused them to be handed over to justice, it would mean that his own identity would be made public, and, although he was known apparently to the people he had hoped to deceive, he still had no desire to be mixed up in a trial. After all, Egypt was now an independent kingdom, and he might as well go back to England as allow his name and profession to be broadcast throughout Cairo. He decided to find out what he could about Henderson, then let his four adversaries go. As he made up his mind, the composure of the Egyptian broke.
‘You may have obtained the upper hand this time,’ he snarled, ‘but you won’t win again. You can do what you like with us, but there are others – hundreds of them – and they will get you.’
‘Thanks for the information,’ acknowledged Wallace cheerfully. ‘But my private opinion of you is that you are the world’s worst bunglers. First you try to get me into your power by means of an expedient that a child would have suspected, then you come to a hotel, where the slightest noise would have meant your discovery, with the intention of murdering me. A pretty lot of conspirators you are, to be sure. Why wasn’t Madame entrusted with a dagger? She would have had a fairly good chance of stabbing me when I was almost persuaded into believing in her.’
‘Our women are incapable of that sort of thing,’ declared the fellow, a note almost of pride in his voice.
‘So are the rest of you from the look of it,’ retorted Sir Leonard. ‘Sit down, Madame, and you also, Mr – er – Conspirator, and tell that pair of beauties to squat in the corner over there so that I can keep my eye on them.’ His orders were obeyed. ‘I want to ask you a few questions,’ he went on.
‘You will get no information from me,’ began the Egyptian.
Wallace waved his hand airily.
‘I am not going to ask you anything about the secret plans and intrigues of your party,’ he observed. ‘I know all I want to know about them already.’ Both the man and woman started violently, and exchanged dismayed glances. ‘I simply wish you to tell me,’ went on Sir Leonard, ‘what you have done with Mr Henderson.’
‘Henderson!’ exclaimed the Egyptian. ‘I do not know any one of that name.’
‘Try again!’ encouraged the Englishman. ‘A little reflection may help you to remember.’
But the fellow persisted in maintaining a pretence of ignorance, and at last Wallace desisted from attempting to obtain information. A better idea had occurred to him. Still covering them with his revolver, he strode round the bed, and stood looking down at them.
‘Listen to me carefully,’ he enjoined sternly. ‘I know very well that Mr Henderson is in your power, or perhaps I should say, in the power of the political party of which you are a member. You and your wife and those two cut-throats over there are, on the other hand, in my power. I am going to make a bargain with you. Obtain the release of Henderson before sunrise, and you all go free. If he is not in this room by then, you will be handed over to the authorities, and will have to stand your trial for attempted murder.’
‘How is it possible for me to obtain the release of this man, if I am detained here as your prisoner?’
‘So you admit that you do know where Henderson is?’
‘I admit nothing.’
‘You’d better. Your liberty and that of the lady with you depend upon your obtaining Henderson’s release.’
‘You do not mean to say you would allow my wife to be arrested?’
‘Most certainly. She is a party to the conspiracy and, though I regret that the whole story would be made public including the fact that she, an Egyptian lady of high degree, spent over half an hour in a man’s bedroom after midnight, nevertheless there is no option unless, as I have already stated, you obtain Mr Henderson’s release.’
The face of the woman had gone deadly pale, the man’s sickly yellow. Apparently the honour of his wife was the strongest argument in favour of his agreeing to the proposal, for he looked at Sir Leonard almost eagerly.
‘Tell me what you wish me to do,’ he solicited.
Wallace pointed to the table.
‘There are pens, paper and ink there,’ he said. ‘Write a letter to whomsoever is concerned, explain the predicament you are in, and the conditions of your release. One of those Arabs can take the note, and I suppose, as you have apparently entered the hotel without being seen, Mr Henderson can be brought up in the same manner.’
‘Suppose my – friends refuse to send him?’
Sir Leonard shrugged his shoulders.
‘Then you go to prison. It depends entirely upon you now whether you are released, and your wife saved not only imprisonment but a most embarrassing disclosure. But I warn you; no treachery! On the entry into this room of any unauthorised persons, whom in your simplicity you may ask to come to your rescue, I will shoot you and at the same moment press that bell over there. I hope you thoroughly understand me.’
‘I will write in French, then you can read the letter yourself,’ muttered the man hoarsely.
For quite ten minutes he wrote and, from the intent expression on his face, Wallace gathered that he was addressing an earnest appeal to the person concerned. At length he laid down his pen, and handed the letter to his captor. It stated matters bluntly and concisely. Having read it, and found nothing in it of an objectionable nature, Wallace called one of the Arabs to him. The man, his eyes alight with suspicion, approached warily, and was given his instructions. The Englishman then let him out of the room, and locked the door after him, taking care to keep his eyes on the three who remained. As he walked back towards them the woman smiled.
‘You are a brave man, Monsieur,’ she observed, a note of admiration in her voice. ‘Do you realise that you have sentenced yourself to death? You will never leave Cairo alive.’
‘We shall see, Madame,’ he rejoined. ‘I don’t think I have much to fear from people who are so clumsy in their intrigues.’
‘They are not usually clumsy,’ she retorted, ‘and this will be a lesson to them not to underestimate Sir Leonard Wallace in the future.’
He bowed mockingly.
‘I thank you for the implied compliment, Madame. Can I offer either of you any refreshment? I am afraid I have only whisky and soda handy.’
They declined, and Sir Leonard helped himself. The time passed wearily by. The little travelling clock on the mantelpiece pointed to the hour of three, and still Henderson did not come. The Egyptian began to look perturbed, and spoke to his wife who had fallen into a gentle doze. She roused, and the two held a whispered conversation. Wallace, who had been half-sitting, half-reclining on the bed, had never for a moment relaxed his vigilance, and appeared as fresh as though he had slept all the previous day. The Arab in the corner had gone frankly to sleep, and was snoring gently, his mouth wide open.
At last came a soft knock. Wallace sat up alertly, and the other two looked at him with eyes in which suspense struggled with hope. He considered them in silence for a moment, then took the bell push, which hung above the bed, into the hand that held the revolver and pointed to the door. He addressed the woman.
‘Will you be good enough to let my friend in?’ he requested. ‘And Madame will remember that, if there are others who enter in the hope of effecting a rescue, I will shoot her husband and, at the same time, ring this bell.’
She darted a look of detestation at him, rose, and walked slowly across the room, cloaking her head in her shawl as she did so. Before turning the key she hesitated, and there came another rap, whereupon she opened the door and stepped back. Into the room stumbled a man, to all appearances in the last stages of exhaustion. His clothing was unkempt and filthy, his eyes were sunken and lacked lustre, several days’ growth of beard disfigured his jowl, while the rest of his haggard face was incredibly grimy. He looked questioningly at the occupants of the room, his eyes resting at last on Wallace, while a horrible travesty of a smile curved his cracked lips. He was followed in by the Arab who had been sent to fetch him.
‘Good – good morning, sir,’ he croaked.
A look of pity filled the glorious eyes of the Egyptian woman, and involuntarily she led the newcomer to the seat she had vacated. Then she mixed him a weak whisky and water, and bade him drink it. Wallace watched her with a smile of appreciation, but when he presently turned his eyes on her husband, the latter was appalled by the cold fury he recognised in their grey depths.
‘So this is how you treat a prisoner,’ snapped Sir Leonard. ‘You and your companions will pay bitterly for such wanton cruelty.’
‘He is a spy,’ muttered the other hoarsely. ‘He is lucky to have escaped death.’
‘Death would have been merciful compared with what it is obvious he must have suffered. You can go now and, if you take my advice, you will get out of the country as soon as possible. It will be safer – much safer for you.’
The fellow rose to his feet, a sneering smile on his lips.
‘You had better follow your own advice,’ he snarled, ‘that is, if you can.’
He called to his wife, spoke curtly to the Arabs, and they all left the room. The woman was the last to go, and she looked through the folds of her shawl at Sir Leonard. The mocking smile was once again on her face.
‘I hope they will be kinder to you, Monsieur,’ she murmured. ‘It would be a pity to see you brought to such a pass.’
He locked the door behind them, and hastened to the assistance of Henderson. Gently he helped him to undress, refused to allow him to talk, and insisted on his getting into bed. It was not long before the poor fellow dropped off into a deep sleep. Sir Leonard sat in an armchair, put his feet on another, and dozed in that position until a knock on the door roused him. It was broad daylight. Henderson still lay in a heavy slumber, and Wallace crossed the room quietly to avoid disturbing him. Outside stood a servant, who carried a tray on which was tea and toast.
‘A dragoman requests an interview with your Excellency,’ the man told him.
‘Send him up!’ directed Wallace and took the tray.
A few minutes later Achmet entered the room, and closed the door behind him. His astonishment was great when he recognised the man lying on the bed. In as few words as possible he was told of the events of the previous evening and night. When Wallace had concluded the recital, Achmet was looking very grave.
‘It is very unfortunate that your identity is known, Excellency,’ he murmured. ‘Every movement of yours will be watched, and neither you nor Mr Henderson will be allowed to leave this hotel alive, unless we are able, by some means, to trick the people who will be on the look-out for you.’
‘What about you, Achmet? Probably by now you are suspect.’
The man shrugged his shoulders with true Oriental fatalism.
‘It is possible,’ he admitted, ‘but I do not think so. There is nothing suspicious in your meeting a dragoman in the lounge or even having him up here.’
‘Still you must be careful. Now that Henderson has come, there is no need for us to hire a dahabeeyah.’
‘Why not, effendi? His arrival does not make it any the less risky to talk in this hotel. Even now ears may be listening.’
Wallace smiled.
‘They would not hear much since our conversation is carried on in such low voices. Also you fear that an attempt will be made to murder us if we leave the hotel.’
‘True. What does your Excellency propose?’
‘First we must ascertain what Henderson has discovered. Perhaps he has all the information I require. If so he and I must get back with all speed to England. How did you trace him?’
Achmet tiptoed to the door, and suddenly pulled it open. To his relief there was nobody outside, nor indeed within sight. Closing it once again, and locking it, he returned to Sir Leonard and, speaking in a low voice, told his story. In Port Said seventeen days before he had, as Sir Leonard already knew, met Henderson by arrangement, and had assisted him to disguise himself as a well-to-do Egyptian. He had given him the address of a compatriot in Cairo, who would afford him shelter and ask no questions, and where he would meet him if required. When Wallace had directed Achmet to trace Henderson, he had gone to the house of his friend. From the latter he had obtained the names of certain men, well known as leaders of the extreme party. Keeping a close watch on one of them, he had been lucky enough to be able to worm his way into the man’s house, and there overhear a conversation, which informed him that Henderson was alive and a prisoner. Where his captors were keeping him did not transpire. He learnt, however, that they were starving him, hoping thus to force him to reveal his knowledge of their activities, after which he would be killed. When Achmet had discovered this he sent a telegram in code to Sir Leonard, and had awaited his arrival.
‘It is a wonder you are not under suspicion, Achmet,’ commented Wallace. ‘From what I was told last night, I understand that a close watch was being kept on all Englishmen landing in Port Said, as the Nationalists expected men from my department to come out. Probably Henderson was under surveillance from the time he arrived, and he must have been seen to meet you, go with you to your house, and emerge disguised.’
The Arab shook his head.
‘Not so, effendi,’ he replied. ‘Mr Henderson awaited me on the ship whither I went in my capacity as a seller of Turkish delight. It was not difficult to slip down to his cabin, the number of which he had included in the code wireless I had received from him when he was at sea. There I handed him the clothing he had requested, helped to darken his face and hands and afix a moustache, received his instructions, and returned to my goods. He went ashore by himself, and left for Cairo immediately. He had already given instructions for his luggage to be sent to the office of the steamship’s agents, there to await him.’
‘I see.’ Sir Leonard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘That sounds as though he took precautions enough. I am afraid I did him the injustice of thinking he had been careless.’
A sound from the bed caused them both to turn in that direction. Henderson was awake and, although his face was terribly emaciated, he looked better than he had done on his arrival. Wallace hastened to his side, and fed him with toast soaked in tea until he could eat no more. Already a little colour was stealing through the mixture of grime and stain on his cheeks.
‘Had a bad time, old chap?’ asked Sir Leonard.
‘Pretty bad, sir,’ was the whispered reply. ‘They were starving me to – to force me to tell them what I knew.’
‘So Achmet has told me,’ nodded his chief. ‘Do you feel strong enough to tell me what happened?’
Henderson slowly nodded his head.
‘When I came to Cairo,’ he began in such a low voice that Wallace had to lean towards him to hear what he said, ‘I went straight to the house of Achmet’s friend. There by careful inquiries I learnt the names of the ruling spirits of the extreme Nationalist party, and was able to get in touch with one of them. I posed as a merchant from Wady Halfa who had come to Cairo on business, and pretended that I had a deep hatred of the British. I was invited to my new friend’s house, and there was subjected to a thorough cross-examination. My knowledge of the country, and the fluency with which I speak the language, enabled me to answer all questions with ease, and I am convinced I lulled any suspicions he may have had. He refused to discuss the political situation with me, however, but another man called while I was there, and the two of them held a whispered conversation in a corner of the room remote from me. That is where my ability to lip-read came in useful, sir. I saw that they were arranging a big meeting for the following night in that house, and I made up my mind to be present.’
He paused, and Wallace held a cup of tea to his lips. When he had drunk a few drops he pushed the cup away, and continued.
‘The following afternoon I called at the house with the intention of secreting myself there if possible, for I knew that I would stand no chance at night of getting anywhere near it. I was admitted, but told that my friend was out. After waiting for some time I pretended to leave but hid myself in the garden, and reentered the house as soon as I felt sure that I could do so safely. In the room where the meeting was to be held was a large carved chest, and in it I concealed myself and awaited events.
‘It was a most uncomfortable ordeal. I was in that box for nearly six hours before the meeting took place, and by that time my limbs were so cramped that practically all feeling had left them. But I forgot my disabilities when the conspirators arrived. There must have been twenty or thirty of them, and they discussed plans for a great demonstration against the British, including the mutiny of Egyptian troops in the Sudan and the massacre of all British officials and advisers. The owner of the house was apparently the leading spirit, and in his possession I learnt was a book containing the names of every important member of the extreme party with a description of the duty allotted to him when the uprising occurs.
‘The book was kept in a safe in that room I heard and at the suggestion of somebody, was brought out, and the names and duties read over. It was then returned to its receptacle, a date was fixed for the demonstration, and the meeting broke up.’
‘What is the date?’ asked Wallace sharply.
‘The first of September, sir.’
‘Three weeks from today,’ calculated Sir Leonard quickly. ‘Go on!’
