Get Wallace! (16 page)

‘I have your permission to unlock the door?’

Sir Leonard nodded.

‘If I were you,’ he advised, ‘I should return straight to the Savoy, pack my belongings, and leave England at the earliest possible moment.’

Moskevin bowed coldly, and went out. Wallace turned his eyes on the Greek.

‘So we are alone – face-to-face, Stanislaus Ictinos,’ he remarked softly. ‘You heard me say that the time of my reckoning with you is not yet. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to settle with you now, but I must wait. I’ll tell you this, however, that I am going to get what I want, and then smash you and your gang without mercy.’

The Greek shrank back before the deadly menace in Sir Leonard’s tone. Despite his great physique, like all bullies, he was a coward at heart. He had learnt to fear the name of Wallace without having previously come face-to-face with him; now personal contact made him fear this man the more. And the greater his fear, the greater his determination to destroy the Englishman, who was threatening to bring down all his cherished plans like a house built of cards. As he sat there, inwardly he was seething like a volcano, but retained control of himself, knowing full well that he was at a disadvantage with this quick-thinking, quick-moving man. He wondered why Wallace did not have him arrested then and there – not that he would have succeeded, for Ictinos would die rather than that should happen; besides, there was a method of getting away from that house without appearing in the road, which should render his escape certain. As he remembered that fact his courage revived. He resolved to try the pose of a much-abused and misunderstood person.

‘Why is it you speak to me like this?’ he asked in unctuous tones. ‘It sounds as though you hate me. Why is that?’

Sir Leonard regarded him, very much as he might have eyed a particularly loathsome reptile.

‘During my career,’ he announced, ‘I have had the misfortune to meet some pretty vile specimens of humanity, but few as thoroughly foul as you, and I warn you now that I intend having no mercy
on you. Since I arrived in Southampton yesterday morning I have received proof after proof of your utter brutality. You’re not a man but a fiend. I am not holding anything particularly against you because you attempted to have me murdered, but your callousness in endangering the lives of two women and a child in your efforts to get me, the cold-blooded manner in which you shot one of my assistants and caused a motor smash near Sheppey bridge, and one or two other acts of yours, have made me resolve not to rest until either I see your body lying dead at my feet or know you are safe in the hands of the hangman. You have tried your utmost to finish me, Ictinos, but you have failed, and you will continue to fail, but I won’t. I may let you go today, but before long – it may be tomorrow, the next day, a week hence – sooner or later you’ll pay your price to the very last farthing.’

By the time he had finished, the Greek’s face had turned a dirty yellow colour, fear showed from his eyes. He made a feeble attempt to continue his bluff.

‘You are mistaken,’ he bleated in unusually high tones for him. ‘Why should I want to have you killed? There has been no attempt on my part to—’

‘Be quiet!’ snapped the Englishman. ‘Lies won’t help you. Have you already forgotten what Mr Cousins saw; what you told him? In your astounding self-conceit you have said enough to convict yourself a dozen times over. I myself heard you describe how you had caused the disaster on the bridge; heard you browbeating the bunch of ruffians you employ, because they had been unable to carry out your orders regarding me.’

Ictinos managed to pull himself together.

‘What I told the estimable Mr Cousins, and what you say you heard,’ he had the audacity to declare, ‘was just foolishness. It
meant nothing. If I was all you say about me, why is it I have not taken the opportunity you give me of killing you here now?’

Wallace smiled cynically.

‘Are you trying to be humorous?’ he demanded. ‘One of the reasons why you dare not molest me is that you know I have men outside; the other is here.’ He indicated the revolver in his hand. ‘You are a brave man, Ictinos, only when your prospective victim is unarmed or unsuspecting, and your cut-throats are within call.’

There came the sound of voices from the direction of the shop, the connecting door flew open, and Johnson and Batty walked in, followed by the volubly protesting confectioner. The ex-sailor regarded him with an impatient frown.

‘Look ’ere, Alphonso,’ he observed, ‘we’re ’ere under orders, so sheer off, an’ find another anchorage.’

The fellow continued his protests, but showed no signs of going. Batty, therefore, screwed him round by his hair, administered a well-placed kick, which sent him back into the shop rather abruptly, and closed the door.

‘Come aboard, sir,’ announced the valet, ‘a quarter of an hour ’aving passed since you entered this ’ere building.’

‘It’s all right, Batty; I was just about to rejoin you.’ He was turning away, when an idea occurred to him. ‘Go through this man’s pockets, both of you. We may find something interesting in them.’

His face now black with anger, the Greek sprang to his feet.

‘You will not touch me,’ he roared. ‘Stand back!’

But Sir Leonard’s revolver quickly cowed him into submission. Johnson and Batty seemed to enjoy their job, performing it with thoroughness and celerity. There was not a great deal in his pockets – a case full of banknotes, some loose change, a few innocuous letters
and papers, a Browning automatic, a stiletto in a sheath, and a long envelope containing diagrams and memoranda. Wallace studied the latter, and whistled softly to himself. Presently he looked across at Ictinos.

‘Having lost the real thing,’ he commented, ‘you thought you’d fake plans from what you remembered of the others, and sell those to Moskevin. There’s no limit to your roguery apparently. But you’ve made at least one glaring mistake in each of these, which the Russian would have been bound to spot. It would have been interesting to know what he would have said – nothing polite I should imagine. Perhaps it would have ended in your adding his name to your list of victims.’ The Greek made no reply, and Wallace went on. ‘Tomorrow you have an appointment with the German ambassador. I intend visiting him after leaving here. In the circumstances it might be safer for you, if you refrained from keeping your engagement; that is, if you are then in a position to keep it.’

Ictinos growled something unintelligible.

Batty was examining the stiletto with an air of great interest.

‘What shall I do with this ’ere toothpick, sir?’ he asked.

‘Take charge of it, and the automatic as well. Give him back the pocketbook and the letters.’

Sir Leonard returned the diagrams and memoranda to their envelope, which he put in his own pocket.

‘You have not the right to take from me my weapons,’ protested Ictinos. ‘They are my property.’

‘In this country it is illegal to carry weapons without a permit. I am possibly saving you from arrest and prosecution.’

‘That would be a great grief to you,’ sneered the Greek.

‘Very great indeed at the moment,’ replied Sir Leonard calmly.
‘I prefer to wait until I have placed you in the dock myself with the certainty that you will be condemned to death for murder.’ He walked to the door, waited until Johnson and Batty had gone through; then turned back to the man whose baleful blue eyes were watching him with an intensity of hatred in them. ‘You heard what I had to say to you, Ictinos. Remember it! In a short while you and I will meet again, and you will not be allowed to get away then. It will be your finish.’

He strode out, leaving the cursing Greek to call angrily and hastily to the shopkeeper. Outside Sir Leonard met the neatly dressed man who had told him where Ictinos and the Russian emissary were to be found.

‘He’ll be out presently,’ he said, putting away his revolver. ‘You’ve made all the preparations I suggested to have him followed?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘He’ll know he’s being watched, and will be up to all kinds of dodges to give you and your men the slip. But he must not be lost sight of for a moment. It may be disastrous, if he succeeds in getting away.’

‘He won’t, sir,’ the man from the Special Branch of New Scotland Yard assured him. ‘We’ll let him think he’s shaken us off, as you directed, but some of us will hang on.’

Wallace nodded. The car came gliding up; he entered, and was driven away, just as a small crowd of Camden Townites – sensing with the amazing instinct of Londoners that something out of the usual was happening – began to collect. Ten minutes went by; then from a house in Park Street, a hundred yards from the pastry cook’s establishment in which he had spent such an unpleasant quarter of an hour, emerged Stanislaus Ictinos. He had not troubled to replace the beard and glasses so rudely torn from his face by
Wallace, but the collar of his overcoat was turned up, and the brim of his soft hat pulled well down. Looking cautiously round, he set off walking briskly towards Albany Street. Two or three taxis passed by, but he ignored them, eventually signalling to one coming from the opposite direction. Sitting well back in its interior, he allowed a slow smile of satisfaction to cross his face. That devil Wallace would have difficulty in finding him now. He had not known that there was a very convenient secret exit from the pastry cook’s establishment, by which it was possible to cross several back yards, and make one’s way through a house into Park Street. Wallace’s agents, hanging about in the vicinity of the confectioner’s – from the windows of an upper room, Ictinos had noticed two or three loungers who were quite possibly Secret Service men waiting to trail him – would have a long and bitterly cold vigil. A deep chuckle broke from the gorilla-like Greek. He lit a cigar, began to smoke appreciatively. Gradually the expression of venomous hatred returned to his face, as he thought of the Englishman who, in one day, had so disagreeably upset his plans; and through his mind passed schemes of vengeance. At Oxford Circus he dismissed his taxi, and took another; at Cannon Street Station he repeated the performance. He felt perfectly assured that he had got away from Park Street unobserved, but he was not running any risks. All the time his thoughts were fixed firmly, malevolently on Wallace.

‘Not my finish, my friend, but yours,’ he muttered once, through clenched teeth. ‘Whatever happens you must be destroyed – and without delay.’

Sir Leonard drove to the German Embassy after leaving Ictinos. He was fortunate in finding the Ambassador at home, and had ten minutes interview with that gentleman, which opened the latter’s eyes considerably. It left him also feeling a trifle resentful that his country should entrust a task to him which brought an unwelcome visit from a stern, grey-eyed Englishman who, though exceedingly polite, spoke caustically and to the point.

On returning to his office, Sir Leonard found Brien waiting for him, eager to know how he had fared. He related the events of the afternoon to his deputy, afterwards, at the latter’s request, giving him an account of his adventures of the previous night on the Isle of Sheppey. Brien listened entranced, occasionally giving vent to an exclamation of amazement or horror, but not otherwise interrupting.

‘Good Gad!’ he cried at the end, ‘what a fiend this bloke Ictinos appears to be. Seems to me, Leonard my boy, he’s
somewhat the same
jat
as our old friends Levinsky and Dorin.’

Wallace smiled reminiscently.

‘You’ve just about hit it,’ he agreed. ‘He’s the same cold-blooded, callous kind. In addition, from the look of him, I should say he has enormous physical strength, although I don’t think he has much courage. But brutes of his rotten type seldom have.’

‘Are you quite sure he won’t get away from the men you’ve got watching him?’

‘As sure as I can be of anything.’ He leant back in his chair, puffing contentedly at his pipe. ‘I think we ought to be able to clean up this business in a couple of days, and have a peaceful Christmas after all. At one time I feared that there would be another wash-out this year. Do you realise that it’s four years since we have had one of our old-time Christmases in Hampshire; that is with you and Phyllis, Cecil and Dorothy, and all the children complete? Last year I was in Syria, the year before in Egypt, the year before that Cecil was stationed in Palestine and I was in China. I think I’m due for a Yuletide at home and,’ he added a trifle wistfully, ‘I hope I get it.’

‘It seems to me a pity you didn’t collect Ictinos today,’ ventured Brien. ‘After all you’ve done the main job and, if he’d been handed over to the police for trial, there’d really be nothing to worry about, and Christmas would have been safe. With the information we could have given to Scotland Yard, they wouldn’t have had much difficulty in laying the rest of the gang by the heels. Besides, while that man’s at liberty, your life’s in hourly danger.’

Wallace shrugged his shoulders.

‘I pledged my word to Damien,’ he reminded the other, ‘and I’m going to keep it. If I had had Ictinos arrested, the partner – the fellow who, I am convinced, really is at the head of the
organisation – would lie low for a time; then commence operations from a totally different direction, probably somewhere where it would be impossible to get at him. In his hands, I believe, are the documents which are so vital to France, and it is only through Ictinos that I can reach him; that is, get a grip on him to enable me to unmask him and obtain the plans.’

‘Ah, well! You know best, but, for Heaven’s sake, be careful. It would be a fat lot of good spending Christmas at home as a corpse, wouldn’t it?’

‘Billy, you’re crude. I have no intention of spending Christmas at home or anywhere else as a corpse. Have you heard from Shannon?’

‘Yes,’ nodded Brien; ‘he’ll be in Croydon at eight.’

‘Splendid. That’s jolly good going.’

‘Carter arrived at two, full of beans as usual. It’s topping to have the old hands around when there’s an emergency like this on.’

‘How’s Maddison?’

‘The operation was successful, and he’s regained consciousness. It’ll be a long time before he’s in harness again of course, but Reynolds will be about in a few weeks. Cunliffe’s body has been taken to his home in Twickenham.’

‘Poor Cunliffe.’

The two of them became quiet, almost unconsciously paying that silent tribute to the dead which the thoughtful sympathy of His Majesty the King had originated. Suddenly a telephone bell rang, and Sir Leonard took up the receiver of one of the instruments on his desk.

‘Yes, put him through,’ he directed.

Thereafter he listened attentively for some time, eventually expressing his satisfaction, and asking for further information to
be phoned to him as soon as possible. He replaced the receiver, and regarded his companion with a smile.

‘From Seymour of the SB,’ he announced. ‘He is in charge of the men I had out this afternoon to track Ictinos. It appears that there was a secret way out of the confectioner’s shop where I met him – I thought there might be. He emerged in Park Street about a hundred yards away and, after ignoring several taxis he might have taken, engaged one going in the opposite direction, and drove to Oxford Circus. There he changed into another, and went to Cannon Street, where he repeated the process. He is now at Finsbury Park having tea in a small restaurant.’

‘He seems to be touring London,’ commented Brien. ‘How was he picked up, if he used a secret exit? Did Seymour know of its existence?’

‘No,’ smiled Wallace, ‘but I arranged with him to have twenty taxis at his command, driven by men from the Yard of course. When he found where Moskevin went – he followed him from the Savoy – he had the twenty taxis patrolling the streets in the neighbourhood, and the police had orders to divert all others. Ictinos naturally took one, probably thinking he had bamboozled our fellows; several of the others followed at discreet intervals, one of them having picked up Seymour. When the Greek changed at Oxford Circus and Cannon Street, things were manoeuvred in such a manner that he merely left one of our cars to enter another. Now he is in a teashop at Finsbury Park almost opposite a taxi rank, and the first three cabs on the rank are in charge of Seymour’s men. If he is lost trace of after this, I shall almost be inclined to eat my hat.’

Brien chuckled his approval.

‘Poor old Ictinos,’ he commented. ‘It almost seems a shame,
when he has taken such trouble to put us off the scent, to keep hanging on to him like that.’

‘I only hope he leads us to the
Electra
or wherever his new headquarters is. We’ll raid tonight if possible; there is nothing like striking while the iron is hot, so to speak. Will you give instructions for Cousins, Carter, Hill and Cartright to stand by, and leave a message for Shannon to the same effect?’

Brien nodded.

‘What are you going to do with Farrell?’ he asked.

‘Take him with us. He might come in useful; anyway I want to give him the chance I promised him, if I can.’ He pressed one of the buttons under the ledge of his desk. His clerk entered almost immediately. ‘I am going home, Stevenson,’ he informed the man; ‘see that all telephone calls for me personally are switched on to my house, and get in touch with me immediately, if anything important turns up.’

‘Very well, sir.’

The clerk was turning away, when Brien gave him the orders to be conveyed to Cousins, Cartright, Carter and Hill, and also Shannon when the latter arrived.

‘And now, Bill,’ suggested Wallace, ‘come home with me, and have a spot of tea. You can also help me convey the news to Molly that I shall probably be out all night.’

‘Coward!’ jeered his friend. ‘I say,’ he added anxiously, ‘you’re taking me with you, aren’t you? You said—’

‘I know what I said, my lad, and if you’re good you shall come. It’ll be a little outing for our fair-haired boy. But, for the love of Mike, don’t stop a bullet – what on earth would the office staff do, if you deserted them in that cavalier fashion?’

‘It’s a consolation to know that I would be missed, if an
unpleasant accident of that nature happened,’ murmured Brien drily. ‘I have my uses then.’

‘Yes, Bill, you have your uses. Come along.’

‘Those kind words almost overwhelm me,’ observed the tall, fair-haired man as he accompanied his friend to the lift. ‘Sometimes I have been inclined to believe that I am but an amorphous soul.’

Sir Leonard chuckled.

‘What you want, Billy,’ he declared, ‘is a delicately toasted muffin nicely buttered, and a cup of China tea.’

‘But look here, Leonard,’ demanded Major Brien, as they stepped out of the lift on the ground floor, ‘when on earth are you going to get any sleep? You were up all last night, and look as though you’re going to be up all this. You can’t carry on like that for long.’

‘When there are no more muffins to eat, and you’ve been cleared off the premises,’ replied Wallace, ‘I’ll have an hour or so – perhaps.’

‘M’m,’ muttered Brien
sotto voce,
‘perhaps!’

On arrival at his house in Piccadilly, Sir Leonard was told that his wife was out shopping. He and Major Brien, therefore, had tea together, after which the latter departed for his own home. Wallace went to his bedroom and, without troubling to remove much clothing, lay down. He suddenly discovered that he was feeling very tired, and, before long, fell fast asleep. Returning from her shopping expedition nearly two hours later, Lady Wallace peeped into the room, but took care not to disturb him. However, she had hardly tiptoed quietly away before the telephone – he had had it connected through to the instrument in his bedroom – rang. At once he was awake, all his faculties about him, and lifted the receiver to his ear. It was Seymour of the Special Branch.

‘I am speaking to you from Shifton, sir,’ he announced.

‘Where is that?’ queried Sir Leonard. ‘I don’t think I have ever heard the name before.’

‘It is a tiny village about three miles beyond Tilbury, the only place in this neighbourhood which seems to possess a telephone.’

Sir Leonard whistled softly to himself.

‘How did you get there?’ he replied.

‘The Greek brought us down here, sir, or rather,’ he added with a little chuckle, ‘we brought him, on his instructions, of course. When he left the teashop at Finsbury Park, he again took one of our taxis, and drove to Bethnal Green. There he changed once more, walking some distance before he entered another car, but we took care that it was one of ours. He asked the driver to take him to Tilbury. There was not a great deal of traffic on the Tilbury road, but hadn’t much fear that he would discover that his taxi was being followed. We didn’t show headlights and, whenever it was possible, switched off the others also; besides we kept well in the background. At Tilbury he discharged the cab and, after looking round him ten minutes or thereabouts, as though he were waiting for somebody, strolled down to the docks. I shadowed him myself, Willingdon tracking me. He went to a deserted wharf, and signalled with a flash lamp. He was answered from the river, and soon afterwards a large motorboat ran alongside, and took him aboard.

‘I thought we were going to be done, but luck was on our side – luck and Willingdon, I ought to say. Somehow in pushing off, the boat’s propeller fouled a rope hanging over the side of the wharf. How such a thing happened, I can’t say, but an idea occurred to Willingdon. He is a little slim fellow able to hide himself in places where a bigger man couldn’t. He crept up to the boat and, while
the crew were astern trying to find out what had happened, he slipped aboard, concealing himself in the bows. It took quite ten minutes before she was clear of the rope; then she headed down river.

‘I went into the office of the dock superintendent, knowing that if Willingdon wasn’t caught he’d phone me there. Sure enough, after I’d been waiting about an hour, he rang through from here. The motorboat, he told me, had gone to what seemed to be a little tramp steamer, lying in a secluded spot behind a small island at the mouth of a creek. When the launch was tied up, and her crew and the Greek had gone aboard, Willingdon shipped over the side, and swam ashore. It took him some time to find this village, but he eventually did. Directly I knew where he was, I joined him with another man, MacAlpine, who is now down on the shore of the creek keeping watch. Luckily it’s a clear night, and the moon’s nearly at the full, so he can see fairly well.’

‘Smart work, Seymour,’ approved Sir Leonard, when the inspector had concluded his report. ‘Very smart work indeed. I shall have a word to say to Willingdon when I see him. By the way, I hope he is taking precautions after that swim of his. It must have been bitterly cold.’

Seymour was heard to laugh.

‘He’s one of those cranks who go swimming in the winter, sir, but his clothes have been dried in the inn here, and he’s had some hot grog.’

‘Good. Well, look here; I’ll be down with half a dozen men about eleven, and we’ll raid the steamer. It’s possibly the yacht I want, disguised. Are there any boats handy that we can use to get aboard? If not we’ll have to get the assistance of a police launch from Tilbury.’

‘There are several boats hereabouts, sir. I ascertained that – one or two flat-bottomed affairs, and quite a number of dinghies.’

‘That’s splendid. Well, describe the place to me, and how one gets there.’

He listened attentively while Inspector Seymour carefully gave the necessary directions; then reiterating his intention of joining the other at eleven o’clock, and assuring himself that the inspector and his men would be able to get a meal, he rang off.

There was no longer any thought of repose in Sir Leonard’s mind. His two hours’ sleep had done him a world of good, and he felt thoroughly refreshed and fit for whatever the coming hours had in store. At dinner he broke the news to Molly that he would again be away during the best part of the night. She paled a little, and her hands clenched beneath the table, but made no comment, except to express the hope that he was not going into danger. He did his utmost to reassure her, adding that he hoped they would be able to go down to Hampshire the following day, and look forward to the happiest Christmas they had had for years. She brightened a little at that. Molly had not spent the festive season with her husband for some years, and she was almost desperately keen that duty would not call him away from her on this occasion. Invitations to spend Yuletide with them had been sent to her brother and his wife, Major and Mrs Brien and their children, and accepted, but the events that had taken place, since she and Sir Leonard had landed from the
Majestic
, had caused her to fear that, once again, she was about to be disappointed in one of her most cherished desires.