Get Wallace! (23 page)

The inspector smiled with deep satisfaction.

‘Come along!' he bade the two prisoners.

They rose to their feet, Ictinos with a scowl, the other sullenly. The sergeant and constables took possession of them, and walked
them away. At the door Ictinos turned, and shook the fist of his uninjured arm at Wallace.

‘Curse you!' he mumbled from amidst the bandages round his jaw. ‘Somebody will get you yet, and I hope it is soon, you devil.'

‘So you've recovered your voice,' commented Wallace. ‘I was beginning to think Captain Shannon had knocked it out of you.'

Ictinos uttered an expletive which was pointed if ungentlemanly.

‘Come along,' ordered the sergeant, giving him a shove. ‘Don't be so playful!'

Wallace turned to speak to Brien, taking no further notice of the gorilla-man. The lights were now on in the hall, but the policemen did not stop to admire the palace-like splendour of that vast space. They had a job on hand, which they were bent on performing, and marched with their prisoners to the front door without glancing either to right or left. There, however, they halted with surprise, as a scream rang out behind them. From the gallery above a beautiful girl, whose face was strikingly pale, had observed their progress.

‘My father!' she cried, tore down the stairs, ran lightly across the hall, and flung herself into the arms of Ictinos. ‘What have they done to you?' she sobbed.

Sir Leonard and his companions heard the commotion, and hurried out of the room. They were just in time to witness the meeting of father and daughter. The embrace terminated abruptly. Thalia stepped back, and Ictinos, planting himself against the wall, an expression of triumph on his face, raised the revolver she had pushed into his hand.

‘If any man makes a movement,' he boomed, ‘I will shoot to kill.' The policemen stood astounded. Wallace smiled. ‘Ah!' snarled the Greek, noticing the smile, ‘the so-great Wallace thinks I do not mean what I say. Thanks to my daughter Thalia, I will prove it.'

‘Oh! How are you going to do that?' asked Sir Leonard in a tone of interest.

He actually began to advance across the hall. Ictinos watched his progress, at first a look almost of fascination in his wicked, slate-blue eyes, quickly changing to one of mingled delight and ferocity.

‘The nearer you come the surer the mark,' he sneered. ‘You are unarmed, my friend Wallace. What can you do?'

‘Be careful, Father!' cried Thalia. ‘Remember—'

She never finished the warning. Like lightning Sir Leonard's hand went to his pocket, at the same time he threw himself on the floor and, as he rolled over, fired in reply to the shot which Ictinos had sent viciously, a fraction of a second too late, where his adversary had been. The Greek howled with pain and rage as the gun dropped from his shattered hand. At once the police were on him; ran him and the sailor out of the house. Thalia, screaming maledictions, made as though to follow, but the inspector barred the way.

‘Shall I take the woman too, sir?' he asked, as Sir Leonard rose languidly from the floor.

The latter shook his head, and advanced towards the girl. Her lips curled with scorn as she stood looking at him, her great eyes glaring hatred. He reflected that he had seldom seen a more beautiful creature. Her slim body was wrapped in a peignoir of pale blue silk which seemed to enhance her loveliness. Full of charm, altogether glamorous, it was difficult to realise that she was anything but a sweet, captivating girl.

‘No,' he decided. ‘I have no desire to make any charge against her. Please remember,' he added to Thalia, ‘that you are lucky to be allowed your freedom.'

‘Send me to prison if you wish,' she retorted. ‘I have no desire to be under any obligation to you.'

‘Perhaps not; nevertheless it might be to your future advantage, if you reflected on the truism that crime does not pay. Go into that room,' he pointed to the apartment he had recently vacated, ‘and stay there until you are told you can go. Carter, Shannon, go with her, and keep that servant there too for the time being. Perhaps you'd better accompany them, Bill,' he added.

She walked across the hall with studied insolence, every step she took the very acme of grace, and disappeared from view followed by her temporary guards. The sergeant of police re-entered the house.

‘He struggled like hell, sir,' he reported descriptively, ‘even though he has all them wounds. Still we've got him in the van now with four men holding him down.'

‘Good,' returned Wallace. ‘Take him away, and lock him up in the strongest cell you have.'

He saw the inspector and sergeant out, and closed the door upon them. Turning he found that the household had been aroused by the noise. Startled men and women in various stages of
déshabillé
stood on the stairs or peering down from the gallery. An elderly, keen-eyed man, clothed in a dark blue dressing gown, approached him. Sir Leonard knew him well. He was Sir Peter's principal secretary.

‘What has happened, sir? Has there been—'

‘Send all those people back to bed,' ordered Wallace; ‘You can tell them the police have arrested a dangerous criminal who sought refuge here if you like. But get them back to their quarters; then return to me.'

After a barely perceptible show of hesitation the secretary did as he was ordered. Wallace waited by the front door, intending
to open it himself when the two statesmen arrived. Three or four minutes went by; then the man who had been in Sir Peter Nikoleff's service for many years came back.

‘They have all gone to their rooms, Sir Leonard,' he announced quietly.

At that moment they heard the sound of a car drawing up outside the house.

‘Open the door, Anstruther,' directed Wallace.

The elderly man obeyed, his look of perplexity increasing. When he observed the thin, ascetic face of the Foreign Secretary, as the latter ascended the steps, his astonishment knew no bounds. He stood aside to allow the statesman to enter, was about to close the door, when another car drew up. Out of it sprang a figure muffled up to the chin in a thick overcoat, who hurried into the house as though not in the very best of tempers. Anstruther started back with an exclamation of sheer wonderment. He had recognised the Home Secretary. The latter caught sight of Wallace greeting his colleague of the Cabinet, and strode across to him.

‘What's all this, Wallace?' he demanded. ‘Why have you called us up at this unearthly hour, and brought us here?'

‘You'll know all about it in a minute,' was the reply. ‘Anstruther,' he called, as the secretary approached, ‘take us to a room where we can talk.'

The elderly man led them into an apartment towards the back of the hall, fitted up as an office, apparently his own sanctum. He offered them chairs; then took a decanter of whisky, soda siphon, and glasses from a cellaret, and placed them on a table within easy reach. Wallace accepted a drink gratefully; he felt he needed it.

‘Would you like me to call Sir Peter?' asked Anstruther, surprise still showing in his expression.

Sir Leonard took a deep drink.

‘It wouldn't be any use I'm afraid,' he remarked with a sigh.

The secretary saw something in his face that caused him to gasp. His own paled.

‘What do you mean, sir?' he asked in a hoarse voice.

The others also had sensed that something was wrong. They leant forward staring into Sir Leonard's eyes.

‘You must be prepared for a shock,' observed the latter quietly. ‘I am very sorry to have to tell you—' he paused deliberately, giving them time to prepare for what was coming.

‘What? In God's name, what?' cried Anstruther, now thoroughly alarmed.

‘Sir Peter is dead!'

His announcement was received in complete silence. The three men who had heard it sat as though carved out of stone, pale-faced, horror-stricken, incapable for some minutes of movement of any kind. Anstruther was the first to speak.

‘Sir Peter – dead!' he whispered incredulously. ‘Why, he was perfectly fit when I saw him last.'

Sir Leonard rose, set down his glass on an adjacent table, and placed his hand on the secretary's shoulder.

‘I have known you, Anstruther, for some time,' he said. ‘You are, to the best of my knowledge, a man of absolute integrity and honour. It is because of that that I am admitting you to my confidence in this tragic affair, as well as the necessity I feel in having somebody connected with Sir Peter's household to aid me in the scheme I have in mind. I can rely absolutely on you?'

‘Of course, Sir Leonard,' replied the white-faced man, ‘but what—'

‘Sir Peter committed suicide in the presence of Major Brien and myself about twenty minutes ago.'

This dramatic announcement had them all on their feet. Again horror held them in shocked immobility; their faces were ghastly.

‘But – but why should he have done that?' gasped the Home Secretary at last.

‘Because I had discovered that he was the real head of the organisation that has lately caused so much anxiety by its procuration of national secrets for sale to interested powers.'

‘Impossible!' came from the two statesmen in one voice.

‘I cannot believe that—' began Anstruther.

‘Sit down, gentlemen, and listen to me.'

They obeyed, the horror on their faces having given way, at least in two cases, to utter incredulity. Then, still standing where he was, Sir Leonard quietly but graphically related everything that had happened from the time he had stepped ashore from the
Majestic
until the arrival of the two cabinet ministers in the house, including the conversation he had had with Sir Peter Nikoleff, and the latter's efforts to persuade him to keep silent about his part in the conspiracy. When he had finished he sat down, and drained the contents of his glass. For some seconds there was a profound silence then the Foreign Secretary spoke.

‘We could never have brought him to trial,' he dared in a hoarse voice. ‘He was right – we would not have dared to do it.'

‘We should have had to,' interposed the other statesman brusquely. ‘It would have been our duty.'

‘Think of what would have happened.'

‘Think of what will happen in any case,' was the retort. ‘But, gentlemen,' murmured Anstruther – he looked like a man on the verge of death – ‘this is appalling. I had no idea—'

‘Of course you hadn't,' Wallace interrupted. ‘I know that. Tell
me: is the effect of his sudden death likely to be very disastrous, even if we hush up the reason for it?'

‘It will be catastrophic,' replied the secretary in a hushed voice. ‘He practically had control of the money markets of the world. Almost every nation will suffer; there will be chaos in some; very few will escape without being shaken to their foundations.'

The four men sought each other's eyes, in their own the fear of terrible things.

‘But,' protested Wallace, ‘if he had become seriously ill, and died, say after a few days spent in unconsciousness, utterly unable to deal with his affairs, surely there would not be such a world-shaking repercussion?'

‘No,' replied Anstruther; ‘for there would then be time for me and the other secretaries, managers, and agents to adjust things in expectation of his death. Even then there would be a certain reaction in the world's markets, nothing very serious of course. But what is the use of discussing what—'

Sir Leonard leant forward; held the eyes of the others.

‘Sir Peter is going to become seriously ill,' he declared; ‘so seriously ill that he can only be seen by Anstruther here. He will be placed in a nursing home under the care of a well-known doctor. In three or four days he will die.'

His listeners looked at him in bewilderment, but gradually a gleam of understanding came into their eyes.

‘You mean—' began the Foreign Secretary.

‘I mean that only we four and Major Brien know that he is dead now, how he died, and why he died. You, Anstruther, must have him removed to the nursing home tonight. I will select the home, and guarantee the silence of the matron, the special nurses employed, and the doctors. The sooner everything is done the better.'

‘Is it possible?' murmured the Home Secretary.

‘Leave that part to me,' was the confident reply. ‘All the rest is in Anstruther's hands. I am sure we can rely on him.'

The secretary appeared to be a broken man. He seemed to have aged years since he had met Sir Leonard in the hall less than half an hour previously, but he nodded his head emphatically enough.

‘You can rely on me,' he declared.

‘There is no reason why you gentlemen should remain here, unless you wish to,' remarked Wallace to the two statesmen. ‘Anstruther and I will deal with everything.'

They declared their intention of stopping. They had both been very friendly with Sir Peter, and thought it might give point to the reported story of his serious illness, if they were seen about. Wallace agreed with them. Announcing his intention of making the necessary arrangements at once, he handed the keys of Sir Peter's bedroom over to Anstruther; then left the three men. Turning into the room wherein Thalia sat with her custodians he told her to go to bed. She rose from her chair, eyeing him with intense hatred.

‘You will be sorry – oh, so sorry for tonight's work,' she threatened. ‘If my father dies, you die also – nothing will save you.'

‘Take my advice,' he returned calmly, ‘and try and remove the kinks from your mind. You'll only end by landing yourself in serious trouble. It would be as well if you went back to your own country at the earliest possible moment.'

‘Remember my words,' was her only reply to that.

She turned on her heel, and walked away. Wallace beckoned to the footman.

‘You are not a prisoner,' he told him, ‘so you need not look frightened. You can go to the domestic quarters, but remain awake
and within call. Your master's illness may necessitate your being wanted at any moment.'