Get Wallace! (5 page)

‘Narrow escape that, Leonard,’ muttered Brien, when they had
crossed the Broadway, and were heading towards Olympia. ‘There’s not much doubt that these people, whoever they are, are bent on stopping you from taking a hand in the affair.’

‘And they gamble with the lives of two women and a child! God! I’ll make them regret it, if I ever come into contact with them.’

The cold fury in the speaker’s voice caused a grim smile to play round the lips of Major Brien. He knew that from that moment Sir Leonard’s efforts to run down and smash the gang that was beginning to prove itself such a menace would be implacable, deadly. Nobody was more chivalrous to an opponent, whose efforts in opposition to him or his cause were governed by the canons of fair play, than Sir Leonard Wallace, but, if his adversaries overstepped those bounds, resorted to foul means to encompass their ends, or endangered innocent lives, he could be utterly ruthless.

No further attempt was made to molest them before they reached Sir Leonard’s house in Piccadilly. They all lunched together, after which Lady Wallace and Mrs Brien went out shopping while their husbands drove together to Whitehall. Batty had already arrived with the luggage, and had been warned to say nothing to anybody about the affair in Southampton Docks. Always exceedingly solicitous about his wife’s happiness, Wallace saw no reason why she should be made anxious by an event which, after all, had terminated without hurt to him, when already she suffered so much anxiety on his account.

A glowing fire, burning cheerfully in the large fireplace of his office, seemed to extend a hearty welcome to him. For a moment he stood at the door, his gaze wandering round the comfortable room, taking in the shelves packed tight with reference books and
reports which took up the whole of one side, the maps on the other walls, the massive mantelpiece with its beautifully carved clock and relics of the War, the three deep leather armchairs. Finally his eyes came to rest on the great oak desk, and he sighed. Brien, who was still with him, was unable to decide whether the sigh was one of relief or regret.

‘A comfortable office is a good place in which to spend one’s working hours, Bill,’ observed Sir Leonard, as he divested himself of his overcoat, hanging it with his hat on a peg in the small lavatory adjoining. ‘The trouble is that so many of my working hours are spent elsewhere.’

Brien looked at him with a certain amount of surprise. It was unusual to hear his companion give tongue to such sentiments.

‘Are you getting tired of – of the other life?’ he asked curiously.

Wallace shook his head.

‘I was thinking of Molly,’ he explained.

He walked to the desk, and, seating himself in his swing chair, began to study a pile of reports placed ready for his perusal. Brien watched him for a few minutes; then took out his cigarette case, helped himself to a Virginian.

‘Are you beginning to get premonitions now?’ he demanded.

Wallace looked up at him with a smile.

‘Nothing like that about me,’ he assured the other. ‘I want to think – do you mind?’

Brien took the hint, and left the room. Twenty minutes later Sir Leonard pressed one of the numerous buttons under the ledge of his desk. Almost at once Maddison appeared. He was unable to add anything to what Sir Leonard had already learnt from Brien concerning the disappearance of Cousins and the activities of the gang, which presumably had kidnapped the little man. However,
Wallace insisted on going through the affair step by step with him in the hope that some point would arise, which would be of help in the investigations he intended to make. Afterwards he paid a visit to the War Office and Air Ministry, had interviews with the Chief of Staff and the Air-Marshal, inspected the safes, carefully examined the plans. He questioned the night watchman very thoroughly, only to be convinced that the men who had carried out the impersonations must have been perfect in every detail. No item of interest likely to aid him in his search emerged from the enquiry. Nothing could be added to the information Cousins had apparently already acquired.

On his return to his office Wallace was told that the Foreign Secretary had been asking for him on the telephone. He immediately rang through on the line connecting directly with the statesman’s room in the Foreign Office.

‘That you, Wallace? … Good,’ came eagerly from the other end. ‘Can you come over? There is a gentleman here who is very keen to speak to you. I’d send him across only he is not exactly the type of individual you would care to have wandering round your premises.’

‘Who is he?’ asked Sir Leonard with interest.

‘Monsieur Damien.’

‘Not
the
Damien?’

‘Yes.’

Wallace whistled softly to himself. What could the head of the French Secret Service want with him!

‘I am coming at once,’ he assured the Foreign Secretary.

The tall, good-looking man who controlled Great Britain’s foreign affairs greeted Sir Leonard warmly, expressing his pleasure at seeing him back in London.

‘It is a good thing your short holiday ended when it did,’ he declared, ‘otherwise, I am afraid it would have been interrupted. Events have been happening lately which badly require your intervention.’

For a while they spoke of the daring manner in which copies of the plans of the Masterson monoplane and Wentworth gun had been obtained, of the offer made to the government concerning the sale of certain French and German secrets. Sir Leonard was shown the letter received by the Foreign Secretary, and studied it with great care. It consisted of a sheet of ordinary writing paper obtainable in almost any stationer’s shop, on which the words had been typed by a machine which obviously had no peculiarities. There was neither signature nor address, not even a date.

‘Not very helpful,’ commented Wallace, after he had examined the envelope which, with the exception that it bore the postmark ‘Sheerness’, was of no more assistance than the letter.

‘Still, I’ll keep them, if I may?’ The statesman nodded. ‘I understand that nothing further has transpired since you put the requested notice in
The Times
?’

‘Nothing at all. Really, Wallace, I am inclined to think the whole thing is a hoax.’

‘I might agree with you were it not for the fact that Cousins has obviously been abducted and probably murdered. Also, two attempts have been made on my life today, which I am rather persuaded to believe were engineered by the same people.’

‘Attempts on your life!’

Wallace told of the narrow escapes he had had in Southampton and Chiswick. The Foreign Secretary was horrified, particularly at the wanton manner in which the lives of Lady Wallace, Mrs Brien, and Adrian had been jeopardised by the unknown assailants.

‘Who can these people be?’ he cried, ‘and what is behind all this?’

‘I don’t know,’ returned the other grimly, ‘but I’m going to find out – soon! Now how about Damien. What does he want?’

‘I do not know. He wouldn’t tell me. But he is very much perturbed about something. He is waiting in the office of one of the secretaries. Shall we have him here?’

‘Please.’

The Frenchman was ushered in, and presented to Wallace. He bowed profoundly; gracefully accepted the seat offered to him.

‘We have met before, monsieur,’ he said in excellent English. ‘At times the duty we owe each to our countries has – what shall I say? – prevented us from seeing eye to eye on certain matters; is it
not so?’ Sir Leonard nodded. ‘Always,’ went on Monsieur Damien, ‘pardon, I should say, nearly always, our interests have clashed – we have even been antagonists; nevertheless, I think you will agree with me that we have had much respect for each other. Am I not right, monsieur?’

‘You are quite right,’ agreed Wallace, wondering what all this was leading up to. ‘At least,’ he added, ‘I can certainly say that I have always respected you.’

‘And I you,’ declared the other earnestly. ‘Today, I come to you in the presence of your eminent Secretary of Foreign Affairs’ – he bowed to the statesman – ‘to ask your assistance.’

‘I am flattered,’ smiled Sir Leonard, reflecting none of the surprise which the Foreign Secretary showed in his face. ‘In what manner can I be of assistance to you?’

Monsieur Damien leant forward. He was a thin, sharp-featured man with a pair of keen brown eyes, but little else of an impressive nature about him.

‘It is my intention, messieurs,’ he proclaimed, ‘to lay all my cards on the table, if I may use one of your excellent idioms. May I proceed?’

The Foreign Secretary looked enquiringly at Wallace, who nodded.

‘Please do,’ urged the former.

‘Very well, messieurs. Some days ago a mysterious communication reached the Quai d’Orsay. The writer claimed to possess copies of certain secret plans regarding British inventions of military importance, and stated that he was prepared to accept the highest offer for them. It would be idle and hypocritical of me to pretend that France was not interested, gentlemen. You know and I know that all nations are eager to learn each other’s secrets.
France and Great Britain, though very friendly disposed towards each other, are not above buying the secrets of each other, if it is felt that those secrets are of value. You see, messieurs, I am frank. But naturally, negotiations would not be entered into without the Quai d’Orsay being satisfied that the offer was genuine. In the case of which I speak the writer asked for a reply in the London
Times
, stating that France was prepared to negotiate.’

Wallace smiled slightly.

‘Why do you smile, monsieur?’ asked the Frenchman.

‘I will tell you presently,’ replied the Englishman. ‘Please go on.’

‘
Bien
. Before replying as requested, it was necessary to make investigations, but I confess that everything was so wrapped in mystery that nothing could be discovered. The letter was typed on ordinary paper in French of the most faultless; there was no indication to suggest address or name or, in fact, anything about the writer. All we knew was that the document had been posted in England at a place called—’

‘Sheerness,’ put in Wallace.

The Frenchman’s eyebrows rose slightly.

‘No, monsieur, it was Southend. Why do you say Sheerness? Have you reason to—’

‘Pardon my interruption, Monsieur Damien. I was merely guessing. Certain communications which presumably emanated from the same source, were posted in Sheerness. I find the fact that the letter, of which you speak, was dispatched from Southend quite interesting.’

‘Then you know of the communication to the French Government?’

‘I do. I also know that similar communications were sent to
Berlin and Moscow. They, I may as well tell you at once, were posted in Sheerness.’

The Frenchman smiled. He was not in the least surprised by the revelations.

‘It is amusing, this game of international espionage,’ he commented. ‘If we knew how – but I am not here to talk of matters so delicate. As I have said, I am here to beg your assistance. As you know so much, my task is made a little the easier. Having this knowledge, you will guess I am aware that an offer was made to your government of certain French plans for alliances of an offensive and defensive nature. Circumstances all seem to point to the likelihood that these offers are inspired by the same individual.’

‘I quite agree with you there,’ nodded Sir Leonard. ‘It appears that an organisation has arisen which intends to make money by stealing the secrets of one nation, and selling them to the highest bidder among the others.’

‘Exactly, monsieur. But unless the whole thing is bluff, how can this organisation have obtained so many secrets? One or even two, yes, but more it seems impossible. Yet to France has been offered two of Great Britain’s cherished secrets and one of Germany’s; Britain has been offered a secret of France, perhaps also others; to Germany has been offered the same secret, and I very much fear another. Tell me, monsieur, do you think it is all fraud, this?’

Wallace emphatically shook his head.

‘Since you have been so frank with me and, as you say, are placing your cards on the table, I will be equally frank with you. There is no bluff about this thing. There is an organisation which has certainly obtained the secrets it claims to possess, and intends to enrich itself at the expense of the nations concerned. I say this, fully convinced of the truth of it.’

Monsieur Damien’s eyes gleamed.

‘Then I have not come for your help in vain, I hope,’ he remarked. ‘These people, it seems, are in England. You will do your best to exterminate them, and quickly?’

Wallace eyed him thoughtfully for some moments. The Foreign Secretary looked from one to the other, appearing to be rather puzzled. Presently Wallace spoke:

‘You told us, Monsieur Damien,’ he observed, ‘that you intended to lay all your cards on the table.’

‘But certainly.’

‘At present there are one or two missing, and I believe they are more important than the others. It appears to me that, measuring what Britain is likely to lose against what France is likely to lose by the sale of the national secrets under discussion, Britain stands to suffer the bigger blow. Why, then, are you so eager for this organisation to be smashed? Why do you come in this apparently frank manner? There is something else influencing you and those who sent you, monsieur. What is it?’

Monsieur Damien nodded slowly. His manner became impressive.

‘You are right,’ he declared. ‘The sale of our plans for offensive and defensive alliances to either Britain or Germany is a serious matter, but not of paramount gravity. Sooner or later the world will be aware of those arrangements, though naturally the nation that knows them now could act very much to our disadvantage. I confess, however, that, if those plans of France were placed by her in the balance against the purchase of copies of Britain’s two military inventions, she would risk the loss of them to obtain the others. As you guess, monsieur, that is not the real reason I have come to you. The organisation apparently exists in this country;
you have the best chance of ferreting it out, and destroying it. And it must be destroyed, monsieur. It is becoming a terrible menace to the peace of Europe. The French Government is greatly perturbed.’

‘Why?’ asked the Foreign Secretary.

‘Blackmail is now the trump card,’ replied the Frenchman quietly, but with grim deliberation. ‘Think of it, gentlemen; the blackmailing of a nation. Last night another letter was received at the Quai d’Orsay, posted this time in London. You, of course, have heard that the whole frontier of France has been strengthened until it is considered now to be almost impregnable? Well, the writer of the letter claims to have complete copies of maps and details, even to the smallest item, regarding the fortifications. These he promises will be handed over intact to France on payment of two hundred million francs. If that sum is not paid by January the fifteenth the plans will be sent to Germany.’ He paused, noting the effect of his pronouncement on his hearers. The Foreign Secretary looked decidedly startled; Sir Leonard Wallace appeared almost uninterested. ‘You see now,’ continued Damien, eyeing the latter with some disappointment, ‘that there is grave reason for my presence here today. It seems impossible that the plans of the fortifications can have been copied, they have been guarded with care of the greatest. Yet what sense could there be in making such a – what you would call – gigantic bluff?’

‘I don’t think it’s bluff,’ remarked Wallace. ‘In fact, knowing how copies of the plans of the British military secrets were obtained, I am convinced it is not.’

‘You will do your utmost to destroy the gang?’ asked the Frenchman earnestly.

‘You may rely on that, monsieur, and for more reasons than one. For our own sakes it is urgent that their activities must be
ended once and for all. It is now evident also that the peace of Europe will be broken, if they are not suppressed very soon, which gives me more reason than ever for getting on their track at the earliest possible moment.’

‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed the Foreign Secretary. ‘Fancy daring to hold a revolver to the head of a whole nation in that barefaced manner. Who, in Heaven’s name, Wallace, can these people be? They must comprise a pretty powerful organisation, and be
au fait
with everything that goes on in government and diplomatic circles.’

Sir Leonard Wallace nodded.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘there is no doubt about it now. I think we will be startled to find who is behind it all, if we are fortunate enough to bring the gang to book.’

‘Why,’ queried the Frenchman, ‘are you so certain that everything is not bluff? You say you know how copies of the British military secrets were made. Would it be injudicious on my part to ask how it was done? You see, monsieur, the French plans may have been copied in the same way.’

‘Very likely they were; in fact it is pretty certain, I think. There is no reason why you should not know, Monsieur Damien. This organisation, of which we speak, appears to possess men who are past masters in the art of mimicry and make-up. The high officials in whose possession were the plans in question were impersonated, and so perfect was the impersonation that not the slightest suspicion was roused. Either on the same night or on adjacent nights these officials were apparently seen to arrive at the buildings in which the plans were secreted. They were in each case accompanied by a staff officer. Enquiry proved that in reality neither of the gentlemen has visited his office at night for
some considerable time, thus it is obvious that men made up to represent them were seen, not they. Both officials are of similar height, and were probably impersonated by the same individual. It is also significant that the staff officers impersonated are of like build. It is my opinion that the man masquerading in each case as a staff officer was an expert safe-breaker. If that was done in London, it could equally well be done in Paris.’

‘
Mon Dieu
!’ The startled look on Monsieur Damien’s face was almost ludicrous. ‘What effrontery! What impudence! No longer can I hope that the letters to my government were the work of a fraud or an imbecile. Messieurs, it is a very grave situation. Undoubtedly the villains are domiciled within the shores of England, therefore I am helpless to assist, but my wishes, and the wishes of all good Frenchmen, will be with you in your efforts to destroy the organisation. You have my word on behalf of the French Government,’ he added somewhat naively, ‘that the advances of these people will be treated with contempt. France will, under no circumstances, purchase the copies of the plans of the military secrets which have been stolen from Great Britain.’

Sir Leonard smiled at the Foreign Secretary. Almost it seemed as though his left eyelid fluttered in a wink.

‘It is gratifying to be assured of that, monsieur,’ he observed drily. ‘In return, I am in a position to be able to inform you that His Majesty’s Government is not likely to bid for information concerning the secret treaties which were offered for sale. You asked me a little while ago why I smiled. I will tell you: all nations that have been approached by this organisation have been invited to insert a notice of their willingness to negotiate in the personal column of
The Times
, just as you were. It is good to know that
France does not intend to make a bid. Unfortunately, however, that decision helps Great Britain very little. Germany and Russia were approached in the same manner, and both have inserted the required acceptances in
The Times
.’