Get Wallace! (7 page)

The first thing Cousins did, when he had ascertained that he was alone, was to make sure that the automatic was still where he had placed it. He had become so used to the feel of it that it no longer inconvenienced him, and, at first, experiencing no discomfort, he feared that, when he had fallen, it had slipped out of its hiding place. However, it was still there. Having relieved his mind on that important point, he took stock of his prison. It was a small room without windows, not much larger than a good-sized cupboard in fact. It had probably been intended originally as a box room. The cane chair on which he was sitting, a very small, cheap-looking washstand, an iron bedstead with no mattress, and two or three dirty blankets was all the furniture it contained. Cousins grimaced; allowed himself a moment’s regretful recollection of his own cosy, well-furnished bedchamber in the flat in London.

Expecting every minute to be summoned to an interview with the ruling spirit of the gang that had captured him, he sat for a long time waiting. However, he was not disturbed, and, deciding eventually that he was to be left alone till the morning, removed his overcoat, jacket, collar and shoes, wrapped himself in the blankets, and went to bed. With the facility of a man who had, on innumerable occasions, been compelled to seek slumber when and where he could, sometimes under the most uncomfortable circumstances, and in unwholesome surroundings, he was quickly asleep.

He awoke with a bad headache, due to the lack of air in the room, looked at his watch, which had been left on his wrist, found the time was five minutes to seven. The brilliant light, so out of keeping with the size of his prison, still burnt fiercely.
He had forgotten to switch it off. He did so now, and lay in the darkness with his eyes closed, hoping thereby to ease his aching head. He was shivering with the cold, the three blankets being quite inadequate to keep him warm. Eventually he reached up to his overcoat, which was hanging over the bedrail, pulled it over him, and felt a little warmer, or perhaps it would be more correct to say, less cold. At length he dozed off to sleep again, awaking nearly two hours later to find the light on once more, and a man, with the battered face of a pugilist, standing by the bed, holding a tray in his hand.

‘Hullo!’ murmured Cousins drowsily.

‘Hullo to you,’ returned the man in almost friendly tones. ‘You believe in having your whack of sleep, don’t you?’

‘If you shut me up in a room without much air, you must expect me to be drowsy,’ retorted Cousins. ‘I feel as though I’ve been drugged.’

‘Shouldn’t worry about your quarters if I was you. They’re a sight better than you’re like to have after the guv’nor’s come back and seen you.’

‘Oh, and where do you think he’ll confine me? In a dungeon?’

The fellow grinned.

‘Call it a dungeon if you like,’ he remarked. ‘I’ve generally heard it called a grave.’

Cousins sat up.

‘You give me the shivers,’ he confessed. ‘Why on earth should I be buried, what have I done, why have I been abducted, and who are you?’

‘Here, steady on! I’m not here to answer questions. You’ll know all you want to soon enough, and a great deal you don’t want to know as well. Take this, it’s your breakfast.’

He handed the tray to Cousins. It contained a cup of tea, and a plate of bread and butter.

‘I prefer coffee in the morning,’ observed the little man, ‘and toast.’

‘Oh, you do, do you? Lord! You’re a cool customer. Here are you on the brink of – of—’

‘Eternity,’ supplied Cousins.

‘That’s it. And anybody would think you were spending a holiday at a friend’s house. You’ve certainly got guts.’

‘Vulgar, but you mean well,’ commented Cousins. ‘Tell me: when do you expect the gentleman you call the guv’nor to be back?’

‘Don’t know for certain. Probably tonight or early tomorrow.’

‘Dear me! Am I to wait all that time for the pleasure of seeing him?’

‘Pleasure!’ laughed the pugilistic one. ‘You won’t call it a pleasure when you’ve had a little time with him.’

‘It all depends upon how one looks at it. Aristotle helps us considerably in deciding what is pleasure, and what isn’t. Have you read Aristotle?’

‘No, I haven’t. Is it a book or a magazine?’

‘Tut! tut! The ignorance of the man.’ The multitude of wrinkles on the little man’s face seemed to express positive pain. ‘Aristotle was a great philosopher. He founded the Peripatetic school.’

‘Did he? Well, I hope it was a success. It sounds awful. Look here, you and I have talked enough. Get on with your breakfast; it’ll help to keep you quiet.’

He crossed to the door.

‘Just a minute,’ called Cousins. ‘You don’t seem a bad sort. Suppose you forget to lock that door, and—’

‘None of that!’ The fellow’s manner changed. His apparent
friendliness vanished. He looked positively evil, as he stood glaring at the little man in the bed. ‘If you want to get a taste of what hell’s like,’ he snarled, ‘you’ll get it quick, if you try bribing me.’

‘Why?’ queried Cousins coolly. ‘Are you so well acquainted with it as all that? All I know about it is: “Five hateful rivers round Inferno run. Grief comes the first, and then the Flood of tears, Next loathesome Styx, then liquid Flame appears, Lethé comes last, or blank oblivion.”’

The jailer stamped out of the room, the door slammed behind him. Then came the sound of the key turning in the lock. Cousins shrugged his shoulders.

‘Another whose soul has not risen above mundane things,’ he murmured. ‘It seems that I am never to find a kindred spirit in my wanderings.’

He turned his attention to the tea, and bread and butter.

The day passed slowly, almost agonisingly. Shut up in that tiny chamber with the minimum of air to breathe, always in artificial light, for not the slightest glimmer of daylight penetrated into the room except when the door was open, Cousins suffered acutely. The same man brought him a kind of stew, very unappetising, at one, and a large plateful of bread and cheese at six, with a cup of discoloured water which he guessed was supposed to be coffee. The fellow had become very surly, refused to answer questions, hardly spoke at all. It was with a very bad grace that he brought soap, a towel, and water – there was none in the jug on the washstand – and procured a razor. The blade of the latter was not too sharp, but Cousins had shaved with worse. At eight, after dipping his aching head in the icy cold water, the Secret Service man went to bed.

He slept badly, found it impossible to get warm, while the
lower his head lay the more it ached. Eventually he dozed off in a half-sitting, half-reclining position in which attitude his jailer found him when he brought in his meagre breakfast. Cousins drank the tea, but refused the bread and butter, the very sight of food nauseating him.

‘How long do you intend to keep me confined in this black hole?’ he asked.

‘It isn’t my doing,’ replied the man showing more disposition to talk than he had done since the previous morning. ‘I wouldn’t shut up a dog in a room like this. There’s no need to make you suffer before the guv’nor decides what he’ll do with you.’

‘Those sentiments do you credit,’ remarked Cousins. ‘I agree with you entirely. By the way, hasn’t the guv’nor, whoever he may be, arrived yet?’

‘Expected at ten,’ answered the other. ‘I daresay he’ll want to see you at once, so it won’t be long before you get a change of air.’

‘Well, that will be very welcome, even if it does mean interviewing your guv’nor. I’ll let him talk while I do breathing exercises.’

‘Take my advice, and don’t rile him,’ warned the jailer. ‘He’s got the temper of the devil himself when he’s roused. If you’re nice to him, he’ll probably only order you to be shot, but, if you get his rag out, as like as not, he’ll have you cut to pieces.’

‘He must be a charming individual,’ murmured Cousins. ‘I am getting quite thrilled at the prospect of meeting him.’

The fellow eyed him with grudging admiration. ‘You’re only half a man to look at,’ he observed, ‘but damn it, you’ve got pluck.’

He departed, leaving Cousins alone once more. The latter rose wearily from his uncomfortable couch, poured what remained of the water into the basin, and thoroughly rinsed his face and
head. Afterwards, feeling a little refreshed, he sat in the rickety chair, filled his pipe and lit it but the stuffy atmosphere was not conducive to the enjoyment of tobacco, and reluctantly he put away the briar. Ten o’clock came, and eleven, but still he was not summoned to the presence of the ‘guv’nor’.

‘Dash it all!’ he muttered. ‘I hope he doesn’t neglect me. I’m aching for that fresh air.’

The thought that perhaps the man might visit him, instead of sending for him, made him groan. Just then Cousins was not at all concerned about the fate likely to be meted out to him. His mind was fixed on the necessity to escape, if only for a short time, from the fetid atmosphere of that box room. It was twenty minutes to twelve when the fellow with the battered face of an old-time pugilist opened the door, and entered. He jerked his head backwards.

‘He’s waiting for you, below,’ he announced. ‘Come along!’

Cousins did not wait for a second invitation. He shot out of the room with such rapidity that the other grabbed hold of him, fearing that he was attempting to escape.

‘Here!’ he growled, ‘not so fast. What’s the hurry?’

‘Fresh air,’ gasped Cousins.

‘I’ll leave the door open so’s some air can get in, in case you’re sent back.’

‘You may be a crook and a scoundrel,’ commented the little man, ‘but you’re not devoid of humanity. There’s probably a seat for you somewhere in paradise in spite of your sins. Lead on, Macduff!’

He filled his lungs with good, wholesome air as they descended the stairs, feeling a great sense of relief and an almost immediate decrease of the pain in his head. He was shown into a room on the ground floor, which offered a striking contrast to the apartment
he had just left. It was furnished lavishly and with taste. Not a speck of dust appeared anywhere; not an article was out of place. But Cousins was not interested in the furniture. He found himself confronting a most impressive-looking individual.

‘I presume you’re the guv’nor,’ he remarked coolly. ‘How do you do?’

Seated in a deep chair behind a large mahogany desk was a man whose great head and extraordinary breadth of shoulder looked almost grotesque. The physical strength denoted by his bull-like neck and massive torso was equalled by the mental power suggested in his face. Short iron-grey hair grew above a high, broad forehead; thick shaggy eyebrows overhung cold slate-blue eyes. The nose was broad and straight; the mouth large but well-shaped; a small moustache, iron-grey like the hair, adorned the upper lip. But the strength displayed by his other features faded almost into insignificance when compared with the huge, square, altogether brutal jaw. A magnificent specimen of manhood, thought Cousins.

This apparent colossus surveyed the captive for some moments in silence; then rose to his feet, walked round the desk, and continued his inspection. Cousins received a shock. Expecting a man of such development to be tall in proportion to his breadth, he was astonished to discover that he was not more than five feet
seven in height. His legs were remarkably short; so short, in fact, that, standing up, he appeared deformed, an impression that was confirmed by the length of his arms. ‘The Gorilla-man,' Cousins mentally dubbed him.

‘So you are the prisoner, eh?' he asked, speaking at last in a heavy, deep voice with the slightest suggestion of a foreign accent. ‘A Secret Service man posing as a Naval Officer. Like a fly you walk into the web of the spider.'

‘Pardon me,' remarked Cousins, ‘a fly doesn't, as a rule, walk into a web. It flies.'

He rather expected to incur the other's wrath, on account of his levity, but was agreeably surprised when the big man broke into a low, rumbling laugh.

‘Whether it walks or flies is no matter. It is certain that you have played the part of fly.'

‘“Methinks I hear in accents low the sportive kind reply: Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly.”'

‘Ha! you quote poetry. Those are lines from your poet Gray: am I not right?'

‘You are quite correct,' beamed Cousins, ‘and, if I may say so, it is a pleasure to meet one who knows the poets so well that he can recognise a quotation when he hears it.'

‘Poetry is my passion,' the ‘guv'nor' told him. ‘It is interesting to find that you combine your particularly hazardous calling with a study of the muse. Sit down, Mr Cousins.'

‘So you know my name,' murmured the little man.

‘Of course I know your name.' The gorilla-man walked round the desk, and resumed his seat. Cousins sank into a comfortable armchair. ‘I have made it my business,' went on the former, ‘to study, as far as possible, members of your profession. I thought
it might be useful to know the men who would try to get on my track when I commenced my activities.'

‘I see,' commented Cousins.

‘I must admit that I am astonished. It is at present a mystery to me how you knew in which direction to start your search. Perhaps you will inform me presently. I was saying that I and others endeavoured to learn who were British Secret Service men in order to know them when we see them. Alas! Your men are so secretive that it was a task of great difficulty. With you and Captain Shannon it was easy, also, of course, with Sir Leonard Wallace and Major Brien—'

‘Why was it easy to get to know Shannon and me?' queried Cousins curiously.

The other laughed.

‘Your memory is short,' he replied, ‘but mine is not. Two or three years ago you two and an American obtained much publicity through an affair in India. Ah I see memory reasserts itself.' Cousins had impatiently clicked his tongue. ‘Thus we knew of you, and have done our best to study you. In my organisation is a man who was once an actor and a mimic. If he had not unfortunately killed another man, he would, no doubt, be a star of the greatest magnitude in the theatrical world today, because his impersonations and his ability in the art of make-up are perfect. You have been able to judge that for yourself, is it not so?'

‘You are referring to the man who posed as Shannon?'

‘Exactly so. He deceived you, who have been a colleague of Captain Shannon for many years. What greater tribute could there be than that?'

‘He also impersonated the Chief of Staff at the War Office, and the Air-Marshal at the Air Ministry, I presume,' remarked Cousins.

‘Ah! You know that?'

‘Of course I do. What of the man who posed as a staff officer? Is he also a mimic?'

‘He was drilled in the parts by the other, who also arranged his make-up, my dear Mr Cousins. He is a very wonderful man with safes.'

‘I thought as much. What I would like to know, since you are being so informative, is: how was it that the bogus Shannon was waiting on the station at Sittingbourne when I arrived there? Was he expecting me?'

‘Yes; but we had one difficulty to contend with. He did not know you. He was, therefore, instructed to stand in a prominent position so that when you left the train, you would mistake him for Captain Shannon, and accost him yourself. After that, we expected that it would be easy to deal with you, and it was. We knew Shannon was in Rome, we also knew you had been on leave, and might not be acquainted with his movements. It was very simple, after all, to take you in, much more simple than I anticipated. Of course our man had spent much time where he could be near enough to hear the real Shannon's voice, learn tricks of movement, and any other peculiarities. You see, Mr Cousins, we anticipated that impersonating Captain Shannon would be a trump card in defending ourselves against the activities of the Secret Service.'

Cousins leant forward.

‘Why are you telling me all this?' he demanded.

The other shrugged his huge shoulders.

‘What harm is there?' he asked. ‘You will never be able to repeat what I say to you. Dead men have never been known to tell tales yet.'

‘You intend to kill me?'

The gorilla-man appeared surprised.

‘Why, of course,' he replied. ‘It is regrettable but necessary. Surely you can recognise that yourself.' He spoke as though he were merely discussing a business proposition. Unconcerned though he appeared, a shiver ran down Cousins' spine. ‘From the time that you reappeared at your headquarters,' continued the deep voice in conversational tones, ‘that was the day before yesterday, I have been forced to face the fact that you must be killed. It would in the ordinary way have happened by accident somewhere. Since you have walked into our hands, we will just shoot you or knife you. You were followed everywhere you went on Friday. Anticipating that he might be required, a wire was sent to John Hepburn – ah! I see you remember the case – telling him to make himself up as Captain Shannon, and drive to London. In the meantime you had been followed from your flat to Victoria, a man was standing by your side when you took your ticket, and thus knew where you were going. Hepburn arrived directly after your train had left, and was immediately sent post-haste to await you at Sittingbourne station. His motor car beat your train by seven minutes exactly.'

‘I congratulate you on your espionage system,' said Cousins. ‘It seems fairly efficient.'

‘As efficient as the British Secret Service, eh?'

‘Not quite,' came the quiet response. ‘You haven't come up against Sir Leonard Wallace yet.'

A frown appeared on the broad brow of the colossus.

‘Not yet,' he admitted, ‘but we soon will. We have information that he sailed yesterday for England in the
Majestic
. Soon after he lands in this country he will be a dead man.'

Cousins started, his face paled.

‘Why?' he demanded. ‘What has he done to you that you should seek his death?'

‘Nothing – yet,' was the reply, ‘but Sir Leonard Wallace is the only man we really fear. We know too much of his achievements not to fear what he may accomplish in the future, if he is allowed to live.'

‘You rotten murderer!' shot out Cousins. ‘You callous brute!'

‘Quietly, my dear Mr Cousins, quietly. I do not like to hear things like that.' The big man's eyes glinted.

‘Good! Then I'm glad I'm the one to say them. And beware, Mr Seller of Secrets: Sir Leonard Wallace's life has been threatened before, but he has always escaped to turn the tables on his intended murderer. You would be wise if you abandoned your scheme of stealing and auctioning national secrets.'

‘Impossible, my friend. We have great world-shattering plans ahead. If you were to live, you would be astounded by the mighty schemes my partner and I have in view.'

‘Oh, you have a partner, have you?'

‘But yes. He is a man with a wonderful brain. He has the ideas, I develop and execute them. His name is a household word – you know, admire him! Ah! That makes you wonder. But, even though you are to die, I must forgo the pleasure of viewing your amazement, for I shall not divulge his name to you. Nobody knows he is connected with me but myself.'

‘Is he an Englishman?' asked Cousins.

‘No, he is a Greek like me.'

‘I wasn't far out. I took you for an Armenian.'

‘Armenian, me! Bah! Do I look like one of that breed? I, Stanislaus Ictinos, am of ancient Greek blood.' He smacked himself on the chest, stuck out his formidable chin, and glared at Cousins. ‘Do you mean to say,' he demanded, ‘that you think there is a resemblance between the Greeks and Armenians?'

‘Quite a lot,' returned Cousins coolly.

It looked for a moment as though the big man was about to break out into a towering rage. His lips came together in one long line, his nostrils dilated, his eyes glared murderously. Then suddenly his anger passed. He gave one of his deep rumbling laughs.

‘You do not know of what you speak,' he grunted. ‘I was foolish to allow a man of no account like you to anger me. But do not do it again, my friend, it is not safe.'

Cousins laughed.

‘If you have made up your mind that I am to die,' he observed, ‘it doesn't seem to matter much to me whether it is safe or not.'

‘Ah! But there are many ways of dying. You would prefer to die like a gentleman?'

‘I suppose I would.'

‘And you shall, if you do not aggravate me or insult me. But remember! The men I command know well how to prolong the agony of death, if I order it.'

‘You seem to have trained your scum well,' was Cousins' contemptuous retort.

Again the Greek laughed.

‘It would not be pleasant for you, Mr Cousins, if they knew you had called them scum. Some of them, as you have perhaps noticed, are countrymen of your own. Do you also designate them as scum?'

‘More so than the others. Men who would sell or help to sell their own country are the lowest of the low. There are not words descriptive enough for such perfidy.'

Stanislaus Ictinos studied him for some moments with a thinly veiled sneer on his lips.

‘All that is what you English call moonshine,' he said. ‘Most of
the men in my organisation have been outlawed by their countries. Why should they not sell them, if they find the opportunity? John Hepburn is wanted for murder, so are many of the others. The man who brought you here is required by the police for many crimes. Is it not reasonable that they feel a hatred for their country, and are eager to exact vengeance?'

‘No,' replied Cousins firmly; ‘the worst possible injury can be no excuse for turning traitor. And, by your own showing, these men have not been injured. It is they who have injured themselves by becoming criminals. I suppose,' he added, ‘it is because they are criminals that they serve you. You bind them to you by threat.'

‘That is so. And, believe me, it is the safest way to bind a man to you. Fear is the greatest assurance of faithful service in the world.'

‘But those who fear sometimes turn on those they fear.'

‘Bah! That would never happen in this case. They are well-treated, if they do their work well, and make no mistakes. They are also well-paid, and are satisfied. I am their chief, and they respect me. Besides, each of them knows that I could break him in two like a little stick, if I were so minded.'

The swagger of the man was amusing, but Cousins did not laugh. He was not taking much notice of what Ictinos was saying, but was meditating on the possibility of drawing his automatic, holding up the other, and compelling him under pain of instant death to accompany him to the nearest police station. But further reflection showed him how futile such a course would be. Even if it succeeded, and he had no means of knowing how many desperate men he would have to run the gauntlet of, little would be gained. The copies of the plans would still be in the hands of the organisation, and there was a partner who, even this braggart admitted, was the brains of the concern, and who probably held
the all-important documents. On the whole, Cousins decided that it would be better to wait in the hope that chance, or the talkative Ictinos, would give him a clue to the whereabouts of the copies, and only attempt to fight his way to freedom, if his life were threatened. Nevertheless, he felt sorely tempted to make a desperate bid, if only in the hope of being able to warn Sir Leonard Wallace of the attempt that was to be made to kill him. The wrinkles on his face suddenly creased into a smile, as he reflected that, if he made such a dash for liberty with the odds about a hundred to one against his getting away alive, and succeeded, Sir Leonard would not thank him for it. His reward would be a sharp rebuke for not stopping where he was until he had obtained important information, or until he was compelled to try and fight his way out to save his own life. Having weighed up all the pros and cons, Cousins again turned his attention to the loquacious Greek.

‘The organisation is thus well-nigh perfect, as you must admit, my friend,' the latter was saying. ‘Before long the nations of the world will be in terror of it. We shall control priceless secrets, be able to command fabulous sums, dictate to the world. It is a great prospect.'