Microbes of Power (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) (11 page)

Emerging from the tunnel, they eventually reached the Piazza di Spagna, the cars ahead coming to a stop outside an apartment agency. Shannon halted his taxi a little way ahead outside an antiquity shop. The fact that Bruno and two of his companions had entered the agency suggested that their stay in Rome was to be prolonged. It appeared that they were about to engage a house or flats. If their intention had been to remain only for a short time in the city, they would surely have taken rooms in a hotel. Nearly half an hour passed by before the men emerged; then they were accompanied by a smartly dressed man whom Shannon recognised as a house agent he had once met. Again he took up the chase,
which eventually ended outside a block of expensive flats in the new Ludovisi quarter. Bidding his driver wait round an adjacent corner, the Englishman watched from behind a tree as all but Thalia Ictinos and the two secretaries, or rather the two men he judged were the secretaries, entered the building. Again there was a delay; then Bruno came out with the house agent with whom he shook hands, before the latter drove away in one of the cars. The drivers were paid off, and the secretaries, assisted by Thalia Ictinos and servants, who emerged from the block, carried in the baggage. Bruno and his party had gone into residence.

Shannon remained in the vicinity for half an hour; then drove to the Splendide, where he engaged a room. It had been his intention to visit the house agent, but business hours had passed, and, though his one previous meeting with the man had been at a club, he wished to see him at his office. It had occurred to him that, if he could engage a flat in the same block for the man who was coming to Rome to assist him, it would be a step in the right direction. The danger of recognition was too great to allow him to take the risk of living there himself. However, there would be time enough if he went to the agency in the Piazza di Spagna in the morning. He unpacked, dressed for dinner, and descended. The lounge was crowded with a gay, chattering throng in which Americans almost seemed to predominate. Everywhere he turned he heard English spoken. There was nothing very strange in that. The language is heard sporadically all over Rome, while it can be said to be spoken in the Piazza di Spagna, which is a favourite meeting place for Americans and Britons, and hotels like the Palace, Grand, and Splendide more even than Italian.

He dined at a small table from which he had an excellent view of the crowded room. Possibly nowhere in the world can be
seen a more cosmopolitan collection of human beings than in a big Roman hotel, if the Italian and French rivieras are excepted. Relaxing from the strain of the last few days, Shannon found a good deal of amusement in studying his fellow guests. It seemed to him that few races were unrepresented; he even saw a Chinaman eating solemnly in company with a Hawaiian. He had finished his meal, and was lighting a cigar, wondering lazily whether he should take his coffee there or in the lounge, when the event happened which he had been carefully avoiding all day. He blew out the flame as two men and two women passed, one of them brushing by and knocking the match out of his hand. He looked up quickly; the movement had seemed to him deliberate. Shannon is a man of iron nerve, but at that moment he received a shock that shook him badly.

Glancing down at him insolently, her scarlet lips curved a trifle mockingly, was Thalia Ictinos. She gave no other sign of recognition; might have been merely showing the coquettish interest of a woman in a stranger she found attractive. Though his spirits fell several degrees, Shannon returned her look with an air of curiosity, as though he had never seen her before and wondered who she was. She passed on, creating quite a sensation in that great dining room, where many of the women were beautiful. Clad in a backless evening gown that showed off to perfection her slim, marvellous figure, she walked with a grace that was wholly fascinating. Her dress was black, unrelieved by any colour, except that of the pink rose at her waist and the string of pearls round her exquisite neck. Her glossy black hair was drawn back, exposing to the full her tiny shell-like ears, in each of which glistened a diamond. Her attendant cavalier was the soldierly-looking man, while the other was Bruno. The lady accompanying him, stout, dark, and black-eyed was, no
doubt, Signora Bruno. They disappeared into the lounge, and Shannon vented his feelings in a deep sigh.

It was rank bad luck, he thought, that after the precautions he had taken all day to escape observation, particularly from her, he should thus be caught napping. Yet he could hardly blame himself. Before entering the dining room, he had given it a careful survey to assure himself it contained nobody who might recognise him, though he had hardly expected to find her there. She and her companions must have been hidden from his view behind one of the many groups of palms with which the room was adorned. Nevertheless, he was quite certain that they had not been in his part of the room. By one of those congestions that so often take place in a crowded dining room, they must have been forced to make a circuit; had thus come upon him. What a pity, he reflected, that he had been caught in an unguarded moment. However, it could not be helped. As far as he was aware, she had no reason to suspect that he was watching her companions and herself. For all she knew he might be in Rome on one of many duties. At the same time she would naturally tell her companions who he was. He rather wondered why she had not indicated him to them before leaving the room. He gathered she had not, as none of them had looked round and, as far as he had been able to judge, she had not spoken between the time she had looked at him and the moment she had disappeared from view. Another thought perturbed him greatly. He was in a foreign country, and she knew his profession. She had but to make public the fact that he was a British Secret Service agent to render his position distinctly uncomfortable, if not dangerous.

He waited three or four minutes; then strolled casually into the lounge. Admiring glances were cast in his direction, as he stood looking for a seat and also for Thalia Ictinos. In his well-cut dinner
suit, his tall, powerful form looked at its best, while his bronzed, good-looking face and somewhat unruly, curly brown hair caused the hearts of more than one woman there to beat perhaps a little faster than usual. It was some time before he saw the Greek girl. She was at the far end of the room, lying back in a deep chair gently fanning herself, while her companion was bending towards her with every appearance of being greatly interested in her. Shannon wondered if General Radoloff, if indeed he were the Bulgarian, was smitten with her charms. There was a vacant table almost opposite where they were sitting. The Secret Service man deliberately sauntered towards it and, sinking into a chair, ordered coffee. Thalia cast a quick glance in his direction, but gave no sign of recognition. He began to wonder if, after all, he had been mistaken. Was it possible that she did not know him? Reflection put any hope that may have risen in his mind, however, out of court. His was hardly a figure, he thought a trifle ruefully, that anyone would have forgotten, and he had been in her company under circumstances which would have left an indelible impression on her memory.

Signor Bruno and his wife seemed to have departed, at least they were not to be seen anywhere. Perhaps Thalia had told the Italian about him, and he had gone at once to warn his companions, though that hardly seemed likely. There could be no hurry, for Shannon was certain they had no reason to think he was in Rome for the purpose of watching them; could not know he had followed them to that city. A British Secret Service man might be in the capital of Italy for several reasons unconnected with their presence there. Bruno, however, was an Italian; had been a member of the diplomatic service. Thalia’s announcement of Shannon’s profession might have sent him off to pass on the information at once to the authorities. The girl could hardly have been presented with a better
opportunity of exacting the vengeance she had threatened to take on one of the men who had encompassed the ruin of her father.

He watched her covertly, but, after her first quick glance in his direction, she did not look at him again. She appeared wholly absorbed in her cavalier, who was entirely monopolising the conversation. From time to time she blew spirals of smoke ceilingwards from the cigarette in the long holder she held to her lips, the occupation apparently giving her a childlike pleasure, particularly when she succeeded in blowing rings. More and more, as he observed her, Shannon wondered how so much beauty and daintiness could cloak the cruel, callous nature which he knew she possessed. It was a million pities, he thought; she might have made a wonderful wife for some man, if she had had the heart and soul of a normal woman. Her companion did not once look at the Englishman, though he could have done so without appearing to be interested in him. He had not even looked across, when Shannon had first taken his seat. Everything seemed to indicate that Thalia Ictinos had made no mention of him at all, but, although he earnestly hoped such was the case, he felt it most unlikely. In any event, even if Bruno had not gone to warn the authorities of his presence in Rome, and did not know who he was, Shannon’s activities had received a setback. Thalia Ictinos knew he was there; she was certain to keep a lookout for him, which would cause him to remain very much in the background in all future investigations. It was fortunate indeed that he had asked Sir Leonard Wallace for assistance.

Shannon lingered over his coffee until it had grown cold; ordered another cup and a liqueur. They had hardly arrived when the couple opposite rose to depart. The man placed the cloak round the girl’s shoulders almost as though caressing her, an attention which she
did not seem to welcome, for the watcher observed a quick little frown appear on her white brow. A group of people talking and laughing obstructed the way. General Radoloff bowed politely, and asked them to make room, which they promptly, and with many apologies, did, but Thalia Ictinos had already encircled them; was squeezing between them and Shannon’s table.

‘Please do not go,’ he was astonished to hear her whisper. ‘In half an hour I will return. I must speak with you.’

She passed on, smiling with great charm at the people who were still apologising for being in the way. She took Radoloff’s arm, and the two were quickly lost from view. Shannon continued to gaze in the direction they had taken for some time after he could no longer see her. He was almost inclined to believe that she had not spoken to him; that he had imagined it. Why on earth did she want to speak to him, and why had she been so secretive about it? Was it a trap of some kind? Thinking it over, he came to the conclusion that she was intent on finding out his reasons for being in Rome, though it perplexed him to know why she wished to do so without the knowledge of her companion. However, only she could answer the question that was troubling him. He sat awaiting her return in a state of curiosity not unmixed with suspicion.

A little more than half an hour had passed, when he saw her again. This time she was wearing a magnificent ermine coat, the great collar of which was raised, almost hiding her head from view. Instead of walking up to his table, however, she went on towards the elevators but, as she passed, looked full at him, her lips framing the word ‘Upstairs!’. Feeling more mystified than ever, Shannon, who had risen at her approach, sauntered after her. He reached her side as she was about to step into a lift; walked in behind her. Two other people were there, who announced that they wished to go to the fourth floor. Thalia Ictinos asked for the third, Shannon doing the same. On arrival she stepped out, and walked away along a corridor, the Englishman walking after her. There was nobody else about, and presently she waited for him to catch up with her.

‘You have a sitting room – yes?’ she asked urgently, without bothering to utter either explanation or greeting.

‘I am afraid I have not,’ he returned, his surprised gaze boring deeply into her wonderful eyes.

She smiled, showing two perfect rows of little, white teeth.

‘Then it must be in your bedroom where we will talk,’ she decided. ‘Is it on this floor?’

‘But, mademoiselle—’ he commenced to protest.

‘Captain Shannon,’ she interrupted hastily, ‘this is no time for a foolish regard of the convenances. You are a gentleman. Please, you will take me to your room.’

He shrugged his shoulders, and turned away.

‘It is on the second floor. Shall we descend by the stairs?’

She nodded, and they walked on together. She was tall, but appeared short by his side. The stairs and the corridor below were deserted. He had his key with him and, opening the door of his room, stood aside for her to enter. She walked in without any trace of embarrassment and, as soon as he had entered, and had closed the door, took off her coat, throwing it on the bed. Her eyes caught sight of the pyjamas laid out for him. She smiled.

‘You wrap yourself in silk when you sleep,’ she commented. ‘You are wise; it helps slumber. I also wear silk.’

He flushed a little.

‘I presume,’ he observed, with a somewhat laboured attempt at sarcasm, ‘that you did not come here to discuss my pyjamas – or your night attire?’

She laughed – a delightfully silvery ripple of sound that thrilled him, despite his repugnance for her.

‘No; you are right,’ she admitted. ‘I came to talk to you of a matter that is very serious, because I begin to feel it is too great for me.’

She sank gracefully into an armchair. Shannon felt curiously uneasy. Her glamorous, fascinating personality was beginning to draw him under its magnetic spell, and it troubled him. He called to mind deliberately his conception that her beauty was of hell,
calculated to drive men to ruin. Perhaps it was because of that that his face became grim and a little fierce as he looked down at her. He was resolved that she would not bewitch him.

‘What is this serious matter?’ he demanded.

She looked up at him lazily, her long lashes half-veiling her slate-blue eyes.

‘Captain Shannon,’ she murmured, ‘I believe you are afraid of me. Is it that my presence in your bedroom shocks your narrow English susceptibilities? Please think of me not as a woman, but as just a human being who is in distress and wishes for your aid.’

The idea of being able to regard her as anything but a woman, and the most alluring of her sex, struck the Englishman as amusing. He laughed, and thereafter the tension was relaxed slightly. She drew her long cigarette tube from the handsome evening bag she carried. He hastened to offer her a cigarette, which she took with a little nod of thanks, asking him to smoke with her.

‘Isn’t it rather curious,’ he said, as he held a lighted match for her, ‘that you should ask for my aid?’

‘You mean,’ she returned, watching the smoke spiral into the air, ‘that you are suspicious of me. You do not think I can come to you, but for some purpose not for your advantage?’

He found her slight foreign intonation of the English words wholly attractive, but was fearful of allowing the admiration for her, which he could not suppress, get too strong a possession of him. He retreated to the bed, and sat on it.

‘You and I were not exactly friendly last time we met,’ he remarked frankly. ‘Under the circumstances you cannot expect me to regard this visit without suspicion.’

She sighed.

‘What can I do to remove it from your mind?’

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘That is for you to decide.’

‘It seems that my task will be more difficult than I anticipated,’ she complained. ‘When I saw you sitting eating your dinner all alone, I thought that perhaps there sat the man who might help me. That is why I have come to you, mon ami. Try to believe, will you not, that my motives are without guile? I am in difficulties, Captain Shannon – you see I have not forgotten your name. Have you forgotten mine, I wonder.’

‘No; I have not,’ came the uncompromising reply. ‘I remember you as the cruel daughter of a callous, unscrupulous scoundrel, who escaped death on the gallows by the sheer good fortune that pneumonia stepped in and carried him off.’

Shannon felt a brute as he spoke, but he was anxious to cast off the spell her personality was casting upon him. He also wished her to realise the opinion he had of her. If she had shown an inclination to dissolve into tears, or expressed outraged indignation, he would probably have decided she was acting. She did neither. For a few moments there was silence between them; then she looked him full in the face.

‘You speak of me as cruel,’ she remarked quietly at length, ‘but have I, to your knowledge, ever said or done anything so cruel as that which you have just said to me?’ He felt a trifle ashamed, but made no reply. ‘Listen to me, Captain Shannon,’ she went on; ‘perhaps you will not believe me, perhaps you may. I hated my father. You smile, but it is the truth. It is not nice for a daughter to say a thing so terrible, but I had much reason. When I was a little girl, too little to know much, my beautiful mother died, and I was left to the care of my father. For two years he permitted me to remain at the convent where I was educated in Vienna; then he
took me away, because he thought I would be of use to him. You have perhaps noticed I am beautiful?’ The question was asked quite simply, without a touch of coquetry in it. Shannon’s nod was just as simple, and she continued: ‘Well, my friend, he decided my beauty would help in his schemes. We travelled much, and he taught me to regard cruelty and wickedness as very ordinary things – he made me become not any more like my mother, but like him. Of course I admit that in me there must be a little of his nature, for sometimes I felt pleasure in hurting others, but all the time I rebelled against it and, as I rebelled, so I grew to hate my father. But I also feared him. That is why, when I chained up Monsieur Cousins – that so nice little man – I was cruel sometimes to him. I called him my little pet dog-man. I made him to suffer – oh, so very much – but I was always hoping to save his life. When my father killed people in his anger, I dared not tell him what I felt, so I pretend it is nothing – I do not care.’ She leant forward earnestly. ‘When I found Sir Leonard Wallace in my father’s study, did I shoot him? No; and I am a good shot, Monsieur Shannon. He put out the light by shooting that was marvellous, and I also fired, but I took care to miss him. I wanted him captured for the sake of my father, but not killed. I admit I have taken pleasure in cruelty sometimes, perhaps again I may feel the same, but I hope I will not. I have his blood, you see. That I cannot help, but I am not all wicked, as I know you think me.’

Shannon eyed her steadily. Inclination made him long to believe her, knowledge of her dragged him to the other extreme. She was, he felt, trying to influence him for some purpose she had in mind.

‘Do you remember when your father was in the hands of the police in Sir Peter Nikoleff’s house?’ he asked.

‘It is something I shall never forget,’ she told him.

‘You ran down the stairs, and clasped him in your arms, as
they were taking him away. During that short space of time you succeeded in transferring to him a revolver. If it had not been for the skill of Sir Leonard Wallace, Stanislas Ictinos might have killed two or three men in attempting to escape. How does your action on that occasion accord with your assertion now that you hated him?’

‘He was my father,’ she returned simply. ‘Whatever my feelings towards him were, the fact that I was his daughter remained. They were taking him away, perhaps for the terrible punishment of execution. What would you have done, if you had been in my position? Would you not have given your father a chance to escape?’

The question was a poser, which Shannon felt he could not answer.

‘What about our threat?’ he asked hastily. ‘You told Sir Leonard Wallace he would be sorry for that night’s work; told him that, if your father died, he would die also.’

‘Was that not also natural? Was not the horror of the fate I knew my father deserved enough to cause me to offer threats to the man who had caught him? They were but empty, nevertheless. That happened a year ago. Have I ever attempted to harm Sir Leonard?’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ admitted Shannon. ‘How am I to know that your present visit to me is not connected in some manner with those threats?’

‘Is Sir Leonard Wallace here?’ she asked in surprise.

‘No; but I am. I took part in the capture of your father.’

‘I did not threaten you, did I?’

He shook his head.

‘I didn’t hear you mention me by name, but your vitriolic outbursts in the room in which we kept you were threatening enough.’

‘I was very much angry. If I had not been, would you not think I was strangely made?’

Shannon sighed. A voice seemed to be whispering to him to accept her as she now presented herself. Could it be that, after all, she was not the wicked woman he had imagined her? Resolutely he put the thought out of his mind, closed his ears to the insinuating little voice which, he felt, must belong to the devil himself.

‘Tell me why you have sought this interview with me,’ he demanded gruffly.

‘You spend a great deal of your time in Rome, Captain Shannon, do you not?’

He smiled cynically. It was as he had thought. She was there to ferret out his reasons for being in the capital of Italy. He was soon to find that he was wrong.

‘Why do you ask that?’ he queried.

‘Because I find you here now. When the man, who impersonated you at the order of my father, made the study of you for his purpose, it was here you were living. You have a connection with the British embassy, have you not?’

Shannon suppressed the sigh of relief which rose involuntarily to his lips. Was it possible that she did not think he was there in the usual capacity of a Secret Service agent? He surveyed her long and thoughtfully. There was no suggestion of mockery in her face, though he realised she would be far too clever to allow him to catch a glimpse of her mind, if she were not being entirely honest with him.

‘Does it matter why I am in Rome?’ he asked.

She laughed.

‘Oh, la, la! How cautious you are, mon ami! Very well, I will not embarrass you with questions which you do not wish to answer.’

That surprised him. He asked her a question more to cover his own confusion than for any other reason.

‘How did you know I was staying here?’

‘I did not until I saw you dining; then I did not know you were living here. It was as you sat opposite me and my companion that I found to my satisfaction that you were. You see you signed for the things that you ordered. Only residents do that, Captain Shannon. But how interested you were in me! All the time you watched me and the man who was with me. Why was it? Because I had made you aware of my presence in the dining room, and you were curious?’

Shannon suddenly felt rather helpless. After her first look at him in the lounge, he had been convinced that the girl had not glanced in his direction again. Yet she had been watching him all the time apparently, and not only that but knew he had been observing her.

‘I naturally wondered why you had attracted my attention,’ he confessed. ‘Considering our – er – previous encounter, I thought it unlikely you would feel very friendly disposed towards me.’

‘That was entirely wrong of you. My disposition to you is of the most friendly; it is you who are full of suspicion and distrust of me.’

‘Need we enter into that again?’

‘No, if you do not wish it. I attracted your attention purposely in the dining room, for I wanted you to notice me. At once, when I saw you, I felt perhaps you would help me. This time, Captain Shannon, our interests are not in antagonism. I think, when I have told you why I wish to speak to you in private, you will feel that you and I can work with one another.’

He began to grow very much interested.

‘I am afraid I don’t understand,’ he told her.

‘Of course you do not, but I will quickly explain. Will you please look out of the door to see that no one listens? I do not think I was watched and followed, but one does not know. It is possible I have been unfortunate.’

Shannon obediently crossed to the door, opened it suddenly, and looked up and down the corridor. There was no one in sight. He returned and assured the girl of that fact.

‘I happen to know,’ he added, ‘that the rooms on either side are empty, so whatever you say can be said with perfect safety here.’

‘So! That is excellent. And, Monsieur Shannon, you will give me your word that, if you cannot help me, you will not betray me?’

He frowned.

‘I can hardly do that without knowing what it is,’ he protested.

‘Oh! So cautious you are!’ she cried half irritably. ‘Never mind, I will put my faith in you, as you do not put your faith in me. I know, you see, that the assistants of Sir Leonard Wallace are men of honour.’

‘That is where you are at an advantage,’ he retorted drily.

A spasm that almost looked like pain flashed across her face.

‘Must you persist in being cruel, m’sieu?’ she asked.