Microbes of Power (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) (3 page)

‘Isn’t it a pity to think,’ he commented, ‘that there are, among our own people, a number who are ready to sell their country and their souls for paltry gain. Thank God there are not many of them! This fellow was probably once a soldier with a good record, otherwise he wouldn’t have been given a government job. He’s allowed himself to be tempted, no doubt, by a worm of a dago, and thrown everything away – pension, job, all. Good work, Shannon.’

‘It might have been more interesting, sir,’ returned that burly individual. ‘Still it wasn’t a bad spot of bother, everything considered.’

The man still lay breathing painfully. He was obviously in poor condition, and the treatment he had received had taken all the stuffing out of him. Shannon dragged him to the trapdoor and, letting him down at the full length of his arms, dropped him unceremoniously through. The Secret Service man followed; stood guard over him until Sir Leonard joined him. The chief had
stayed behind to examine the earphones and detach the wire. The sound of Shannon’s captive being loudly deposited on the floor had brought several clerks, both male and female, from their rooms. Their exclamations and remarks told Shannon that the man’s name was Wright, and that he was one of the night watchmen. On Sir Leonard’s arrival, he sent the congregation, as Shannon described them, back to their rooms, with the exception of a young man who was dispatched to find a couple of orderlies. The latter, who knew Sir Leonard by sight, choked back the astonished ejaculations that rose to their lips, and lifting Wright between them, at his command, helped the man to a lift, thence along to the room of the Secretary of State. Leaving Shannon outside in charge of the prisoner, Sir Leonard arrived. The statesman and the undersecretary eyed him eagerly as he entered.

‘Have you been successful?’ asked the former.

Wallace nodded.

‘We were lucky enough to catch him at it,’ he informed them. ‘He is one of your night watchmen, a man named Wright.’

‘Good heavens!’ ejaculated Masterson. ‘He has been here for a considerable time, and I would have said he was a most reliable man. He came to the Colonial Office from the army, having served during the War in the tenth Hants.’

‘I thought he probably had,’ nodded Sir Leonard. ‘He looks like an ex-soldier.’

‘What has he to say for himself?’ demanded the colonial secretary sternly.

‘Nothing at present,’ smiled Wallace. ‘I am afraid he came up against one of the most powerful men in London, and is taking a little time to recover in consequence.’

Sir Edwin Spencer, who knew Shannon quite well, laughed quietly.

‘Do you mean to say,’ he asked, ‘that he tried conclusions with Shannon?’

‘Well, it would hardly be correct to say that he tried conclusions. As a matter of fact, he made desperate efforts to avoid him; they played quite an interesting little game round the chimney pots before Shannon caught him, but Shannon is not only extraordinarily powerful, he is quite the fittest man I know.’

‘All you fellows are as hard as nails I should imagine,’ commented the statesman. ‘I suppose you have to be in your job.’

‘We wouldn’t last long, if we were not,’ returned Sir Leonard a trifle grimly; ‘but Shannon surpasses everyone for sheer physical fitness. In fact, he is so fit and strong that it is positively necessary for him to let off energy every now and again. Well, I suppose Wright has recovered sufficiently by now to answer questions. Would you like to hear what he has to say for himself, or will you leave it to me?’

‘No; I’d like to know why he has been such a fool. Is he married, Masterson?’

The undersecretary nodded.

‘He is,’ he sighed, ‘and has a fairly large family, I believe.’

‘God help them! Why do men do such foolish things when they have families depending on them? He had a good post, with the promise of a pension to follow, and now –’ He shrugged his shoulders, and turned to Sir Leonard. ‘Tell me, Wallace,’ he urged; ‘how in the name of all that’s wonderful did you know there was a microphone behind that painting?’

‘It wasn’t very difficult,’ replied Sir Leonard. ‘Sometimes when a microphone is in an enclosed space or there is something in front of it, sound comes back at one. Have you never noticed it?’ Both his companions shook their heads. ‘While I was talking to you it seemed to me that there was a faint echo. It puzzled me at first until
I realised what was causing it. If you listen carefully now, you will hear it. Are you listening, Sir Edwin?’ he went on, speaking with great distinctness, ‘and you, Masterson?’

Sure enough, a faint echo of his voice reached their ears.

‘I would never have noticed it,’ confessed the Secretary of State, ‘if you had not drawn my attention to it.’

‘Which goes to prove,’ smiled Wallace, ‘that you are not observant.’ He sank into a chair, and commenced to fill his pipe, using his single hand with almost fascinating celerity and skill. ‘Do you mind telling Shannon to bring in Wright?’ he asked Sir James Masterson.

The night watchman presently stood, a great, hulking figure, with bent head, before the Secretary of State. Sir Edwin regarded him very sternly, but on the face of Sir James Masterson, who had sunk into a chair on the minister’s left, could be seen a certain amount of pity. Sir Leonard Wallace, lounging in an armchair on the other side of the desk, seemed to be the least interested of the three, but his eyes were keenly studying the man.

‘I think,’ remarked the statesman, ‘that your best course, Wright, will be to make a clean breast of everything.’

There was silence for a few seconds; then the fellow raised his head. He looked abjectly miserable.

‘I suppose it ain’t much good saying I’m sorry, sir,’ he muttered huskily, ‘but I am. I – I’d never have done it only – only – Well, you see, it was like this; I’ve always been a – an inquisitive kind of chap, and, when I saw a microphone and headphones in a shop cheap, I bought ’em and set ’em up in various places for fun like. I used to listen in to what other people were saying, not for any bad purpose, as you might say, but out of curiosity. It interested me to use the things and—’

‘You are not trying to persuade us into believing that you were operating in the cause of science?’ murmured Sir Edwin sarcastically.

Wright looked at him for a moment as though not quite certain how to take the remark, lowered his eyes again and, licking his lips as though they were dry, continued:

‘No, sir. I don’t know nothing about science, but I’m keen on wireless and loudspeakers and such. I didn’t mean no harm. I found out that there was a ventilating shaft running down from the roof to this room, and one night, when I was on duty, I fixed the microphone in here. I only had to take out a couple of bricks what had been put in to close up the hole in the wall and plastered over. I thought I’d like to hear what you gentlemen talk about. I – I’d often wondered. I wasn’t going to repeat what I heard.’

‘Are you quite sure?’ asked Sir James Masterson, who seemed inclined to believe the man.

Wright looked at him eagerly.

‘Take my oath, sir,’ he replied. ‘I would rather have me tongue cut out than give any information to – to unauthorised people about what went on in here.’

‘Quite forgetful of the fact,’ drawled the Secretary of State, ‘that you yourself were an unauthorised person and were committing a very serious breach of discipline as well as betraying trust. You were selected for your post here because your record and character were considered good enough to merit reliance being placed on you. You have repaid the confidence of those who selected you by a rank display of misconduct which merits severe punishment. I have nothing to do with selections or dismissals, but I presume that Sir James Masterson will give the necessary orders regarding your case to your direct superiors. All I wish to say is that you have rendered yourself liable to prosecution under the Official Secrets Act, and,
if you are merely summarily dismissed, you can regard yourself as extremely fortunate.’

‘I think,’ observed the soft-hearted undersecretary, ‘that since he has made a clean breast of his – er – unprincipled curiosity, we may waive any consideration of prosecution we would otherwise have had. In losing his post as, of course, he must, without references and no hope of pension, he is perhaps being sufficiently punished.’

Shannon, who was standing behind Wright, caught the expression on his chief’s face, and smiled slightly. Sir Leonard removed the pipe from his mouth; rose to his feet languidly.

‘I presume, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘that, as you have made up your minds regarding this fellow, there is no more to be said. I will leave him to you.’

‘Just a minute, Sir Leonard,’ begged the Secretary of State. ‘We should like to know, of course, if you have any objection to the procedure Sir James Masterson has suggested.’

A fleeting smile passed quickly across Sir Leonard’s face. Abruptly he placed himself directly in front of Wright; his steel-grey eyes bored deeply into those of the night watchman, causing them to drop in confusion, or perhaps it was fear.

‘Do you repeat,’ he demanded, ‘that you bought and fixed up the microphone of your own accord?’

‘I do, sir,’ came huskily from the other, after a moment of hesitation.

‘You were not persuaded, bribed, coerced, or forced to take such an action?’

‘No, sir.’

‘A certain man or men did not come to you, give you the microphone, and ask you to listen in to conversations held in this room?’

‘N-no, sir.’

‘You are quite certain that your memory is not misleading you? You did not have a conversation yesterday or the day before with a foreigner who persuaded you into doing this thing? You did not take advantage of the fact that yesterday was Sunday to install the microphone?’

The Secretary of State, Sir James Masterson, and Captain Shannon listened to the battery of questions with great interest. The first two noticed that Wright’s face had gone a sickly white. The watchman was visibly agitated; he looked a very much frightened man.

‘I tell you,’ he persisted, but in a voice that could hardly be heard, ‘that I bought the microphone myself, and only put it in because I was inquisitive like, and wanted to hear what was being talked about.’

‘Where did you purchase the microphone?’

‘In – in a shop in – in Lambeth.’

Sir Leonard looked him up and down, an expression of the greatest contempt on his face. ‘You’re a liar!’ came in scornful, biting words from his lips. He turned to Sir Edwin Spencer. ‘I might have been disposed to believe his story,’ he added. ‘I say “might”, because it is unlikely, but, as it happens, I do not believe a word of it. The headphones he was using on the roof are stamped with the name of a firm in Athens. They came from Greece!’

Sir Leonard’s announcement was received in varying ways by the men in the room. The colonial secretary’s face became harsh and full of contempt as he gazed at the culprit, Masterson appeared shocked, Shannon showed no particular emotion, but edged closer to Wright as though anticipating that the fellow might make a sudden break for freedom. He did nothing of the sort, however; seemed utterly crushed. Wallace eyed his drooping form for some seconds in silence. Then at last he spoke again.

‘Do you still hold to the same story?’ he asked. There was no answer. ‘A few minutes ago,’ went on the Chief of the Intelligence Department, ‘Sir Edwin Spencer advised you to make a clean breast of everything. You will be wise, if you take the opportunity I am giving you now of renouncing your lies and telling the truth.’ Wright continued to maintain a stubborn silence. Sir Leonard slightly shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very well, there is nothing for it but trial for you under the Official Secrets Act, with, of course, imprisonment to follow.’

At that the fellow looked up at the slim, upright man facing him.

‘Not that, sir,’ he pleaded hoarsely; ‘for God’s sake don’t send me to prison. Until now I’ve been straight, and—’

‘Are you prepared to confess?’

Wright was silent for a little while; then he slowly nodded his head.

‘Yes,’ he muttered, ‘if – if you promise not to send me to jail.’

‘I make no conditions,’ returned Sir Leonard sternly. ‘What is done with you is entirely at the discretion of Sir James Masterson, but, if you present us with another bundle of falsehoods, I shall advise your prosecution most emphatically. On the other hand, if I feel you have told the truth, I shall make no objection if he decides to take no further steps against you.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ muttered Wright. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything. First of all, tell me: did you serve in Salonika during the War?’

The apparently irrelevant question surprised Spencer and Masterson. Wright, however, did not appear to regard it as inconsequent. He had reached the conclusion that the man examining him had a deadly brain that seemed capable of ferreting out even one’s innermost thoughts; it would be useless to attempt to deceive him. He told Wallace, therefore, that he had served in Salonika.

‘I thought so,’ nodded the Chief of the Secret Service. ‘I knew, of course, that your battalion was there. Did you, by any chance, meet your wife there?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Ah! That explains a lot. It was through your wife then, I presume, who is a Greek woman, that you met the man or men who have succeeded in plunging you into this unpleasant situation?’ Wright was silent for so long that Sir Leonard repeated the question, adding: ‘It is no use your hesitating. Either make a clean breast of the whole business or prepare to stand your trial, when you must
expect everything to be dragged from you in open court.’

Wright appeared to have a great fear of imprisonment. The idea of being tried by a judge and jury with perhaps two or three year’s hard labour to follow dismayed him. He told the whole story now of his fall from the path of rectitude without faltering. In fact he spoke so quickly that Sir Leonard, who had returned to his chair, had on two or three occasions to pull him up. It appeared that, on his marriage, his wife had presented him with several hundred pounds with which he had bought a house and furnished it. Unfortunately, with the unkind practise peculiar to some women, she had never allowed him to forget the fact that her money had provided the home? As she was also in the habit of inviting compatriots of hers, who happened to be visiting England, to stay at the house during their sojourn, Wright had quickly found that he was more of a lodger, and not a very popular one at that, than anything else.

During the previous year, the house had been visited on several occasions by two men, one of whom was a Greek and the other a Cypriot, who appeared to have a considerable amount of somewhat mysterious business in London. They had arrived again on Saturday evening. Before Wright had started off for his nightly duty, they had taken him into a public house, and had insisted on treating him, behaving altogether as though they were bosom friends of his instead of comparative strangers. The ex-soldier, far from suspecting ulterior designs, was flattered by their attentions, which they had continued on Sunday morning. It was then that they asked him if it were possible for him to listen to conferences or discussions held in the room of the Secretary of State for the Colonies. He had, according to his own story, replied that it was not, and had vehemently asserted that he would not attempt anything of that nature even if it were possible. They had plied him with drink after drink; then had asked
him if he could install a microphone in the room, and listen in to conversations from a place where he would be perfectly safe. If he would oblige them in that manner for a week or two, they would pay him three hundred pounds. At this point in his narrative, Wright took pains to make it appear to his listeners that he had time after time resisted the temptation. He had only fallen when the drink and the thought of possessing three hundred pounds, which would mean independence, as he expressed it, from his wife’s hold over him, had proved too much for him. He did not explain in what manner the possession of three hundred pounds would render him independent of the woman. Sir Leonard did not trouble to inquire, curtly cutting short the man’s efforts to show how he had at first resisted their insidious temptations, and bidding him to continue his story.

Once he had agreed to do their bidding, Wright had apparently entered very keenly into the scheme, though he endeavoured to make it appear that he had continued reluctantly. He knew of the disused ventilating shaft, and it occurred to him as an ideal place in which to fix the apparatus they handed over to him. The only alternative was the chimney. This had a big drawback, for, though April was well advanced and the weather quite warm, there was always a possibility of a fire being lit in the grate. There was no difficulty in obtaining access to the statesman’s room and, as he had that part of the building to himself, he was able to arrange his apparatus without fear of interruption. It had taken him a considerable part of Sunday night and the early hours of that morning, especially as he was very careful to leave no trace of his presence in the room in the way of specks of fallen plaster or anything of that nature. He had gone home to breakfast, and announced that the microphone was in place. He had then been paid £100 on account, and given his final instructions. Although off duty, no surprise had been expressed by any of his mates, when he had returned shortly
before ten o’clock. It was not unusual for him to appear in the daytime. He had made his way to the roof and, with the headphones in position, had listened to every word spoken in the cabinet minister’s room up to the time when he had been discovered.

‘Your only reason for committing such an act,’ commented Sir Leonard scornfully, when Wright had concluded, ‘was, as far as I can make out, a desire to obtain money. You have not even the saving virtue of being confronted by ruin to advance as an excuse, like so many people who get themselves into a similar position. Greed – nothing else but greed – influenced you to become a traitor to your country.’

‘Not greed, sir,’ whined the man. ‘I didn’t want the money for itself – I wanted to be able to tell the missus that I had money of me own whenever she nagged me about the house and furniture and all the rest of it. I would have felt independent of her then.’

‘Would you!’ observed Sir Edwin. ‘I very much doubt it. If your wife is the woman you have pictured her, I should imagine she would retort by telling you that you had betrayed your country or your employers to get the money or that her own people had provided you with it. Really, Wright, that’s about the weakest excuse for treachery I’ve ever heard in my life.’

‘Was there anything particular you were instructed to listen for?’ asked Sir Leonard. ‘I mean to say, were you told to take note of all conferences, discussions, or conversations in general or those referring to a particular subject.’

‘Those about a particular subject, sir,’ replied Wright reluctantly.

‘And what was that subject?’

‘Well, it was more than one subject in a manner of speaking, sir. I was instructed to listen particularly whenever Greece or Cyprus was mentioned or two Greeks with the names of Bikelas and Plasiras.’

Sir Leonard glanced significantly at the colonial secretary;
turned quickly back to the man he was examining.

‘You have the names off rather pat,’ he remarked. ‘Do you know the men to whom they belong?’

‘No, sir.’

Wallace gave him a sharp glance; was satisfied that he spoke the truth.

‘How were you going to remember what you heard?’ he demanded. ‘Were you writing it down?’

‘No, sir. It would have been too – too dangerous in – in case of discovery.’

‘You’d better search him, Shannon,’ directed Sir Leonard.

He was promptly obeyed, the burly Secret Service agent going through the watchman’s clothing with the speed and thoroughness of an expert. Everything he found in the pockets was placed on the desk. He even looked in the man’s tobacco pouch, opened out all the cigarettes contained in a case, examining the paper for writing. Wright almost forgot the position in which he stood, so fascinated did he apparently become in watching him. The colonial secretary and Masterson were no less interested. They certainly were given a display of a Secret Service man’s thoroughness. Shannon was not content in removing and examining the articles in the pockets; there was hardly an inch of Wright’s person that escaped the deft inquisition of those expert fingers. At last he turned to Sir Leonard, who was also going through the articles on the desk.

‘That’s the lot, sir,’ he announced. ‘Nothing of any significance on him.’

‘Not a thing,’ agreed Wallace, as he replaced the last article on the table. ‘You can put those back in your pockets, Wright.’

The watchman obeyed, glancing a trifle resentfully at the opened cigarettes on a large ashtray.

‘Can I have the cigarette tobacco, sir?’ he asked. On permission being granted, he poured it into his pouch.

‘Now,’ demanded Sir Leonard, ‘tell us the names of the two men who put you up to this business!’

Wright hesitated.

‘Baltazzi and Padakis, sir,’ he muttered at last with great reluctance.

‘Do you know why they are in England?’

‘No; unless it is for the purpose of finding out what is going on over here concerning Greece and Cyprus.’

‘What do you mean by “going on over here concerning Greece and Cyprus”?’

‘Only that I was to tell them what was said about those two countries in this room.’

‘What have they said to you about Cyprus?’

‘Nothing, sir. They said that Greece was anxious to make arrangements with England over something or other – they didn’t say what it was though.’

Again he was subjected to a searching glance. Sir Leonard was apparently satisfied that he was keeping nothing back, for he nodded.

‘What do you know about Cyprus?’ he asked sharply.

Wright stared at him as though the question puzzled him.

‘Cyprus!’ he repeated vaguely. ‘It’s an island, ain’t it? That’s all I know about it. I suppose it’s got something to do with Greece, as Baltazzi is a Cypriot – leastways that is what he calls himself – and he looks the same breed to me as Padakis.’

‘Can you speak Greek?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Do you think he can speak the language, Shannon?’ asked Sir Leonard in Greek.

‘No, sir. It is obvious he cannot,’ replied the burly man in the same tongue.

The trial was successful. Wright looked vaguely from one to the other as they spoke. It was quite apparent that he did not understand. Neither Sir Leonard Wallace nor Captain Shannon had had more than a very indifferent knowledge of the Greek language a few months previously, but having been brought into contact then with a conspiracy engineered by Greeks, and finding their ignorance a disadvantage, they had since studied the tongue assiduously. A knowledge of Ancient Greek had been helpful, of course, but the ability to master languages quickly and fluently is a necessary adjunct to the Secret Service man’s mental equipment.

‘Have you any questions you wish to ask this man, Sir Edwin?’ Wallace turned to the Secretary of State.

‘No; I don’t think so,’ was the reply.

‘Have you, Sir James?’

Masterson shook his head. It was a terrible thing to him that a man in government employ, even though in a menial position, should sink so low as to betray his trust. The affair had thoroughly upset the old civil servant, whose life had become bound in the tentacles of officialdom, but who, nevertheless, had never lost his humanity. Although all his instincts had been outraged by the behaviour of Wright, he still felt a certain amount of pity for the man. It seemed to him that an otherwise honest, though perhaps ignorant and foolish, Englishman had been snared by a scheming wife and her compatriots. If Wright had married an Englishwoman, he reflected, the distasteful situation would never have arisen. He was inclined, rather unfairly perhaps, to place all the blame on an unfortunate marriage, possibly contrived by a designing woman.

‘Can Wright be locked up in this building for a few hours?’ Sir
Leonard asked him. ‘It is essential that he should remain here for the present. Afterwards, if you do not intend to prosecute him, he can go.’

‘I daresay it can be arranged,’ Masterson assured the Chief of the Secret Service.

‘Will you give the necessary orders?’

Sir James left the room, followed by Shannon and Wright. When the door had closed on them, the colonial secretary looked quizzically at Sir Leonard.

‘If I ever went wrong,’ he declared, ‘I should hate to have to face you, Wallace.’

Sir Leonard walked across to the wall on which hung the painting of Hong Kong harbour. Climbing on a chair, he stretched his hand up behind the picture, caught hold of the microphone and pulled it from its position. Returning to the desk, he stood examining it for some minutes.