The Mystery of Tunnel 51 (Wallace of the Secret Service Series)

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘Splendid! And now we’ll be off to visit Williams, if you’re ready, Sanders!’

  ‘Just one more drink before you go, Sir Leonard,’ pressed Rainer.

  It was drunk in silence, then Wallace and his host shook hands.

  ‘Everything is quite clear?’ asked the former.

  ‘Perfectly!’

  At that moment they heard the sound of a car drawing up outside, and the slam of a door. Presently a figure passed the window.

  ‘Williams, by all that’s wonderful!’ exclaimed Sanders.

  ‘You have been saved a journey, Sir Leonard,’ said Rainer.

  ‘This is most obliging of Captain Williams!’ murmured Wallace. A bearer showed the cavalry man into the room.

  ‘By Jove!’ he exclaimed, ‘I seem to have interrupted quite a gathering! Hullo, Colonel Sanders, how are you? Hope I don’t intrude, Mr Rainer!’

  ‘By no means! In fact, Sir Leonard Wallace and Colonel Sanders were just about to call on you!’

  Williams started slightly, and looked curiously at the Chief of Great Britain’s Secret Service.

  ‘Permit me to introduce you!’ went on Rainer, and he presented the young officer to Wallace and Brien almost with a touch of cynicism.

  ‘Of course I know you very well by name and reputation, Sir Leonard,’ said Williams hastily, to cover the confusion caused by Wallace bowing formally, and apparently not noticing his outstretched hand. ‘But I did not think I should ever have the pleasure of meeting you!’

  ‘I am glad to know it is a pleasure, Captain Williams!’ replied Leonard, smiling slightly.

  ‘You’ll excuse my running away,’ put in Rainer, ‘but I have some rather important business to attend to with Major Brien. Make yourself at home, Williams. I believe Sir Leonard and Colonel Sanders have quite a lot to talk to you about!’

  ‘I think I can guess what it is,’ said the other ruefully. ‘But Colonel Sanders knows all I can tell him about Major Elliott’s murder. As a matter of fact,’ he added, ‘I really came to take Miss Rainer for a spin in the car.’

  ‘Sorry, but she’s out with Mrs Rainer, and won’t be back till late.’

  ‘Ah! That’s disappointing! Then, Colonel Sanders, I am at your service!’

  ‘Good!’ said Sanders brusquely.

  Rainer and Brien took their leave and Williams sat down. Wallace filled his pipe slowly, and the Colonel stood with his back to the mantelshelf with an expression on his face that would have done credit to Weary Willie himself. In many respects Wallace and Sanders possessed similar temperaments, but while one was almost invariably cheerful in his apparent languor, the other was usually glum.

  ‘Help yourself to a drink, Captain Williams!’ said the former. ‘It isn’t my house, or my drinks; but we were told to make ourselves at home, and, there is no reason why we shouldn’t!’

  Williams smiled. Leonard’s manner amused him, and he found it difficult to associate this man with the great reputation he had acquired.

  ‘I hope you are not going to cross-examine me like a prosecuting attorney, sir,’ he said, helping himself to a liberal peg, and splashing soda into the glass.

  ‘Oh, no! There are just a few questions I want to ask.’

  ‘Have you come out to India purposely to solve the mystery of Elliott’s death?’

  ‘How do you know that I was not already in India?’ asked Wallace lazily.

  The other showed the slightest confusion. His hesitation was only momentary, however.

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said, ‘but naturally, I thought you had come out specially.’

  ‘Oh! It occurred to me that you had seen the announcement of my arrival, by aeroplane, in the Indiaman!’

  ‘It is a paper I seldom read!’

  ‘No, I suppose not! It is rather a rag – generally full of Russian Bolshevik plots against India!’

  Williams started perceptibly this time, and the hand that held his glass shook slightly.

  ‘You seem to have studied it fairly carefully, Sir Leonard,’ he said.

  ‘It is my business, more or less, to be au fait with opinions expressed in newspapers on international matters. And now, Captain Williams, there is just a little information I want about this very sad business. The murder is Colonel Sanders’s department, and professionally I am only interested in it inasmuch as it concerns the robbery of very important plans.’

  Williams’s start of surprise was very well done, if it was put on.

  ‘But surely,’ he said, ‘Sir Henry Muir took them safely to Delhi! He certainly removed the case from Elliott’s body and drove to Delhi from Barog with it!’

  ‘He took the case certainly, but there were only a few pieces of parchment in it. What I want to know is, where are the real documents?’

  ‘Good Lord, Sir Leonard! You surprise me! I certainly thought—’

  ‘I don’t really want to know what you thought, Williams!’ He puffed a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling and watched it spiral its way upwards. ‘The question is, what did you do with them?’

  If a bomb had exploded in the room, Williams could not have shown greater consternation. His glass slipped out of his nerveless fingers and its contents ran unheeded over the carpet; for a moment he grasped the arms of his chair as though in pain, then he started to his feet.

  ‘What – what do you mean?’ he gasped. ‘What have I to do with them?’

  ‘Don’t get excited, man! It’s bad for one!’ Leonard approached a little closer to his victim. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘I know what you did with them; how you obtained them, and the clever little trick you adopted to switch the light out in the interior of the rail car, but I think a confession from you might help you later on!’

  The man was ghastly, beads of perspiration standing out on his brow. He made several attempts to speak, but could only utter inarticulate sounds. At length he pulled himself together.

  ‘You’re mad! Absolutely mad!’ he shouted hoarsely. ‘You are actually accusing a British officer of having been accessory to Elliott’s death and acting the part of a spy.’

  ‘I am! And that’s the pity of it, though I know you only entered the Army with the object of being useful to your paymasters of the Russian Government. Come! What’s the good of being a fool! Why, your face gives you away, apart from all my evidence! You took the real plans from the murdered Major’s body, when you were left alone with him at Barog! Oh, it was all arranged very nicely and, I admit, cleverly.’

  Williams swayed backwards and forwards, and grasped at the back of a chair to steady himself. Wallace turned to Sanders.

  ‘There’s your man, Colonel! You had better take charge of him!’

  The Commissioner stepped forward, but as he did so, Williams pulled himself together with a mighty effort, and drew a small bottle from his pocket.

  ‘You may think yourself very clever, Sir Leonard Wallace,’ he almost screamed, ‘and only the devil knows how you discovered everything. But you haven’t got me, and neither you nor your vulture Sanders will ever have me.’ And with an hysterical laugh he took the cork from the bottle, and was about to drink the contents, when:

  ‘Stop! Don’t be a fool!’ commanded Wallace, and he held a wicked-looking Browning revolver pointed at the other. For a moment Williams hesitated, then:

  ‘Do you think you can frighten me with a revolver?’ he panted. ‘One way’s as good as another,’ and he raised the bottle to his lips. There was a deafening report and, as the smoke cleared away, Williams could be seen holding the shattered remnants of the phial in his fingers, with a look of utter stupidity on his face. Then he moaned, and slipped in a dead faint to the floor.

  ‘My God!’ gasped Sanders. ‘What a shot!’

  ‘You’d better make certain of your man, Colonel,’ said Wallace calmly, and stepping forward he took the broken bottle from Williams’s fingers and sniffed it.

  ‘H’m,’ he muttered. ‘Cyanide of potassium!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

&
nbsp; The Raid

  At half past nine that night a tonga, containing two Indians, drove with shouts and warnings from the driver down the famous Anarkali, where almost anything from a drawing pin to a suite of furniture can be bought in the various shops which line its narrow way. Crowds of people thronged the road; motor cars here and tongas there, not to mention bullock carts and cyclists, filled up all the available space, until it would appear to the casual observer that nothing could move. But the tonga in question continued on its way with only an occasional slackening of speed, the driver apparently having no regard for life or limb whatever.

  At length one of the gates leading into the city proper was reached; the passengers descended from their precarious seat, and having paid the fare, walked through the archway, and found themselves in the midst of a jostling, shouting crowd.

  Both were small men, but whereas one was stoutish and jolly-looking, the other was slight and gave the impression of having a lazy disposition. They each wore the wide voluminous trousers generally affected by Mahommedans, shirts overhanging their nether garments and almost reaching to the knees, and longish black alpaca coats that buttoned up to the neck. The slight man wore a beautifully rolled turban, but his companion had on a red fez which was stuck jauntily on the side of his head and gave him a rakish appearance.

  They strolled quietly along in the unhurried manner of most Indians, and presently came to a place where the way forked. For a moment they hesitated, as though not quite certain of their route, and then took the left-hand road. It could hardly be called a road, so narrow was it. The houses on each side appeared almost to touch and only a very small strip of sky could be discerned between them. But Lohari Mandi Street is one of the busiest commercial districts in the whole of the city of Lahore and although the hour was late, business was apparently still as brisk as at any time during the day.

  The two Indians were obviously in search of somewhere, for they looked at each shop as they passed, reading the names with interest. At last they came to one where the slight man muttered ‘Ah!’ They still walked on, however, and halted about twenty yards farther on.

  ‘What do we do now, sir?’ asked the fat man in a hoarse undertone, and in unmistakable English.

  ‘Shut up, Batty!’ was the whispered reply. ‘Stand here, and pretend to hold a conversation with me; fling your arms about and try to look earnest!’

  Batty scratched the side of his head and looked puzzled.

  ‘’Ow can I ’old a conversation, an’ shut up, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Talk in Hindustani, or, if you can’t, just open and close your mouth, and pretend to!’

  ‘All I know is juldee and jao, sir, so—’

  He was interrupted by a perfect torrent of Urdu from the other, who gesticulated freely as he spoke, and was apparently trying to impress his companion. Batty just gazed in fascination with his mouth open, and Wallace, for he it was, stopped in the middle of his rapid discourse to whisper.

  ‘That’s all right! You look like a fool trying to grasp a point from a learned man, and the attitude suits you beautifully.’ And on he went with his voluble chatter.

  One or two passers-by paused inquisitively to listen, and heard the slight man telling the other that he was a fool to allow his wife’s relations to interfere in his domestic bliss. A wizened-looking span, standing by, heard all this, and, looking sympathetically at Batty, shrugged his shoulders and went his way.

  ‘Oh, thou fool! Thou son of a thousand fools,’ continued Wallace loudly. ‘If I had a woman like thine, I would lock her up and beat her until she obeyed me. Then if she still obeyed not, I could cast her to the jackals, and her mother, and her brothers, and her sisters with her. Thus would I obtain peace and take unto myself a wife who gave me domestic happiness.’

  ‘Thou bast spoken wisely,’ put in a tall, fierce-looking man, who had stopped to listen to the last bit with great interest. ‘If thy friend cannot keep his women-folk obedient to his wishes, then he is no man, but only a woman himself.’ And spitting with disgust, the stranger passed on.

  ‘Wot did ’e say, sir?’ asked the irrepressible Batty in his husky whisper.

  ‘That you’re not a man, but a woman!’ smiled Wallace.

  ‘Well, I’ll be—!’ began the sailor, forgetting in his indignation the part he was playing. A hand like steel was placed over his mouth.

  ‘Cease thy cursings, thou fool!’ almost shouted Wallace, as an excuse for his forcible action. Then removing his hand, he added, ‘Bring not down upon thyself the wrath of Allah!’

  He took Batty by the arm, and led him a little farther on.

  ‘Thou art indeed a thrice cursed fool, Batty!’ he said in English. ‘You nearly gave us away then!’

  ‘Sorry, sir, but that there swab—’

  ‘Never mind the swab,’ He looked at his watch. ‘Five minutes more; I hope everybody is ready!’

  They turned and retraced their steps. As they did so, a white man came along the street with an Indian companion. His was a tall, commanding figure, and as Wallace caught sight of him, he whistled below his breath.

  ‘Levinsky himself!’ he exclaimed, and stood still.

  The tall man looked round him suspiciously, and then went into the house they were watching.

  ‘With a little bit of luck, Batty,’ whispered Leonard, ‘we are going to make a coup of coups tonight. Come on! We won’t wait any longer now.’

  He strode to the door of Ata Ullah’s establishment, followed closely by his henchman. Immediately drawing a little silver whistle from his pocket, he blew three shrill blasts on it.

  The effect was magical. Men appeared from everywhere running towards the establishment. Two bullock drovers who had been quarrelling a little way down the street ceased their quarrel at once; a beggar who had been sitting outside the door stopped his wailing chant for alms, and jumped to his feet. In a moment the place was swarming with men; tonga wallahs, bullock drovers, beggars, fruit and cake vendors all pressed into the shop with an alert, businesslike air, and thence all over the house.

  Wallace had not waited to see if he were followed, but ran through the shop, knocking over bundles of papers as he went, and upsetting a man who tried to bar his progress. Batty with a roar like a bull joined him; together the two went from room to room, and then up a rickety staircase, which shook violently as they ascended it. Here they met with more opposition, two men with lathis awaiting them at the top, and aiming deadly blows at their heads; but lathis meant nothing to Leonard and the sailor. They dodged the blows and an upper-cut from the former, with a full-blooded punch from the latter, placed their two opponents hors de combat in a groaning, gasping heap of mixed humanity.

  Up here there were several rooms, some of which contained stacks and stacks of papers – others full of books and stationery material of all kinds. In one long room were several printing presses, but they met with no further opposition.

  ‘Where the devil has Levinsky got to?’ panted Wallace. He opened a door at the end of the printing room.

  ‘Ah! Another flight of stairs!’ he muttered. ‘Come on, Batty!’

  These stairs were narrower, but much firmer than the others, and appeared to lead to the living apartments. There were five rooms in all, and at the end of a corridor a locked door, in front of which hung a bead screen, pulled them up.

  ‘Probably the women’s quarters are behind this,’ said Wallace, ‘but this is no time for ceremony.’

  He lifted his leg, and crashed his foot with great force against the door. Batty followed his example, and in a few seconds, they broke their way in. As Leonard had guessed, they were in the part of the house devoted to the women-folk. Half a dozen females looked at them with terror and one or two screamed when they saw Batty. He certainly looked rather a terrifying object. He had become very hot during his recent exertions, and had wiped the perspiration from his face, with the result that he had rubbed some of the paint away, and now had a curious piebald appearance.

 
‘Very sorry to intrude, ladies,’ said Wallace, ‘but it cannot be helped!’

  They searched the zenana thoroughly, but found nobody but women and a few children about. Then they returned to the other rooms, all of which were unoccupied.

  ‘Dash it!’ said Leonard. ‘The blighter has got away!’

  ‘’Ere’s a trapdoor out ’ere, sir,’ said Batty, who had wandered into the corridor. ‘P’raps ’e’s gone on the roof.’

  Wallace immediately joined him, and looked at the square framework above them.

  ‘There ain’t no ladder, though,’ added the sailor.

  ‘They, or he, might have pulled it up. Give me a back, Batty! I’m going through if I can reach.’

  The man obligingly bent his back, and, with the assistance of the wall, Wallace climbed on to it, and gradually stood up. Then the sailor slowly straightened himself to enable the other to get on to his shoulders. It was a ticklish operation, but, by leaning against the wall, Leonard managed it, and at last stood on his companion’s shoulders. He could just reach the trapdoor, and, pushing at it, found it moved easily.

  ‘This is where I miss my other arm,’ he muttered. ‘Batty, I’ve got my fingers through, and I’m going to hang on with my hand. Get hold of my legs – I’ll stiffen myself – and push me upwards!’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

  Wallace got a good grip, and then swung his legs free of the ex-sailor’s shoulders. Batty immediately gripped them by the ankles and, by slow degrees, pushed him up. It was a feat of strength for Wallace to hang on with one hand as he did, but in spite of his slight build he had muscles of steel, and at last he managed to get his whole forearm through the opening and rested it there. Then with a swing of his legs that would have done credit to any acrobat, he had one foot resting against the side of the trap. A few seconds later and he had wriggled entirely through on to the roof.

  ‘’Struth!’ exclaimed Batty to himself admiringly. ‘I’d like to see another man wot could ’ave done that. The skipper’s a bird and no mistake.’