Wallace of the Secret Service (Wallace of the Secret Service Series)

by Alexander Wilson

  It was rather a puzzle to get in without being seen especially as the servants’ way was closed to him at that hour, but he managed to dodge the night watchman and reached his bedroom without rousing suspicion. He knocked gently, but there was no reply. Apparently Henderson was sleeping very soundly. Again he rapped, this time a little louder, then took hold of the handle to rattle the door. To his astonishment it opened, and a horrible foreboding took possession of him. For a moment he stood deep in thought, drawing his revolver as he did so; then, suddenly flinging the door wide, he stepped quickly to one side. But nothing happened to indicate the presence of an intruder, and, after waiting a few minutes, Wallace stepped into the room, and switched on the lights. A bitter oath broke from his lips at what he saw, and he stood aghast. Henderson was lying dead, had been stabbed in half a dozen places, and the bedclothes were soaking with his blood.

  For some minutes Sir Leonard remained immovable, his teeth clenched, his eyes expressing the agony of his thoughts. He had not the slightest doubt that Henderson had been murdered in mistake for him. Somehow the assassins had forced an entry without rousing the poor fellow and, probably seeing the dim form on the bed, had stabbed without risking a light. It was a ghastly crime, and proved, in no uncertain fashion, that their intentions were desperate indeed. Then enlightenment came to him, and he felt sure that the men with whom he and Achmet had fought were the murderers returning after having completed their foul work.

  Quickly Wallace changed into his own clothes, and removed the stain from his face and arm. Then, dashing down to the office, he despatched one of the surprised watchmen for the manager, and telephoned the Sirdar. It took him some time to get through, but at last he had the satisfaction of hearing the Governor-General’s voice, and told him what had happened including his suspicion of the identity of the assassins. He was listened to in silence, then:

  ‘You must get away from Egypt at once,’ came the urgent command. ‘I’ll give orders for an aeroplane to be at your disposal at dawn, and send an escort to see you safely to the flying ground. Tell the manager a representative of mine will interview him shortly, that I’ll take full charge of the body, and inquiries concerning the murder. We shall have to hush up a good deal on account of Henderson’s business in Cairo, but you can trust me to see justice done. The most important thing at the moment is for you to get away.’

  Sir Leonard saw the force of his argument and, though reluctant to leave Cairo without avenging in some measure the death of his assistant, his first duty was to his government. The manager arrived as he replaced the receiver, and was terribly shocked when informed of the tragedy. He accompanied Wallace to the room and stood by, his face as white as a sheet, while the Chief of the Secret Service examined the lock of the door. It had obviously been forced and by an expert, who had probably made little or no noise.

  No doubt the assassins had bribed a locksmith to accompany them, or already had a man of that trade in their pay. Two officers of the Sirdar’s household and a high official of the Egyptian police arrived before long, and took charge of affairs. Sir Leonard made a statement which was taken down, left instructions for Achmet to return to Port Said; then hurriedly packed his bags. Before leaving the room he took a last sad look at the face of the man who had given his life for him.

  A closed car with a small escort of armed soldiers awaited him below. He at once drove to the aerodrome, and arrived there without incident. Dawn had broken when the aeroplane rose into the sky and headed for Alexandria. A Royal Air Force flying-boat took him from there to Brindisi and two days later, he was in London once again.

  The British Government was immediately put in possession of the whole facts, while the red book contained enough evidence to force the Egyptian Government to take severe and immediate steps against the extremists, with the result that there was peace in Egypt for some time. Unfortunately the return to parliament of Zaghlul Pasha and the Nationalist extremists a year later caused fresh disturbances culminating in the murder of the Sirdar, Sir Lee Stack, in 1925. But the mass of information in the possession of the British Government which had been obtained by Sir Leonard Wallace and men he sent out after his return, enabled the British to take firm action. The murderers were tried and executed, the Egyptian demand of sovereignty over the Sudan was definitely refused, and a separate Sudanese Defence Force organised, while all Egyptian officials and troops were expelled from that province.

  Henderson’s murderers escaped through lack of evidence until the outrages of 1925, when they were arrested for their participation in the assassination of the Sirdar, and confessed to the crime they had committed nearly two years previously. They were sentenced to death and hanged. Thus was Henderson avenged.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bound in Morocco

  Although his duties kept Sir Leonard Wallace in London most of the year, he spent every available moment at his estate close to Lyndhurst in the New Forest. In fact during certain summer months he lived there, travelling daily to the metropolis by car, and returning in the evening.

  His country residence is a small but beautiful Tudor house set in an old world garden, with a farm attached, and encircled by the majestic trees of England’s most noble forest. Both Sir Leonard and Lady Wallace loved the place, and if it had been possible would have resided permanently there. London held little attraction for them and, though they were to be seen at most functions during the season, and entertained liberally themselves, their hearts were in the New Forest.

  Lady Wallace loves flowers, and is never happier than when pottering about the garden herself, while her little son Adrian has inherited her love for beautiful things and, if possible, will always escape from his governess whenever he catches sight of his mother wearing her old gardening gloves, and preparing to assist the gardener in his daily warfare against slugs, green flies, and all the other pests sent to try the horticulturist. Sir Leonard is also very fond of flowers but, as he admits himself, cultivating them does not appeal to him. He prefers to see other people doing the work, and admire the result.

  ‘You see, Molly,’ he observed one day a few weeks after his return from Egypt, as they lounged on the terrace, ‘gardening is all very well for the young and innocent. What do you think your precious flowers would feel like if a hoary old sinner like myself messed them about? Besides, the real art of gardening is to sit and watch things grow.’

  She laughed.

  ‘How would you expect them to grow,’ she asked, ‘if they were not cultivated?’

  ‘Of course someone must do the cultivating,’ he admitted, ‘but the real artist is he who sits and appreciates.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured sarcastically, her eyes twinkling with merriment. ‘You’re a fraud, Leonard,’ she went on; ‘a lazy old fraud.’

  ‘I confess it, but it’s humiliating to be unmasked by one’s wife.’

  She laughed again in that attractive way of hers, and lay back in her chair, her hands behind her head, in an attitude he loved. Never tired of admiring her, he watched her now. Lady Wallace is as clever as she is sweet, as accomplished as she is charming. Her beauty is not only physical, it is mental as well, and that is perhaps why she is as popular with her own sex as with the other. It would be impossible to dislike her, impossible to think lightly of her. Her glorious chestnut hair, falling in natural waves round her head, her deep blue eyes, retroussé nose, perfectly shaped scarlet lips, and clear complexion are too well known to require description. She and her husband adore each other and jointly worship Adrian. In this twentieth century of broken marriages, divorce, unrequited love, Sir Leonard and Lady Wallace have proved that the perfect state of connubial happiness is still possible.

  Wallace had given himself a well-earned holiday and, for a week, had been engaged in proving, at least so he said, that it is possible to reach an ideal state of indolence. For the time being a deep, blissful peace had entered Molly’s heart, a glad relief from that feeling of anxiety which always pervaded her when he was
actively engaged on those dangerous duties which so often took him away from her. Though often she felt that he undertook ventures which might have been left to others, nevertheless she would not have thought of attempting to dissuade him from them. But she dreaded the necessity which so often compelled him to risk his life. Proud of him, as she was, and of his position as the head of a department upon which the well-being and welfare of the British Empire so greatly depended, she yet prayed for the time to come, when she would have him entirely to herself, and no longer be subject to the heartache and trepidation she felt when he was away from her.

  It was a glorious day in September, and the sun was sinking gradually behind the great trees that stood like sentinels to the west of their domain, as they sat on the terrace of their beautiful home. They had been playing tennis together, and were resting after their exertions. Everything was peaceful and quiet with that languid stillness which is the country’s greatest charm. A feeling of contentment was in Molly’s heart; she had entirely forgotten for the time being the existence of a Secret Service; was, in fact, living in the present and treasuring up every moment of the delight she felt at having her husband with her.

  ‘Visitors,’ grunted Sir Leonard suddenly.

  In the distance could be seen a motor car coming rapidly along the winding drive towards the house, and they watched it casually as it approached.

  ‘It’s old Humphrey’s car from the station,’ decided Sir Leonard presently. ‘Now who can have come by train to visit us?’

  As he spoke a premonition that her happiness was about to be interrupted came over Molly, and she sighed. Somehow the beauty seemed to have gone out of the day, she even felt a little chilly, and involuntarily shivered. Sir Leonard glanced at her, but asked no questions. He understood quite well what she was thinking.

  The car swung round the last bend, and drew up in front of the terrace. A small keen-eyed man stepped briskly from it, and approached the two who now awaited him with the certain knowledge that their idyll was to be shattered. He raised his hat and bowed to Molly, disclosing the fact that his hair was grey.

  ‘As a rule,’ remarked Sir Leonard by way of greeting, ‘I rather like you, Maddison, but just now I think you’re a most unpleasant person to know.’

  The visitor smiled slightly. He had noted the strained look in Molly’s face, and addressed himself to her.

  ‘My apologies are due to you, Lady Wallace, I’m afraid,’ he said.

  ‘You mean,’ she responded quietly, ‘that you are going to take my husband away?’

  ‘That, of course, is for Sir Leonard to decide himself.’

  ‘I understand.’ She rose. ‘I will leave you to discuss your business here.’

  Wallace, who had risen with her, hastily interposed.

  ‘Not on your life, Molly,’ he protested. ‘My study is the only place possible for the proper consideration of whatever Maddison has to tell me. I couldn’t be serious with all those flowers round me.’

  ‘Go along then,’ she smiled, sinking back into her chair. ‘You’ll stay the night, Mr Maddison?’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot,’ he murmured regretfully.

  Her eyebrows were slightly raised.

  ‘As urgent as all that? At least you’ll dine with us?’

  He thanked her, and followed Sir Leonard into the house. Molly sat for some time staring straight before her and occasionally a sigh escaped from her. The appearance of Adrian, who had been out to tea, relieved her mind temporarily, and she played with him until his bed time. But her heart was heavy as she went to dress for dinner.

  In the meantime Sir Leonard had taken Maddison into his comfortably appointed study and, closing the door, he nodded towards one of the large leather upholstered armchairs, dropping himself into another. His demeanour had changed entirely. No longer indolent or perfunctory in his manner, he had the alert air one would expect in the head of such a department as his. Maddison had a feeling that the clear grey eyes were delving into the inner recesses of his brain.

  ‘Serious?’ was Wallace’s pithy question.

  ‘The Prince has disappeared,’ replied Maddison almost as tersely.

  ‘You mean the Prince of Emilia?’

  The Secret Service man nodded.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he assented. ‘We received information from the Foreign Office at half past three this afternoon, and Major Brien ordered me to come to you at once. He thought it more satisfactory than telephoning.’

  ‘What are the details?’ demanded Wallace.

  Maddison consulted a notebook which he had taken from his pocket.

  ‘The Prince with his escort arrived at Gibraltar on the destroyer Lapwing yesterday afternoon. He was received by the Governor, and a dinner and ball were given in his honour. Towards the end of the ball he mentioned that he was very warm, and went for a stroll in the grounds of Government House. He has not been seen since.’

  ‘But, dash it all man! Was he alone?’

  ‘No, sir. One of his equerries and our man were with him.’

  ‘You mean Cousins?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What has he to say about it? Has his report come in?’

  ‘Both Cousins and the equerry disappeared with the Prince,’ Maddison informed him quietly.

  ‘Good Lord!’ Sir Leonard was on his feet now, standing in his favourite attitude on the hearthrug. ‘Is there anything to go on at all, Maddison?’

  ‘Not a thing, sir. The Governor’s cable simply states that the Prince was last seen walking in the garden with his companions, and asks for expert help. There is nothing whatever to suggest or even hint at the reason for the disappearance. The Foreign Office is in a regular stew.’

  ‘It would be,’ commented Wallace drily.

  ‘It’s a nasty business, sir. A most critical international situation may arise through it.’

  ‘It’s possible, especially in the present state of tension between Italy and Britain. But the Italian Government is hardly likely to take an unreasonable attitude. Let me see: the invitation to the Prince to visit our Mediterranean possessions on board a British destroyer dated from the time of his call at Malta, didn’t it?’ Maddison nodded, and Sir Leonard went on: ‘Since then, he has been to Cyprus and Palestine, back to Malta, and was to conclude his tour at Gibraltar, where an Italian warship was due to pick him up and take him back to Italy. I haven’t taken a great deal of interest in the affair, but I believe I am right, am I not?’

  ‘Quite, sir.’

  ‘Well, during that time, has any report arrived from Cousins that all was not as it should have been?’

  ‘Nothing at all, sir. We’ve heard from Cousins twice since you sent him out to keep an eye on the Prince at Malta, and there was certainly nothing in his letters to suggest that there was anything wrong. In fact, he seemed to regard the affair as a holiday, and spoke of enjoying himself immensely.’

  ‘I expected it to be a change for him,’ observed Sir Leonard. ‘This has dished his holiday – and mine,’ he added a trifle ruefully. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about the affair?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. I hope it doesn’t mean foul play.’

  ‘I hope not. Personally, I believe it is a move by a foreign power either to cause trouble between Britain and Italy, or to use the safety of the Prince as a lever to force the Italian Government to agree to something of advantage to that power.’

  Maddison looked sharply at him.

  ‘Surely no power would allow itself to be party to the kidnapping of a royal person of another nation,’ he objected. ‘Why, sir, it is sheer brigandage.’

  ‘It is,’ agreed Sir Leonard, and added significantly: ‘But there is one country that would dare. Of course, it would be done under the cloak of innocence. The devil of it is that it should take place on British territory. I’ll leave for Gib tonight, and see what I can do to pick up the threads.’

  ‘The Foreign Secretary expressed a wish to see you at the earliest possible moment, sir.’ />
  ‘Oh, did he? I’ve no time to go to Town. Get him on the phone, Maddison. Ring up the Southampton post office first, and order them to give us a clear line.’ He looked at the ormolu clock ticking on the mantelpiece. ‘He’ll be at home now, I should imagine, but get him wherever he is.’

  Maddison crossed to the desk, and set to work to get the necessary connection. Sir Leonard thoughtfully filled and lit his pipe. Certain words spoken softly into the instrument set the telephone service working at lightning speed, and in three minutes the call was through. The Foreign Secretary proved to be at home, and Maddison handed the receiver to his chief.

  ‘That you, Wallace?’ came the Minister’s agitated voice.

  ‘Thank God!’

  Sir Leonard quickly repeated to him what he had been told by Maddison.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ he concluded.

  ‘No; except that the Italian Ambassador has been to see me once, and telephoned three times. Apparently the Embassy is receiving frantic telegrams from Italy every half hour.’

  ‘I don’t wonder,’ commented Wallace coolly. ‘There was bound to be a spot of bother.’

  ‘Spot of bother!’ gasped the excited statesman at the other end. ‘Don’t you realise the serious nature of the affair?’

  ‘Of course I do, but what’s the use of getting agitated.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it? You’d better come up to London at once; we’ll talk it over and see what can be done.’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk over,’ objected Wallace. ‘I know all there is to be known apparently, and it would be only a waste of time coming to Town. I’ve decided to go to Gibraltar myself.’

  There was a distinct sigh of relief.

  ‘When do you propose to leave?’

  ‘Tonight. Will you get in touch with the Air Ministry, and ask them to order Calshot to put a flying-boat at my disposal?’