‘Don’t apologise!’ returned Shannon. ‘After all, their anxiety to see over the boat enabled me to come aboard as an innocent sightseer and, therefore, without causing any particular interest. Did the rest wonder what had become of me?’
The young airman nodded.
‘They were quite concerned until I told them a message had been sent after you, and you had gone ashore again.’ He sighed with mock sorrow. ‘I have always been fairly truthful, having been taught at my mother’s knee, as the storybooks have it, but it’s hard not to be a confirmed liar in the RAF. Still it was in a good cause on this occasion. It’s twenty to twelve. We’ll leave now, if you’re ready, sir.’
‘The sooner the better,’ returned Shannon.
‘Right ho! If you’ll keep out of sight until we’re up aloft, I don’t think anybody but a professional nosy parker will know you’re aboard.’
Five minutes later the great flying boat was skimming over the calm surface of the sea to rise presently without any apparent effort, though she carried an extra heavy load of petrol, and soar into the cloudless space above. Not a more glorious day could have been chosen for such a trip. There was a slight following breeze, visibility was excellent, conditions altogether were ideal. At one o’clock a picnic meal was brought to Shannon who enjoyed it immensely. He suddenly realised that he was very hungry, having had breakfast at an early hour before departing from the Palace Hotel and going to Government House. The funeral of Barbara Havelock had taken place at nine o’clock. Less than two hours after leaving Famagusta, the seaplane passed over Rhodes Island at a height of four thousand feet. Thereafter Shannon found a great fascination in gazing down at the Cyclades, the town of Milos, shimmering in the sunshine, presenting a particularly entrancing spectacle. Soon after half past three they passed over Morea, and the officer in charge, having relinquished control to his junior, joined Shannon to tell him in triumphant tones that they were exceeding all expectations. They had tea together, during which they discussed the landing in Naples Bay. It had already been decided that Shannon should pose as a senior officer of the Royal Air Force going on leave, having availed himself of a flying boat, proceeding under orders from Cyprus to Malta, after obtaining permission from higher authorities for the machine to take the devious route. Wireless communication was established with the authorities in Naples, the matter explained, and permission obtained for the seaplane to alight in the harbour, and disembark its passenger.
The great Blackburn Perth machine maintained its speed, and at half past six, six hours and three-quarters after leaving Famagusta, it was circling over Naples preparatory to alighting. Shannon delighted in the experience of looking down on one of the most charming views to be found in the world. The pleasure of regarding from above Naples and her perfect bay, beautiful Sorrento, lovely Capri in the distance, and Vesuvius is not to be enjoyed by everyone. He, a man not given to rapturous ecstasies over scenery, found the panorama inspiring, and was conscious of a feeling of regret when the flying boat alighted perfectly in the harbour. The port officials were quickly on the scene. Shannon found himself greeted with the utmost courtesy; passport and customs formalities were rapidly conducted, and he was permitted to land. Several Italian flying officers came out in a motor launch to greet the British flying officers, and were greatly disappointed when they learnt that the men in charge of the seaplane could not accept the invitations showered on them, because of the necessity of leaving at once for Malta. Shannon, rather to his dismay, found it incumbent on him, as a supposed senior officer of the RAF, to call on the Italian commandant and accept the very warm invitation to dinner. He thanked the men who had brought him with such speed from Cyprus, and bade them farewell; then went ashore in the motor launch. He spent an exceptionally pleasant evening with the Italian officers, but was rather glad when he was reluctantly permitted to return to the Hotel Vesuve, where he had booked a room. He possessed a fairly intimate knowledge of aircraft; could fly his own machine, but he knew that, if he had not pretended an ignorance of Italian, he would have been lost. On several occasions the airmen seemed eager to enter into highly technical discussions, which they were forced to abandon on account of his supposed lack of knowledge of their language and their indifferent acquaintance with his.
The Ile-de-France was due into arrive at Naples at the early hour of six on the following morning, and depart again at ten. Shannon found awaiting him, on his return to the hotel, a sealed envelope in which was enclosed a ticket for Marseilles with the compliments of the British consul. He had telephoned the latter whilst dressing for dinner, and had been informed then that a note would be left for him at the hotel. He smiled to himself at this further example of the efficiency of the Intelligence Department. Before leaving Nicosia he had asked the governor to send by special cable another communication in code to headquarters, in which he announced his intention of meeting the Ile-de-France at Naples and sail on her to Marseilles in company with the people he was after. Headquarters, in order to prevent any hitch due to his late arrival, had promptly communicated with the consul in Naples, and arranged everything for him. All had taken place between the hours of ten in the morning and six in the evening – and on a Sunday!
Monday morning dawned wet and dismal, but Shannon was down at the docks long before the Messageries Maritimes steamer was warped alongside her jetty. He had obtained a picture of Paul Michalis while in Nicosia, and on it he depended to pick out the Cypriot and the other members of his party. He had never met or seen photographs of any of the others. Wrapped up in his raincoat, and holding a borrowed umbrella well down over his head, he watched the large vessel with its black hull and funnel and white superstructure draw in to her berth. He had taken up his stand behind a railway van, and was confident that even his great bulk would pass unnoticed, while he was in a position to observe all that went on. He had no great expectations of seeing any of the men he was so anxious to watch at that hour of the morning; had met the boat more as a precaution than for any other reason. There was a possibility that, despite the fact that they had booked to Marseilles, they might land at Naples. He had no intention of taking the risk of losing them.
There was a great deal of bustle and clatter round him as cargo and baggage was discharged from the ship. Close by, an optimist with a guitar, scornful of the rain, sang and strummed Neapolitan airs, though the few passengers to be seen were busily preparing to disembark. They were certainly not likely to spare time to listen to and award largesse to a wandering minstrel. A group reached the head of the gangway, and commenced to descend. Shannon’s sharp eyes became fixed on the third person, a short, rotund man with a fat, flabby face in which small piglike eyes were set over a broad nose. It was Michalis – he was certain of it. He had studied the photograph in his possession too often to be mistaken. They were disembarking then. People bent merely on a sightseeing tour did not carry suitcases and impedimenta of that nature. With Michalis were seven men and three women, the identical number Shannon expected. Then he gave a great start, and slipped farther out of sight, his eyes riveted on one of the women.
‘Good Lord!’ he muttered to himself. ‘It’s Thalia Ictinos!’
CHAPTER NINE
A Surprise for Shannon
Shannon had vivid recollections of his previous dealings with the girl; had spent too much time in her company to have made an error in identity. Besides, he felt, there could not be two women in the world with that glamorous, fascinating beauty – a beauty which he mentally and cynically decided came from hell rather than heaven, and was calculated to lead men to ruin. Thalia Ictinos was a great and unexpected danger. She would recognise him at once. Her father, ruthless and a fiend, had been engaged with others in a plot to steal and sell international secrets. One of his accomplices, a man with a wonderful power of disguise, had actually impersonated Shannon in order to lure another Secret Service man to destruction. The plot had almost succeeded, but Sir Leonard Wallace, partially by taking advantage of the fact that Shannon had
been impersonated, had turned the tables. Ictinos had escaped death on the gallows by dying of pneumonia brought on by wounds and exposure, three of his accomplices had been hanged for murders they had committed, and the gang had been completely broken up. Thalia Ictinos had apparently taken no active part in the conspiracy, though she had shown a vein of cruelty that could only have been inherited from her father. She had, however, made a desperate attempt to save him from Sir Leonard; had afterwards threatened the Chief of the Secret Service. When Stanislas Ictinos had died, she had disappeared from England, and had not been heard of since. That was more than a year ago. It was disconcerting to find that she was connected with the conspiracy Shannon was now bent on unravelling. It meant that he would be gravely handicapped, for, all the time, he would run the risk of being recognised.
Grudgingly he admired the feline grace of her walk, which even a mackintosh could do nothing to hide, as she passed on with the others towards the customs shed. She was wearing a little hat drawn low over her forehead, but he caught a glimpse of the long, curling eyelashes shading her great, slate-blue eyes, her rather long but perfectly shaped nose, the deep scarlet of her exquisite lips, rendering even more noticeable the flawless complexion entirely devoid of colour. Despite his feelings, Shannon gasped. She was so utterly beautiful, quite one of the loveliest women he had ever seen. It was hard to believe that within her beat a heart that was entirely callous and cruel, but he knew her, and he frowned more deeply, as he reflected again on the difficulties that would now beset him.
Taking advantage of every vestige of cover, he followed the party to the customs shed, where their baggage was strictly examined. Perhaps the officers resented having to be on duty at such an early hour, and consequently revenged themselves on the passengers. Whatever the reason, they searched the luggage with the most extreme care, but Shannon was indebted to their meticulous thoroughness for the fact that he obtained an important item of information. The people he had under observation were joined by another man, who seemed as though he also was connected with the party, though he made it consist of one more than Shannon calculated there should have been. He was a man of middle height, thin almost to the point of emaciation, with the stoop of the scholar. He possessed a sallow, cadaverous face in which a long-pointed nose predominated. His eyes were curiously magnified by his glasses and, as he had extremely arched eyebrows, his face wore a permanent expression of almost childlike surprise. A small, thin-lipped mouth completed a countenance which Shannon found interesting. He was engaged in an argument with a customs official, when the Englishman’s attention was first drawn to him. The latter managed to approach close enough to get a view of the article that was apparently causing the dispute. It was a large wooden case, fitted to contain the numerous bottles, retorts and burettes with which it was packed. Michalis and two other men, who were looking on and listening, appeared greatly concerned. Eventually a senior officer was called to give his verdict. He questioned the owner of the case very closely about the contents. Shannon was not able to hear much of what was being said until they all raised their voices.
‘I am a chemist,’ cried the central figure of the controversy in passable Italian; ‘these are merely various samples of drugs and gases which I need for certain experiments I am conducting.’
‘But, signor,’ came firmly from the senior official, ‘it is necessary for you to have a permit to land such commodities. You should have obtained it from the Italian consul at the port where you embarked.’
‘I did not know. These matters are beyond my understanding.’
‘You should learn to understand,’ retorted the other drily, ‘if you wish to carry articles of this nature about with you.’
One of the others, a stocky, thickset man with a hooked nose and aggressive jaw, stepped forward. He said something to the other rapidly, but not loud enough to enable Shannon to hear. The officer listened attentively; then smiled, and shook his head.
‘I know you, of course, by name, Signor Bruno,’ he replied, ‘nevertheless, I am unable to accept your assurance on behalf of this gentleman. However, you may be able to arrange for the necessary permit. In the meantime, we will be compelled to retain the case.’
‘But we are not remaining in Naples,’ protested the owner angrily. ‘We are going to Rome.’
Shannon gave a little inward sigh of satisfaction. It was something to know their destination.
‘Allow me to advise you,’ suggested the customs official suavely. ‘Go to Rome, and as soon as you arrive obtain the permit. I will see that the case is sealed and sent to Rome by boat today. On its arrival, you will be able to claim it. You will, of course, have to pay the cost of transport.’
With that they were compelled to agree, though the man, to whom the case belonged, showed a good deal of reluctance in letting it pass out of his care. It was closed, locked, and sealed. All other baggage having, by that time, been passed, the party prepared to depart. Three taxicabs were engaged, and Shannon managed to get close enough – always keeping a wary eye on Thalia Ictinos – to hear that the drivers were directed to proceed to his own hotel.
He allowed them to go without following, feeling as certain as he reasonably could be that he had succeeded in remaining unobserved. His visit to the docks had not been wasted. It is true the obtaining of his ticket for Marseilles had turned out to be unnecessary, but that did not matter. He had learnt the destination of the party and, having made a careful study of each member, was assured that he would know them all again. The only fly in the ointment of his complete satisfaction was the appearance of Thalia Ictinos among them. It meant that he would be compelled to ask for the assistance of someone whom she did not know. With that thought in his mind he drove to the British consulate. There he had a chat with the consul who, he discovered, had already risen. In ten minutes a transcontinental telephone call had been put through to the Foreign Office, and extended over the private line to Sir Leonard Wallace’s house in Piccadilly. Shannon spoke in guarded terms to the chief. Anyone listening in would have been left with the belief that the conversation was not of any particular importance, but Shannon conveyed to Sir Leonard the news that the people he was watching were bound for Rome whither he would follow them. He also informed Wallace that Thalia Ictinos was of the party, and that it would be necessary for him to keep in the background to a great extent, in consequence. In equally guarded manner he received the congratulations of Sir Leonard on his success in getting in touch with them, and was informed that a man would be sent at once to assist him.
‘The Splendide is an excellent place,’ remarked Wallace finally, from which Shannon gathered that he was to watch out for his assistant at that hotel in Rome.
He returned to the Vesuve, taking precautions to enter unobserved. He went straight to his room, and packed his belongings, a task that was quickly accomplished. Then, descending, he made his cautious way to the coffee room. Michalis and the whole party were there. Thalia Ictinos and two sleek young men were at a table alone, the rest being seated at two tables drawn together to make a long one. There were few other people in the large room and, at first, Shannon was disinclined to enter, but he espied a vacant table behind a pillar which he could reach without being seen. He walked to it, and sat down. It was in an ideal spot, for he was enabled to keep observation without any possibility of the eyes of the twelve people in the remote corner of the apartment falling on him, except when they passed on their way out. He ordered breakfast, and sent for a newspaper.
‘You have a large party over there,’ he remarked casually in English to his waiter, when the man came hurrying up with the second course.
He knew that nobody was more qualified to give information regarding hotel guests than an Italian waiter. It was true that Paul Michalis and his companions had only recently arrived, but the man would have already discussed them with his fellows and possibly other members of the hotel staff. Shannon’s presumption proved correct.
‘Yes, signor,’ replied the
waiter, who spoke perfect English, ‘they arrived on the Messageries Maritimes steamer this morning. They have come here but to rest and take their meals. This afternoon they depart for Rome.’
He was even able to give the time of the train, though that was not of much importance, as Shannon had no intention of allowing them far from his sight. He finished his breakfast before they had concluded theirs, and wandered out to the lounge where again he found a secluded spot which commanded the main doors of the hotel, the lifts, and the staircase. His newspaper proved exceedingly handy as a screen whenever any of them approached, which was not often. Michalis, Bruno, and a grey-haired, soldierly-looking man with a bristly moustache and complexion the colour of mahogany, sat together most of the morning, smoking, and drinking wine. Occasionally one or two of the others joined them for a short period. Shannon saw nothing of Thalia Ictinos or of the other two women. They had apparently retired to a more secluded apartment. The chemist also was conspicuous by his absence. The Secret Service man was rather puzzled by the connection that existed between the conspirators and the scientist. The combination seemed curious to say the least. The latter was hardly the type of individual to further the schemes they had afoot. Yet from the anxious expressions on the faces of the others, when the dispute concerning the case containing the chemical apparatus had been at its height, Shannon had judged them to be as concerned as he. Where had he joined them? There had been no mention of his having been a member of the party that had left Nicosia and sailed from Famagusta so hurriedly. He may, of course, have joined the boat independently of them. The Englishman was rather inclined to believe that he had. He certainly had the appearance of being a Cypriot.
Bruno and Michalis left the hotel shortly after noon as though going for a walk. Shannon followed them. He did not like to be out of touch with, at least, some of them, and the grey-haired man, who, he had concluded, was General Radoloff, had disappeared up the staircase. However, they only went to Detken and Rocholl, the booksellers in the Piazza del Plebiscito, where they spent some time selecting and purchasing a very modern and expensive atlas. Afterwards they returned to the hotel, where the whole party united again for luncheon. Shannon’s curiosity had grown. He was still exceedingly puzzled by the chemist and his chemicals. The purchase of the atlas added to his interest. It seemed a strangely innocent article, and yet it suggested possibilities that he found intriguing.
Microbes of Power (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) Page 12