21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “The fact that the servants are in your pay won’t get you very far,” Cheshire observed calmly. “You may as well know what’s coming to you, Florestan. I have special powers, as I daresay you know, under a recent Home Office order, and I arrest you on the charge of murder. I am now going to ring up for a sergeant of the police.”

  “This is tedious,” Florestan murmured, “but faintly amusing. Go ahead.”

  Cheshire took the receiver from the telephone instrument and demanded the Exchange.

  There was a moment’s delay. A man’s voice answered.

  “Scotland Yard!” Cheshire said.

  A wall of silence. Cheshire waited a few minutes then laid down the receiver.

  “Telephone, too,” he observed.

  “Switched onto a special line of my own,” Florestan explained. “If I were interested in your message I could set things right immediately. Under the circumstances, however, you understand—no telephone.”

  “Well, I don’t know that it matters very much,” Cheshire remarked.

  Florestan continued to lounge in his chair, his arms hanging over its sides, his expression easy and contemptuous. Cheshire returned to his own place and sat watching him for a moment in speculative silence.

  “Your methods interest me,” Florestan observed thoughtfully. “By the by, is it not rather a strain having to keep your eyes fixed so intently upon my hands? See, I will make it more comfortable for you.”

  He clasped his fingers behind his head. In his new position he had the air of a man completely relaxed.

  “You see,” he went on, speaking in his ordinary tone, “your position is a little difficult. You cannot sit there and take pot shots at me. It is outside the rules of the game and it would be cold-blooded murder. You cannot say to yourself, well, I shall just wing him so as to render him useless in a struggle, because you know that the cartridges contain poisoned bullets and that it would be equally murder to shoot me in the arm or to shoot me through the heart. You are probably asking yourself at the present moment what you shall do. We are men of equal strength, I should say, although once I surprised and got the better of you. I have, I think, a longer reach and I am certainly very quick on my feet. So long as you sit there with a weapon of death in your hand you have the advantage of me. Directly you move and come nearer you run risks. Are you going to tire me out? Are you going to sit there all night, I wonder? Why not call for my wife and ask for her advice? She is really a very clever woman, although at times she seems stupid.”

  “Thank you,” Cheshire remarked. “You have quite finished?”

  “For the moment—yes.”

  Cheshire rose to his feet. He drew the revolver from his pocket and pointed it steadily at Florestan.

  “And now?” the latter asked.

  Facing him, Cheshire walked slowly backwards towards the door of the bedroom. Florestan watched him without any sign of movement or concern. Cheshire reached the door and with his eyes still fixed upon the other he drew the key from his pocket with his left hand and turned it in the hole. The door remained immovable.

  “Careless of you to have closed that door,” Florestan observed. “It has a double spring lock—a little affair of my own invention. You might not believe it, but that door is easy enough to open if you know how. Pity, isn’t it?”

  Cheshire was not to be diverted into speech. His eyes never left Florestan.

  “You see,” the other went on, “I have had to think out what I should do in many varying emergencies and prepare for them. This is one. The door opposite, as you may or may not know, leads into the bedchamber of my wife. It is her invariable custom to sleep with her door bolted. Besides, I know you too well to believe that you would willingly disturb the slumbers of a lady.”

  Still Cheshire remained silent. Nothing distracted his attention for a single moment from the figure in the easy chair. It seemed to him that he had almost sensed the tensing of the muscles. The man was ready to spring at any time. He moved on towards Mrs. Florestan’s door and he was rewarded at last for his vigil. For a single second there was apprehension in the other’s face. The mocking smile had left his lips. He leaned a little forward.

  “You must not try me too high, Mr. Gunman!” he cried out. “Greater cowards than I have taken risks when they have seen men trying to enter their wives’ bedrooms. Leave that alone!”

  Cheshire’s eyes never left his adversary’s face but with his left hand he inserted the key and turned it. The door yielded at once. He passed through and slammed it. What followed was a matter of breathless seconds. Deborah, still in her white negligee, was standing only a few feet away from him. She pointed to the door on the other side of the bed. She spoke in a curiously low whisper but every word was distinct.

  “Both doors are open. Turn to the left.”

  He was through the first door, through the second and out in the corridor before he heard her voice raised in a cry of well-simulated alarm. There was still no other sound. There was no sign of Florestan. Cheshire ran lightly to the end of the corridor, down two flights of service stairs, into the main corridor. A few seconds later he was in the hall porter’s office with the telephone instrument in his hand.

  “Give me Scotland Yard,” he cried.

  There was a brief silence, then a voice at the other end.

  “Scotland Yard speaking.”

  “Admiral Cheshire, XYZ. Florestan in 267 to 269 Milan Hotel is trying to escape. I have a warrant to apprehend him. Bring a squad at once.”

  The answer came brisk and alert.

  “Understood, sir. Squad already summoned.”

  Cheshire rang off. In a moment he was connected with the manager’s office.

  “Admiral Cheshire speaking. Florestan, registered here as Henry Copeland, in 267-269, is wanted by Scotland Yard. Murder charge. A squad is on the way here to arrest him. Have all exits blocked for the next quarter of an hour. Do you hear me?”

  “Certainly, Admiral,” was the prompt reply. “We will do as you say at once.”

  In rather less than five minutes Cheshire, with several plain-clothes men, and Bousson, the manager of the hotel, arrived at the outside of Florestan’s suite. There were already two lift men and the hotel detective in the corridor. The latter answered Cheshire’s unspoken enquiry.

  “No one has left the suite, sir,” he announced. “We were here within a minute of your message.”

  They opened the outside door and passed through into the sitting room. It was empty. The door of Florestan’s bedroom was now open but there was no sign of any occupant there. Then Cheshire knocked at the door of Mrs. Florestan’s room.

  “Come in!” a sleepy voice bade him.

  She turned on the light by the side of her bed as Cheshire and the Inspector unlocked her door. She sat up, looking at them with wide-open eyes.

  “Is anything the matter?” she asked.

  “Your husband is wanted, Mrs. Florestan,” Cheshire replied.

  “My husband?” she repeated. “He is not here. You can see for yourself that he is not here.”

  The Inspector walked round the apartment. He threw open the cupboards, he searched the bathroom. It was clear that there was no possible place of concealment.

  “When did you last see your husband?” Cheshire asked quietly.

  Mrs. Florestan shook her head.

  “I have not seen him at all, to-night,” she replied. “I thought that I heard his voice a few minutes ago. I called out but there was no answer.”

  The little company retired. There was suddenly a call from Florestan’s room. They all trooped back into it. One of the squad who had remained there pointed towards the window. It was half-way open and a current of cold air was entering. They hurried to it and looked down into the abyss below. Bousson, with a sudden exclamation, opened the window wider and stepped out onto the balcony. Within a couple of feet were the iron steps and balustrade of the fire escape.

  “When Mr. Copeland, or Florestan, as you call him, took thes
e rooms years ago, he had that connecting handrail made,” Bousson pointed out. “He said the only terror he had in life was of fire.”

  Cheshire looked downwards into the gulf of blackness. The Inspector was already at the telephone. A thin crowd from the hotel was already gathered below. Too late. Once more, Florestan had disappeared.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Table of Contents

  London, during the course of the next three or four days, drifted into what was really a state of subdued panic. No one doubted any longer but that England was upon the brink of war. The conversations in the two great capitals of Europe were still being continued, it was true, but progress in both places was almost at a standstill and the air was thick with rumours as to the indignities to which the British plenipotentiaries were being subjected. Questions asked in the House of Commons ended in an uproar. It was formally moved that the British envoy to one of the capitals be instructed to break off negotiations and return to his own country. The motion was lost but its effect was serious. The Premier sent for Lord Fakenham and on the following day made a statement in the House. It was made in reply to a question by a former Cabinet Minister as to whether the Premier’s attention had been drawn to the fact that violent propaganda against England was being carried on all over Europe and it was common knowledge that two of the countries in which it was state-directed were preparing for war. The Prime Minister rose to reply to the question amidst a deep and thrilling silence. He regretted very much that the question should have been asked, as, in times of crisis, such as he admitted now existed, reticence was the most politic and most dignified method of meeting the columns of falsehood and misrepresentation which were appearing day by day in certain foreign journals. He denied that the Government considered war imminent. He refused to believe that any real cause for it existed. If, however, we were dragged into a struggle, he could assure the House generally that England was in a position to deal with any form of attack which could be made.

  At this juncture it was very nearly necessary to adjourn the sitting owing to the long-continued uproar and the fact that the Speaker was only able with the greatest difficulty to retain his authority. In due course, however, it was possible for the Prime Minister to continue.

  It was true, he admitted, that there had been grave delays in rearming the country to the fullest extent and they had suffered enormously through the cowardly murder of Sir Theodore Meldicott, who was the most energetic member of the Council of Defence and whose works were carrying out schemes of unparalleled importance with incredible speed. He was happy, however, to tell the House that the governing body of the various associated industries of which Sir Theodore Meldicott had been the head were carrying on, notwithstanding the catastrophe that had happened, without a day’s loss of work and were following out exactly the lines laid down by the deeply lamented head of the concern. He would tell them and the world, as an indication of what Great Britain was capable, that in one portion of the works alone, the newly adopted tanks were being produced at the rate of a hundred a day, a feat in engineering which had never been equalled before in any country. Furthermore, it was utterly unnecessary for Englishmen, however deeply they desired peace, to fear war. He begged the House to reassure itself. If the nation were forced to put out their full strength he had no hesitation in saying that their combined scheme of offence and defence, which had now been adopted and by which any attack upon this country would be met, was one in which the Council of Defence had the most complete and absolute confidence. The Premier therefore begged the people of Great Britain to continue with their daily tasks calmly and without any sense of panic, which he assured them was the spirit in which the Cabinet and the responsible statesmen of the country were proceeding with the needful preparations for defence.

  It was necessary, afterwards, to adjourn the House, and the Premier himself left a few minutes later by one of the private exits. The Press of the entire country that night and on the following morning changed its whole tone. By some chance, which seemed almost like a miracle, for the first time for weeks the sun shone. The weather changed to a morning of brilliant sunshine. Tubes and buses and all the great arteries of life which flowed into the City were crowded with men reading their papers and talking in a new spirit. Cheshire spent two hours that morning closeted with the Chairman of the Council of Defence. He made his way back to his suite of rooms in the Admiralty in a very thoughtful frame of mind. He passed a quarter of an hour or so dealing with the little pile of letters which were waiting upon his desk, then he sent for Hincks. The young man made his appearance within a few minutes. He was looking tired, but there was all the fervour of a mighty effort in his speech and deportment. Cheshire pointed to the chair which he kept by the side of his desk for visitors.

  “Sit down, young fellow,” he invited. “I can see you have been sticking to it.”

  “I hope it has not been in vain, sir.”

  Cheshire looked across at the closed door.

  “The Council have adopted my scheme, Hincks,” he confided. “There was a great deal of opposition, but, anyhow, they have adopted it. All that we need now is the assembling of a flotilla for the Kiel Canal work and another one for Genoa, together with the course of the Air Fleet from Malta.”

  “I am at work on that now, sir,” Hincks answered in a tone of great relief. “Thank God they are going through with it. I gathered that they meant to, after reading last night’s papers.”

  “The Premier was wonderful,” Cheshire said quietly. “Fakenham has done his job. There is only one thing I fear.”

  The young man leaned forward.

  “Florestan?” he murmured.

  Cheshire assented.

  “He must have been working up for this for years,” he remarked. “The Government have taken over the firm, temporarily at any rate. They seem to be doing business with every one of our subsidised factories, as well as with the Naval departments. Florestan is a very dangerous fellow and it is obvious that he has his suspicions. However, it is of no use thinking about that. I am working out the Kiel Canal scheme myself. I know every inch of the place. When shall you have finished with the Mediterranean?”

  “To-morrow night, sir.”

  “To-morrow night,” Cheshire repeated. “I shan’t be sorry to have this job off my shoulders, whatever happens.”

  Hincks made no direct reply. His thoughts seemed to be far away. Suddenly he collected himself.

  “Will you permit me, sir,” he ventured, “to take what I feel to be a great liberty?”

  “Be careful, Hincks,” Cheshire advised him.

  “It is a question I wish to ask, sir.”

  “You may ask it if you insist,” his Chief assented. “I need not remind you that it is a somewhat unusual thing in the Service to ask questions of your superior officer.”

  “Our work, sir, has been unusual,” the young man pointed out. “I shall have no peace of mind until I ask you this.”

  “Well?”

  “The Contessa Elida Pelucchi—does she know the truth?”

  Cheshire looked at his companion not unkindly.

  “She does,” he confided. “As a matter of fact, I think I may say that the events of the last week have done away with a great deal of the reluctance which at first she quite naturally felt.”

  “May I ask in what way, sir?”

  “Florestan, working for her country, seems to have been a little tactless,” Cheshire replied. “That is all I have to say on the subject, but you must remember that both the Contessa and her sister have a certain amount of Anglo-Saxon blood in their veins. The greater part of her life the Contessa has spent with English people or Americans, and it is possible that the present government of her country, although excellent in many ways, may not meet with her approval. Let it stay at that, Hincks. We have reached the end of it for good or for evil. To-morrow night will close your work in this special department. The next day I will have a talk with you about your future.”

  “You are m
uch kinder to me than I deserve, sir,” he acknowledged.

  Cheshire pointed to the door.

  “Back to work now,” he enjoined. “Don’t overdo it but remember that I shall be ready for you to-morrow night at any time and if you need help I am here. I shall be working at my own charts and plans until midnight to-night and most of to-morrow. The way has been prepared for their reception. The secret council will make their decision as soon as they have examined them. You can see how important it is that there should be no hitch in their despatch. If they accept them it will be peace; if Florestan has got ahead of us, if for any reason whatever they discard them, it will be war. You and I, Hincks—it rests with us.”

  The young man took his leave. Cheshire sent for his typist-secretary. She came noiselessly into the room, as always, her notebook and pencil in her hand. Cheshire pointed to the pile of letters.

  “You have been through these?” he asked.

  “There is nothing which requires your attention, sir,” she said. “They are mostly invitations, autographs, people begging to call about matters that belong to other departments. There are only two I did not open.”

  She laid them before him.

  “Take the others away, then,” he enjoined. “Tell them to prepare Number Three Chart Room for me. Have all materials, measures and reference books there, also the latest charts we have of Genoa Harbour. Have everything ready for me in half an hour.”

  “In Number Three you said, sir?”

  He nodded.

  “I shall not need an assistant,” he continued, “but be careful that I have all the necessary materials. I shall also require a large-scale map of the Kiel Canal. I should like the one that was compiled and came to us from Rotterdam.”

  The girl left him alone. The first letter he opened was in large bold handwriting, sprawling from one side of the double sheet to the other. The heading was the Milan Hotel. There was no date or formal commencement.