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

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “I hope you remember me, Prince Cheng,” he said. “I was at Oxford twice, visiting my son, whose rooms were next to yours, I think, and we had the happiness of having you spend a week with us in Devonshire during the long vacation.”

  “I remember you perfectly, sir,” Cheng replied. “You and Lady Temperley were very kind to me. I gained my first experience of English country houses under your roof. Lady Temperley is well, I trust?”

  “Quite well, and she heard of your arrival with interest. If you make a stay in town I hope we shall have the pleasure of a visit from you.”

  “That, alas, is not possible,” was the regretful reply. “I leave London to-night.”

  “And you arrived this morning?”

  Cheng acknowledged the fact.

  “I have affairs of some importance which await my attention at my home in the south of France,” he explained. “I paid this visit, Sir Walter, at the request of Wang Kai-Hsiung here, the esteemed representative of my country. That request I believe was inspired by you.”

  “I can assure you that your visit is appreciated,” the Foreign Secretary declared, leaning back in his chair. “I will try and condense as far as possible what I wish to say to you. For many months,—I might say for several years in fact,—but more particularly during the last few months, we have been aware of a curious state of affairs in the East—disturbances the origin of which we have been unable to trace, rumours which we have never been able to verify, stories of large troops of Chinese posing as brigands but well armed and possessing all the modern paraphernalia of warfare. Our first idea naturally was that China had at last found a leader and was arming against any further encroachments by foreigners. Then all those speculations were upset by the fact that we heard of considerable numbers of Americans in China—of American military men of all ranks—mingling on friendly terms with the Chinese. Furthermore, we have been given to understand as a positive fact that China and America have opened up new relations of friendship and that China has been buying enormous stocks of munitions and even guns from the United States.”

  “Some purchases there have been without a doubt,” Cheng acknowledged. “My country wishes to stand well with America and she loves best the people with whom she can trade. We have certainly made large purchases of war material.”

  “With the object of a further campaign against debilitated Japan?” the Foreign Secretary asked.

  Very faintly but in marked fashion Cheng raised his dark eyebrows.

  “That is scarcely a question, sir, for me to answer, even if you feel justified in asking it. I am a long way from home, and are you not taking it for granted that I am in the councils of my nation? Probably these munitions are not destined for any particular campaign. America, I understand, has shown an increased disposition lately to treat with China and, from frequent conversations with my friend Wang Kai-Hsiung here, I learn with the greatest satisfaction of my country’s improved commercial position.”

  The foreign secretary appeared entirely unimpressed. He glanced down at some pencilled notes which lay upon his desk.

  “Leaving alone for the moment,” he continued, “the question of these huge purchases of war munitions and this continual training of troops, which would certainly seem to indicate an intention on the part of your country to go to war with somebody, I wish to touch for a moment upon a matter concerning which I believe that you, Prince Cheng, are in a position to give me direct information. During the whole of the last year, and especially during the last few months, our communications with nearly every place of importance within the Chinese Empire seem to be curiously and effectually blocked. As soon as we have news of a gathering of troops in one direction the whole thing fades away and the rumours are contradicted. I am going to be quite frank with you, Prince Cheng, and with Your Excellency. At least half the cables and wireless messages we have received from the East during the present year have been bogus ones and our diplomatic representatives are continually making complaints. Even the journalists and representatives of our press appear to be in very much the same state of bewilderment as to what is going on.”

  “It is a condition of affairs which appears incomprehensible,” Cheng observed gravely.

  “It is nevertheless true,” Sir Walter persisted. “Not only that, but the cables are continually suffering damage as though by violent storms, our wireless stations in many parts are rendered useless by the interposition of stronger currents, and the diplomatic agents, of whom we maintain a reasonable number in the East, leave this country on special missions and then disappear from the face of the earth.”

  “It is,” Cheng acknowledged, “a most extraordinary state of things.”

  “I am glad that you realise that, Prince,” the cabinet minister went on drily. “Affairs have now reached a crisis. We can no longer stand in the way of the press getting hold of these sensational rumours, we can no longer keep them from being brought to our official notice in Parliament. The matter will then become urgent. It is my deep wish, Prince Cheng, that nothing should happen to disturb the friendly relations between our countries, which induced me to beg for your visit.”

  “But my dear Sir Walter,” Cheng protested gently, “how could you imagine that I, so far away from home, would be able to explain what is going on there? I have scientific interests of my own in which I am engrossed.”

  “I will tell you why I have asked for your help,” the Foreign Secretary continued, leaning back in his chair and with his eyes steadily fixed upon his younger visitor. “We have heard a great deal about this wonderful International Bureau of Espionage of which you are the reputed head in Nice.”

  “Our operations,” Cheng assured him, “are chiefly local.”

  “That is what I have been given to understand,” Sir Walter acknowledged. “Less than a week ago, I believe, one of your spies got hold of some important plans and valuable information from an Italian officer whose ship was lying in Villefranche. France is so nearly our ally still that you can understand there were certain particulars which were passed on to us.”

  Cheng remained silent. His companion intervened suavely.

  “You could scarcely expect, Sir Walter,” he expostulated, “that the Prince would be in a position to discuss these matters with you. The Bureau in question is, I understand, a private venture.”

  The minister shrugged his shoulders.

  “Very well,” he conceded, “we will not dwell upon that for the moment. We proceed now to another matter. We are informed, Prince, that in connection with the Bureau, you have control of a wonderful wireless station.”

  There was a moment’s silence. The Chinese minister nodded several times. He seemed only mildly interested. Cheng’s expression was immovable.

  “We are told,” the Foreign Secretary continued, “that you have associated with you in the manipulation of this institution Mark Humberstone, son of the greatest scientist America or the world has ever known. We are told that by means of instruments which are now coming into use under the roof of your building for the first time in history you are enabled to hold continual conversations with people at the other end of the world. We are also told that you have developed television to an extent which is utterly unknown to the public and that you are able at any rate to generate a current of such power that you can practically put out of action any other wireless station.”

  Cheng shook his head very slowly.

  “There is much exaggeration in these reports,” he said. “I was at college with Mark Humberstone and I myself have developed a passion for the science of which he is so great a master, as befits the son of such a father. It is possible that our experiments interfere with other stations. Concerning that you should address yourself to my friend, who would listen willingly, I am sure, to your representations.”

  “And what about these military movements?” the Foreign Secretary asked.

  “Concerning those,” Cheng replied, “who am I that you should ask questions of me? I do not represe
nt my country. Why do you not apply to our friend here, Mr. Wang Kai-Hsiung?”

  “Believe me I have already done so,” Sir Walter assured his young visitor coldly. “As I daresay you know, however, Mr. Ting Fu Tai is the accredited minister to this country and he, unfortunately, is on leave of absence for four months and is somewhere in China. Neither Mr. Wang Kai-Hsiung nor anyone else at the Legation can give us any information as to what is going on. Their reply to every question is the same—uplifted hands, a blank shake of the head, all must wait until the return of Mr. Ting.”

  “But surely there must be some news that reaches you?” Cheng ventured. “The newspapers publish ridiculous reports, without a doubt, but that is their business. They publish them for the sake of being able to deny them the next day.”

  “The press is often misled—as we have been,” the Foreign Secretary said. “The time has arrived when we need facts.”

  Cheng for a moment departed from the suave methods of the diplomatist.

  “What is it that you fear?” he asked simply.

  The foreign secretary answered without hesitation.

  “An alliance between a reorganised China and Russia.” Cheng’s eyebrows were once more slightly raised. His tone was smooth and expostulatory.

  “These things are all conjectures,” he pointed out. “There is no reason why the very thought of them should be so terrifying. I am quite sure that the statesmen of European countries, including Great Britain, are brave men. I think that it is your newspapers which make cowards of you all. I am an alien figure here and I sit and watch. I make myself an observer. One day there is France shivering at the idea of a German and Italian combination, your own country, Sir Walter,—forgive me,—muddling along trying to be friendly with everyone, sending her diplomats like commercial travellers to every ruler in Europe to try and secure good will. Then there is Italy, drenched with the bombastic eloquence of a dictator, who defies the world one day, seeks the safest alliance to evade a European imbroglio the next, and finally, with all the pomp and glitter and panoply of a nation marching to seek eternal fame, declares war against a partly civilised, partly armed nation of vastly inferior strength. Lastly, the centre of all the hubbub, Germany, sits panting like a half-human monster in the middle of Europe, aching to fight anybody. Europe is becoming like a gigantic circus. I shall continue to speak frankly, if you wish. I think the Continental statesmen are all of them too fond of talking peace in florid and high-sounding phrases and too timid to follow their star and strip for battle when the hour would seem to have come.”

  “You are not exactly complimentary, Prince Cheng,” Sir Walter remarked.

  “Did you send for me here to pay you compliments?” was the gentle rejoinder.

  “You must pardon His Highness,” Wang Kai-Hsiung begged, “if he speaks with some of the overenthusiasm of youth. In our own country for thousands of years war has been one of the stern facts of life. We are not great at making treaties, we do not seek too many friendships, but when the time comes we march cheerfully to battle prepared, if the Fates ordain it, to fight alone.”

  “If I have been too bold, forgive me,” Cheng pleaded. “What His Excellency has just said is so true. With us, although we have been for a long time a disrupted nation, war has become an accepted necessity of life. The tragedy which has affected Japan and the reverberation of which is still felt all through China has altered the whole situation throughout Asia. If China has decided that this is her time to renew her strength, to break away from the stranglehold which at one time was crushing the life out of our nation, can you not sympathise with us? If we are to blame which of the European powers is prepared to criticise us? And why? If indeed it be true that we have sought the advice of the United States in the technical reconstruction of our army and navy, have we not the right? If any European power fancies itself concerned in this matter should it not be rather to Washington that it should turn?”

  Temperley moved uneasily in his place. This interview was not proceeding exactly along the lines which he had intended.

  “We are wandering a little, I think,” he pointed out, “from the immediate subject of discussion. We have every reason to believe that communications between your country and the rest of the world are being continually interfered with by the use of powerful wireless installations of the type for which that great man, Professor Humberstone, was responsible, and doubtless by other methods. The whole press of Europe is complaining. It seems to us as though it had become the business of the Chinese Government to rebuild their world-famous wall, only this time it is a wall of secrecy. All Europe is becoming uneasy, Prince Cheng. We want to know what is going on behind that wall and why it is, for instance, that our weekly airship services to Singapore are continually being interfered with.”

  Prince Cheng glanced at his companion and rose to his feet. He made a formal bow.

  “Sir Walter,” he said, “I am a private individual. I have no authority from the Government of my country to answer the questions which you have addressed to me.”

  “How then are we to obtain the information we need?” the Foreign Secretary asked. “Your Minister is away on sick-leave, Mr. Wang Kai-Hsiung can tell us nothing, our Minister in Pekin complains all the time that he finds it almost impossible to obtain an audience with the President. We have sent a special envoy to China, and he has been held up on the western frontier on ridiculous pretexts for nearly a month. Tell me at least this, Prince Cheng: In whose interests is your Bureau at Nice working? It is, according to the reports we have received, practically under the protection of the French Government.”

  “We have their good will,” Cheng acknowledged. “They have our confidence. We have worked for their Secret Service, we have worked for Italy, we have worked for other countries.”

  “Your institution then is, I gather, an institution of mercenaries,” the Foreign Minister observed.

  Cheng smiled. His expression remained sphinx-like. His farewell words left a curious impression behind him.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “one finds in history that the mercenaries of the world have fought under many banners and against various enemies but for one cause.”

  Cheng and his companion hesitated for a moment upon the pavement outside the imposing house in Grosvenor Square. Wang Kai-Hsiung made a sign to two of his servants who stood at once to attention.

  “I beg of Your Highness,” he said with emphasis, “not to delay your departure. Believe me, there are others in this city to-day besides the British Foreign Secretary who are eager to talk with you and who have perhaps more than words and hints with which to threaten. We had a special warning only this morning of some Russians who have arrived by plane.”

  Cheng looked around him with unruffled composure.

  “Your Excellency must be obeyed,” he assented reluctantly. “At the same time, is it really necessary for me to deposit myself in that bleak-looking limousine which looks like an armoured car, with an obvious detective seated by the chauffeur?”

  “It is regrettable,” Wang Kai-Hsiung admitted, “that the protective measures offered by Scotland Yard are somewhat obvious, but this brief journey can, I think, be made in safety under these conditions.”

  Cheng’s apparently careless glance around as he was preparing to step into the car had suddenly become a transfixed gaze. He was watching a small man who was coming down from the north end of the square walking in the middle of the roadway, his hands in his overcoat pockets, his hat set at rather a rakish angle, his lips half formed for a whistle.

  “You see that little fellow?” he pointed out as he stepped into the car. “I do not know him very well or very much about him, but you had better tell the chauffeur to hurry. T fancy that there is some trouble about.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Table of Contents

  The Government car—a loan for the day to the Chinese Legation through the courtesy of the Home Office—a policeman on a motor bicycle, and a Scotland Yard squad car swung th
rough the entrance to the Heston Flying Ground almost alongside, and raced down the straight avenue to where a large German plane, throbbing with the beat of its mighty engines, seemed to be on the point of departure. But the passenger who descended from the automobile, brief though the pause en route had been, was not the man who had stepped so lightly across the pavement outside the Foreign Secretary’s house in Grosvenor Square and swung himself into the waiting car. He was a smaller, cheerful-looking little person in neat black clothes, smoking a long cigar which he threw away with reluctance as he crossed the space between him and the plane. An official called out to him to hurry. There was a brief argument. The little man who had seemed so eager to take his place in the plane withdrew. He vanished completely for a few moments, then he reappeared on the outskirts of the straggling crowd standing by the side of two other men whose faces were both upturned to the sky. From the other side of the aerodrome a smaller plane had mounted with incredible speed and, even as they stared at it, passed with smoothly beating engines over their heads.

  “What plane is that?” one of the three asked the attendant.

  The latter glanced upwards.

  “Not on the schedule,” was the stereotyped and curt reply.

  They all three gazed after the machine, which, going at a great speed, was already almost out of sight. The German plane had begun its race down the track. With scarcely an effort it too mounted into the air. The passenger who had changed his mind and the two companions whom he had temporarily joined seemed to have disappeared. The inspector of the squad car looked for them in vain amongst the loiterers. He strolled away to exchange a few remarks with the officer in charge of a second squad car which had just driven up from a distant part of the grounds.

  “A neat job, inspector,” the latter remarked.

  The inspector smiled.

  “A clever getaway,” he agreed. “I think, though, I had better have a look for the little man. He is as clever as they make ‘em, but those other two are dangerous. The tall man’s a killer all right.”