‘There is only one,’ shouted a voice, ‘and I have killed him. Quick! Escape by the window – the women must accompany us.’
‘Stop where you are!’ commanded the level voice of Sir Leonard. ‘The first man to attempt to go through that window will get a bullet in him.’
A baffled curse answered him; then there was silence. Apparently the man who had killed his comrade by mistake was convinced now that, after all, more than one had entered by the window. Wallace pulled the door open suddenly, shouting at the same time to Batty to be careful. A figure loomed on the threshold for a moment, showing almost distinctly in the less opaque murkiness of the outer gloom; then disappeared as it went to the floor in response to Sir Leonard’s warning. Two shots rang out, but Batty had acted too quickly, and neither touched him. The two survivors of the band of crooks appeared to realise at the same moment that the game was going against them. Wallace heard them dive for the inner door, but made no effort to stop them. Brien was at the back, probably fuming at being kept out of the fight for so long. It would be a pity to do him out of his share, Sir Leonard decided.
‘Got a match, Batty?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
Almost immediately one sprang into flame, and the sailor was directed to relight the lamp. As soon as this was done, Lady Wallace was across the room and in her husband’s arms.
‘Did they hurt you very much, dear?’ he asked solicitously.
‘Then you knew?’
‘I saw through the shutters,’ he returned grimly. ‘That was why that fellow was not given a chance.’
He nodded across the room to a man lying against the chair on which she had been sitting. As she recognised him she shuddered.
‘Is he badly hurt?’ she asked.
‘I shot him through the right shoulder in a place, I hope, which will mean his being handicapped for the rest of his life. It will remind him that a woman’s arm was not made to be almost twisted from its socket. Batty, stand by that door, and keep a watch for those other fellows. They may try to fight their way back, when they find Major Brien is guarding the door and windows.’
He turned his attention to the second man. The fellow was lying on his face in a pool of blood. Advising Molly not to look, he bent down and turned him over gingerly. It was Gibaldi. He had been stabbed through the throat and was quite dead. Wallace looked up to find his wife gazing down at the body in horrified fascination.
‘How – how was he killed, Leonard?’ she asked.
‘He and one of the others fought, each thinking they had got hold of me. This is the result. Funny, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Leonard,’ she cried with a shudder. ‘What a horrible thing to say. But – oh, I am so glad it was he and not you.’
He smiled and kissed her. Then a frown of perplexity puckered his brow. Not a sound came from the back of the house, which was very strange. If the crooks had attempted to leave either by windows or door, Brien would have been bound to see them. Could there possibly be another exit which he had overlooked? Taking care that Molly and Phyllis were in a part of the room where they were in no danger, and leaving Batty to keep guard, he crept quietly into the other room. A faint light heralding dawn was now showing through the windows, and enabled him to see that the apartment was devoid of furniture. Of the two men there was no sign, and neither the windows nor door were open. He was beginning to feel very puzzled, when a faint scraping sound was audible above his head. At once the solution burst upon him. There was a loft above, probably with a window through which the men would squeeze, slide down the roof and escape.
He raced back through the other room and out of the front door. Running quietly round to Brien, he told him to watch the roof on one side; then went to watch the other. Almost at once there was a cry, and dashing back to his colleague he found him rolling on the ground fighting desperately with a man; another lay still close by. In the advancing light he could just distinguish friend from foe, saw an arm of the latter raised to strike, the glint of an ugly looking knife in his hand and, without hesitation, and at point blank range, fired. The knife dropped to the ground and the fellow cursed horribly, but he still went on fighting frantically with his uninjured arm, legs, and teeth. It was not long, however, before the two Englishmen had knocked all the fight out of him. They strapped his arms to his side with his own belt, and tied his legs together with a scarf he had worn round his neck.
‘Almost an anti-climax,’ commented Wallace, rising to his feet.
‘I had only just got here,’ explained Brien, ‘when that first bloke jumped from the roof. I dotted him one, and laid him out, but hadn’t time to recover myself before the other tumbled on top of me. He would have finished me too, if you hadn’t happened along.’ He picked up the knife and examined it. ‘A pretty nasty weapon,’ he observed. ‘Why, Leonard, there’s blood on it.’
‘I suppose he’s the fellow who stabbed Gibaldi,’ returned Wallace, and explained what had taken place in the cottage. ‘Let us carry these two inside.’
They lifted the pinioned man, who was groaning and swearing at the same time, and conveyed him into the hut. Brien returned with Batty for the other. The latter was regaining his senses, and was tied up in the same manner as his companion.
‘Kind of them to wear scarves and belts,’ remarked Brien. ‘One could almost imagine they anticipated our being short of the necessary materials with which to bind them. How about the groaning gentleman?’
He indicated the wounded man leaning against the chair.
‘He’s too sorry for himself,’ replied Sir Leonard, ‘to want to cause trouble. Batty, go down to the car, drive to Mentone, and fetch the police. You’ll probably find them waiting for you.’
‘I don’t speak the lingo, sir,’ objected Batty.
‘That doesn’t matter. They probably speak English of a sort.’
The ex-sailor departed, and Wallace looked down at the man who had so nearly done for Brien.
‘So, André Chalant,’ he remarked in French, ‘your activities are at an end. I have never met you before, but I’ve seen enough photographs of you to recognise you anywhere. You’ve ended your nefarious career pretty badly. The kidnapping of these ladies and the murder of Gibaldi make a nice combination.’
The fellow stopped cursing, and glared balefully at him.
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded. ‘Gibaldi is not dead.’
‘He certainly is. You fought with him in mistake for me, and stabbed him. He lies over there.’
He indicated the still form, now covered by the dilapidated tablecloth which Brien had thoughtfully spread over it. André Chalant was visibly disconcerted and, from then on, lay sullenly silent, occasionally staring up at his captor with very nearly a glint of respect in his eyes. His wound and that of the other injured man were roughly dressed.
Lady Wallace and Mrs Brien were not disposed to talk much, having been badly shaken by their experience, but they were eager to know how they had been traced, and expressed their great admiration for Batty’s resource. Molly, who knew Monte Carlo and its environs well, told her husband that she quickly became suspicious that all was not well when in the car, but the driver went so fast that it was impossible to do anything but sit still and wait whatever fate was before them. Her arm was still painful, but Wallace assured himself that no permanent damage had been done to it. The look he turned on the man who had been twisting it caused that individual to shiver.
Before long they heard the sound of voices, and Sir Leonard went outside to meet Batty and the party of police the latter had brought with him. The chef de la Sûreté of Mentone himself had come with three other officers.
‘What is this I hear, M’sieur?’ he demanded, after Wallace had introduced himself. ‘A case of abduction most terrible I was informed, but of details there were none.’
Wallace quickly related the whole story, making no mention of the reason why the ladies had been kidnapped.
‘You will have a great haul, Monsieur,�
�� he concluded. ‘I think that apart from the abduction charge, you will probably find other crimes have been committed by the three prisoners. One, indeed, is André Chalant, who is wanted badly by the police of many countries.’
The little keen-eyed official gave a gasp of incredulous surprise.
‘What is that you say, M’sieur? André Chalant here? You are sure?’
‘Certain.’
Talking excitedly, the four officers of police hurried into the cottage. They made no secret of their exultation, when they found that the well-known criminal was in truth among those present. The chef de la Sûreté shook Wallace by the hand with great enthusiasm.
‘It is marvellous this,’ he cried. ‘The gratitude of France is due to you, M’sieur, and to these other gentlemen. These others are also wanted men. That one,’ he pointed to the shrouded form of Gibaldi, ‘I do not know, but what matters it? He is dead.’
Ten minutes later, leaving the police with their prisoners and the body of the renegade Italian, Wallace and his party left for Monte Carlo. It was now quite light, and the early morning air was delightfully refreshing. Brien sat in front with Batty, and they had barely traversed a mile when, with a sudden exclamation, he turned and regarded the Chief of the British Secret Service.
‘Do you know, Leonard,’ he declared, ‘what with the disappearance of Molly and Phyllis, and one thing and another, I had quite forgotten the documents that caused all the trouble until this moment. What have you done with them?’
Wallace laughed.
‘That’s the joke of the whole business,’ he chuckled. ‘All this bother has really been about nothing, because the package containing those delightfully incriminating letters left for Paris in the rapide at ten-fifteen last night.’
‘What?’ cried Brien. ‘You old blighter, how on earth did you manage it?’
‘I think I told you Monsieur Clement of the Department of the Interior was staying at the Hermitage?’ Brien nodded. ‘Well,’ went on Sir Leonard, still smiling, ‘when I left you people after dinner I went to him, gave him the letters, and told him how they had come into my possession. I also gave him my opinion of politicians who put in black and white such dangerous statements. In return he told me that a severe inquiry concerning them was to have been held, and that they must have been stolen from the Quai d’Orsay, where they were kept pending the investigation. He was so agitated that he left for Paris with them by the first available train.’
‘You men are talking in riddles,’ murmured Phyllis sleepily.
‘Billy’s made history,’ replied Wallace. ‘Behold the man who prevented a war!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
East is East
The Statutory Commission appointed by the British Government to inquire into the working of the Indian Constitution wended its futile way through India, meeting at every turn opposition and obstruction, hindrance and hostility. Its members did their utmost to carry out their duties conscientiously, but their efforts, as history has since proved, were wasted. The Report, when published, was more or less still-born; it was condemned by almost every party in India. The gentlemen forming the Commission went from province to province, town to town, village to village, examining local conditions, making voluminous notes, listening carefully to the evidence, studying the mass of reports placed before them. The Congress boycotted them; they were told to go back to England by extremist volunteers the moderates only cooperated reluctantly, and after a great deal of hesitation. Despite all this they completed their task, and returned home full of information regarding India, which Indians had kindly manufactured for their benefit, but with remarkably little knowledge of the true state of affairs existent in that country.
Following them in their progress through India was a slim man of medium height. The somewhat lazy expression on his attractive, good-humoured face was belied by the keen grey eyes and indomitable jaw. With him was a lady, obviously his wife, a most beautiful woman, and a young man who acted as his secretary. The latter, tall and well knit, possessed excellent features and had the frame of an athlete. It was his first visit to India, and he was enjoying the experience immensely. To the ordinary observer these three would appear to be tourists, but while the Royal Commission was searching painfully for facts and figures, obtaining the latter but seldom the former, the slim man with the grey eyes was making investigations from a totally different angle. The information he thus acquired was not at all in accord with that obtained by the commissioners; it was absolutely reliable and authentic, while theirs, though they did not know it, was not.
Sir Leonard Wallace had had a good deal of experience of Indian mentality. Not only had he been stationed in India with his regiment before the Great War, but on two occasions since, as head of the Secret Service, he had carried out certain investigations. He knew the Indians well enough to realise that they would only allow the commission to see what it was to their benefit to let it see; that, as far as possible, everything of a detrimental nature to them would be hidden or glossed over. He travelled to India to find out exactly what power the extremists had in the country, and to investigate fully the very depths of political agitation. The result was that, in journeying from place to place in the wake of the Statutory Commission, he had obtained a wonderfully complete insight into the ramifications of the Congress party. His knowledge of the habits and customs of the people, and his mastery of Urdu, enabled him to disguise himself at will, and move among them as one of themselves.
‘And this,’ he observed to his secretary, who was no other than Carter of his own department, as they sat together in the lounge of Faletti’s Hotel, Lahore, ‘is the country that thinks it is able to rule itself.’ He tapped with his finger a book lying open before him. ‘Everything entered in this book is authentic. It has been culled from my own observation. When we return to London it will be placed before the Cabinet. It should show the government, once and for all, that India is not in a fit state for any further institutional reforms. Yet its only use will be to give our politicians a deeper insight into, and greater understanding of, the real India than they have ever had before, and make them wary in their future dealings with Indian politicians.’
‘But surely, sir,’ remarked Carter, ‘that will show them the futility and danger of further reforms?’
‘Not a bit of it,’ declared Sir Leonard. ‘Even with evidence like this before them, they will find it very difficult to do other than receive Indian demands sympathetically. London is a long way from India and, to our hard-headed statesmen, India is merely a part of the Empire like South Africa, Australia and Canada. Their argument is: if those three countries are fit to rank as dominions, why not India. You and I can put masses of proofs before them showing that India is too divided, with its various races, castes, religions and languages, to make a success of self-government. We can point out the low mentality of the majority of its inhabitants, its superstitions, its corruption, the shame of untouchability. We can prove that it is fatuous ever to expect that Hindus and Muslims will agree and that, if they cannot settle their differences under British rule, they certainly never will under home rule. There are a hundred cast-iron reasons in this book to show that it would be dangerous to go any further with constitutional reforms for many years at least, but I don’t suppose, for a moment, they will have any effect, except to make the Cabinet act with a certain degree of caution. It doesn’t matter to me – I am only out here on a job of work. If my pronouncements are ignored, or not taken proper account of, I cannot be responsible. One thing my report will do,’ he added with a smile, ‘and that is, render the report of the Statutory Commission useless. But, in any case, I don’t anticipate that it will be accepted.’
‘What do you think will eventually happen to India, sir?’ asked Carter.
‘Oh, in a few years’ time, some sort of federal government will probably be instituted, the Indian statesmen will make a mess of it, the country will get into a state of chaos and there you are. Perhaps I’m wrong – I ho
pe I am. But unless Indian mentality takes a sudden and miraculous change for the better, I don’t see how I can be. I have not met an Indian yet who could hold a position of real responsibility without losing his head, or using his rank and influence to feather his own nest. They are all tarred with the same brush; the Muslims are perhaps a little bit more honest but not much. The Hindus see in self-government a wonderful opportunity of ruling the roost and forcing the Mohammedans under foot. All I can say is: God help the Mohammedans in an India with dominion status. Provincial autonomy might meet with a measure of success, but even that would be too full of communal and individual possibilities for our Indian friends to be able to resist the temptations arrayed before their designing eyes.’
‘It seems to me,’ said Carter rather diffidently for him, ‘that this Congress party is going to cause a heap of trouble before very long.’
‘You’re right there, Carter,’ nodded his chief. ‘It constitutes India’s greatest danger, and before you and I return to England we must find out so much about the designs underlying its activities that whatever is attempted the course of the next few years will be nipped in the bud. The declaration by congressmen that independence is the goal of India will give rise to a lot of serious and unfortunate events, and Great Britain will be prepared for their coming. Gandhi is not worth worrying about; he is an idealist, and possibly the only honest man in his party, but the others are a lot of snakes in the grass ready to make any treacherous move that appeals to them. Their attempted boycott of the Commission has been a miserable failure, as anything they attempt will fail so long as the Indian Government is forewarned. That forewarning depends upon us.’ He looked round to make sure that no one was within hearing. ‘As soon as the Royal Commission has finished its inquiries, I will become a firebrand, and somehow or other insinuate into the inner circle of the Congress. You will be at hand wherever I go to render any assistance I may need, and act as liaison officer.’ He closed the book and, putting it under his artificial arm, rose to his feet. ‘I understand that Lady Wallace is taking me to renew acquaintances at Lorang’s in the Mall in ten minutes,’ he smiled. ‘What are your plans?’
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