The Mystery of Tunnel 51

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘A bit theatrical, I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘but very effective!’

  ‘Effective.’ grunted Sanders. ‘Why I almost felt the murderer’s knife go into my back!’

  ‘I don’t like these conjuring tricks, Leonard,’ said Billy. ‘How the devil was it done, and why did you make us hold your hands?’

  With great care Wallace lit his pipe, still smiling at his agitated companions. Then he ordered the driver to get out of the car and go for a stroll for a minute or two. The man was nothing loth, and, descending, went to a grassy knoll, and throwing himself down, covered his face with his hands.

  ‘I don’t suppose he understands much English,’ said Leonard, ‘but he may do, and I want no eavesdroppers to what I am going to say. I appear to have broken his nerve altogether,’ he added. He won’t want to drive through that tunnel again!’

  ‘Oh, he’ll recover,’ said Sanders, lighting a cigarette with fingers that were riot quite steady. ‘Now tell us how it was done, Sir Leonard.’

  The latter turned to Hartley.

  ‘I asked you to watch carefully,’ he said. ‘Did you?’

  ‘I did, sir. But I had no idea what to watch for.’

  ‘Have you any idea why the light went out?’

  ‘Not the slightest, sir.’

  ‘Did you notice any movement on the part of the driver?’

  ‘No, except his hands on the levers.’

  ‘Nothing else at all?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Any movement on my part?’

  ‘No – you crossed one leg over the other, that’s all I noticed, sir!’

  ‘Ah! And that’s the whole simple trick! I asked you two behind to hold my hands, so that you could not accuse me of tampering with the switch. But in crossing my legs I deflected it with the toe of my boot and put the light out, and I only had to depress it to put it on again! That’s how it was done the first time – the whole matter being cunningly arranged beforehand!’

  ‘Good God!’ ejaculated Sanders. ‘You are not suggesting that – that Williams—!’

  ‘I am! And Williams is the man I had in mind when I said I might be able to put you on to the accessory to the murder!’

  The Commissioner gasped.

  ‘But – forgive me, Sir Leonard – the man is an Englishman, and a first class soldier. He is very highly spoken of by all who know him.’

  ‘No doubt! I found out in Delhi – never mind how – that he passed out of Sandhurst six years ago, having previously been educated at an English school and a military academy in Germany. Muir’s description of the tragedy was so graphic that, as I have already told you, I was able to picture everything, and when he mentioned about the switch and how you had arrested the driver on suspicion of having touched it, I got an idea that Williams could have worked it in the way that I did. You see Muir had described exactly where everybody was sitting! I must say he was wonderfully clear and complete in his whole description. So I decided to come here and put my theory to a proper test, and in the meantime made a few enquiries about Williams from Army Headquarters!’

  ‘It is almost grotesque!’ said Sanders. ‘Captain Williams of the 107th Horse a Russian spy.’

  ‘I think by the time we have routed them all out, you’ll find many even more creditable people amongst them. Probably on enquiry into Williams’ ancestry you’ll find he’s not English after all.’

  ‘I’ve known the man and liked him for years, and I would as soon have believed that I was a spy myself,’ muttered the other.

  Wallace shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘But there seems no sense in it,’ went on the Commissioner. ‘How could the plans have been stolen?’

  ‘My dear Colonel, just think a bit! After the attack on Elliott in Viceregal Lodge, he and Muir talked things over in Muir’s bedroom previous to their going down and searching for the miscreant. The door was left ajar, and anybody listening outside could have overheard their conversation. There were many bearers still in the compound, any one of whom could have crept into the house. Muir’s own bearer was actually in, having supplied them with whisky and sodas. I ascertained that he speaks and understands English. I have not questioned him or shown any suspicion of him at all yet, in case there were others who might send out warnings. At all events the conversation between Elliott and Muir was listened to; Elliott was heard to say that he would take extra precautions about the safety of the plans, and from that time he was undoubtedly watched. He, no doubt, took the plans out of the case in which he carried them, hid them on some other part of his person, and substituted a few pieces of parchment, and resealed the case. All this was seen by a watcher and reported to Levinsky, who was, without doubt, the prime mover in the whole business. It was arranged that Elliott should be murdered, and when Williams was to switch off the light and switch it on again to give the assassin time to do his work and escape – no doubt they have several of those agile natives in their pay – and thus everything was conceived exactly as it happened. They knew Muir would take possession of the case; they guessed he would rush to Delhi with it, and that left only Williams to look after the dead man. He was bound to be taken to Barog, as none of the tiny stations in between possessed a doctor or facilities, and they knew also that you would be communicated with, and that you would insist on Williams taking charge until you arrived. So the latter just searched Elliott, and helped himself to the plans at his leisure. If there had been others travelling in the rail motor, the task of guarding Elliott’s body would still have devolved upon Williams, for he was a friend of the dead man and of you and Muir. Oh, it was all very cleverly conceived, Sanders!’

  ‘Clever – damnably clever!’ said the Colonel. ‘My God! It was more than clever – it was fiendish.’

  ‘You are dealing with people who see a long way ahead and stop at nothing! And now I think we’ll return – I’d rather like a drink!’

  ‘You’ll lunch with me, of course!’ said the Commissioner.

  ‘We will, Colonel! Thanks very much,’ And Billy, who had listened to his friend with rapt attention, nodded. The driver was called, they shunted in a siding, and were soon speeding back up the hill.

  ‘Those man-holes could conceal three or four men,’ remarked Leonard to Hartley, as they passed through tunnel 51 again.

  ‘Easily, sir,’ replied the policeman, ‘and that’s where the murderer hid himself and waited, of course!’

  Wallace nodded.

  Colonel Sanders sat next to Billy Brien in a state of stupefied silence most of the way up. He roused himself just before they reached Simla, however, and turned to his companion.

  ‘Sir Leonard Wallace is a marvel – a damned marvel!’ he blurted out.

  Billy grinned, and selected a cigarette from his case.

  ‘I found that out many years ago!’ he said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Batty Has an Adventurous Morning

  Batty watched his employer being pulled slowly up the hill, and shook his head doubtfully.

  ‘Don’t know as I’d like to sail in one o’ them there craft,’ he remarked to Woodhouse, one of the mechanics.

  ‘They’re all right,’ replied the other. ‘I’ve been in them in China many a time!’

  ‘So’ve I,’ said Batty, ‘but there it’s all plain sailing. There ain’t no bloomin’ big ’ills like these ’ere and they ’as sedan chairs for the ’ills any’ow. I s’pose,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘they ain’t thought o’ sedan chairs in these parts yet. China is a go-a-’ead country compared with this one. Fancy ’aving rickshas to go up ’ills almost like the sides of an ’ouse! Why, it ain’t natural. Just s’posin’ you was in one, an’ the blokes in front let go – you’d be in a nasty mess, wouldn’t yer? You’d turn a complete someysault and end up on the ground with the blinkin’ craft a-top o’ yer.’

  Woodhouse laughed.

  ‘Bless me!’ he said. ‘You’ve got plenty of imagination!’

  ‘Me an’ the guvnor ’as to ’ave imagina
tion in our job!’ replied Batty placidly. ‘Where’d we be if we ’adn’t, I’d like to know? … When was you in China, mate?’ he asked after a pause, during which Woodhouse had looked at him with amusement.

  ‘Just after the war, for a couple of years.’

  ‘Do yer know ’Ong Kong?’

  ‘Not much! I was stationed in North China, and only called there on the way up and back.’

  Batty grew reminiscent.

  ‘It ain’t ’alf a bad place,’ he said, ‘when yer knows all the ins an’ outs of it.’ He winked at his companion. ‘I were stationed there aboard the Tamar for three years, an’ there wasp’ nothin’ ter do, but swab decks an’ stand yer watch. Sink me, but the old ship looked a perfect picture, wot with ’er gleamin’ brass fittin’s an’ white sides; an’ yer could ’ave ’ad yer food off the decks any time o’ day. Yer see when we got fed-up like, we just did a bit o’ polishin’ on our own!’

  ‘Didn’t you ever go to sea?’

  ‘No, o’ course not!’ said Batty indignantly. ‘She was the guardship – one o’ the old men-o’-war!’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So we spent a lot o’ time ashore, an’, my word, the things we seen!’ He paused in ecstatic remembrance.

  ‘Well, what did you see?’ asked the mechanic impatiently.

  Batty looked at him a moment as though he were about to answer his question, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you’re too young!’

  Woodhouse burst into a roar of laughter.

  ‘Young,’ he gasped; ‘me young! Why I’ve seen some things that would make your hair stand on end!’

  The ex-sailor removed his topee, and ran his fingers through his declining locks.

  ‘I ain’t got much now,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never knowed it stand up yet, except when the gals ’ave been chummy like! Did you ever see a Chink gal?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Some of ’em ain’t ’alf saucy when they gets to know yer! There were two, daughters of an old bloke wot used ter supply the ship with vegetables, name o’ Jelly Belly; an’ ’e looked it too! Don’t think that was ’is right name, but that’s wot ’e called ’isself! They was two o’ the tightest little craft that ever sailed, an’ I ain’t no mean judge neither. My word, I almost got ’itched up to them too!’

  ‘What the both of them?’

  ‘Yes, they was twins! An’ the old man use’ ter ’elp things along – ’im and me was great pals!’

  ‘How did you escape?’

  ‘Wot d’yer mean, escape?’

  ‘Get off without marrying the girls?’

  ‘Well, yer see, I ain’t a marryin’ man, an’ I ’appened to get transferred to Singapore just when the wind was all a-blowin’ up nice an’ fresh like. Blow me, but it took me all me time to get away when I’d said goodbye. They ’ung on ter me, one to starboard, an’ t’other ter port until I thought I’d miss me ship!’

  Woodhouse smiled.

  ‘It seems to me you’ve been a bit of a gay dog in your time, Batty.’

  ‘I can’t complain,’ grinned the latter. ‘Well, as the guvnor’s given me shore leave, I’ll go an’ ’ave a bit of a look round. So long!’

  He strolled off and up the hill. Presently he came to a place where the road forked – that on the right‑hand side looked to be a worse slope than the one he had already come up and as Batty had very little liking for hills, he took the other, which appeared more level. It turned out to be a very twisting, narrow thoroughfare, with sudden dips and occasionally lengthy climbs. When he reached the top of one of these, he paused, and looked round him.

  ‘Talk o’ switchbacks,’ he muttered, ‘they ain’t in it with this. But the scenery ain’t bad, considerin’. Somebody ’ad a job cuttin’ this ’ere road out!’

  The view he had from where he stood was certainly glorious. On his right were tree-clad heights that seemed to reach to the heavens, while on the other side there was a steep slope, also covered with trees, dropping hundreds of feet to a sunlit valley below. The trees round him were of all sorts, shapes and sizes, most of them in the glory of their autumn colouring of brown, orange and gold. The hill on which Batty’s road wound its sinuous way was semi-circular in shape, so that it was possible for him to look straight across the valley at the heights of Jakko and a little farther along at the wooded peak where Stirling Castle nestled. Why the large house so named is called a castle it is hard to tell, for it is not at all like one, and the name ‘Stirling’ is also very difficult to account for, but it is likely that the building was once owned by a patriotic Scotsman, who had a love for Stirling and its famous castle, and so named his house.

  Turning from his contemplation of Mount Jakko, Batty leant on the rather weak wire railing that guarded the edge of the road, and gazed across country at the rugged hills and fertile valleys which stretched before him for miles. In the distance, just visible, were snow-covered mountains, rising to tremendous heights, which must have been fully fifty miles away, at least; and as Batty had heard that the river Sutlej rose somewhere in that direction he was very interested, inasmuch as he had once been on a cruiser named after that river. He became engrossed in thought, and it was only when he began to feel very chilly that he pulled himself together and decided to move on.

  As he did so four native women came into view along the road ahead of him. Batty had no intention of being rude, but he had never seen any creatures like these before – he just stood still and stared. Each of them carried a basket full of earth upon her head, which she balanced without any apparent effort. Two of them wore bright yellow shawls and the other two scarlet, while all had on trousers of a dirty brown colour, and were, like all coolie women of their type, barefooted with jangling, heavy rings round their ankles. In their ears hung large ornaments which caused those appendages to take grotesque and ugly shapes and there were rings through their noses, in two cases so large that they hung down below their mouths.

  The women might have been of four generations from the look of them, for the eldest was a wrinkled old hag, who walked along with difficulty, while the youngest was a mere girl. The sight of a stoutish, jolly-looking white man standing in the middle of the road with his hat at a jaunty angle, and staring at them with his mouth open, caused them great surprise, for they do not expect the white sahibs to be interested in them.

  Batty was right in front of the old woman, and he politely stepped aside to allow her to pass. She moved aside at the same moment and thus they still confronted each other; so back they both went politely, and back again, still facing each other, as people so often will in trying to pass. Then they both came to a halt and gazed enquiringly one at the other, while the other three women looked on in dismay, thinking the white sahib was going to visit some dreadful punishment on their companion. But they had a surprise. Batty swept off his hat and bowed.

  ‘We seem to have decided to ’ave a little dance, ma,’ he said, ‘what is it to be – a foxtrot or the Charleston?’

  At once there was a perfect babel of chatter and shrill laughter, and the sailor became confused.

  ‘This is no place for a ’ealthy man-o’-war’s man,’ he said. ‘We don’t seem to ’ave ’it it off exactly, so with your leave, ladies, I’ll just sheer off. No ’arm meant.’

  He looked back just before he turned a corner, and they were still standing where he had left them, talking in their shrill voices, and screaming with laughter.

  ‘S’truth!’ he exclaimed. ‘I s’pose they are females, but they’re the rummiest looking females I ever seed, an’ shiver me timbers, they carry enough top ’amper to sink any ordinary craft.’

  He found the path rather tiring, and paused to rest several times. At last he reached nearly to the top, and then discovered a tunnel that appeared to lead to a busy district, for he could see a couple of shops and crowds of natives at the far end. He went through, and, emerging at the other side, found himself in the midst of a howling mob of street vendors of all kinds, whi
le Indians jostled him on every side, and smells of the rare oriental bouquet assailed his nostrils, much to his discomfort. He screwed up his nose, and looked intently at a shopkeeper who was squatting in front of a stall containing a collection of gaudily coloured wearing apparel. The native looked hard at the sailor’s screwed up nose.

  ‘Ah!’ he said brightly. ‘You want hand’chiefs – I got!’

  ‘Keep ’em!’ said Batty shortly, and walked on.

  He became thoroughly confused by the mixture of noise and smells, the barking of dogs, and the crowds of men and women round him. At last espying a man who wore a red fez cap, and looked intelligent, he buttonholed him.

  ‘’Ere, mate,’ he said, ‘where can I get an ’air cut, savvy?’

  The other looked puzzled, and then a smile brightened his face.

  ‘Napi, eh?’ he asked.

  ‘Look ’ere, young feller, me lad, don’t you be rude, see! I may call my ’ead a napper, but I didn’t say as you could!’

  Taking no notice of his remarks the man in the fez took him by the arm, and led him to a small individual who was crouched by a doorway, crooning to himself in a weird variety of cadences, He wore a bag, such as tram conductors carry, slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Napi,’ announced Batty’s conductor, and turning on his heel strode away.

  The sailor looked at his retreating back, and then at the small man, who had stopped chanting, and had produced a stool upon which he motioned Batty to sit. The latter looked doubtfully at it, but obeyed, and a dirty cloth was put round his neck, while the operator asked him something in Hindustani.

  ‘Napper!’ replied Batty, and touched his head. The fellow nodded, and, producing a large pair of scissors, proceeded to business. ‘Well I’m blowed!’ continued the sailor aloud. ‘I allus thought napper was a English word, but it seems to be ’Industani for ’air.’

  ‘No, sare,’ said a voice. ‘Napi allo – samee Hindustani for hairdlesser!’