The Mystery of Tunnel 51

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘We shall open the door,’ said Levinsky, ‘and you will walk through. If you hesitate, or attempt to resist, you will be pushed through.’ He raised his revolver menacingly.

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ replied Leonard, swaying against him in his weakness. ‘The sooner I get away from the two of you the better I shall be pleased, even if I do fall a few thousand feet. I suppose I can have my hands untied to shake hands with my friends before I go.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Very well!’ He turned and looked at the three men lying on the floor, and smiled once more. He looked a pitiable object standing there, swaying drunkenly between the two Russians, with blood streaming from the corner of his mouth and great clots of it on his face. His clothes were torn, his collar burst apart, with a large vivid scratch on his throat showing where one of the Russians had brutally torn it open.

  ‘Goodbye, Hallows, and you too, Woodhouse; I hope you get out of this all right!’ Then he turned to Batty, down whose face tears were streaming. ‘Hallo, old chap,’ he said, ‘what’s all this? Pull yourself together and, when you are free again, give Lady Wallace and Adrian my love, and tell them I went out thinking of them. Also give Major Brien a hearty handclasp and all my cheerios. Goodbye, and thanks for your faithful service!’

  Not one word could any of his companions utter, so stricken with emotion were they.

  ‘Your servant will be following you shortly,’ said Levinsky.

  ‘Don’t be a worse cad than you can help,’ said Leonard. ‘What harm has the man done you? You can, at least, let him go when you arrive in Russia!’

  ‘Perhaps! We’ll see!’ answered Levinsky.

  ‘Remember me to the Russian Soviet! I don’t think your reception will be very good, when they know how you have failed in India.’

  Levinsky let out an oath, but Dorin smiled.

  ‘They will, at least, thank us for ridding the world of you,’ he said. ‘Come! Enough of this!’ He threw open the door of the saloon.

  Leonard gave one glance round, and stiffened himself. Batty found his voice and cried out.

  ‘Go on!’ said Dorin.

  With his head held high, and gathering all his remaining strength to save himself from stumbling, Leonard walked to the door. He had reached it, and the next second would have dropped into space and eternity, when—

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Levinsky, and grabbed him by the arm.

  He swayed dizzily, and would have fallen out even then, had not the Russian, with a herculean effort, dragged him back into safety. The three Englishmen gave great sighs of emotion and relief.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ demanded Dorin angrily.

  ‘I have thought of a far better idea,’ replied Levinsky, shutting the little door and speaking in English, so that Wallace could understand him.

  ‘His wife is on her way out to join him, so why not let her join him?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She is travelling out by the Greyhound, so we will get into touch with her by wireless in Sir Leonard Wallace’s name, and request her to join him at Bushire. There you or I will meet her in the guise of a police officer, and tell her that Sir Leonard has sent you, or me, whoever it happens to be, to escort her up country to him. When we get her safely in the wilds where the aeroplane will be waiting, and where there is no fear of our being interrupted, we will kill him, and she will be able to see him die. I always heard that Lady Wallace is a great sportswoman, and naturally, she will want to be in at the death!’

  ‘A masterly plan, my dear Ivan,’ said Dorin.

  ‘You infernal scoundrel!’ ground out Leonard. ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘Oh, but we shall, and it will be quite an easy matter. Your death will then be satisfactory from every point of view, and will recompense us for the many ignominies you have put upon us.’

  For the first time Leonard showed real emotion.

  ‘Oh, God!’ he groaned. ‘If only I could get at you.’

  Stark horror showed in the faces of Hallows, Woodhouse, and Batty, and each of them strained at their bonds in great efforts to get free. But Levinsky and Dorin had done their work only too well, and their endeavours were in vain.

  ‘What do you propose to do with the woman once she has seen her husband die?’ asked Dorin.

  ‘That remains to be seen!’ replied Levinsky. ‘We may take her to Russia with us. She is a beautiful woman, and would be highly welcome to certain members of the Soviet!’ He shrugged his shoulders. Hallows watching his face, saw the coarse, horrible leer that came over it, and shuddered.

  ‘What are we to do with these fellows until she arrives?’ asked Dorin. ‘It will be several days before she can do so.’

  ‘We’ll find a suitable place, as I said, for the aeroplane to rest out in the wilds, and give them food enough to keep them alive. It would spoil matters if any of them died of thirst or starvation, especially the respected Sir Leonard Wallace. As soon as we alight for the night, you and I will study a map and decide upon the spot.’

  The aeroplane came to rest just before nightfall on a deserted spot close to the sea at the extreme end of Baluchistan. The Russians could not have chosen a better place, for they were scores of miles from the nearest habitation in a district that appeared to be deserted by man and beast. It was a wild mountainous region, which would have given one the impression that it was impossible for an aeroplane to land anywhere in the neighbourhood, but the pilot, Alexieff, had found a place, and showed very great skill in bringing the machine to earth.

  The four prisoners were left in the saloon with Polunin to guard them, while the others made a fire and cooked some food, which they had brought with them. The Englishmen were given sparingly of the slender stock of tinned provisions carried by the aeroplane, but none of them felt like eating, especially as their captors refused to untie their hands, and attempted to feed them. Leonard aching in every limb, with the stinging pain of his burns throbbing all the time, and worn out in body and mind, eventually fell into a restless, tortured sleep, while the others, lying in their uncomfortable, cramped positions, dozed and lay wide-awake alternately; and so somehow the night passed.

  Early the next morning the flight was resumed, Levinsky and Dorin having decided that they would land in the desert between Shiraz and Ispahan, and there await the arrival of Lady Wallace; Dorin in the meantime being dropped at a spot within twenty miles of Bushire, where he could easily find his way to that port, send a wireless to the Greyhound and wait until she reached there. In a week’s time the aeroplane was to go back to the place where he had been left, and hang about in the neighbourhood until he returned with Lady Wallace, when she would be taken aboard, and carried well into the desert, there to witness the death of her husband.

  The aeroplane made good progress and at half past four landed near Bushire, where Dorin alighted and set off for that city. Then flying north for fifty miles, Alexieff at length noticed an ideal place for the machine to rest. It was a spot between two sand hills, away from the beaten track, so that it would have been possible to remain hidden for months without being discovered. Within a distance of five miles, too, there was an oasis set in the desert like a beautiful green island. There the plane came to earth, and remained for a week.

  The privations suffered by Leonard and his companions during that week are beyond description. Every possible insult and indignity was heaped upon them, and Wallace’s sufferings were hideous. They were made to lie out in the open without any cover, and in the daytime the fierce heat of the sun caused them endless agony. None of them was ever able afterwards to think of that week without a shudder.

  Levinsky offered to free Hallows, and Woodhouse, if they would agree to serve the Soviet, and promise on their honour to make no attempt to help the other two. The suggestion was of course received with the utmost scorn by both of them, and Woodhouse was so outspoken in his denunciations of the Russians that they almost kicked him into unconsciousness.

  The four made plans
to escape, but they were too well watched, and their hands were never once untied. At last, they were compelled to give up any idea of freeing themselves. Thus day after day passed slowly, agonisingly by.

  Major Watkins reached his office in reply to the telephone message to find that the officer who had apparently sent for him had been called out suddenly to the outskirts of Karachi. Nobody in the office knew anything about the reason for the call he, therefore, decided to wait until his subordinate returned. The latter came back a very puzzled man, and informed the Commissioner that he had been on a wild-goose chase, as when he reached his destination he discovered he had not been sent for. He further informed the Major that he had not telephoned to him. After talking the matter over, the two decided that they had been hoaxed, and a very annoyed Commissioner returned to his bungalow.

  Arrived there, another surprise awaited him. His bearer handed him a note, which he said had been delivered by an English sahib who had come back in the little car in which the Excellency and his servant had gone out. Tearing the envelope open and extracting its contents, Watkins read the following, written in very scrawling characters:

  My dear Watkins,

  Some information has reached me, which I think may help us to lay Levinsky by the heels. I am off in the aeroplane, and may not be back for a couple of days. Keep a good watch your end – I think we are coming to the finish of the chase at last. Excuse the writing, but Batty is doing his best on account of my damaged hand, and he has many virtues, one of which is not penmanship.

  Kind regards,

  Wallace

  For a long time the Commissioner studied this document. Then he slowly put it into his pocket.

  ‘I don’t like it!’ he said. ‘I don’t like it at all!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Lady Wallace Arrives

  A beautiful white yacht, every line of which seemed to denote speed, steamed gracefully past the isle of Perim in the Red Sea. It was one of those very hot days when travellers are apt to wish almost that they had not been born. There was not a ripple on the surface of the sea, and its very oiliness seemed to suggest heat.

  Under a double awning two ladies lay in deck chairs, striving with the help of large fans to cool themselves slightly. Nearby, in the same attitude of listlessness, sat two nurses and four children, who spent their time in wiping the perspiration from their faces, and sighing for a little air.

  Presently a burly, bronzed man, in the white duck uniform of a marine captain, strolled along the deck and, raising his hand to his cap in salute, smiled at the two ladies.

  ‘Do you find it warm, ladies?’ he asked.

  ‘Warm!’ exclaimed one of them. ‘I personally find it unbearably hot. Shall we have this heat all the way to Bombay, Captain?’

  ‘No, Lady Wallace. It will probably be much cooler tomorrow. The change will come as soon as we are past Aden and in the Arabian Sea.’

  ‘Well, it’s a relief to hear that,’ said Molly.

  ‘It is exceptionally hot for this time of the year,’ said the Captain. ‘I suppose you do not feel inclined for any deck games this morning. I noticed the quartermaster putting up the net for tennis as I came along.’

  Molly laughed, and looked at her companion.

  ‘He’s an optimist,’ she said. ‘What do you say, Phyllis?’

  ‘My dear, I’m too hot to talk, let alone play games! It’s even too hot for the children – just look at them!’

  They all looked at the four sprawling scraps of humanity, and laughed.

  ‘As it is Sunday,’ remarked the Captain, ‘perhaps they thought they had better have a day of rest.’

  ‘Rest for you and the officers I should think, Captain,’ said Molly. ‘Why, you must be thoroughly tired of children by now!’

  ‘By no means,’ said the Captain. ‘It has been a great treat to have the little ones aboard. We don’t very often have such a pleasure and my officers and myself have thoroughly enjoyed it, while the quartermasters go about now with grins on their faces and are always devising new games.’

  ‘They have been wonderfully good,’ said Phyllis. ‘They seem to understand children so well.’

  ‘Most of them are family men and have kiddies of their own, so they are experienced.’

  Just then the wireless operator, an alert young man, ran down the gangway from the deck above and, coming up to the others, saluted smartly.

  ‘A wireless message for Your Ladyship,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, splendid!’ said Molly and, taking the buff-coloured envelope from his hand, she tore it open and read the contents, then handed it to the Captain.

  ‘My husband wants us to go to Bushire,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that somewhere in Persia?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Captain and read the marconigram before handing it back. ‘Then I’m afraid you will have to put up with more heat.’ he smiled. ‘The Persian Gulf has the reputation of being one of the hottest parts of the world.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ said Phyllis. ‘Why on earth should Leonard choose to go there?’

  ‘I can’t think,’ said Molly. ‘What connection can there possibly be between the Indian Government and Persia!’

  ‘Have I your orders to set my course for Bushire, Lady Wallace?’ asked the Captain.

  ‘Oh yes, of course, please!’ said Molly. ‘Is it nearer than Bombay?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid it is not. Roughly speaking, I should think we will be there on Friday morning. That is, if we make as good time as we have done since leaving Marseilles.’

  Presently he left them, accompanied by the wireless operator, and Molly turned to Phyllis with a pout on her pretty lips.

  ‘Leonard doesn’t send his love,’ she said. ‘I have never known him send a cablegram or telegram without it before.’

  ‘Perhaps he is hard up,’ smiled Phyllis, ‘and couldn’t afford the extra amount!’

  ‘But he even signs himself “Wallace” and not “Leonard”. Look!’ She leant across to her companion, and showed the wireless message to her. ‘“Meet me at Bushire – Awaiting you there – Wallace”,’ read Phyllis. ‘It is a bit abrupt, isn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps he got somebody else to send it for him.’ Molly cheered up.

  ‘That must be the explanation,’ she agreed. ‘But I’ll pretend to be very hurt and annoyed with him all the same.’

  ‘Don’t be cruel, Molly!’

  ‘That isn’t cruel It does husbands good to keep them in their places – you spoil yours!’

  ‘I couldn’t spoil him half as much as you spoil Leonard. I really should be very jealous of you, because after all, you have a message from Leonard, even though it is abrupt – I haven’t even a teeny one from Billy.’

  ‘I suppose he is at Bushire as well, so you can have half the marconigram.’ And laughingly she tore the paper in halves and gave one of the pieces to Phyllis.

  Since leaving Marseilles the yacht had experienced beautiful weather, with the result that she had made splendid progress and was nearly a day ahead of her expected time. Owing to the presence of the children the trip had been a very merry one, and had been thoroughly enjoyed by all on board from the Captain down to the ship’s boy. All had vied with each other in giving the children a good time, and little Adrian had become a special favourite. His greatest enjoyment was to play pirates, and the good-hearted Captain had proved himself a first-rate actor when, brought to bay on his own bridge, he was forced to surrender his ship and to descend a prisoner and, apparently, a heartbroken man to his cabin. Adrian would have liked to have made his captives walk the plank, only as he naïvely put it, ‘they would have got rather wet’.

  As the Captain predicted, the next day was much cooler, a nice head breeze making all the difference, and games were resumed with redoubled energy. At noon another marconigram arrived, this time for Phyllis, and it proved to be a rather lengthy one from Billy.

  ‘Looking keenly forward to your arrival,’ it read, ‘Let me know date and time of reaching Bombay. Am
at present in Delhi, but will come to meet you. All love. Billy.’

  Phyllis perused it with surprise, and handed it to Molly.

  ‘They are not together,’ she said, ‘and Billy apparently doesn’t know that Leonard wishes us to meet him at Bushire.’

  ‘That’s strange!’ said Molly, after she had read the message. ‘I suppose Billy did not know Leonard’s plans when he sent this. You had better send a reply at once, so that there will not be any muddle.’

  The two girls went to the wireless cabin and composed a message for Billy, which was duly sent off to Viceregal Lodge, Delhi. Phyllis asked her companion if she was going to send a marconigram to Leonard, but the latter shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t deserve one. Billy doesn’t forget to send his love, but my husband does, and if he did not actually dispatch it himself, he could have told his messenger to send his love, couldn’t he? And the very idea of signing it “Wallace”.’ Molly stamped down the gangway in great indignation, followed by the laughing Phyllis.

  The yacht continued to make rapid progress and at seven o’clock on Friday morning sighted Bushire and took aboard the pilot to conduct her into that exceedingly noisy and evil-smelling port. An hour later she was snugly anchored with a crowd of native boats round her, like chicks round a hen. The port authorities had come and gone, and the quartermaster’s time was occupied in keeping off the crowd of shrieking natives below, who were bent on selling fruit, and wares of all descriptions and seemed determined to climb on board. Some succeeded, but were sent over the side again in double-quick time by the indignant sailors, much to the amusement of Adrian and his little friends, who found everything highly interesting and exciting.

  Molly looked in vain for Leonard or somebody representing him, and as time went on and nobody appeared she began to feel very doleful and worried.

  ‘The poor man doesn’t know we’ve arrived yet,’ said Phyllis. ‘We’re ahead of time as you know. You should have sent a marconigram and not been so unkind.’