Wallace of the Secret Service (16 page)

‘He apparently doesn’t think you’re a good subject, Tommy,’ observed Maddison cheerfully.

‘He’ll jolly soon find I am not,’ replied Carter, ‘if he tries any of his beastly tricks on me.’

‘It will be necessary,’ came the cruel voice of Levinsky, ‘for this gentleman to be gagged as well as bound, I think. A sudden shout, as the – er – executioner approaches him, might seriously interfere with the satisfactory termination of the entertainment.’

Dr Prilukoff turned aside, and spoke earnestly to Dorin and Levinsky. Afterwards, Maddison was pushed into a chair and bound to it, while a gag was thrust into his mouth and fastened tightly. From a drawer in the desk Dorin took a long slender knife, and held it up for Carter’s inspection.

‘This is the knife you will use,’ he announced, as though he were merely describing an object of casual interest. ‘As soon as the doctor has brought you under influence, your hands will be untied, and this weapon handed to you.’

‘It will be interesting to view your dismay when you come out of your trance, and realise what you have done,’ observed Levinsky.

‘If you think this old scarecrow is going to hypnotise me, you’ve made a bloomer,’ snapped Carter.

Suddenly the doctor was standing before him, moving his talon-like fingers to and fro in front of his face. Behind them glittered those ludicrously distorted eyes, and they seemed to be boring into Carter’s very brain. He had not realised before what power there was in them, and gradually it began to dawn on him that he would have to fight with all the strength of his mind to retain his senses. For the first time the real hideousness of the plot became apparent to him. He shouted his execrations, his defiance, but still those unholy, detestable eyes glared at him, the fingers continued their undulating movements, while not a sound issued from the ugly mouth of the scoundrel, who was doing his utmost to obtain an abominable control over his senses. The eyes were growing larger, more evil, until the whole world seemed to be eyes, merciless, hard, devouring. With a shock, Carter realised that a feeling of numbness was stealing over him; he was no longer able to cry out. Desperately he strove to turn his head, shut his eyes, anything rather than face that gimlet gaze any longer, but, like a rabbit stupefied by a hovering bird of prey, he was held in thrall. His brain was still working; thank God for that! He must concentrate with all his might against that sinister thing that was threatening his reason. Though he did not know it, the perspiration was running down his face in streams, as he fought that terrific fight with the hypnotist. But the agony was not all on his side. The doctor himself was feeling the strain. Never had he dealt with a subject so difficult. The onlookers stood fascinated, not
daring to move, hardly venturing to breathe. With a mighty, supreme effort the mesmerist exerted all his power. Carter felt his senses reeling, he was beginning to lose hold on himself, his brain seemed to be enveloped in a cloud, and he was falling through space. In a great despair he became aware that he was praying, praying that this awful thing would release him from its miasmatic grip. Then, from what appeared to be miles away, came a voice:

‘This has gone on long enough. Hands up, all of you!’

The spell was broken. Carter recovered full possession of his senses with a rush, but he was weak, unnerved, and was compelled to lean on the desk for support. At the sound of the voice, the Russians had turned with one accord towards the door. Sir Leonard Wallace stood on the threshold, a revolver in his hand. Behind him, and a little to one side, was Major Brien similarly armed, and farther back still could be seen the dim forms of several other men.

Dr Prilukoff took one glance at the newcomers; then, with an animal-like scream of fury, turned back to the man who had defied his hypnotic powers for so long, picked up the knife from the desk, and attempted to stab him. But the weapon never reached its object, a shot rang out, the doctor, for a moment, stood poised like a statue; then crashed to the floor.

‘I think that’s the best thing that could happen to him,’ observed Sir Leonard coolly.

He stepped into the room, his companions crowding after him. Maddison was quickly released, and the four remaining Russians disarmed and shepherded into a corner. Someone found a jug of water, and gave Carter a drink, which he accepted gratefully. Levinsky and Dorin had been too overcome by astonishment and dismay to attempt any resistance. They stood now gazing at their
captors, as though unable to believe the evidence of their eyes. Maddison pointed out Levinsky.

‘That is the man you want, sir,’ he explained. ‘The other is number two, I believe.’

Wallace surveyed them with a smile.

‘Our little plot seems to have worked quite well,’ he observed.

Levinsky found his voice.

‘What do you mean?’ he snarled. ‘We saw through the trick you tried to play on us when that man Carter made himself conspicuous by talking sedition, afterwards pretending to murder you and escape. We also captured the other, whom you set to track our car, and—’

‘That’s exactly what we wanted you to do,’ interrupted Sir Leonard.

‘How? Was it not your object that the man Carter should work his way into our confidence, and thus discover our secrets? Also that the other man should track the car, and find out our headquarters?’

‘Yes,’ admitted Wallace, ‘but I anticipated that you would be too clever to be taken in. On the other hand the capture of these two gentlemen, and the belief that you had outwitted us, would lull you into a false sense of security, while I was making preparations to raid you.’

Both Levinsky and Dorin swore horribly. Despite himself, however, the former’s curiosity got the better of him.

‘How could you have known where to come?’ he demanded.

‘For the simple reason that below the steering wheel of Mr Maddison’s car is a miniature wireless set, an aerial is concealed in the hood, which has double folds. All the time he was following you he was in touch with my headquarters. Thus he told us where Mr Carter had left my car, described your destination, even was
able to send out the information that he was being surrounded and about to be captured.’

The chagrin depicted on the Russians’ faces was almost comical. Levinsky turned on one of his subordinates with a cry of rage, and flung a rapid stream of Russian at him.

‘If you are asking him why he did not discover the wireless outfit,’ interposed Sir Leonard, ‘let me answer for him. It has a secret hiding place, and the mere pressure of a button causes it to slide into position flush with the instrument board. Unless you happen to know it is there, the chances are against your finding it. Well, your game is up. We have found the printing press in the basement, captured the printers and compositors, and searched the whole building. The documents that have fallen into our hands are almost priceless from our point of view, and will put an end, once and for all, to Russian Soviet influence in this country. There is only one thing that puzzles me. What was the idea of attempting to hypnotise Mr Carter? We watched the performance for some minutes, but you were all too engrossed to notice that we had opened the door.’

Maddison recounted the diabolical scheme that had emanated from Levinsky’s brain, and the expression on Sir Leonard’s face, when he understood the significance of the scene he had witnessed, caused the Russians to shrink back in fear. For some moments his steel-grey eyes held theirs, and there was such a look of loathing in them that Dorin shivered convulsively.

‘So that’s the depth to which modern Russia has sunk, is it?’ he snapped. ‘You infernal brutes, you’re nothing but cowardly scum, unfit for anything but the utter contempt and abhorrence of decent nations. You’ll suffer a long term of imprisonment for this.’ He turned to Carter. ‘I am sorry I delayed our coming for so long,’ he said.

‘It’s all right, sir,’ returned the young man cheerfully. ‘I did think something had come unstuck, though.’

Sir Leonard directed his men to remove the Russians, and send for an ambulance to take away the body of the hypnotist. He had hardly finished speaking, when Dorin gave a cry and sagged to the floor, his hand on his heart. Two or three men went to his assistance. He was lifted up, and placed in a chair close to the desk, while Brien sprinkled water in his face.

‘Is he subject to that sort of thing?’ Wallace asked Levinsky suspiciously.

‘Yes,’ nodded the latter sullenly, ‘it’s his heart.’

Suddenly there was a click and a grating sound, and the room was plunged in darkness. Wallace shouted for somebody to find the switch and, for some moments, there was the sound of scuffling and the deep breathing of men. Then came another sharp click, and the lights were on again. The Englishmen gazed round them in astonishment. The Russian subordinates were still present, but neither Levinsky nor Dorin were to be seen.

‘Some disappearing trick!’ murmured Carter.

Wallace gave vent to a full-blooded exclamation. Dashing across to the place where Dorin had been sitting he gave the desk a push. Immediately it began to move, as though it were on a swivel, and the lights went out. Continuing to push, he put out his foot cautiously
into space.

‘Strike a match, somebody,’ he cried.

Several were lit, and the discovery made that underneath where the desk had been was an opening with steps leading down to the regions below.

‘Ingenious,’ he commented ruefully. ‘The movement of the desk put out the lights, the two Russians then pushed until they could
creep through the hole, shot the desk back into place, and on went the lights again. They’re well away by now, but come on, Brien and Maddison, after them. The rest of you, guard the prisoners!’

The steps at first went straight down then meandered to the right, after which they walked along a narrow passage with a door at the end. This was ajar. They pushed it wide open, clambered over a pile of disused petrol tins, and found themselves in a garage – empty!

‘Dash it!’ exclaimed Wallace. ‘As I thought, they’ve escaped.’

The whole of London was combed during the following days, and every port watched for the escaped Russians, but no trace of them was found. But to quote Sir Leonard’s words:

‘It doesn’t matter much. We’ve smashed the Soviet plot against Britain once and for all. The information that has fallen into our hands is priceless, and will keep Russia toeing the line very carefully for the future, at least as far as this country is concerned. Still I’m damn sorry we can’t make those two blighters suffer for the hideous scheme they concocted against Maddison and Carter.’

‘I thought we had heard the last of the Russians for some little time to come, but this latest development will badly need looking into.’

The speaker was Sir Leonard Wallace, and he was closeted with the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.

‘I suppose your agent is quite sure of his facts?’ queried the Cabinet Minister. ‘I mean to say, he couldn’t have been misinformed by any chance?’

Sir Leonard eyed his
vis-à-vis
rather scornfully.

‘Every report that reaches my department,’ he observed quietly, ‘is authentic. If our agents were allowed to swamp us with rumours, it would mean chaos. Not a man or woman would dream of making a statement before he or she had verified it. After all that is what a secret service exists for, isn’t it?’

The grey-haired Statesman smiled.

‘I suppose it was foolish of me to make such a remark,’ he said, ‘but why on earth should the Soviet invite delegates from the countries you have mentioned to a secret conference?’

‘That is what we must find out,’ was the reply. ‘I shall travel to Moscow myself and, if possible, attend the conference.’

The Secretary of State stared at him, as though he had not heard aright.

‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed. ‘You don’t really mean that do you?’

‘Why not?’

‘My dear man, how can you possibly attend?’

‘I don’t know yet and, if I did, you could hardly expect me to give away my plans, even to you, could you?’

‘But think of the risk you will run in entering the country. You’ll never see England again, if you are discovered.’

‘No; perhaps not. I should certainly not be declared a first-class life by an insurance company. But I don’t see any reason why I should be detected.’

The Minister frowned at him thoughtfully.

‘I don’t like it,’ he declared. ‘After the way you smashed the Russian plot in England a few weeks ago, I should imagine you are regarded, by the Soviet Government, as the most dangerous enemy Russia possesses. It is possible there is an official collection of photographs of you in Moscow.’

‘Quite likely I should think,’ agreed Wallace coolly.

‘Then what chance can you possibly have of successfully entering the country, let alone being present at this secret conclave?’

‘My greatest chance will lie in the fact that it will never occur to the Soviet that I will attempt to enter Russia.’

‘Couldn’t you send someone else?’

‘It has never been my practice to send a man where I would not go myself. In the present case I feel that it is very necessary that I should pay a personal visit to Moscow, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘What about Lady Wallace?’ queried the Statesman.

‘She will not know why I am going to Russia,’ replied Wallace, ‘and to quote an old proverb, “where innocence is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” I presume you will not be foolish enough to inform her of my real object.’

‘Certainly not. Surely you don’t—’

‘That applies also to your colleagues of the Cabinet,’ went on Sir Leonard. ‘Not a whisper of my intentions must leave this room, sir.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps I have been foolish to confide in
you
.’

The Minister looked sharply at him, and a frown of annoyance creased his brow, but he caught the smile on the other’s face, and allowed his indignation to fade.

‘It is very difficult sometimes,’ he complained, ‘to know whether you are pulling one’s leg or not. Well, since you are bent on entering this den of lions – I suppose I should say bears – I have no further comments to make. After all you’re the chief of your department, and I’ve no right to interfere with your plans and arrangements, I suppose.’

‘Has that only just occurred to you?’ asked Wallace ironically.

This time the Foreign Secretary laughed.

‘Thanks, Wallace,’ he chuckled. ‘I suppose that is a polite way of saying it’s time I learnt to mind my own business.’

‘More or less,’ was the frank reply. He rose to his feet. ‘Is there anything else you want to say before I go?’

‘No; except to wish you luck. When is the conference to take place?’

‘On the twenty-fifth.’

The Statesman looked at the calendar.

‘Three weeks from today,’ he commented. ‘And the nations invited to send delegates are Austria, Germany, Turkey, and China you say?’

Wallace nodded.

‘It looks like a plot,’ remarked His Majesty’s Minister.

‘It
is
a plot,’ retorted the Chief of the Secret Service.

‘When will you leave?’

Sir Leonard smiled broadly.

‘I shan’t even tell myself until the last minute,’ he said, ‘and I certainly shall not cross to the continent by any of the known routes. Brien will be left in charge of course and, if anything occurs while I am away, you have only to get in touch with him.’

A little later, when walking up Whitehall, a grim look crossed his face.

‘I wonder where they dig up these cabinet ministers,’ he muttered. ‘He thinks it
looks
like a plot. My God! What vast intelligence.’

The next day Wallace ran down to his estate in the New Forest where his wife and son were already established. He said very little to Lady Wallace about his proposed visit to Russia, and shut himself up in his study, where he did some very hard thinking. Early the following morning he was joined by Cousins, who spent a couple of hours playing golf with him, during which they acted as their own caddies, then returned to London.

A week later a dapper little man descended from the
rapide
at Strasbourg, and was driven to the Hotel Lorraine. His carefully trimmed imperial, his garments, above all his mannerisms, proclaimed him the Parisian. His cards declared him to be Monsieur Anatole Lalére, and he was well known at Strasbourg, as it was his custom, two or three times a year, to meet his agents from Berlin, Vienna, Rome and various other big continental cities at the Hotel Lorraine, and discuss business matters with
them. Who has not heard of the famous Lalére perfumes?
Lalére et Cie
is known throughout Europe, America, and in fact the whole civilised world. No wonder, therefore, that Monsieur Anatole Lalére’s coming to the Hotel Lorraine is always marked by a hearty and respectful welcome from the management. He is usually given the best suite of rooms, and his every wish gratified almost before it is expressed. Monsieur Lalére, it is well known, is a millionaire; in addition he is a charming gentleman, and distributes largesse with an unfailingly generous hand. His popularity, it will be seen, was a matter of the combination of the heart and the purse.

On this particular occasion he had arranged to meet three agents; one from Vienna, where, despite the sad decline of Austria, women are still beautiful, and love the scents of Lalére; one from Berlin, where women are not so beautiful but love expensive perfumes nevertheless; and the other from London, which boasts of the most beautiful women in the world, women whose beauty is enhanced by the delicately scented powders and creams of
Lalére et Cie
. It was unusual for the London agent to travel to Strasbourg, but it had become necessary for him to meet his confrères from Berlin and Vienna.

As was usual, the conference was inaugurated by a special luncheon at which the conversation, I am afraid, was almost entirely ‘shop’. It was natural, however, considering that the affairs of the company were in such a flourishing condition and, at that time, were evoking a good deal of enthusiasm from those lucky enough to be employed by the amiable Monsieur Lalére.

A stranger glancing into the room, and taking stock of the four men, sitting round the convivial board, would have been struck
by the manner in which each typified his nationality. Monsieur Lalére was so obviously French; big, burly Herr Gottfried, with his bullet head and fair hair, looked as though he might have been in the Prussian Guards; Herr Beust revived memories of those gallant and handsome young men who thronged Vienna before the Great War; and the fourth, tall, well-knit, with curly brown hair, fine features, and the bronzed complexion of the athlete, was as British as any man could well be. Yet, though Lalére had spent most of his life in France, Gottfried had been born and bred in Germany, Beust had lived in Austria since he was three years old, they were all as British in nationality as their companion, Tommy Carter, and all prominent members of the Secret Service directed by Sir Leonard Wallace.

The firm of
Lalére et Cie
is no myth. Its actual name is slightly different it is true, but it is as existent and as prosperous as I have stated, and Lalére directs it from Paris; while Gottfried, Beust and Carter are its agents in their various capitals, have their offices, and draw their salaries. It was founded with money supplied by Sir Leonard Wallace, and the gentlemen and ladies, who represent it in the big capitals of the world, are members of the British Secret Service.

As soon as luncheon was finished, the four men retired to Monsieur Lalére’s private sitting room. Facts and figures regarding business were scrutinised with meticulous care, and plans for the future drawn up. Then Carter rose from his chair, and walked through the suite to make sure there were no possible eavesdroppers about. The advantage of holding a meeting in the sitting room was obvious. On one side was an anteroom, on the other a bedroom; it was quite impossible, therefore, for the discussion to be heard in adjoining suites. The only danger was
the corridor outside the sitting room, but Lalére’s manservant, also a member of the rank and file of the Secret Service, was posted on duty there. Carter locked all the doors, and returned to his companions.

‘What have been the results of your investigations?’ he asked looking from Gottfried to Beust.

The former was the first to answer.

‘I had a great deal of difficulty in obtaining the necessary information,’ he confessed, ‘and even now I am not certain that what I have discovered has any connection with this Russian affair. But Paulus is leaving Berlin for Moscow on the twenty-second. His mission is supposed to be in connection with the agricultural inquiry, but I think it is fairly obvious to us what his real intentions are.’

‘Paulus!’ commented Carter. ‘He won’t be any help. He’s a bullet-headed, beefy blighter like you, Gottfried, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ nodded the other; ‘though the comparison might have been expressed in more polite terms.’

Carter grinned cheerfully.

‘But what,’ inquired Lalére, ‘has his build to do with the matter?’

‘I’ll tell you presently,’ replied Carter. ‘What about you, Beust? Don’t say you haven’t succeeded in discovering anything at all.’

‘On the contrary,’ replied the good-looking pseudo Austrian, ‘I have actually seen the secret file relating to the conference in Moscow.’

‘That’s the stuff to give the troops,’ interjected Carter. ‘How did you manage that?’

‘I heard that Otto Kahn had been delegated to attend the agricultural inquiry by the government, and put two and two together. It occurred to me that he would be the very man to be
selected for a secret conference with Russia, so I did a little bit of house-breaking, and was lucky enough to find the file in his safe. I suppose he had taken it home to study it.’

‘What’s Otto Kahn like? Of course we’ve heard of him vaguely, but he’s such a new star in the political firmament that very little is known about him. Have you the photographs?’

Beust nodded and, taking a pocket-case from the inside of his jacket, extracted three photographs, which he laid on the table in front of Carter. The latter examined them carefully, then whistled as though delighted.

‘What’s his height?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Somewhere in the neighbourhood of five feet eight, I should think.’

‘Splendid! He’s the man for our money. That’s a bit of luck.’

‘You’re talking in riddles,’ complained Lalére. ‘What’s the notion?’

‘Listen!’ Carter leant impressively towards his three colleagues. ‘It is the chief ’s idea, if possible, to impersonate one of the delegates, and attend the conference in his place.’

Lalére whistled long and softly; Beust and Gottfried exchanged looks of surprise not unmixed with admiration.

‘He was hoping that either the German or Austrian delegate would prove to be somewhere about his own build. This man Kahn is absolutely the goods; he’s slim, same height, there’s even a similarity in the features. He’ll be as pleased as punch when he hears about Kahn and sees these photographs.’

‘
Mon Dieu
! It’s daring,’ observed Lalére. ‘It means, of course, that Otto Kahn will have to be kidnapped. How does Sir Leonard propose to do that?’

‘Nothing has been arranged yet,’ replied Carter. ‘There was no
use deciding upon any plan of campaign until he knew whom he intended to impersonate.’

‘What would he have done,’ asked Gottfried, ‘if the Austrian delegate had turned out to be a bullet-headed, beefy blighter, as you so elegantly delineated Paulus?’

‘In that case Shannon would have been the impersonator, and the chief would have gone with him in the capacity of secretary. Which reminds me,’ he added, turning to Beust; ‘have you any idea how many people are travelling with Kahn?’

‘Two,’ was the prompt reply; ‘a secretary and his confidential manservant.’

‘You’re positive of that?’

‘Certain.’

‘That makes things easier.’

‘If you are sure Sir Leonard will choose Kahn for this impersonation business,’ put in Gottfried, ‘you won’t need these photographs of Paulus.’

‘I’d better take them with me,’ said Carter. ‘No doubt the chief would like to gaze upon the features of a fellow delegate.’

He took the two photographs which Gottfried handed to him, and examined them critically.

‘What a hog he looks,’ he commented. ‘There is certainly something of you about him, Gottfried.’

‘Thanks very much,’ murmured the latter drily, and the others laughed.

Carter rose to his feet.

‘Well, I don’t think there is anything else,’ he remarked, ‘and the sooner I get back to HQ the better. You’d better be on the
qui vive,
Beust. I daresay a mass of detailed instructions will be unloaded on you in a day or two.’