Wallace of the Secret Service (23 page)

Wallace went to bed very thoughtfully that night.

He was up early the next morning, and spent an hour pacing the garden before breakfast. Directly after that meal he went to his rooms, and again examined the notebook, reading through carefully everything that had been jotted down by Sir George Paterson. The result of his scrutiny was that he ordered a car, and was driven to the residence of the President. He was with Mustapha Kemal Pasha for a long time, during which he learnt the names of all the leaders concerned in the recent attempt to bring back the Sultan to Turkey, and also those of their families, relatives and, in a good many cases, their friends. On his return to the embassy, he once again locked himself in his rooms, and studied the list of names and addresses he had brought with him. One by one he eliminated all but those of three men, who had been executed, and their connections. Very little was known about one, but the other two had been men of high repute and good family. Having classified the list, he sent for the Chief of Police and asked him to cause investigations to be made concerning the antecedents of the various people whose names he had written on a slip of paper.

‘I should like you, if you can,’ he added, ‘to trace their movements from the time their relatives were arrested.’

The dark-faced official glanced at him astutely, and nodded his head.

‘You think then,’ he observed, ‘that Sir George Paterson’s death was a matter of revenge.’

‘It may have been,’ admitted Wallace. ‘In any case it is an eventuality that cannot be overlooked. Have your investigations given you a clue of any kind?’

‘Not a thing,’ replied the Turk. ‘At first I thought that such
a crime must have been committed by somebody living inside the house, but, despite a very rigid examination of everybody employed here, and a careful search of all the rooms, there was nothing to cause the vaguest suspicion of anyone. Sir George was very popular with all in this household, and nobody had any motive either of revenge or gain to murder him. There is one thing, however, and it is perhaps ridiculous, but I have neither questioned Lady Paterson nor searched her suite of rooms. Is it possible, do you think, Monsieur, that she can have been responsible for the death of her husband?’

‘Absurd,’ returned Sir Leonard at once. ‘Such a theory is out of the question altogether.’

‘I expected you to say that, but you must admit that it is not impossible, though it may be improbable. Wives have been known to kill their husbands before.’

‘In this case it is not only improbable but impossible as well,’ declared Wallace with decision. ‘I have known both Sir George and Lady Paterson for several years and, I can assure you, they were an extremely devoted couple.’

Hakim Pasha shrugged his shoulders, and rose to his feet.

‘I must thank you,’ he remarked, ‘for the suggestion of this new line of inquiry.’ He tapped the list of names he held in his hand. ‘It is very likely that from among these people will be found the murderer. I will let you know directly there is anything to report.’

When he had departed, Sir Leonard went down to Winslow’s office, and endeavoured to learn something more concerning the mysterious veiled lady, but nobody was able to give him any further information. Afterwards he sought an interview with Lady Paterson, and was relieved when told that she was well enough to see him. He found her lying on a couch in her beautiful boudoir
overlooking the Bosphorus. She looked very frail and ill, but greeted him warmly. Her maid and the nurse were in attendance on her, but were dismissed as soon as Sir Leonard was announced. The latter was not in uniform and, on inquiry, Wallace learnt that she was leaving that day as the doctor had decided there was no longer any need for a nurse.

‘I don’t think he is very wise,’ opined Sir Leonard. ‘You look as though a nurse is necessary.’

She smiled wanly.

‘I have my maid,’ she reminded him, ‘and an English girl is on her way out with my sister to escort me home as soon as Dr Lansbury thinks I am fit enough to travel. Did you find George’s notebook?’

‘Yes,’ he told her, ‘but there was nothing written in it of any great importance.’ The prevarication was necessary he considered and, to prevent her asking further questions, he changed the subject. ‘Do you trust your Turkish maid?’ he demanded.

‘Of course, why?’

He told her what Dr Von Bernhardt had said, and questioned her closely concerning Hamid Bey. Lady Paterson was obviously interested in the disclosure, but refused to suspect the Turkish doctor or the maid.

‘I am convinced they had nothing to do with George’s death,’ she declared.

‘I am not so sure,’ returned Wallace seriously. ‘Your husband, I am inclined to believe, made some enemies when he passed on information to the Turkish Government concerning the royalist plot. It is quite likely that Hamid Bey was a member of the Osmanian party. At any rate I have caused investigations to be made concerning him.’

‘They will prove fruitless,’ she replied confidently. ‘Dr Hamid is a man of absolute honour and integrity, I am sure.’

He shrugged his shoulders, and let the matter drop.

‘Did Paterson tell you about the mysterious veiled lady who called to see him?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘she wanted him to intercede on behalf of her brother, who had been condemned to five years’ imprisonment for plotting against the government.’

‘Ah! This is interesting. Who was she?’

‘She had asked him not to divulge her name and, therefore, I did not press the matter.’

‘Did Sir George tell you anything else about her?’

‘No; except that he felt very sorry for her, and informed her that he could not interfere.’

‘You don’t know the brother’s name?’

She shook her head.

‘All I know,’ she informed him, ‘is that he was tried and sentenced to five years’ imprisonment.’

Sir Leonard rose to his feet.

‘It looks,’ he observed, ‘as though I shall have to reclassify my list. It should not be difficult to trace him and, once I know his name, I shall find the lady.’

‘Then you think she had something to do with my husband’s death?’ asked Lady Paterson.

‘It is quite likely,’ nodded Wallace, and left her.

He met the nurse on the stairs, and had a short conversation with her. She looked more beautiful than ever dressed, as she was, in a simple voile frock. Even a somewhat ugly necklace of amber beads failed to detract from her loveliness, and he regarded her with the approval of a fastidious male. The Turkish maid walked
quietly by as they were chatting, and it seemed to Sir Leonard that she glanced at him rather furtively.

‘I do not like that girl,’ announced the nurse, when the maid was out of ear-shot. ‘I think she could tell quite a lot about the death of Sir George Paterson.’

Wallace nodded thoughtfully, and continued his descent of the stairs. In his sitting room he lit a pipe and, throwing himself into an armchair, gave himself up to thought. He remained as he was for some time; then rose and perused, once again, his list of names. Apparently none of them interested him much, for he quickly put down the paper, and began to pace the room. Suddenly he seemed to reach a decision. Knocking out the ashes of his pipe, he placed it on a table, and leaving the room, made his way quietly up the stairs. He paused outside Lady Paterson’s apartments and, calculating where her bedroom was, walked to the door. He was about to bend down and look through the keyhole when he heard the sound of steps from within, and had only time to hide in a curtained alcove before the maid emerged from the room, and walked away along the corridor.

Directly she was out of sight he left his hiding place and, entering the bedroom, closed and locked the door behind him. There was another door communicating with the boudoir and, very quietly, he crept towards it and locked it without a sound. Then commenced a careful search. Having a pretty shrewd idea what it was he expected to find, Sir Leonard did not waste time in examining unlikely places. The result was that hardly ten minutes had passed before, climbing on a chair and exploring the top of a large hanging wardrobe; he found a small paper parcel. Lifting it down he opened it, drawing in his breath with a sharp hiss as his eyes took note of the contents. Rolling it up again, he pushed
it under his jacket and, crossing to the boudoir door, silently unlocked it. A moment later he was gazing cautiously out into the corridor. There was nobody about, and he was able to return to his apartments without being seen. There he sat down to make a thorough examination of his find. A few minutes later he was talking on the telephone to the Chief of Police.

After tea Sir Leonard sat for a considerable time with Lady Paterson. She found his presence very comforting and, under the influence of his conversation, began to look much brighter. He was present at a pleasing little ceremony when she bade farewell to the nurse who had cared for her husband and herself so assiduously, and handed the girl a valuable present as a mark of her esteem. Sir Leonard opened the door of the boudoir for the beautiful Armenian to pass through, and she thanked him with a little smile. Then both of them received a surprise. Standing in the shadows of the corridor, and close to the door, was a tall, handsome Turk of early middle-age. He bowed to them.

‘Oh!’ cried the girl. ‘It is Dr Hamid Bey.’

He smiled.

‘I have come to pay my respects to Lady Paterson,’ he announced. ‘May I enter?’

Wallace stood aside, and allowed him to pass.

‘I hope you succeed in finding the murderer, Monsieur,’ murmured the nurse.

‘I think I can safely say, Mademoiselle,’ Sir Leonard assured her, ‘that I am confident of doing so very shortly.’

‘I am so glad,’ she whispered. ‘It will be some satisfaction for m’lady that her husband has been avenged.’

She nodded brightly and passed on. Wallace returned to Lady Paterson, who was engaged in quite animated conversation with
Dr Hamid Bey. He was introduced to the Turk who, after a short while, took his leave. He had been gone about five minutes when there came the sound of a sudden commotion from the bedroom. At once Sir Leonard was on his feet.

‘Don’t be alarmed!’ he reassured Lady Paterson. ‘It is nothing.’

Crossing the room quickly he passed into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. A dramatic sight met his eyes. The Chief of Police and two subordinates were dragging a struggling, white-faced woman from a chair, placed by the large wardrobe, on which she had been standing.
It was the Armenian nurse.

‘I have kept my word you see, Mademoiselle,’ remarked Wallace quietly. ‘I have found the murderer. The parcel for which you were searching is below.’

She suddenly became nerveless, and collapsed into her captors’ arms.

‘Take her down to my apartments,’ directed Sir Leonard.

They half carried, half led her from the room. He rang the bell, and waited until the maid came in answer to his summons, when he told her to go to her mistress. Then he went below. The nurse, deathly pale, her eyes large with terror, was sitting in a chair, the policemen grouped round her. He walked up to her, and stood looking down at her for a few moments.

‘Why did you do it?’ he asked at last.

At first she found it difficult to speak, but presently the words came with a rush.

‘He was instrumental in causing the execution of my beloved Philon,’ she cried, ‘whose only crime was that he took a leading part in the intrigue to place the Sultan on the throne. I knew Lady Paterson was ill and, when Dr Hamid Bey sent to the hospital for a nurse, I succeeded in getting myself selected. It was easy then.
Every morning it was the habit of Monsieur l’Ambassadeur to enter his study at eleven o’clock and partake of the stewed fruit placed there for him. One morning I crushed up some beads, and mixed them with the fruit. That is all.’

She bowed her head, and for a few seconds there was silence; then Wallace looked at the Chief of Police.

‘This Philon,’ he observed, ‘was the third man to be executed, was he not?’

The chief nodded.

‘Very little seems to have been known about him,’ went on the Englishman, ‘and although I included him in my classification, I had almost decided to rule him out as possessing no friend or friends who would desire to avenge him. Armenian, of course?’

Again the policeman nodded. Suddenly the girl looked up, and her great eyes bored into those of Sir Leonard.

‘How did you know?’ she whispered.

‘Today, for the first time,’ he replied, ‘I saw you dressed in ordinary clothes, and you were wearing the necklace which you have on now.’ Instinctively she put her hand to her neck. ‘It was the first clue I have found in this case, Mademoiselle, and if you desired to save yourself from exposure, you made a great mistake in wearing it. I noticed that the beads were not real amber, but glass, and that the larger ones are unevenly matched, indicating that three or four were missing. From that slender clue, I worked on the supposition that you were the guilty person. I tried to put myself in your place, and imagine what you would have done. You knew that the whole house would be searched if the reason for Sir George’s illness was discovered, and that, if you endeavoured to get rid of the remains of the beads and the implement you used to crush them, they would very likely be discovered and traced to you.
You, therefore, had to find a hiding place. At the time you were nursing Lady Paterson, and it occurred to you that no place could be safer than her bedroom, which it was most unlikely the police would search. As it happened, they did not, but I did an hour or so after noticing the beads round your neck today. On the top of the wardrobe was a parcel containing a small hammer, a little crushed glass, and half an imitation amber bead. There they are!’ He pointed to a side table a little behind her. She looked round and shuddered. ‘The rest is quickly told,’ he went on. ‘I knew you were leaving today, and it was fairly certain that you would take the parcel away with you. I telephoned to Hakim Pasha, and asked him to come and bring a couple of officers with him. I explained what I had discovered, and he and the two officers with him hid in Lady Paterson’s bedroom until you entered, and they caught you climbing on the chair to obtain the parcel.’