Wallace of the Secret Service (33 page)

‘Unless Major Brien thought it best to bring him across, sir.’

‘Oh, nonsense!’ exclaimed Sir Leonard impatiently.

‘Well, there’s only that locker, sir, and that could only contain a child, or – or a dwarf.’

‘Ah!’ Wallace’s eyes gleamed.

Cousins looked at his chief in astonishment.

‘You don’t mean to say that you think—’ he commenced.

‘I’m trying to think of all feasibilities. We’ve got to get those documents back, if it is humanly possible, and I dare not dismiss any theory, even if it does sound absurd.’

‘Perhaps Major Brien has the documents on him,’ hazarded Cousins.

‘He hasn’t. I searched his pockets before he was carried way. Did you examine that locker, Cousins?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied the little man. ‘There wasn’t even a pin in it. But suppose there was someone in the aeroplane, could he have opened the door at that altitude, when the machine was probably going a hundred miles an hour?’

‘Yes. It happened once before when a famous financier was killed.’

‘Of course; I recollect.’

‘And if I remember rightly the pilot noticed nothing unusual on that occasion?’ murmured Sir Leonard.

He went outside, and sat on an overturned box, his pipe clenched between his teeth. As he sat there one of the doctors drove up in a car.

‘I came to let you know that Major Brien will recover,’ he announced.

‘Thank God!’ murmured Wallace fervently. ‘It’s decent of you to come, doctor,’ he added gratefully. ‘Is he conscious?’

‘No. I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before he comes round. However he’s safe now.’

With a smile he drove away.

‘It is certain I shall not be able to get any information out of Billy,’ muttered Wallace, rising to his feet and knocking out his pipe. ‘There is just one slender chance, and I’ll have to take it.’

He crossed to the wireless station, and for ten minutes was engaged in sending out messages. It was some time before he received any answers, and he fumed with impatience when four unsatisfactory replies trickled back across the ether. At last came one that brought a smile to his lips, and a faint flush to his cheeks.

It was from a small coasting steamer, and informed him that a parachute had been seen to fall from an aeroplane in mid-channel. As far as the crew of the steamer could make out, a large motorboat had been standing by which later had set a course apparently for Holland.

Wallace waited only long enough to telephone to the Air Force Depot at Dover; then, commandeering the fastest aeroplane
in the Croydon aerodrome, he and Cousins flew to the seaside town. Arrived there, he found a flying-boat awaiting him, and a somewhat worried squadron leader trying not to look anxious. He saluted Sir Leonard with great respect, however.

‘Did you mean what you said about the machine gun, sir?’

‘Of course I did,’ was the reply. ‘We may want more than a machine gun. Are the bombs on board?’

‘Yes, sir. I hope that everything is in order, though.’

Wallace smiled.

‘Of course it is. My boy, you are on special duty now and, if we are quick, you’ll be rendering your country an inestimable service.’

The young airman smiled, and all his doubts seemed to vanish.

‘Good enough,’ he cried. ‘I’m ready if you are, sir.’

‘Who is piloting the boat?’

‘I am, sir, and I have three men aboard; two for the machine gun, and one for the bombs.’

‘That means six of us,’ said Wallace. ‘That’ll do. Now my information is not very clear, but look out for a large motorboat probably making for the Dutch coast. The chances are it will beat us, but we may do it. It must be well over a hundred miles to Holland from the place where it was seen, but it has nearly two hours’ start.’

A few minutes later the flying-boat rose like a beautiful bird and flew at a high altitude towards the coast of Holland. As they travelled, the eyes of all aboard were glued upon the calm blue sea below them. Wallace had brought a powerful pair of glasses, and his eyes seldom left them. Boats of all descriptions were seen; large cargo steamers carrying the merchandise of the world, one or two pleasure yachts, a host of fishing smacks, occasional passenger liners, but not one motorboat.

Then, when all hope seemed gone, and the coast of Holland was looming almost at their feet, they sighted a motorboat apparently making for Walcheren.

‘It must be our quarry,’ said Sir Leonard.

‘It’s got to be,’ shouted Cousins, and the grim look on his face made his wrinkles look more grotesque than ever.

The flying-boat glided down in a beautiful spiral, and presently was circling over the craft below, which was tearing through the water at an amazing pace. There were four men aboard her, and they were looking up with expressions of hatred not unmixed with fear. One was seen to raise a revolver, but another snatched it from his hand and appeared, from his attitude, to be overcome with anger.

Sir Leonard smiled softly.

‘I don’t think we want any further proof than that, Cousins,’ he shouted in the little man’s ear. ‘They have wireless on board, and must have received messages and replies, and guessed I’d be after them somehow, but they reckoned without a flying-boat, otherwise they would have changed their course.’

‘My God! Look!’ gasped Cousins, and pointed below.

Emerging from the covered-in portion of the bows was a terrible-looking creature. Not more than four feet in height, it had arms that reached to its feet, a great hairy head that was so repulsive to look at that it gave one a feeling of nausea, and two great fangs which stuck out of its mouth like the tusks of a boar. It looked up, made a diabolical grimace, and shook a large, hairy fist.

‘So that was what was concealed in the aeroplane, and used the gas,’ muttered Wallace to himself, and shuddered.

The creature was thrust under cover by a man standing near
the bows. A minute later the flying-boat struck the water in front of the motor-craft and, swinging round, raced towards it. At Sir Leonard’s direction the machine gun was discharged above the oncoming boat, which swerved just in time to avoid a collision.

Apparently recognising that they were in a hopeless position, the occupants brought their vessel to a stand, and the aeroplane floated alongside.

‘Look out for treachery!’ warned Wallace.

A big man stood up in the stern.

‘What do you want with us?’ he shouted.

‘We are here on behalf of His Britannic Majesty’s Government,’ replied Sir Leonard. ‘You have stolen some documents belonging to the King of Afghanistan which were on their way to Great Britain. In addition you have been the cause of the Afghan envoy being murdered. I am coming aboard.’

‘You cannot interfere with us,’ was the reply; ‘we are in Dutch waters. Apart from that, I deny your charge.’

‘As for your being in Dutch waters,’ said Sir Leonard smiling quizzically at the fishing fleet almost surrounding them, ‘I don’t think His Majesty’s Government will have much difficulty in settling that point with the representatives of the Queen of Holland. On the other count I have simply to remark that I am coming aboard to arrest you, and search your boat.’

Almost before he had finished speaking, a man standing behind the spokesman in the motor-launch, raised his hand as though to throw something. There was the crack of a revolver, the fellow staggered, clutched wildly at his companion, missed him and toppled into the water.

‘Not a bad shot,’ murmured Cousins, gazing at his still smoking revolver.

After that there was little opposition. The three remaining men seemed to be cowed, while the dwarf had made no further appearance from his hiding place in the bows. Wallace climbed aboard followed by Cousins and one of the machine-gunners. Each was armed with a revolver. They made a careful search of the sullen-looking trio, but the documents they were so anxious to procure were not forthcoming. They had started on the boat itself, and Sir Leonard was standing with his back to the bows, when suddenly Cousins uttered a warning cry, but it was too late. A terrible figure shot out of the decked-in space behind him, and launched itself upon his back. At once he went down with the horrible, snarling, biting, clawing thing upon him. It had the strength of three men, and Sir Leonard, with his one arm, was hopelessly handicapped. The other men in the boat took advantage of this interruption, and turned on Cousins and the machine-gunner, but here they more than met their match. One went down with a bullet in his kneecap, another with a blow on the skull from the butt-end of a revolver. The third, the leader of the party, gave up the struggle, and sat down by the steering wheel with an expression of sullen resignation on his face. Wallace and the dwarf were still fighting frantically in the bows, and Cousins waited anxiously for the chance to shoot, and save the chief ’s life. Presently it came; the horrible little creature rose on top of his intended victim. With a prayer in his heart, Cousins fired; there was a scream of agony and with incredible rapidity, the dwarf rose from Wallace, dived into the bows, reappeared almost immediately, and sprang overboard, but in its hand it clutched a large blue envelope.

Sir Leonard fired this time and, with an inhuman sob, the
loathsome creature, half animal, half man, fell lifeless on the water and began to sink. With great celerity Cousins picked up a boathook and dragged the body to the side of boat. Wallace took the large envelope from the stiffening fingers, and examined it. It was covered with sealing wax, upon which was stamped the Afghan royal arms, and was addressed to the British Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. It obviously had not been tampered with and, with a sigh of deep relief, he thrust the sodden mass of paper into his pocket. At that moment a Dutch torpedo boat out of Flushing, attracted by the sound of firing, steamed busily up and came almost alongside. A dapper little officer stood on the conning-tower.

‘What is this?’ he shouted in passable English. ‘Do you know you are doing a great breach of International Law?’

‘I welcome you, Captain,’ replied Sir Leonard with smile. ‘We have been waiting for you.’

‘What is that? Waiting?’ asked the puzzled officer.

‘Yes. These men murdered, or caused to be murdered, a foreign emissary on a visit to England. We chased them in a flying-boat, and were waiting for you to come up.’

‘You want to arrest them – yes?’

‘Unfortunately they reached Dutch waters, so I was compelled to wait until you arrived, in order that you could take charge of them until such time as His Majesty’s Government asks for their extradition.’

The Dutch officer bowed courteously.

‘I will see that they are kept for your policemen, sir,’ he promised. ‘And of the dead body?’

‘Unfortunately he and another were killed in attempting to escape while I was acting on your behalf,’ replied Sir Leonard.

‘So. It is their own fault, therefore. This one will be taken ashore and buried. I thank you for your courtesy, sir.’

‘Not at all,’ murmured Wallace.

A few more compliments passed between the two; then Sir Leonard climbed back into the flying-boat, followed by the admiring Cousins and dumbfounded machine-gunner.

As the aeroplane rose in the air, Wallace raised his hat to the torpedo boat in solemn salute. Cousins smiled, and quoted to himself:

‘“The sun upon the calmest sea,

appears not half so bright as thee”.’

‘Inspector Lawrence to see you, sir.’

‘Show him in, Clarke.’

An alert, business-like man entered Sir Leonard Wallace’s office and, accepting a chair and the cigarette offered him by the Chief of the Secret Service, wasted no time on preliminaries.

‘I’ve called to see you about the theft of those plans, sir,’ he announced.

Wallace nodded.

‘I gathered that,’ he admitted. ‘Has anything further transpired?’

‘We know the man who has them, sir,’ was the quiet reply.

‘The deuce you do.’ Sir Leonard permitted himself the rare luxury of expressing surprise. ‘That’s jolly good work. Who is he?’

‘He has so many aliases,’ smiled the police officer, ‘that it is difficult to know his real name. He is down on police records, however, as Luis de Correa.’

Wallace whistled.

‘You’re full of surprises this morning, Inspector,’ he said. ‘This
is a new line of business for Correa, isn’t it? I thought he generally devoted himself to the work of relieving fascinated ladies of their jewels.’

‘He is usually known as a jewel thief, sir,’ nodded the other, ‘but he has brought off many coups in other directions. I think the only crimes we can safely say he hasn’t committed are bigamy and murder.’

‘And yet he has never received a conviction, has he?’

‘Neither in this country nor in any other, as far as I know, sir. He’s as cute as they make ’em. I understand that the police of Paris, Madrid and Berlin, to mention only a few, spend their days sighing for him. Yet he could walk into any police office in Europe, and they wouldn’t have the power to detain him, although they have long lists of the crimes they know he has committed.’

‘He must be very clever,’ observed Wallace. ‘Of course, I’ve heard about him, but I’ve never had any personal interest in him. What makes you think he has the plans?’

‘We don’t think, sir; we know. For once in a way Mr Luis de Correa has slipped up. We had cause to suspect an Admiralty clerk, who had access to the room where the plans were kept, of being concerned in the theft. He is a man with a passion for gambling, who is known to have lost enough money on the turf to make him and his family absolute paupers. Yet he bought a car yesterday that must have cost him five hundred quid, and took home a fur coat and God knows what else, as presents for his wife.’

‘A fur coat in May!’ exclaimed Sir Leonard.

Inspector Lawrence laughed.

‘I suppose he wanted to make certain of obtaining one when he was in funds, or when they are reduced in price. As it was, he paid a hundred guineas for it.’

‘A nice thought,’ murmured Wallace. ‘I like a man who thinks of his wife when he has money to spend. But all this doesn’t explain much. It certainly causes one to suspect the clerk, but hardly supports your contention that Luis de Correa has the plans.’

‘I’ll explain, sir. We knew Correa was in London two weeks ago and, as is usual when a big crook is about, a watch was kept on his movements. He put up at the Metropole under the name of Don Almeida Suarrez, and behaved in a perfectly respectable manner. Four days ago, that is the day before the theft, the clerk, whose name is Shaw, dined with him. The following day he both lunched and dined with him, and after dinner went with him to his room, where they were shut up together for some time. The plans must have been handed over then. It was not until ten yesterday morning that their disappearance was discovered. Inspector Vining went to the Admiralty, but, as he had no knowledge at that time of Shaw’s intimacy with de Correa, the clerk was given no cause to suspect that he was under suspicion. He had already obtained leave for the afternoon and, as I have told you, went and bought a car and the other things.’

‘What a fool!’ ejaculated Wallace. ‘He must have been crazy.’

‘No, sir,’ returned the inspector. ‘Men of his type are always like that when they go wrong. All their lives they live in an atmosphere of respectability, with no knowledge of police methods or reason to worry about the police. Then, when they go off the rails, it never occurs to them that their history is known, and they do the most absurd things, feeling quite convinced that they are as safe as houses. Shaw probably thinks he is very cunning. There is nothing at the Admiralty to connect him with the crime. If there were no professional crooks, and crime was only committed by hitherto
respectable people in impulsive moments, a policeman’s job would be money for jam.’

Sir Leonard laughed.

‘The world would be a very nice place to live in in that case,’ he remarked, ‘though it might be somewhat boring at times. Go on!’

‘Well, sir, while Vining was at the Admiralty, I was going through the reports concerning de Correa in a casual sort of manner, but suddenly the significance of his frequent meetings with Shaw struck me in the light of the theft at the Admiralty. I went at once to the Metropole, and found that the man known as Don Almeida Suarrez had vacated his rooms at seven that morning, and had gone, leaving no address. I searched the rooms, and found this.’ He took a folded sheet of blotting paper from a pocket, and opened it out. ‘It was in a blotting pad on a small writing table in the sitting room,’ he explained. ‘Have you a mirror, sir?’

‘There’s one over the wash basin in the lavatory,’ replied Sir Leonard, and led the way into the small adjoining chamber.

The detective held the blotting paper a few inches from the glass and, except for a letter here and there, Wallace could read quite plainly the words dried thereon:

‘You see now, sir,’ remarked Inspector Lawrence, ‘that I have reason for my assertion that I know the man who has the plans. I think you will agree with me that for once in a way Luis de Correa has made a slip.’

‘It looks like it,’ nodded Wallace, ‘if you are certain Suarrez and Correa are one and the same.’

‘I am positive,’ replied the detective with confidence. ‘Apart from the fact that he is so well-known from numerous photographs in our possession, we have a specimen of his writing at the Yard, and it tallies with this.’

‘Have you traced him?’ asked Sir Leonard as they returned to the office.

‘Unfortunately no, sir. London and the suburbs are being combed for him and all the ports watched, but up to now there has been no news. We are taking no steps against Shaw yet in the hope that he will lead us to Correa. The main thing at present is to get the plans of that gun back, afterwards will be time enough to make the arrests.’

‘But, man alive,’ exclaimed Wallace, ‘if you’re going to wait until Shaw meets Correa again, you’ll do neither. Obviously the Spaniard has paid something on account to Shaw for the plans. On May the twenty-fourth he will pay the balance, but in the meantime he will have sold them to a foreign power, and it is very unlikely he will return to London to meet Shaw. Even if he is foolish enough to do so, and you arrest him, that will be mighty poor consolation for the loss of the plans.’

‘You’re right there, sir; that is why I have come to you. We have notified the police of every European country that de Correa is wanted. In the circumstances I think the plans will be safe enough for a while, for he will not dare to approach any foreign power when every policeman in Europe is eagerly looking for him, glad to have an excuse at last for laying hands on him. In spite of our precautions, I feel sure he has got away from England. The Commissioner sent me to put the facts before you, sir, and hand
over the tracing of Correa and the plans to you. Of course, we continue our job in England and, if he’s still in this country, I hope we land him before he can dispose of the things.’

‘You should have come sooner, Lawrence,’ remarked Wallace sternly. ‘I had no idea you would want the Secret Service in a matter like this. From what the Commissioner told me yesterday morning, I understand the police had the matter pretty well in hand. Since that time nearly twenty-four precious hours have elapsed. Of course, as a precautionary measure, all our agents in Europe and America have been warned of the theft, and told to be on the
qui vive
; but, if you’d come yesterday, they would have known for whom to watch before he could have had a chance of getting anywhere.’

‘I’m sorry sir, but—’

Sir Leonard ignored him. Then Inspector Lawrence, a member of a department that prided itself on its capability and competency, had his eyes opened by a display of sheer efficiency that almost caused him to gasp. Wallace sat for few moments writing rapidly; then pressed three of the numerous buttons under the ledge of his desk. Almost immediately three men appeared. He handed the sheet of paper on which he had been writing to one.

‘Code to Lalére,’ he said sharply, ‘with instructions to relay to every agency and sub-agency in Europe.’

The man departed, and Wallace turned to another.

‘The plans of the new Naval gun Maddison, are in the possession of Luis de Correa, the international crook. He was living at the Metropole under the name of Almeida Suarrez – left there hurriedly at seven yesterday morning. Send Shannon and Carter to all aerodromes, in or round London, private or otherwise, to find
if he left by air and, if so, when, where bound for, name of pilot, and so on. Despatch experts in planes with complete description of Correa to Havre, Calais, Boulogne, Ostend, Antwerp, the Hague and Hamburg. If they succeed in tracing him they must follow him until they get the plans from him. Quite clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ returned Maddison and was gone.

‘Stephenson, you heard what I have just said to Maddison?’ Sir Leonard turned to the third man, the wireless expert. The latter answered in the affirmative. ‘Get in touch with every craft possessing wireless that has sailed from an English port between seven or eight yesterday morning and now. Give a description of de Correa and ask if he is on board.’

‘Very well, sir.’

The man quickly left the room and Lawrence looked at Sir Leonard with ill-disguised admiration.

‘We have already sent wireless messages to the ships, sir,’ he stated.

‘I daresay you have,’ was the terse reply, ‘but I like to have my own reports.’

The detective rose to his feet.

‘I don’t think de Correa stands any chance with your men after him, and all the foreign police looking for him,’ he grinned.

‘Don’t be too sure of that, Lawrence,’ retorted Wallace drily. ‘I suppose you haven’t informed the foreign police what he is wanted for?’

‘No, sir. We only told them there is a warrant out for his arrest, and that as soon as they notify us they have him, we’ll send the extradition papers.’

‘Exactly. And do you think they’ll inform you they have arrested him, if they discover what he is wanted for?’

‘I don’t see why they should find out,’ objected Lawrence uneasily.

‘They will when they search him. Luis de Correa has proved again and again that he is no fool. If he is arrested, he’ll immediately send for a high official, and bargain with him; the bargain, of course, to include his release. In my opinion, our only hope is that he’ll discover he is being hunted, and make no attempt to sell the plans at present for fear of losing them and his liberty as well without gaining any profit. If he thinks he is unsuspected, he’ll just make for the country to which he intends to dispose of them, and promptly be arrested. Then, as far as we are concerned, the fat will be in the fire, unless my men get hold of him before the police do. Perhaps he has already been in negotiation with some foreign power. I have a great admiration for Scotland Yard, Lawrence, but twenty-four hours, man – twenty-four hours!’

Inspector Lawrence took his departure looking distinctly crestfallen. If the truth must be told, he was himself to blame for the delay. Professional jealousy had led him into an error committed by many better men. He had expected to make a clean-up himself, and had only passed on the details concerning the robbery, when he had reported his non-success to the Commissioner, and been promptly ordered to go at once to Sir Leonard Wallace. It is not often that the Secret Service and Scotland Yard overlap in their investigations and, when they do, they invariably work amicably together; but cases of individual resentment on the part of officers of the CID and Special Branch – at what they are apt to consider interference by outsiders – are not unknown.

As soon as Inspector Lawrence had gone, Sir Leonard sent for the man in charge of the photographic department. This branch of the Secret Service is as extensive and complete as that at New
Scotland Yard. Not only does it possess photographs of every important diplomatic and political personage in the world, every known secret agent of other powers and well-known agitators both British and foreign, but it also has a collection of pictures of international criminals. There is no knowing when the activities of men and women, who earn their living by travelling about the Continent committing crime, may require the attention of the Secret Service.

The expert entered briskly but quietly, and stood awaiting his chief’s orders.

‘I suppose there was no difficulty about photographs of Luis de Correa?’ asked Wallace.

‘No, sir,’ was the reply; ‘we had him in three positions, which we retook. We are now printing a dozen copies. The men you have detailed for the Continent will be given one of each.’

‘When will they be ready?’

‘In about five minutes, sir.’

‘Excellent,’ approved Sir Leonard. ‘Send me up some copies, will you?’

‘Very well, sir.’

When they were brought, Wallace studied them carefully, until he was certain he would know the man anywhere. Two were in profile, the other full-face, and he was impressed by the strength and beauty of the countenance. A high, intellectual forehead, wide frank eyes, a small straight nose, sensitive mouth, and firm, well-shaped chin were the very antithesis of what one would expect in the face of a criminal. Sir Leonard was still occupied in his inspection when the door opened, and his second-in-command, Major Brien, strolled into the room. He looked up and greeted the newcomer cheerily.