Wallace of the Secret Service (8 page)

Unslinging his binoculars, he now gazed long and earnestly
first at the boat, then at the house, but there was not a sign of movement from either. He felt fairly certain that, if the dhow had brought the Prince across from Gibraltar, he had been taken to some island retreat, and probably most of the men from the dhow had gone as an escort. But surely there would have been someone left. Yet both the boat and the house had a deserted appearance.

For half an hour he stayed where he was, but, during that time, nobody appeared, and he had reached the conclusion that the place was indeed abandoned, when a man came through the gate from the courtyard carrying a small wicker table, which he placed on the lawn between the house and the landing-stage. He was followed by two others carrying chairs. The three returned, and a few minutes later brought out food, which was put on the table. Then, as though at some signal, an atmosphere of activity prevailed where before everything had looked so desolate. Several men appeared on the deck of the dhow, four tribesmen armed with rifles emerged from the narrow archway leading to the courtyard of the building. Then came a tall Moor wrapped in a spotless white burnous, accompanied by a young, slight man in European dress. Sir Leonard stiffened, and stared without movement through his glasses for quite five minutes. The Moor bowed ceremoniously to the other, who, with a shrug of his shoulders, took one of the chairs. He appeared to be speaking quickly, angrily, and the expression on his face was perfectly clear to Wallace. The unexpected had happened. It was the Prince.

Sir Leonard did not wait to see anything more, but made his way down the hill to the spot where the skiff awaited him. Once aboard the launch, he instructed the coxswain in charge to find a place where she could lie hidden. To avoid the noise which the engine would have made, one of the other sailors got into the skiff
and towed her. Before long they reached a great cave where the water was quite deep enough. A ledge of rock made an excellent landing stage, and to this the launch was tied up after some difficulty in finding a place capable of holding the rope.

Whilst Batty prepared tea, his master lay down on the cushioned seat in the small cabin, which the night before had been his bed, and commenced to make his plans. The Prince’s whereabouts had been discovered, but not the least difficult part of the undertaking remained. The tall Moor, who was apparently His Highness’s captor, had twelve men with him – Wallace had counted that number – there were probably others. The house, like all Moorish buildings, was difficult of ingress, and Sir Leonard only had three men to help him; one would have to remain in charge of the launch. Three British sailors might well prove a match for twelve Moors, but the odds were too great to take such a risk when so much was at stake. Their only chance of rescuing the Prince and his companions seemed to be to attempt to enter the house by stealth, but even then, if they succeeded in getting in, how were they to find where the prisoners were kept? It was a pretty problem. Eventually Wallace determined to enter the house alone, keeping the three men in hiding close by ready to come to his aid if required. He chose midnight for the attempt, feeling certain that by then everybody would be asleep.

It was almost as light as day, when the four men set off on their desperate enterprise, the moon making Sir Leonard’s flashlight unnecessary. Each of his followers carried a revolver, but had been instructed not to fire except in a case of emergency. They toiled up the hill cautiously for fear that a watch was being kept from the top, but, on reaching the summit, discovered that their apprehensions were baseless. Even so, their care was redoubled in descending the
other side. Both the house and the dhow were in darkness, and not a sound disturbed the silence of the night. At last they stood on the margin of the open space before the house, and Wallace took a whistle from his pocket.

‘Keep in among the trees here,’ he instructed them, ‘and don’t make a sound. If you hear this whistle, come to my aid, but otherwise wait here until I come back.’

The two sailors murmured their assent, but Batty was dissatisfied.

‘Seems to me, sir,’ he muttered, ‘that you want a consort in this ’ere cuttin’ out expedition. ’Adn’t I better come with you?’

‘You’ll stay here, Batty.’

‘Aye, aye, sir,’ returned that one-time mariner with a deep sigh.

Wallace crossed the lawn almost like a shadow, or at least that is what he appeared like to the three watchers. He reached the archway without raising the alarm, and stood for a moment in the shadows. Halfway along was a gate, which looked as though it would take a good deal of effort to open, but out came that bunch of steel instruments without which he never went on an expedition of that nature. Ten minutes’ hard but silent work followed, after which he gave a low grunt of satisfaction. The gate was unlocked. But when he pushed it gently it refused to budge. It was barred. For a second or two he stood staring at it, a frown on his forehead then, as silently as he had come, he returned to the three waiting men.

‘I shall want help after all,’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps it would be as well if you all came with me, but, for Heaven’s sake, don’t make a noise.’

Batty and his companions gave vent to sounds expressive of their satisfaction, and followed him with cumbersome attempts at silence back to the gate. When under the archway:

‘I’m going to knock,’ he murmured. ‘I hope someone will come and open it. If not, I shall have to think of something else. At any rate, if it is opened, I want you to go for the fellow, and lay him out without a disturbance. Do you think you can manage it?’

In hoarse whispers they assured him that they could. He knocked sharply and, soon afterwards, they heard footsteps coming towards them on the other side of the door. The man made a lot of noise removing the bars, but presently the gate swung open, and a tall Moor wrapped up in his burnous looked out. Immediately a brawny arm encircled his neck, the hand clapped hard against his mouth, two others clasped him round the middle and drew him forward, while Batty, scientifically wielding a heavy revolver, tapped the fellow into a state of unconsciousness. Wallace watched his three assistants place the body of the Moor gently on the ground, and smiled approvingly.

‘Give me his burnous,’ he whispered.

‘’Is wot, sir?’ queried Batty.

Wallace indicated what he meant. There was some difficulty in removing the voluminous garment, but at last Batty handed it to his master.

‘There’s a lot o’ top ’amper on this nightgown, sir,’ he muttered disparagingly.

Sir Leonard cloaked himself in it, drawing the hood well over his head.

‘Stay here, you three,’ he said, ‘and if that fellow wakes up put him to sleep again. I’ll close the gate, but won’t lock it, and come to me at once if you hear my whistle.’

He entered and, pushing the massive door to, walked on to the end of the archway, emerging presently into the courtyard with the inevitable fountain playing in the centre. Above him,
running round four sides of the building, was a veranda, and he wondered where the prisoners were lodged, but a feeling of exultation filled him when he caught sight of the dim outlines of a Moor, armed with a rifle, squatting before a door at the far end. Casually he walked up the steps of the veranda, and strolled along towards the man, his fingers gripping the barrel of his revolver, the hood of his burnous drawn still closer round his face. The fellow took no notice of him until he was a yard or so away, then looked up, indulging in a prodigious yawn as he did so. But the yawn was cut short, and ended in a queer grunt, as the weapon in Wallace’s hand caught him hard on the temple. He sagged over sideways, and his rifle clattered to the floor before his assailant could catch it. Expecting an alarm, Wallace looked anxiously round, remaining perfectly still for nearly a minute. To his relief, nothing happened. He bent and searched the clothing of his victim, presently, to his joy, finding a large ring containing two keys. Stepping over the sprawling Moor, he inserted one in the keyhole of the door the fellow had apparently been guarding. It turned at once, and he found himself in a room lighted only by a small aperture high up, through which the moonlight only showed faintly.

Not daring to speak for fear that perhaps, after all, the prisoners were not there, he closed the door, took a flashlight from his pocket, and switched it on. The only furniture the room contained was a divan, though several costly-looking rugs covered the floor. Two men, fully dressed, sat up and blinked, and a great sigh of relief broke from him. One was Cousins, the other a stranger, whom he guessed to be the equerry of the Prince of Emilia. Of the Prince himself there was no sign. Wondering
why they showed no enthusiasm at his appearance, he suddenly realised that, being behind the light, they could only see a shadowy figure in a burnous.

‘You’re a nice sort of a chap,’ growled Cousins. ‘Is it part of your beastly game to keep us awake all night?’

‘I think you’ll have to keep awake tonight, Cousins,’ replied Sir Leonard quietly, ‘if you want to get away from here.’

There came a startled gasp, then Cousins was on his feet, hauling up the other man.

‘Jehoshaphat!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s Sir Leonard Wallace himself.’ He began an appropriate quotation, stopped in the middle of it, and asked: ‘How did you get here, sir?’

‘There’s no time to answer questions now. Where’s the Prince?’

‘In a room close to El Arish’s apartments.’

‘Who’s El Arish?’

‘The owner of this den of thieves, sir.’

‘Well, show me the way, and watch your step.’

He opened the door, and stepped out. The unconscious form of the guard reminded him that it would not do to leave the man where he was lying. With the help of his companions, he carried the fellow into the room, where he was tied up and gagged with strips torn from his own clothing. Then Cousins led the way along the veranda, and stopped before a door at which he pointed silently. Guessing that the other key would open this, Wallace tried it, and found he was right.

The three of them stepped into a room which they saw by the light of Sir Leonard’s torch, was far more sumptuously furnished than the other, but was just as much a prison, for it contained no windows. A bed stood in an alcove, and on it was lying the Prince, fast asleep, wearing gaudy pyjamas. Wallace stole across
the room, and gently shook him. The young man started up, and was about to cry out, when Sir Leonard’s hand on his mouth prevented him.

‘Silence,’ he warned in a low voice. ‘We are here to rescue you, and—’

A door suddenly swung open behind a heavy arabesque curtain, which was drawn aside, revealing in the light, thrown from the lamp which he carried, a tall man with a revolver in his other hand. Wallace recognised him as the Moor he had seen with the Prince on the lawn.

‘Surely my guests do not propose to leave me?’ he remarked coolly in excellent French, and stared hard at Sir Leonard, who, when waking the Prince, had thrown back his hood. ‘Who are you, sir?’ he demanded.

‘My name is Wallace,’ replied Sir Leonard as coolly as he, ‘and, if it is of any interest to you, I am attached to the British diplomatic service.’

‘Indeed? I find it most interesting. I should like to know how you got in, but that can wait. It appears that I am to have another prisoner on my hands.’

Wallace was amused at his calm manner. Here, he thought, was an opponent worthy of his steel.

‘You’ve made a slight mistake,’ he observed. ‘I have come to take the Prince away from you. Do you realise that you have committed the crime of
lèse-majesté
?’

The Moor shrugged his shoulders.

‘That means nothing to me,’ he returned contemptuously.

‘I am afraid it will mean a great deal.’ He turned to the Prince. ‘Will your Highness be good enough to dress?’ he requested.

The Moor’s manner changed slightly, as the Prince obeyed
with alacrity, assisted by his equerry. He placed the lamp on a convenient table.

‘I have no objection to that,’ he said, his eyes glittering evilly, ‘but, as none of you will leave this place, it is a waste of time. In two minutes I will call my men, and you will be helpless.’

‘And I will call mine,’ returned Sir Leonard. ‘What then?’

‘Your men! Where are they?’

‘You will soon know.’

He looked towards the door, and the Moor’s eyes followed his. Thus was he tricked for, as he looked away, like lightning Wallace’s torch had disappeared and, in his hand, pointed steadily at the Moor, was a revolver.

‘Drop that gun!’ commanded the Englishman sternly. ‘I shall not have the slightest compunction in shooting you after what you have done, if you give me the chance.’

A look of baffled fury showed for an instant on the Moor’s face, then he smiled.

‘You will be very clever, if you get away from here,’ he observed, and placed his revolver on the table.

‘Not a bit of it,’ retorted Sir Leonard. ‘It is easy. All I want you to remember is that the slightest attempt on your part to sound an alarm will mean your sad demise. I hope you understand me. And if you think that, as soon as we have left this house, you will be able to rouse your men, and attack us before we can get clear, let me remove that impression from your mind at once. You are coming with us!’

With what sounded very much like an oath, El Arish’s hand shot out to grab his revolver, but Wallace stepped quickly across the room, and placed the muzzle of his weapon within a few inches of the other man’s eyes.

‘We’ll have no nonsense, if you please,’ he said sternly.

El Arish broke into voluble protests, half in French, half in Arabic. All his coolness had vanished, and he looked terrified, but Wallace paid little attention to him. As soon as the Prince was dressed, Sir Leonard ordered Cousins to lead the way.

‘Go as quietly as you can, all of you,’ he warned. ‘I will bring up the rear with this gentleman. You will find my three men awaiting us in the archway; they will lead you to the boat.’

Cousins, followed closely by the Prince and his equerry, walked silently along the veranda, and down the steps to the courtyard. El Arish once again began to protest, but the touch of Sir Leonard’s revolver in his back cut him short and, with a shrug, which typified the fatalism of his race, he went after the others, his captor close to his heels. Once, going down the steps, he pretended to stumble, but a low-voiced threat from Wallace showed him the necessity of being more circumspect. After that he gave no further trouble. The shadowy figures of Batty and the two sailors rose from the ground, where they had been sitting, when the others arrived.