The Mystery of Tunnel 51 (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) Read online

  ‘Leonard,’ she said, ‘it wouldn’t seem fair to Adrian, if – if we had another child. He has always been just the one, hasn’t he?’

  He nodded, watching her face the while.

  ‘And yet,’ she continued, ‘it might be good for him, if – if he had a little brother or sister, to look after.’

  ‘I agree with you, dear.’

  There was another silence. She put her head on his shoulder, and smoothed his cheek with her hand, then:

  ‘I would love to have a little daughter – some day,’ she whispered.

  He took her into his arms and kissed her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  At the India Office

  Sir Leonard Wallace walked into his office at ten o’clock the next morning, and found a pile of reports and correspondence awaiting him. He stood at the door and gazed at the collected heap of literature on his desk, and softly whistled to himself.

  It was a comfortable office this. Two large windows looked out on to Whitehall. A cosy fireplace, in which a fire burnt brightly, was on one side of the room, with cupboards full of stationery on either side of it. On the opposite side were bookshelves which reached to the ceiling, and contained nearly every book of reference in existence as well as statistical reports from Scotland Yard, the Foreign Office, the Home Office, the India Office, the Colonial Office, and all the other Government departments. A carpet covered the floor, and a warm-looking rug lay in front of the fireplace, before which stood a rather ugly brass fender.

  The large oak desk was placed almost in the centre of the room, with a padded swing chair behind it. Three other restful chairs stood in geometrically opposite corners.

  Sir Leonard put his hat and coat in an alcove, and seating himself at his desk, looked thoughtfully at the pile before him. Then he rang a bell.

  ‘Has Major Brien arrived?’ he enquired of the clerk who entered.

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Then request him to be good enough to come in!’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  The clerk went out, and a minute later the door opened and a tall, fair-haired man, with twinkling blue eyes and a small military moustache, dressed in the most correct morning garb, entered.

  ‘Good morning, Leonard!’ he nodded.

  ‘Morning, Bill! Take a seat somewhere and have a cigarette.’

  Major Brien looked at the other with suspicion.

  ‘Why the palaver,’ he asked, taking a cigarette from a box on the desk, and stationing himself with his back to the fire.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why so polite? I generally do take a seat or help myself to a cigarette if I want one, don’t I?’

  Sir Leonard smiled.

  ‘Yes, you always were an undisciplined sort of blighter.’

  The other grunted.

  ‘Have you any work to do this morning?’ went on Wallace.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Good Lord! Don’t answer a question by asking one!’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t ask unless there was something on!’

  ‘True!’ He stood up, picked up the pile of documents on his desk and, crossing to Brien, put them in his arms. The latter took them mechanically.

  ‘What on earth—?’ he began.

  ‘That’s just a little to go on with. You see Molly is coming here at eleven-thirty, and I’m going out with her, so I thought I’d better hand that little lot to you.’

  ‘Thanks for nothing!’ He put the collection down on a chair. ‘If I’d known that was all you wanted me for, I would have been out, or dead, or something.’

  ‘I knew you were in, because I saw Phyllis driving off in the sewing machine just as I arrived.’

  The sewing machine was Wallace’s unkind name for Brien’s little two-seater.

  ‘Well, I’ll have a look at these,’ said the latter, nodding at the papers on the chair, ‘but I’ll pay you out by making copious notes for your reference on each report!’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’

  ‘I will! By the way a letter has come through from the Foreign Office, suggesting that for the future all King’s Messengers should be detailed for duty direct from this department.’

  ‘Oh, blow old Ainsley! He will persist in thinking that we belong entirely to him, and I’m always telling him he has no more right to us than any other department of state. We’re a self-contained show and I don’t want his King’s Messengers.’

  ‘Well, tell him so!’

  ‘Bless you, I will.’

  There was a knock on the door, and the clerk entered. He crossed the room and placed a visiting-card in front of Wallace, who by this time had resumed his seat.

  ‘There’s a gentleman to see you, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Has he an appointment?’

  ‘I believe not, sir.’

  ‘Then tell him that, I never—’ He glanced at the card, and a look of interest came over his face. ‘Oh, well, show him in!’ he said.

  The clerk went out and he handed the card to Brien.

  ‘William C. Caxton,’ the latter read. ‘Isn’t that the fellow who was American attaché in Russia, and wrote a series of articles for The Times on the Russian menace to India?’

  ‘He is!’

  ‘What do you want to see him for?’

  ‘Partially because his articles interested me, and partially because of my curiosity to know why he has called.’

  The door opened, and the clerk ushered in a tall, thin man, whose rugged features gave his face an air of strength. He wore a tweed suit of a slightly loud pattern, a turned-down collar and a bow tie.

  He bowed slightly, and smiled at Sir Leonard.

  ‘Sir Leonard Wallace, I believe,’ he said with a strong American accent. Wallace waved his arm towards a chair.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Caxton,’ he said, ‘and tell us what brought you to this extremely musty department.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know that it’s musty, Sir Leonard,’ smiled the American. ‘You sure have a snug office here.’

  ‘That is a blind!’

  Mr Caxton appeared amused.

  ‘It’s real kind of you to see me – I understand from your clerk and the janitor that you never see people without appointment, except in a very few cases.’

  ‘This is one of the few. I was interested to know why you came.’

  ‘Then you have heard of me?’ asked the American.

  ‘It is our business to hear of people, and besides you can’t break out into print in The Times without being noticed.’

  ‘Well, I guess not. Say I’d better cut the cackle and get down to facts,’ he added briskly. ‘I have just got back from India where I have been touring around looking for signs of the Bolshevik menace I wrote about, in the country itself. Of course it is none of my business, but I’ve got a genuine love for the old country and I’m interested – Do you get me?’

  Wallace nodded. Caxton leant forward impressively.

  ‘I found signs of quite a lot of Russian propaganda work, and more by luck than by good judgment located three houses which seem to be the meeting place for Russians who are travelling about the country ostensibly as agents for merchant firms, but really to distribute pamphlets and stir up the people against Britain.’

  Sir Leonard no longer toyed abstractedly with his pen. He wore an alert, businesslike air. Major Brien was also watching the American intently, and listening to every word he said with great interest.

  ‘How did you discover this, Mr Caxton?’ asked Wallace.

  ‘I found out a lot in Russia; but when in India I made myself genial with two Indians who were employed as typists in one of the houses in question – they didn’t know much but what they told me was significant, and I put two and two together. The rest I ferreted out for myself.’

  ‘You’d be useful in this department,’ remarked Brien.

  Caxton smiled.

  ‘Where are these houses?’ questioned Sir Leonard.

  ‘One is in Lahore; one in Delhi, and the othe
r in Karachi.’

  ‘Karachi seems an out-of-the-way place for a meeting house. Now would you mind telling me why you did not inform the Indian police?’

  The other shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I’m an American and it occurred to me that if I went to the police they would only laugh at me and tell me to mind my own business. Then I had heard from several quarters of the state of efficiency of the British Intelligence Service and knowing that India did not possess a like department, or, if it did, a very unknown and doubtful one, I decided to take ship at once and report my discoveries to you.’

  ‘I’m very much obliged to you, Mr Caxton, for your trouble. Can you give me the actual addresses of these three houses?’

  ‘I can, sir. I have written them on this slip of paper for you.’ He handed a sheet of notepaper to Sir Leonard.

  ‘By Jove!’ exclaimed the latter. ‘You’re certainly thorough. You’re the sort of man I like to meet!’

  The American smiled and rose.

  ‘If I can be of any further assistance—’ he began, when the telephone bell rang.

  ‘Excuse me a moment!’ said Wallace, and placed the receiver to his ear. ‘Hullo!’ he said, ‘Colonel Wallace speaking!’

  ‘Hold the line a moment, sir,’ replied a voice. ‘The India Office is on the phone!’

  Wallace smiled across at Caxton.

  ‘Talk of coincidences,’ he said. ‘It’s a call from the India Office!’

  ‘Well, that’s mighty strange!’ exclaimed the American.

  Another voice came across the wire.

  ‘Hullo! Is that Wallace?’

  ‘It is!’

  ‘This is Fellowes!’

  ‘Yes, I know. One can’t very well mistake your husky voice, Fellowes. Well, what’s the matter? Lost one of your stamped envelopes?’

  ‘It’s too early in the morning to be facetious. I say, can you come round at once?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Lord Dalston wants to see you urgently. We have received a cable from the Viceroy. It is very important! Come now if you can!’

  ‘Right-ho!’

  Wallace put down the receiver and looked across at the others.

  ‘We seem to be getting mixed up in Indian affairs,’ he said.

  ‘What’s the trouble?’ asked Brien.

  ‘Can’t tell you yet – I’m going down to the India Office to find out.’

  He held out his hand to Caxton.

  ‘Once more many thanks, Mr Caxton,’ he said.

  ‘Will you leave your address with Major Brien here, so that we can keep in touch with you?’

  ‘Sure!’

  Sir Leonard put on his coat and hat, and went out. He strolled down Whitehall, and into the India Office, and casually made his way to the Secretary of State’s own room, and knocked at the door.

  A deep voice shouted to him to enter, which he immediately did, and found himself in the presence of Lord Dalston and Sir Stanley Fellowes.

  ‘Ha!’ said the statesman with pleasure. ‘You’ve lost no time, Wallace.’

  ‘I understood from Fellowes that there was no time to be lost!’

  ‘Quite so! Sit down!’

  Sir Leonard sank into an armchair, and the burly nobleman leant back, and put the tips of his fingers together.

  ‘Can we have your services?’ he asked.

  ‘You want a secret service man?’

  ‘No – we want you yourself! Can we have you?’

  ‘It depends upon what you want me for.’

  ‘We’re not cognisant of all the facts, but it seems to be a very serious matter. Read this!’ He picked up a paper from his desk and handed it to Sir Leonard. ‘It is a decoded cable from the Viceroy, received twenty minutes ago!’

  Wallace read the following:

  Most important and secret frontier plans, recently completed by Major Elliott, stolen. Elliott murdered. Very mysterious affair. Believed work of Russian spies. Can you send Sir Leonard Wallace out by air immediately to investigate. Very urgent. Oundle. Viceroy.

  He handed the sheet back to Lord Dalston, who looked enquiringly at him.

  ‘Of course, it is very sudden,’ said His Lordship, ‘but you are used to sudden calls in your department!’

  ‘Yes, but this is the most sudden I have ever had.’ He stood up, and walked to the window and contemplated the traffic below for a moment, then turned.

  ‘Very well, sir,’ he announced, ‘I’ll go!’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Lord Dalston. ‘And when will you start?’

  ‘This afternoon!’

  ‘By Jove!’ said Fellowes, who had hitherto not spoken. ‘That’s quick work!’

  ‘Now, sir,’ said Wallace briskly, ‘will you communicate with the Air Ministry, and arrange all details about a plane. I want the two best pilots they’ve got, and the fastest machine, to be ready at three o’clock or soon afterwards, at Croydon. I must have two pilots, for we’ve got to travel at record speed and waste no time resting en route.’

  Lord Dalston turned to Sir Stanley Fellowes.

  ‘Will you see to it at once, Fellowes?’

  ‘And don’t let the Air Ministry hum and haw. Make them get busy!’ added Wallace.

  Fellowes nodded.

  ‘Now I must put my own department in shape. I’ll take Major Brien with me.’

  The Secretary of State stood up and held out his hand.

  ‘Good luck, Sir Leonard!’ he said. ‘And many thanks!’

  Wallace shook hands with both, and strolled out of the room.

  ‘By Jove!’ said Lord Dalston, looking quizzically at the Under Secretary. ‘That man takes things in the calmest way imaginable, and yet he arranges everything in half the time another fellow would.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lady Wallace Has a Shock

  Sir Leonard Wallace walked up Whitehall at the same unhurried pace, and entered his office. Major Brien was still there, and sat at the desk going through some of the documents that had been forced upon him. He looked up as the other walked in.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘has one of the girl clerks lost her favourite teapot?’

  Wallace put his overcoat and hat on their pegs, and emerged from the alcove before he replied, then:

  ‘I’m going to leave for India this afternoon,’ he announced calmly.

  Brien was used to sudden journeys and the cool manner of his chief, but this took the wind out of his sails completely.

  ‘You’re going to what?’ he demanded.

  ‘Leave for India. And so are you, my son!’

  This further shock was too much for Billy. He rose and grasping Sir Leonard by the shoulders propelled him to his chair and pushed him into it.

  ‘Now explain!’ he commanded.

  ‘Well, it appears that some very important plans of the Frontier have been stolen, and a Major Elliott, who made them, murdered. The Viceroy has asked for me to be sent out to unravel the mystery, and incidentally restore the plans to his sorrowing bosom. Russian spies are suspected.’

  ‘But, hang it all, you won’t have a ghost of a chance by the time you get there – it will be much too late.’

  ‘We shall fly from Croydon Aerodrome at three this afternoon! We are taking two pilots and shall – well, just fly!’

  ‘Well, I’m damned!’ Billy sat down heavily.

  ‘S’sh! Remember you’re not in church. Aren’t you looking forward to the trip?’

  ‘No, I’m not! Phyllis and I had made special arrangements for this week too!’

  ‘Well, to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have taken it on if Caxton hadn’t come this morning.’

  ‘Blow Caxton!’

  ‘Don’t blow Caxton – he may have put us in the way of something big, and perhaps you and I can clear the Russian Bolshevik rabble out of India. Still, if you don’t want to come, I’ll take Maddison with me.’

  ‘You’re an idiot, Leonard!’ said Billy wrathfully. ‘Of course I’m coming!’

  ‘Well, we�
�ve got to leave our house in order. You’d better go and fix up your little lot, and ring up Phyllis and break the news to her gently; also get your man to pack a collar and a toothbrush for you. You needn’t bring him, I’ll take Batty. He can look after both of us. By the way,’ he added, looking at his watch, ‘Molly’s late, it’s a quarter to twelve!’

  Billy walked towards the door.

  ‘Shall I send Maddison in to you – I suppose you’ll want him?’

  ‘Yes, do!’

  A few minutes later a small, keen-eyed, grey-haired man entered the room. Until recently a detective inspector at New Scotland Yard, Maddison had been appointed to an important post in the Intelligence Department and he had proved himself to be a most able man. Sir Leonard had great confidence in his acumen, his organising ability and his general all-round excellence.

  ‘I’ve a lot of instructions for you, Maddison,’ he said, ‘and very little time to give them in. Sit down!’

  When Maddison had seated himself, Wallace continued.

  ‘I am going to leave for India this afternoon with Major Brien,’ he said, ‘and you will be in charge until I return!’

  Maddison showed no surprise at all at the news and simply nodded.

  ‘Some very important plans have disappeared, and the Viceroy has cabled for me. Now you know how to carry on, and I have absolute reliance in your judgment and discretion. If anything very special arises cable to me to Viceregal Lodge, Delhi. Do you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly, Sir Leonard!’

  ‘Good! Now for my instructions!’ And for the next quarter of an hour they were deeply engaged, the one in giving orders, the other in listening and making notes. Wallace had almost concluded, when the clerk came to announce that Lady Wallace had arrived and was sitting in a waiting room.

  ‘Tell her I’ll be disengaged in three minutes,’ said Sir Leonard.

  In three minutes exactly he rose from his chair.

  ‘That’s all, I think, Maddison. I may be back in three weeks, I may not be back in two or three months, but everything is in order for you to carry on I think.’