Wallace at Bay (12 page)

Carter’s eyes glowed. Praise from the chief was worth a great deal to him.

‘I am going out to ring him up presently,’ he announced. ‘Modjeska and Grote are leaving for Vienna tonight.’

‘Are they? That’s mighty interesting. It’s more sudden than I expected, too. Jerry Cousins is going with them, so the sooner you give Sir Leonard the tip the better.’

‘It won’t really be necessary for Cousins to go, though perhaps it will be safer. Modjeska is meeting me in Vienna when I arrive.’

‘Now isn’t that kind of him? Well, I guess he’ll be meeting Sir Leonard and me as well, though he won’t know it. We’ll be right along.’

‘Quite a family party!’ smiled Carter. ‘It’s a pity that both Modjeska and Grote know you by sight, though one knows you as Hawthorne and the other under your own name. You’ll have to be careful in case you are recognised.’

‘I guess we both will. It’s quite likely these guys know Sir Leonard Wallace. But don’t you worry any about us, we shan’t be our own sweet selves. I never met anyone so slick at disguise as Sir Leonard, and I’m not so dusty.’

Carter glanced round the room. The bedclothes were thrown back in a heap, a breakfast tray, with the remains of the meal, stood on a side table. No attempt had apparently been made to tidy the apartment. Miles noticed the look.

‘I’m sorry to receive you in a room like this,’ he apologised. ‘It ought to have been done while I was in my bath, but the girl hasn’t happened along yet.’

‘I was wondering if she would come while I am here,’ Carter told him. ‘It wouldn’t do for her to see me.’

‘She won’t. I’ll tell her she’ll darn well have to wait, since she didn’t come when she should.’

‘I think I can guess why. Naturally Carberry’s death has caused an upset.’

For a moment Miles stared at him in astonishment.

‘Carberry’s death!’ he repeated wonderingly. ‘Say, Tommy, you’re not telling me that that Cissie guy has passed over.’

It was Carter’s turn to look surprised.

‘Didn’t you know?’ he demanded.

‘No; I’m blamed if I did. Gee! That’s mighty sudden. How did it happen?’

‘An overdose of veronal.’

Miles grunted.

‘Well, the manner of his death doesn’t surprise me any. That certainly explains the delay in cleaning up this room. The girl said nothing to me when she brought the doings, though, come to think of it, she looked a bit queer. Guess she’d had orders to keep quiet. So the poor little guy took a couple of pills too many, did he? I can’t say I want to burst into tears, but I reckon someone will be sorry.’

‘I am perfectly certain,’ declared Carter in quiet tones, ‘that he was forced to kill himself.’ Without hesitation, he plunged into an account of the manner in which Julius Carberry had trailed him on the preceding night, his sudden appearance in the Secret Service agent’s bedroom soon after Modjeska’s arrival and announcement of his purpose. He laid particular stress on the Pole’s attempt to hypnotise the man and his own success in baulking it. Afterwards he told of the change in Modjeska’s attitude, his suspicions of what was in the latter’s mind; went on to tell of his two hours’ vigil, the unexpected exit of the Pole from room number thirteen, and his own subsequent investigations. Miles listened to the end without interruption.

‘By Heck!’ he then ejaculated. ‘What a fiend! Guess this Modjeska guy’s more dangerous than I thought. Of course Carberry was a darn fool – he simply asked for it. To start with, he
hadn’t the nerve to make a successful blackmailer, and it looks like he hadn’t any common sense either.’

When Carter rose to leave Miles’ room, the American asked him if he could risk dining with him somewhere in the West End that evening. Carter was tempted to accept, especially as Modjeska and Grote would be gone by that time, but he knew Sir Leonard Wallace would require him to retain the character under which he was masquerading until the anarchists and their unholy society were destroyed. Wallace was ever thorough. He took no risks where they could be avoided. Carter, therefore, declined with many expressions of regret.

‘I get you,’ declared Miles, rising from his chair, and donning his spectacles, thus becoming an amiable, harmless-looking individual once again.

‘Still it’s a pity,’ he added. ‘I’m meeting Jerry Cousins and having a yarn with the old scout this afternoon. Afterwards Hugh and I had fixed to dine somewhere, and it would have been kinder nice if you could have come right along. Guess we’ll have to postpone being ourselves together, Tommy, until this darned gang has been cleaned up good and proper.’

Carter placed some distance between himself and the Canute Hotel before entering a telephone booth. He was quickly put through to Sir Leonard’s office when the clerk in charge of the telephone switchboard at Secret Service headquarters knew who was speaking. The chief listened to all he had to say, asking a question now and again, but not otherwise interrupting. At the conclusion of the recital he uttered a few words of approval which caused the young Secret Service man to feel a sense of deep pleasure. As Carter had anticipated, he was directed to continue living the character he had assumed, and to depart for Vienna without appearing at his home or headquarters or holding any communication whatever with friends or colleagues. Sir Leonard assured him that, unless something unforeseen happened, he would keep in constant touch with him from the moment he left London throughout his stay in Austria.

‘You may not recognise me or those with me,’ he concluded, ‘but if accosted make certain that the man speaking to you has an artificial left arm. If, by some chance, I lose touch with you, call in the shop of Lalére and Company, in Vienna, and buy a bottle of scent. It might be as well to supply yourself with a woman friend in case that becomes necessary, Carter.’

The young man smiled to himself.

‘I understand, sir,’ he returned.

‘You’d better use some of that money Modjeska gave you to buy an outfit. It would be the natural thing to do. Good luck!’

Carter went to a cheap shop in the Strand, and bought a ready-made suit, a few shirts and collars, and a somewhat striking felt hat of a dark shade of green. Loaded with his parcels he returned to the Canute Hotel. An Italian selling baked potatoes not far from the door showed a gleam of white teeth in a smile as he offered to sell him some. The Englishman declined. Grote was emerging as he entered, and favoured him with a nod which was obviously intended to be friendly.

‘In Vienna,’ he muttered, ‘you will begin to live,’ and passed on.

Taking his purchases up to his room, the Secret Service man packed them, with the exception of the hat, into his battered suitcase. That done he went down to see the proprietor. He found the latter sitting moodily in his office.

‘I am leaving here early in the morning,’ he announced. ‘Can I have breakfast and the bill about eight?’

‘What you, too!’ quoth the landlord. ‘I shouldn’t have thought a death in the hotel would have bothered you.’

‘It doesn’t. I am leaving because I’ve a chance to get a job in the country.’

‘Sez you!’ sneered Mr Fellowes. He and his wife were inveterate
film-goers. ‘Mr Modjeska and Mr Grote go this evening, Mr and Mrs Curzon have already gone, and Mr Hawthorne goes this afternoon. I suppose they’ve all got a chance of jobs in the country. It’s too bad a poor, hard-working hotel proprietor has to suffer, because a fellow who ought to have known better goes and kills himself.’

‘You’ll get others,’ Carter consoled him, though his sullen countenance showed no sympathy. ‘Anyhow, you can believe it or not, I’m going because I’ve got to get a job. What do you think I am – a bloodsucking capitalist?’

‘Now then, none of that Bolshie talk, please. If you are after a job, take my advice, young man, and cut all that sort of talk right out. It won’t ever do you any good.’

‘Can I have breakfast at eight?’ snapped Carter.

‘Yes, you can.’

‘Right – don’t forget it.’

The pseudo-communist turned away, and came face-to-face with Miss Veronica Simpson. She wrinkled her nose as though a bad smell had suddenly troubled it; stepped as far from him as she could.

‘Mr Fellowes,’ he heard her say as he walked along the passage, ‘has the body been removed? I feel nervous at going upstairs while—’

‘Do you expect it to dance about rattling chains or something?’ interrupted the irritable landlord. ‘Well, it has been removed, so you can rest easy.’

‘It’s a pity that young man Carter wasn’t taken instead of––’

The Secret Service agent heard no more as he turned into the lounge, but he smiled grimly to himself. Modjeska was the only other occupant, and was spread inelegantly in an armchair, sleeping gently, his hands clasped across his middle. How a man could be so utterly devoid of or deaf to conscience as to be able
to slumber placidly when he had recently committed a diabolical crime was more than Carter could fathom. Suddenly he conceived a great distaste of remaining anywhere near the fellow. He left the hotel, and walked to the Strand, where he lunched in one of Slater’s establishments. Afterwards he gave himself a half holiday; went to a football match. On returning, he arrived at the door of the Canute at the identical moment that Modjeska and Grote emerged carrying their bags. They nodded to him somewhat curtly as they passed by; he returned the salute as brusquely. He watched them walk towards Waterloo, and wondered why they chose to travel to the continent by way of Southampton and Havre instead of by one of the shorter and more obvious routes. What business could they have in Havre? However, there was no need for him to worry about that, Cousins would be travelling with them.

He lounged about the hotel for the rest of the evening, had dinner, then went out for his usual circuitous stroll. He did not consider such precautions necessary now, but his training had taught him never to take anything for granted. The incident of Julius Carberry was an example, in itself, of the manner in which unforeseen circumstances arise. It was possible, though not probable, that his movements were being watched by some other individual. Accordingly he never allowed himself to be off his guard for a moment as he sauntered along, giving the impression to anybody who might have taken the trouble to observe him that he was a young man simply killing time.

He entered Waterloo Station a few minutes before nine o’clock. On this occasion he had no report to send to Sir Leonard Wallace, but there might be a message for him. There was no sign of Hill or any other of his colleagues in the buffet, but he would wait. He ordered his usual whisky and soda from the girl who had
served him the two previous occasions. She recognised him, and showed an inclination to enter into conversation, but he gave her no encouragement. Presently she retired to the background, stood talking with one of the other assistants. From the frequent unfriendly glances the two of them cast in his direction, Carter gathered that she was making disparaging remarks concerning him. Suddenly her face lit up; she hurried to the counter.

‘Hullo, sweetheart,’ came in Hill’s cheery accents. ‘How’s business tonight?’

‘Dull at present,’ she returned. ‘We’ve been very busy, but it’s eased off. The usual?’

‘Please.’

He put his hand in his pocket, drew out a paper and flicked it open. Part of it fell in front of Carter, who immediately glanced down at it. Pencilled in the margin was quite a long message. While pretending to sip his drink, he read it, and gradually surprise, not unmixed with dismay, took possession of him. It ran:

Carter turned away, his back to Hill, thus indicating that he had read the message. The latter twisted the paper over in order
that the pencilled words could not be seen by any other person, but pretended to continue to read until the barmaid rallied him about preferring the paper to entering into conversation with her. Then he folded it up, putting it carefully away in an inside pocket of his coat. Shortly afterwards Carter left the buffet. Although not appearing to be taking any particular notice of anything or anybody, he was, nevertheless, very much on the alert. He resolved to satisfy himself that he actually was being watched. Striding along now as though he had some purpose in view, he went down the slope from the station, and made his way to Hungerford Bridge. Halfway across he stopped and, leaning over, stood as though studying the river, but he was searching the darkness for evidence that Modjeska or Grote or both were on his trail. Sure enough a few yards away, seen dimly between two lamps, was the form of a man also engaged apparently in contemplation of the Thames. As the night was bitterly cold, and it was very exposed at that point, it seemed unlikely, thought Carter, that any other man would be standing there leaning over the parapet, unless he were interested in him. The figure suggested Modjeska; it certainly was not that of Grote. Carter decided that he would cause the man to regret deeply, before he went to bed that night, that he had ever undertaken to trail the new recruit to the anarchist society.

Tommy Carter was an extremely hardy young man, and in perfect physical condition. He could bear the biting cold of that March night on the bleak and unsheltered bridge without a good deal of discomfort, but he did not imagine Modjeska could. The Pole was obviously unused to hardship, loved comfort, in fact took remarkably good care of himself. By the time Carter felt that even he had had enough Modjeska must have been in a woeful state. The Secret Service man then proceeded to take him for a fast
and lengthy walk. He led the way across Trafalgar Square, up the Haymarket, along Regent Street; then Oxford Street to Selfridge’s, where he turned up Orchard Street, continued along Baker Street and made a complete circuit of Regent’s Park. Not satisfied with that, he went on through Camden Town until he reached Finsbury Park, stopping when he came to Holloway as though to inspect the grim prison for females, but in reality to give Modjeska time to catch up with him. He had long since ascertained that the man was, in fact, the Pole. He had turned round suddenly at Oxford Circus when waiting for the traffic to pass in order to cross the road. Modjeska had been only a few yards behind him then, and had immediately slunk back, but Carter had seen him, though naturally he gave no sign that he had done so. Going along Park Street towards Camden Town, the Secret Service agent had stolen another glance, to find that Modjeska was lagging badly.

Carter decided that Finsbury Park should be the furthermost point of his little stroll as he gleefully called it to himself. He retraced his steps, therefore, turning so abruptly that the Pole had barely time to slink into the shadows. The Englishman grinned as he noticed him crouching down in a gateway, not more than three yards from him, pretending to do up a bootlace. He walked back at a reduced speed, fearful that his shadower would be unable to keep in touch with him if he continued to hurry. It was his object to walk the Pole to the point when he could walk no longer. He returned to Camden Town; then turned down the Hampstead Road. By Carreras’ striking factory he stood as though vastly interested in the black cats. A glance from the corner of his eye showed him Modjeska coming along, reeling from side to side like a drunken man. He was very near breaking point, but Carter felt no pity for him. A little suffering might act as some slight
punishment for the fiendish crime the man had committed on the previous night. At the same time he felt a certain measure of respect for him. Scoundrel though he was, he had shown a good deal of grit. Carter led him along Tottenham Court Road, but lost him completely at Cambridge Circus. He waited some minutes in expectation of seeing him appear; then cautiously went back. He found him sitting on the edge of the pavement, surrounded by a crowd. A sympathetic policeman was bending over him. Carter stood on the verge of the gathering, highly amused at some of the remarks he heard.

‘’E do look ill, pore gentleman, an’ ’e didn’t want no ’elp neither. Seemed fair upset when the copper come up to ’im after ’e’d fallen over.’

‘A furriner by the looks and sound of ’im. Says ’e lost his blinking way and come over queer like.’

‘The bobby’s gettin’ ’im a taxi. They’re good sorts on the whole, Chawley. Nasty blokes to run up agin when you’ve got summat on yer mind like wot is private, but puffect gentlemen when you’re took ill.’

A hand plucked Carter’s sleeve. He turned hastily and a trifle anxiously. The next moment he was smiling, broadly. Cartright, looking even more lugubrious than usual, was standing by his side.

‘What the devil have you been playing at, Tommy?’ groaned his colleague. ‘I’m aching all over – I’ll be stiff for weeks.’

‘Do you mean to say—?’ commenced Carter, but was unable to proceed further. A great outburst of laughter threatened to break from him, and he felt that, if he tried to say more, he would be unable to control it.

‘I mean to say,’ grumbled Cartright, ‘that I was told by the chief to pick up that ugly bloke if I could. I got on to him at Waterloo,
and have been following him ever since. As he has been following you, you know the answer. You’ve practically killed him, and I’m more shop-soiled than I’ve ever been in my life before. What was the game, anyway?’

‘I’ve been punishing him for his sins,’ spluttered Carter. ‘I didn’t know I was punishing you also. But, hang it all! You don’t mind a little stroll, do you?’

‘Stroll! Stroll!’ Cartright’s feelings were, for a moment, too deep for words. ‘Lord! How I cursed you,’ he muttered presently. ‘I shall always loathe you for this, Tommy, you irresponsible idiot. You’d better hop it. Here’s the taxi; I’m going to follow him in another – he’s bound to give the constable a wrong address. Cheer ho, you darned torturer! I hope you lie awake all night with excruciating pain.’

‘I shouldn’t be surprised if Modjeska does,’ returned Carter cheerfully. ‘So long, James! Mind you tuck him in snug, and kiss him goodnight.’

Standing by the Dominion Theatre, he watched the policeman and another obliging citizen helping Modjeska into the cab. He seemed in a bad way. Carter walked on happily, every few minutes chuckling to himself at the thought that Cartright had, willy-nilly, been compelled to follow whither he had led Modjeska.