Wallace at Bay by Alexander Wilson Page A

Presently the pain in the German’s elbow proved too much for his courage, which oozed out of him rapidly now. He was pushed into a chair and crouched there moaning. Sir Leonard looked round approvingly.
    ‘A nice clean-up, thanks to you, Carter,’ he observed, as the latter rose to his feet.
    The young man felt a glow of pleasure. Words of that nature from the chief were worth a great deal, for Sir Leonard was not in the habit of giving praise lightly. Brien stood complacently surveying the scene, his blue eyes twinkling with delight.
    ‘That was as good a shot as I have ever seen you make, Leonard,’ he remarked to his friend. ‘I guessed what you wereup to, you old humbug, but I don’t mind admitting I had the wind up.’
    ‘If you were as windy as I,’ retorted Sir Leonard, ‘I’m sorry for you. I was trying to get a correct aim at the beggar all the time I was talking, and it was a ticklish business, I assure you. If I had missed he would have killed Tommy, and I should have been to blame. I don’t think I have ever been more nervy in my life.’
    ‘Nervy! You?’ scoffed Brien. ‘Is that a joke or what? You never had nerves, you cold-blooded devil – I have yet to meet anyone to equal you.’
    Wallace grinned cheerfully.
    ‘How little you know me.’ He eyed the pocket of his raincoat ruefully. ‘This is practically a new garment, and look at that hole. Ah, well! It was in a good cause. Now, Carter, what have you to tell us?’
    The young Secret Service agent plunged into an account of the discoveries he had made. Wallace and Brien listened attentively; were particularly interested in the London Transport Company’s map with the red line traced on it and the large cross. The look which Sir Leonard shot at the anarchists when he realised the significance of the cross must have caused them to squirm inwardly. Pestalozzi, at least, showed his feelings in his face. He had been handcuffed to Zanazaryk, but, as Wallace’s eyes met his, he started back so violently that he caused his companion to cry out with pain. Of them all, Pestalozzi was the most craven, without a doubt. He was of peasant breed, obviously, and the manner in which his companion, Haeckel, had been baulked had apparently roused a suspicious dread of Sir Leonard Wallace in his heart. He even groaned once when the Englishman approached close to him. Wallace summed himup as a man whom it would not be difficult to question. Once he was thoroughly scared he would be likely to betray even his own mother.
    There reached the ears of the men within that room the sound of many voices raised excitedly. Brien went to the window, lifted the blind a little, and glanced out. The road was crowded with people all looking at the house, gesturing and chatting loudly. From the windows of the houses opposite also were other men, women and children leaning out in great excitement. He reported the fact to Sir Leonard.
    ‘Their interest has been aroused by the sound of the revolver shots,’ he commented, and, turning to the officer of the Special Branch, added, ‘Go down, find some police constables, explain the position, and get them to clear the road. When you’ve done that visit the basement, and interview the ice cream man who lives there. I don’t suppose he has anything to do with this business, but you will know how to make certain. If your suspicions are aroused in any way, arrest him, and bring him up here.’
    The man saluted, and hurried away. Under the eye of Sir Leonard his assistants then commenced a search of the rooms on the ground floor and those occupied by Haeckel, Pestalozzi and Zanazaryk. Conducted as it was by men who were expert in such work nothing escaped notice. The furniture was moved and examined, even the carpets were lifted and the floorboards inspected almost inch by inch. The bedrooms were practically dismantled, the pillows and mattresses being opened out in several places. The rooms of the bootblack yielded nothing, except