Wallace of the Secret Service Read Online Free PDF Page B

lacked lustre, several days’ growth of beard disfigured his jowl, while the rest of his haggard face was incredibly grimy. He looked questioningly at the occupants of the room, his eyes resting at last on Wallace, while a horrible travesty of a smile curved his cracked lips. He was followed in by the Arab who had been sent to fetch him.
    ‘Good – good morning, sir,’ he croaked.
    A look of pity filled the glorious eyes of the Egyptian woman, and involuntarily she led the newcomer to the seat she had vacated. Then she mixed him a weak whisky and water, and bade him drink it. Wallace watched her with a smile of appreciation, but when he presently turned his eyes on her husband, the latter was appalled by the cold fury he recognised in their grey depths.
    ‘So this is how you treat a prisoner,’ snapped Sir Leonard. ‘You and your companions will pay bitterly for such wanton cruelty.’
    ‘He is a spy,’ muttered the other hoarsely. ‘He is lucky to have escaped death.’
    ‘Death would have been merciful compared with what it isobvious he must have suffered. You can go now and, if you take my advice, you will get out of the country as soon as possible. It will be safer – much safer for you.’
    The fellow rose to his feet, a sneering smile on his lips.
    ‘You had better follow your own advice,’ he snarled, ‘that is, if you can.’
    He called to his wife, spoke curtly to the Arabs, and they all left the room. The woman was the last to go, and she looked through the folds of her shawl at Sir Leonard. The mocking smile was once again on her face.
    ‘I hope they will be kinder to you, Monsieur,’ she murmured. ‘It would be a pity to see you brought to such a pass.’
    He locked the door behind them, and hastened to the assistance of Henderson. Gently he helped him to undress, refused to allow him to talk, and insisted on his getting into bed. It was not long before the poor fellow dropped off into a deep sleep. Sir Leonard sat in an armchair, put his feet on another, and dozed in that position until a knock on the door roused him. It was broad daylight. Henderson still lay in a heavy slumber, and Wallace crossed the room quietly to avoid disturbing him. Outside stood a servant, who carried a tray on which was tea and toast.
    ‘A dragoman requests an interview with your Excellency,’ the man told him.
    ‘Send him up!’ directed Wallace and took the tray.
    A few minutes later Achmet entered the room, and closed the door behind him. His astonishment was great when he recognised the man lying on the bed. In as few words as possible he was told of the events of the previous evening and night. When Wallace had concluded the recital, Achmet was looking very grave.
    ‘It is very unfortunate that your identity is known, Excellency,’ he murmured. ‘Every movement of yours will be watched, and neither you nor Mr Henderson will be allowed to leave this hotel alive, unless we are able, by some means, to trick the people who will be on the look-out for you.’
    ‘What about you, Achmet? Probably by now you are suspect.’
    The man shrugged his shoulders with true Oriental fatalism.
    ‘It is possible,’ he admitted, ‘but I do not think so. There is nothing suspicious in your meeting a dragoman in the lounge or even having him up here.’
    ‘Still you must be careful. Now that Henderson has come, there is no need for us to hire a dahabeeyah .’
    ‘Why not, effendi? His arrival does not make it any the less risky to talk in this hotel. Even now ears may be listening.’
    Wallace smiled.
    ‘They would not hear much since our conversation is carried on in such low voices. Also you fear that an attempt will be made to murder us if we leave the hotel.’
    ‘True. What does your Excellency propose?’
    ‘First we must ascertain what Henderson has discovered. Perhaps he has all the information I require. If so he and I must get back with all speed to England. How did you trace him?’
    Achmet tiptoed to the door,