The Clue of the Twisted Candle by Edgar Wallace (cheapest way to read ebooks .TXT) 📗

hope it will be, I will report myself to him at 10.15. At any rate, my dear T. X., I do not wish to mix you up in my affairs and if you will let me do this business through Mansus I shall be very much obliged to you.

“I know there is no great punishment awaiting me, because my pardon was apparently signed on the night before my escape. I shall not have much to tell you, because there is not much in the past two years that I would care to recall. We endured a great deal of unhappiness and death was very merciful when it took my beloved from me.

“Do you ever see Kara in these days?

“Will you tell Mansus to expect me at between ten and half-past, and if he will give instructions to the officer on duty in the hall I will come straight up to his room.

“With affectionate regards, my dear fellow, I am,

“Yours sincerely,

“JOHN LEXMAN.”

T. X. read the letter over twice and his eyes were troubled.

“Poor girl,” he said softly, and handed the letter to Mansus. “He evidently wants to see you because he is afraid of using my friendship to his advantage. I shall be here, nevertheless.”

“What will be the formality?” asked Mansus.

“There will be no formality,” said the other briskly. “I will secure the necessary pardon from the Home Secretary and in point of fact I have it already promised, in writing.”

He walked back to Whitehall, his mind fully occupied with the momentous events of the day. It was a raw February evening, sleet was falling in the street, a piercing easterly wind drove even through his thick overcoat. In such doorways as offered protection from the bitter elements the wreckage of humanity which clings to the West end of London, as the singed moth flutters about the flame that destroys it, were huddled for warmth.

T. X. was a man of vast human sympathies.

All his experience with the criminal world, all his disappointments, all his disillusions had failed to quench the pity for his unfortunate fellows. He made it a rule on such nights as these, that if, by chance, returning late to his office he should find such a shivering piece of jetsam sheltering in his own doorway, he would give him or her the price of a bed.

In his own quaint way he derived a certain speculative excitement from this practice. If the doorway was empty he regarded himself as a winner, if some one stood sheltered in the deep recess which is a feature of the old Georgian houses in this historic thoroughfare, he would lose to the extent of a shilling.

He peered forward through the semi-darkness as he neared the door of his offices.

“I've lost,” he said, and stripped his gloves preparatory to groping in his pocket for a coin.

Somebody was standing in the entrance, but it was obviously a very respectable somebody. A dumpy, motherly somebody in a seal-skin coat and a preposterous bonnet.

“Hullo,” said T. X. in surprise, “are you trying to get in here?”

“I want to see Mr. Meredith,” said the visitor, in the mincing affected tones of one who excused the vulgar source of her prosperity by frequently reiterated claims to having seen better days.

“Your longing shall be gratified,” said T. X. gravely.

He unlocked the heavy door, passed through the uncarpeted passage—there are no frills on Government offices—and led the way up the stairs to the suite on the first floor which constituted his bureau.

He switched on all the lights and surveyed his visitor, a comfortable person of the landlady type.

“A good sort,” thought T. X., “but somewhat overweighted with lorgnettes and seal-skin.”

“You will pardon my coming to see you at this hour of the night,” she began deprecatingly, “but as my dear father used to say, 'Hopi soit qui mal y pense.'”

“Your dear father being in the garter business?” suggested T. X. humorously. “Won't you sit down, Mrs. ——”

“Mrs. Cassley,” beamed the lady as she seated herself. “He was in the paper hanging business. But needs must, when the devil drives, as the saying goes.”

“What particular devil is driving you, Mrs. Cassley?” asked T. X., somewhat at a loss to understand the object of this visit.

“I may be doing wrong,” began the lady, pursing her lips, “and two blacks will never make a white.”

“And all that glitters is not gold,” suggested T. X. a little wearily. “Will you please tell me your business, Mrs. Cassley? I am a very hungry man.”

“Well, it's like this, sir,” said Mrs. Cassley, dropping her erudition, and coming down to bedrock homeliness; “I've got a young lady stopping with me, as respectable a gel as I've had to deal with. And I know what respectability is, I might tell you, for I've taken professional boarders and I have been housekeeper to a doctor.”

“You are well qualified to speak,” said T. X. with a smile. “And what about this particular young lady of yours! By the way what is your address?”

“86a Marylebone Road,” said the lady.

T. X. sat up.

“Yes?” he said quickly. “What about your young lady?”

“She works as far as I can understand,” said the loquacious landlady, “with a certain Mr. Kara in the typewriting line. She came to me four months ago.”

“Never mind when she came to you,” said T. X. impatiently. “Have you a message from the lady?”

“Well, it's like this, sir,” said Mrs. Cassley, leaning forward confidentially and speaking in the hollow tone which she had decided should accompany any revelation to a police officer, “this young lady said to me, 'If I don't come any night by 8 o'clock you must go to T. X. and tell him—'!”

She paused dramatically.

“Yes, yes,” said T. X. quickly, “for heaven's sake go on, woman.”

“'Tell him,'” said Mrs. Cassley, “'that Belinda Mary—'”

He sprang to his feet.

“Belinda Mary!” he breathed, “Belinda Mary!” In a flash he saw it all. This girl with a knowledge of modern Greek, who was working in Kara's house, was there for a purpose. Kara had something of her mother's, something that was vital and which he would not part with, and she had adopted this method of securing that some thing. Mrs. Cassley was prattling on, but her voice was merely a haze of sound to him. It brought a strange glow to his heart that Belinda Mary should have thought of him.

“Only