The Joker - Edgar Wallace (good book club books TXT) 📗

CHAPTER 22

‘THEY KEPT him here,’ whispered Ellenbury. He seemed afraid of the sound

of his own voice.

 

Jim saw another steel door at the farther end of the room; it had no

bolt—only a tiny keyhole. And then his attention was diverted.

 

‘Look!’ called Ellenbury.

 

Exercising all his strength, the little man pulled at the wardrobe and it

swung out like a gate on a hinge. Behind was an oblong door. ‘There… I

came that way. The elevator… ‘

 

As Elk listened, he heard the distant whine of the elevator in motion.

 

‘To what room did he take her?’ asked Jim huskily. ‘We searched

everywhere.’

 

‘Mrs Edwins’. There is a cupboard, but the back is a false one. There is

a small room behind… why didn’t they put her in the pit and hide her? It

would have been better… ‘

 

‘We’ve got to get out of here, and quick,’ said Elk, and looked round for

the means of escape. ‘Penultimate joke hasn’t raised a laugh yet—looks

like the penultimate joke’s goin’ to put my relations in mournin’!’

 

He tried to climb one of the greasy hydraulic cylinders, but although,

with the assistance of Jim, he managed to touch the platform, he could

derive little comfort from his achievement. The platform was of steel and

concrete.

 

Neither knew anything of the mechanism of an hydraulic lift, and indeed

the controls were out of reach under a locked steel grating.

 

The door behind the wardrobe was the only possible means of egress. Elk

searched the car, and the tool chest beneath.

 

‘We’re safe for a bit—he’d be scared of using any kind of gas for fear

there was a blow-up and he hasn’t the means of manufacturing something

quick and sudden. Carlton, did you notice anything in the house!’

 

‘I noticed many things. To which do you refer?’

 

‘Notice that we never saw Mrs Edwins or Edwards, or whatever her name

was, after the old man said “get”!’

 

That fact had not occurred to Jim; though they had searched the house

from roof to basement, he had not seen the hard-faced woman again.

 

‘Where she is,’ said Elk, ‘the other feller can be—what’s ‘is

name—Marling? And I know pretty well where that was—in the little

elevator!’

 

It was true! Jim had seen the elevator when Harlow waited upon the top

floor, but after that it had disappeared. It was the easiest thing in the

world to slip from floor to floor, missing the search party.

 

The door was immovable; he could secure no leverage, and even if he had,

it was unlikely that it would yield. They must attack the

concrete-covered brickwork. This was the only section of the wall that

was not built of stone.

 

Fortunately for them, there were tool chests in all the cars, and

moreover in one of the machines was a big car jack, the steel lever of

which they disconnected and used as a crowbar.

 

The work was an anodyne to Jim Carlton’s jangled nerves, set further on

edge every time he saw the white face of Ellenbury.

 

The lawyer crouched by the bed watching them and muttering all the time

under his breath. Once, in a pause, Jim heard him say: ‘You can’t measure

principles with a yard stick; such a beautiful girl! And very young!’ And

then he started weeping softly.

 

‘Don’t notice him,’ snarled Elk; ‘get on with the work!’

 

To move only an inch of concrete was an arduous and difficult business,

and not without its danger if the sound were heard by the master of the

house. But after an hour’s work they cleared a square foot of the hard

plaster and revealed the brick lining beneath. Using screwdrivers for

chisels, they managed to dislodge the first brick in the course and

enlarge the hole. The second brick course was easier; but now the

necessity for caution was brought home to them dramatically.

 

Jim was fitting the jagged edge of his driver into a small hole in the

mortar, when a muffled voice almost at his elbow said: ‘Leave them alone:

they can wait until tomorrow.’

 

It was Harlow, and Jim almost jumped.

 

But the phenomenon had a simple explanation. His voice had been carried

down the shaft of the lift. They heard a gate slam, again came the whine

of the motor and the lift stopped just above them, the gate was fastened

again, and by a trick of acoustics Jim could hear the man’s foot tapping

on the tiled floor of the vestibule.

 

They had till the morning; that was a comfort. Working and listening at

intervals, they dislodged the inner brick, drew it out, a second

followed, and in half an hour there was a jagged hole through which a

lean man might wriggle.

 

Jim was that lean man. He found himself in the greasy pit of the elevator

shaft, stumbling over beams and pulleys in a darkness which was

unrelieved by a single ray from above.

 

He reached back into the room for his torch and made an inspection. The

bottom of the lift was at least twelve feet above where he stood and

hanging from it were two thick electric cables. Reaching up, he could

just touch the lowest of the loops. He told Elk the position, and all the

car cushions that could be gathered were thrust through the hole and

piled by Jim, one on top of the other.

 

Balancing himself on these, he took a steady grip of the cable and rested

his weight. The wires held. Pulling himself up, hand over hand, he

managed to reach a thick steel bar which connected with the safety brake,

and began to push the elevator floor, hoping to find a trap door. But

evidently this little lift was too small for a mechanic’s trap, the floor

did not yield under his pressure, and he was debating whether he should

drop on to the cushions when he heard a quick step in the vestibule, a

heavy foot stepped into the lift and the door slammed to. In another

second he was mounting rapidly. On the top floor the lift stopped with a

jerk which almost loosened his hold, though he had braced his feet upon

the dangling cables below.

 

The upper floors were not as deep as the two lower. As he hung, his knee

was on a level with the top of the elevator entrance to the second floor.

There was a footledge there, and if he could reach it, it would be a

simple matter to climb over the tiny grille. It was worth trying. Gently

he slid down the cable until, swinging his feet, he could just touch the

six inches of floor space between the pit and the grille.

 

Then, concentrating all his strength, he leapt forward, snatching at the

breast-high gate—his feet slipping from under him. He recovered in a

second, and was over the top.

 

He crept noiselessly up the stairs and was almost detected by the tall

woman who was standing on the landing, her ear to the closed door of the

room in which, he suspected, Aileen was a prisoner. From where he stood,

concealed by a turn of the stairs, he could hear Harlow’s voice raised in

complaint.

 

‘It was so vulgarly theatrical! I’m not annoyed, I’m hurt! To write

messages on a card was stupid… and with a pin. If I had known… ‘

 

There was an agitated, murmured reply, and then unexpectedly Harlow

laughed.

 

‘Well, well, you’re a foolish fellow; that is all I have to say to you.

And you must never do such a thing again. Luckily the police couldn’t

read your writing.’

 

Jim had almost forgotten the existence of the bearded man. He heard the

door open and went quickly down the stairs until he was in the vestibule.

The hands of the little silver clock over the marble mantelpiece pointed

to five.

 

The lift was coming down again, and crouching back into a recess, Jim saw

the big man pass into the library. The door shut behind him. In a second

the detective was in the elevator and had pressed the top button.

 

If Aileen were there, he would find her; he dare not allow himself even

to debate the sanity of the little man he had left in the garage.

 

Was she here?… dead? He closed his eyes to shut out the dreadful picture

that the lawyer had drawn… the axe… the pit…

 

Just as the elevator reached the top floor something happened. For a few

seconds Carlton did not grasp the explanation.

 

The two lights in the roof of the lift went out, and down below something

flashed bluely—Jim saw the lightning flicker of it.

 

He pushed at the grille which, on the top floor alone, reached from

ceiling to floor. It did not budge. He kicked at the gates, but they were

of hammered steel.

 

Trapped for a second time in three hours, Jim swore softly through his

teeth. He heard the street door close below and silence.

 

‘Elk!’ From a distance came Elk’s hollow answer. ‘He has cut out a

fuse—can you climb to the hall?’

 

‘I’ll try.’

 

Facing where he stood, caged and impotent, was the door of Mrs Edwins’

room and as he looked he saw the handle turning slowly… slowly.

 

Mrs Edwins? She had been left behind then… The door opened a little… a

little more, and then Aileen Rivers walked out.

 

‘Aileen!’ he cried hoarsely.

 

She looked at him, gripping the gate, his haggard face against the bars.

‘The philandering constable,’ she said, bravely flippant; and then,

‘please—take me home!’

 

‘Who brought you here?’ he asked, hardly believing the evidence of his

senses.

 

‘I came of my own free will—oh, Jim he’s such a darling!’

 

‘Oh, God!’ groaned the man in the cage, ‘and I never noticed it!’