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

table,’ he said, piloting her through an avenue of

working jaws to a secluded corner of the annexe.

 

The atmosphere of the place was very satisfying. The pink table-lamps had

a soothing effect, and she could examine him at her leisure. In truth it

had been one of the sources of irritation of that very unhappy day that

she could not quite remember what he looked like. She knew that he was

not repulsive, and had a misty idea that he was rather good-looking, but

that his nose was too short. It proved on inspection to be of a

reasonable length. His eyes were blue and he was a little older than she

had thought. Half her disrespect was based on the illusion of his youth.

 

‘Now ask all your horrid questions,’ she said as she took off her gloves.

 

‘Number one,’ he began. ‘What did Harlow offer you when I so discreetly

withdrew last night?’

 

‘That has nothing to do with the burglary,’ she answered promptly. ‘But

as it wasn’t very important, I will tell you. He offered me a position.’

 

‘Where?’ he asked quickly.

 

She shook her head.

 

‘I don’t know. We didn’t get as far as that; I told him I was perfectly

happy with Mr Stebbings—who, by the way, used to be the lawyer of the

Harlow family.’

 

‘Did you tell him that?’ He thrust his head forward eagerly.

 

‘Why, no—he told me, though of course I knew,’ she said. ‘He knew, the

moment I mentioned Stebbings’s name.’

 

‘Was he impressed?’ he asked after a pause and she laughed.

 

‘How ridiculous you are! Seriously, Mr—‘she paused insultingly.

 

‘Carlton,’ he murmured; ‘half-brother to the hotel but no relation to the

club.’

 

‘You worked that one last night,’ she said.

 

‘And I shall work it every night you pretend to forget my name! Anyway,

it is a confession of crass ignorance which no modern young woman can

afford to make. I am one of the most famous men in London.’

 

‘I think I’ve heard you say that before,’ she said mendaciously. ‘Now

tell me seriously, Mr Carlton—’

 

‘Got it!’ he murmured.

 

‘What do you want to know about the burglary?’

 

‘Nothing,’ was the shameless reply. ‘As a matter of fact, I have saved

you a great deal of trouble by supplying headquarters with all the

details they need. Your uncle emerges tomorrow; do you know that?’

 

‘Tomorrow?’ she said, with a pang of apprehension.

 

‘And Elk is going to meet him and take some of the sting out of his

anger. I suppose he will be very angry?’

 

‘He’ll be furious,’ said the girl, troubled. And then, with a quick sigh,

‘I’ll be awfully glad when he has “emerged,” as you call it. He allows me

two pounds a week for my trouble, but I can well spare that.’

 

‘Arthur Ingle ought to be ashamed of himself to drag you into the light

which shines so brightly upon the unjust,’ he said. ‘There is only one

thing I want to know about him, and perhaps you can tell me—was your

uncle a great speculator?’

 

‘I don’t think so. But really I don’t know. He never spoke to me about

any investments. Is that what you mean?’

 

‘That is just what I mean,’ said Jim. He found it difficult to put the

question without offence. ‘You’ve had interviews with him and I dare say

you’ve discussed his business to some extent. I shouldn’t ask you to

betray his confidence and I don’t suppose for one minute you will. Did he

ever talk about foreign gilt-edged investments?’

 

She was shaking her head before he finished the question.

 

‘Never,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he knows much about them. I remember

the first time I saw him at Dartmoor he told me he didn’t believe in

putting money in shares. Of course, I’m well aware he has money, but you

know that, too, and I suppose it is stolen money that he’s—’

 

‘Cached—yes,’ said Jim.

 

He was very serious. It was the first time she had seen him in that mood

and she rather liked it.

 

‘Only one more question. You don’t know that he is in any way connected

with a firm called Rata?’

 

And, when she confessed that she had never heard of such a firm, his

seriousness was at an end.

 

‘And that’s the whole of the questionnaire, back page and everything!’

 

He leaned back to allow the burly waiter to place the dish on the table.

‘Sole bonne femme is good for the tired business girl. Will you have

wine, or just the Lord’s good water?’

 

After this he became his old flippant self. He made no further allusion

to her uncle; and if he talked a great deal about himself, it was

interesting, for he talked shop, and Scotland Yard shop is the second

most interesting in the world. He lived at his club.

 

‘I’d better give you the telephone number in case you ever want me.’ He

scrawled the address on the back of the menu and tore off the corner.

 

‘Why should I want you?’

 

‘I don’t know. I’ve just got a feeling that you might. I’m a hunch

merchant—do you know what a hunch merchant is?’

 

She could guess.

 

‘Premonitions are my long suit, telepathy my sixth sense, and I’ve got a

hunch… perhaps I’m wrong. I hope I am.’

 

Once or twice he had looked at his watch, a little furtively, she

thought, yet it seemed that he was prepared to break any appointment he

had made, for he lingered over his coffee until she brought a happy

evening to an abrupt close by putting on her gloves. As they were driving

back to her rooms: ‘I haven’t asked you very much about yourself. That is

the kind of impertinence which really scares me,’ he said, ‘but I gather

that you’re unmarried—and unengaged?’ he asked.

 

‘I have no followers,’ she said without embarrassment, ‘and I hope that

confession will offer no encouragement to the philandering constabulary!’

 

He chuckled for fully a minute.

 

‘That’s good,’ he said at last.’ “Philandering constabulary” is taken

into use for special occasions. You’re the first woman—’

 

‘Don’t!’ she warned him.

 

‘—I’ve ever met with a real sense of humour,’ he concluded. ‘I’m sorry

to disappoint you.’

 

‘I wasn’t disappointed. I expected something banal,’ she said. ‘My house

is the third on the left… thank you.’

 

She got down without assistance and offered her hand, and as he looked

past her towards the door of the house:

 

‘The number is 163,’ she said, ‘but you needn’t write unless you’ve

something very policey to write about. Good night!’

 

Jim Carlton was smiling all the way to Whitehall Gardens and his sense of

amusement still held when he followed the footman into Sir Joseph

Layton’s study.

 

The words ‘Joseph Layton’ are familiar to all who carry passports, for he

was the Foreign Secretary, a man of slight figure and ascetic face; and

possibly the most cartooned politician in Britain.

 

He looked up over his big horn-rimmed glasses as Jim came in. ‘Sit down,

Carlton.’ He blotted the letter he had been writing, inserted it with

punctilious care into an envelope, and addressed it with a flourish

before he spoke. ‘I’ve just come back from the House. Did you call

before?’

 

‘No, sir.’

 

‘Humph!’ He settled himself more easily in his padded chair, put the tips

of his fingers together, and again scrutinised the detective over his

glasses. ‘Well, what are the developments?’ he asked, and added: ‘I’ve

seen the cables you sent me. Curious—very curious indeed. You

intercepted them?’

 

‘Some of them, sir,’ said Jim. ‘A great deal of the correspondence of the

Rata Syndicate goes through other channels. But there’s enough to show

that Rata is there preparing for a big killing. I should imagine that

every big broking house in the world has received similar instructions.’

 

Sir Joseph unlocked a drawer of his desk and, pulling it open, took out a

number of sheets of paper fastened together by a big brass clip. He

turned the leaves slowly.

 

‘I suppose this one is typical,’ he said.

 

It was a message addressed to Rata Syndicate, Wall Street: ‘Be ready to

sell for 15 per cent. drop undermentioned securities.’

 

Here followed a long list that covered two pages of writing, and against

each stock was the number to be sold.

 

‘Yes,’ said Sir Joseph, stroking his little white moustache thoughtfully.

‘Very peculiar, very remarkable! As you said in your letter, these are

the very stocks which would be instantly affected by the threat of war.

But who on earth are we going to fight? The International situation was

never easier. The Moroccan question has been settled. You read my speech

in the House last night?’ Jim nodded. ‘Upon my word,’ said Sir Joseph, ‘I

think I was very careful to avoid anything like unjustifiable optimism,

but, searching the world from East to West, I can see no single cloud on

the horizon.’

 

Jim Carlton reached out, took the papers and read them through carefully.

 

‘I think,’ said the Foreign Minister with a twinkle in his eye, ‘you have

at the back of your mind the vision of some diabolical conspiracy to

embroil the world in war. Am I right? Secret agents, traffic in secret

plans, cellar meetings with masked and highly-placed diplomats?’

 

‘Nothing so romantic,’ smiled Jim. ‘No; I wasn’t brought up in that

school. I know how wars are made. They grow as storms grow—out of the

mists that gather on marshlands and meadows. Label them “the rising

clouds of national prejudice,” and you’ve got a rough illustration.’

 

‘Come now, Mr Carlton, who is your ideal conspirator? I’m sure I know.

You think Harlow is behind Rata; and that he has some diabolical scheme

for stirring up the nations?’

 

‘I think Harlow is behind most of the big disturbances,’ said Jim slowly.

‘He’s got too much money; can’t you get some of it away from him?’

 

‘We do our best,’ said the Foreign Minister dryly; ‘but he is one of the

few people in England who can look the sur-tax collector in the eye and

never quail!’

 

Jim went back to Scotland Yard expecting to find Elk, but learned that

that intelligent officer had left earlier in the evening for Devonshire.

He was to meet Ingle on his release from prison and accompany him to

town. And Inspector Elk’s mission was certainly not on Aileen’s behalf,

nor had he any humanitarian idea of preparing the convict for news of the

burglary.

 

The first idea (and this proved to be wrong) was that there was a reason

and a mind behind this crime. Something had been taken of such value as

justified the risk.

 

The sudden appearance of Harlow in the flat immediately after the crime

had been committed had convinced Carlton that his visit was associated

with the safe robbery. Harlow should have been at a City banquet—Jim had

been trailing him all that day, and had known his destination. Indeed,

his name had appeared in the morning newspapers as having been present at

the dinner. And yet, within an hour of the accident on the Embankment,

Harlow had turned up at Fotheringay Mansions, and had not deigned to

offer an excuse for his absence from the dinner, although Jim was sure he

knew that he had been trailed.

 

The early morning found Inspector Elk shivering on the wind-swept

platform of Princetown. There were very few people in the waiting train

at that hour; a workman or two on their way