The Joker by Edgar Wallace (books to read in your 20s .TXT) đ
- Author: Edgar Wallace
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âIâm the young woman,â smiled Aileen, who had a soft spot for age. She
grew a little uncomfortable under the silent scrutiny that followed.
âYouâre a typewriter?â
âA typistâyes. I am Mr Stebbingsâs secretary.â
âStebbings!â
Mrs Edwinsâ voice was surprisingly harsh and loud. The sudden change
which came to her face was remarkable.
Eyes and thin lips opened together in startled surprise.
âStebbings? The lawyer? Youâve come here from him?â
For a second the girl was too startled to reply. âYes⊠Mr Harlow asked
that I be sent; his secretary was illââ
âOhâthatâs it!â Relief unmistakable.
And here it flashed on the girl that this must be Mrs Edwinsâthat L.
Edwins to whom reference had been made in the will of the late Miss Mercy
Harlow. Perhaps, her nerves on edge, the woman received the thought, for
she said quickly:
âI am Mrs Lucy EdwinsâMr Harlowâs housekeeper.â
Aileen murmured some polite commonplace and wondered what was coming
next. Nothing apparently, for, with a quick glance round the room, the
woman sailed out, her hands still clasped before her, leaving the girl to
her penitence and self-reproach. And these distresses were inevitable. A
prying maid (she told herself) who read her mistressâs letters and poked
into the mysteries of locked drawers was a pattern of decorum compared
with a secretary who yet must inspect the waste-paper of a chance
employer. She was of a mind to throw the paper into the fire, but it was
natural that she should find excuses for her conduct. And her excuse
(stoutly offered and defended to herself) was Jim Carlton and the vague
familiarity of âMarlingâ.
Ten minutes passed and then Mr Harlow came slowly into the room. The door
closed with a click behind him and he stood before her on the very spot
where Mrs Edwins had conducted her cold survey.
âMy housekeeper came in, didnât she?â
âYesâ. She wondered what was coming next.
âMy housekeeperââhe spoke slowlyââis the most unbalanced female I have
ever known! She is the most suspicious woman I have ever known; and the
most annoying woman I am ever likely to know.â His eyes did not leave her
face. âI wonder if you know why I sent for you?â
The question took her aback for the moment.
âDonât say to write a letter,â he smiled. âI really wanted no letter
written! It was an excuse to get you here alone for a little talk. And
the fact that you have not gone pale and that you display no visible
evidence of agitation is very pleasing to me. If you had, I should have
opened the door to you and bid you a polite good night.â He waited for
her to speak.
âI donât quite understand what you want, Mr Harlow.â
âReally? I was afraid that you wouldâand understand wrongly!â
He strode up and down the library, his hands under his coat tails, his
head lifted so that he seemed immediately interested in the cornice.
âI want a viewâan angle. I canât get that from any commonplace person.
You arc not commonplace. Youâre not brilliant eitherâforgive my
frankness. Youâre a woman, perhaps in loveâperhaps not. I donât know,
but a normal soul. You have no interest to serve.â
He stopped abruptly, looked at her, pointing to the door. âThat door is
locked,â he said. âThere is nobody in the house but myself and my
housekeeper. The telephone near your right hand is disconnected. I am
very fond of you!â
He paused and then nodded approvingly.
âA little colourâthat is annoyance. No tremblingâthat may come later.
Will you be so good as to press the bellâyou will find it⊠yes, that is
it.â
Mechanically she had obeyed, and almost immediately the door opened and a
tall manservant came in.
âI want you to wait in the servantsâ hall until this young lady has gone,
ThomasâI have a letter I wish posted.â
The man bowed and went out. Mr Harlow smiled.
âThat disproves two statements I made to youâthat the door was locked
and that we were alone in the house. Now I think I know you! I wasnât
certain before. And of course Iâm not fond of youâI like you though. If
you feel inclined to call up James Carlton, the telephone is through to
the exchange.â
âWill you please tell me,â she said quietly, âwhat all this means?â
He stood by the desk now, his white fingers beating a noiseless tattoo.
âI know you, that is the point,â he said. âI can now speak to you very
plainly. Would you, for a very large financial consideration, marry a man
in whom I am greatly interested?â
She shook her head and he approved even of the refusal.
âThat is splendid! You did not say I was insulting you, or that you could
not marry a man for moneyânone of the cliches of the film or the
novelette! You would have disappointed me if you had.â
Aileen made a discovery that left her doubting her own sanity. She liked
this man. She believed in his sincerity. A crooked dealer he might be,
but upon a plane which was beyond her comprehension. In the less lofty
regions in the levels of human intercourse he was beyond suspicion. She
felt curiously safe with him and was worried, as one who was in the
process of changing a settled opinion in the face of a prejudiced habit
of thought.
He had the face of a materialistâthe blue of his eyes was (Jim had told
her) common to great generals and great murderers. The thick lips and
fleshy nose were repellent, Yet she lived consciously in a world of men
and womenâshe did not look for god or hero in any man. None was wholly
good; none was wholly bad, except in the most artificial of dramas.
âI wonder if I know what you are thinking about?â
She mistrusted him now, having a sense of his uncanny power of
mind-reading.
âYou are saying âI wonder if he is as great a scoundrel as people like
Carlton say?â How shall you measure me? It is very difficult, not because
I represent greatness, but because the canvas on which I work is immense.
Miss Rivers, I hoped that you were heart-free.â
âI think I am,â she said.
âWhich means that you are not. I wanted you to marry somebody I love; the
sweetest nature in the world. Something I have created out of confusion
and chaos and shining lights and mysterious sounds. I talk like a
divinity, but it is true. For years I have been looking for a wife.â He
leaned forward over the desk and his voice sank. âShall I tell you
something?â
And though she made no sign, he read her interest aright.
âIf you had said âyesâ, my day would have been done. I am selfishly
relieved that you declined. But if it had been âyesâ, all this would have
crumbled into dust-all the splendours of the Splendid Harlow! Dust and
memories and failure!â
For a moment she thought he had been drinking and that she had not
detected his condition before. But he was sober enough and very, very
sane.
âStrange, isnât it? I like you. I like Carltonâunscrupulous but a nice
man. He is waiting outside this house for you. Also a fellow-lodger of
yours, a Mr Brown, who followed you here.â
She gasped at this.
âHe is a detective. Carlton is scared for youâhe suspects me of
harbouring the most sinister plans.â His chuckle had a rich music in it.
âMaybe I can help you some time. Iâd love to give you a million and see
what you would do with it.â
He held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation.
âYou havenât told me whom I was to marry?â
âA man with a golden beard,â he laughed. âForgive my little joke!â
She went out of the house bewildered and stopped on the step with a cry
of wonder. Jim Carlton was standing on the sidewalk; and with him was Mr
Brown, her fellow-boarder.
Mr Harlow waited until the door had closed upon his visitor and was
stepping into the lift when his yellow-faced housekeeper appeared
noiselessly from the direction of the servantsâ hall.
âWhat did that girl want?â she asked.
âLiberty of action,â he replied.
âI donât understand what youâre talking about half the time,â she
complained. âI wouldnât be surprised if she wasnât a spy.â
âNothing would surprise you, my dear woman,â he said, his hand on the
grille of the elevator.
âI donât like the look of her.â
âI, on the contrary, like the look of her very much.â He was resigned to
the conversation. âI asked her to marry.â
âYou!â she almost screamed.
âNo.â He jerked his head to the ceiling and broke in upon her violent
comment. âIâm not mad. I am very clever. I can face truthâthat is the
cleverest thing any man can do. Iâm going up to Saul Marling.â
Her shrill voice followed him up the elevator shaft.
âFantastical nonsense⊠wasting your time!â
He closed the door of Marlingâs apartment behind him and sank into a deep
chair with a groan of relief. The bearded man, his face shadowed by a
reading shade, looked round, chin on palm.
âShe has a tantrum today,â he said, nodding his head wisely. âShe was
quite rude when I complained about the fish.â
âThe devil she was!â Harlow sat upright, was on the point of rising but
thought better of it. âYou must have what you wish, my dear Saul. I will
raise Cain if you donât. What are you reading?â
Marling turned over the book to assure himself of the title.
âThe Interpretation of Dreams,â he read.
âFreud! Chuck it in the waste-paper basket,â scoffed Harlow.
âI donât understand it very well,â admitted his companion.
âThe man who can interpret other peopleâs dreams can interpret other
peopleâs thought,â said Harlow. âI have been dreaming for you, Saul
Marling. I dreamt a wife for you, but she would have none of it.â
âA wife!â said the startled Marling, his hand trembling in his agitation.
âI donât want a wifeâyou know that!â
Mr Harlow lit a cigar.
âYesâbut she doesnât want a husbandâI know THAT. Dreams, huh?â He
laughed to himself, the other man watching him curiously.
âDo you ever dream?â he asked with a timidity which was almost pathetic.
âI? Lord, yes! I dream of jokes.â
Marling could not understand this: this strong man had talked about
âjokesâ before, and when they were elaborated they had not amused anybody
but Mr Harlow.
It is a peculiar trait of the English criminal that he never describes
his unlawful act or acts by grandiloquent terms. Crime of all kind,
especially crime against the person, is a âjokeâ. The man who holds up a
cashier has âhad a joke with himâ; the confidence swindler âjokesâ his
victim; a warehouse theft would be modestly described in the same way.
Mr Stratford Harlow once heard the term employed and never forgot it.
This cant phrase so nearly covered his own mental attitude towards his
operations; a good joke would produce the same emotions of mind and body.
Once he had written to an important rubber house offering to take its
entire stock at a price which would show a fair profit to the seller. The
house and its affiliated concerns smelt a forced buying and the price of
rubber rose artificially.
He waited three months, buying everywhere
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