The Clue of the Twisted Candle by Edgar Wallace (great books to read .TXT) 📕

CHAPTER IX “My dear Mr. Meredith, “I cannot tell you how unhappy and humiliated I feel that my little joke with you should have had such an uncomfortable ending. As you know, and as I have given you proof, I have the greatest admiration in the world for one whose work for humanity has won such universal recognition. “I hope that we shall both forget this unhappy morning and that you will give me an opportunity of rendering to you in person, the apologies which are due to you. I feel that anything less will neither rehabilitate me in your esteem, nor secure for me the remnants of my shattered self-respect. “I am hoping you will dine with me next week and meet a most interesting man, George Gathercole, who has just returned from Patagonia,—I only received his letter this morning— having made most remarkable discoveries concerning that country. “I feel sure that you are large enough minded and too much a man of the world to allow my foolish fit of temper to disturb a relationship which I have always hoped would be mutually pleasant. If you will allow Gathercole, who will be unconscious of the part he is playing, to act as peacemaker between yourself and myself, I shall feel that his trip, which has cost me a large sum of money, will not have been wasted. “I am, dear Mr. Meredith, “Yours very sincerely, “REMINGTON KARA.”

Kara folded the letter and inserted it in its envelope. He rang a bell on his table and the girl who had so filled T. X. with a sense of awe came from an adjoining room.

“You will see that this is delivered, Miss Holland.”

She inclined her head and stood waiting. Kara rose from his desk and began to pace the room.

“Do you know T. X. Meredith?” he asked suddenly.

“I have heard of him,” said the girl.

“A man with a singular mind,” said Kara; “a man against whom my favourite weapon would fail.”

She looked at him with interest in her eyes.

“What is your favourite weapon, Mr. Kara?” she asked.

“Fear,” he said.

If he expected her to give him any encouragement to proceed he was disappointed. Probably he required no such encouragement, for in the presence of his social inferiors he was somewhat monopolizing.

“Cut a man's flesh and it heals,” he said. “Whip a man and the memory of it passes, frighten him, fill him with a sense of foreboding and apprehension and let him believe that something dreadful is going to happen either to himself or to someone he loves—better the latter—and you will hurt him beyond forgetfulness. Fear is a tyrant and a despot, more terrible than the rack, more potent than the stake. Fear is many-eyed and sees horrors where normal vision only sees the ridiculous.”

“Is that your creed?” she asked quietly.

“Part of it, Miss Holland,” he smiled.

She played idly with the letter she held in her hand, balancing it on the edge of the desk, her eyes downcast.

“What would justify the use of such an awful weapon?” she asked.

“It is amply justified to secure an end,” he said blandly. “For example—I want something—I cannot obtain that something through the ordinary channel or by the employment of ordinary means. It is essential to me, to my happiness, to my comfort, or my amour-propre, that that something shall be possessed by me. If I can buy it, well and good. If I can buy those who can use their influence to secure this thing for me, so much the better. If I can obtain it by any merit I possess, I utilize that merit, providing always, that I can secure my object in the time, otherwise—”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I see,” she said, nodding her head quickly. “I suppose that is how blackmailers feel.”

He frowned.

“That is a word I never use, nor do I like to hear it employed,” he said. “Blackmail suggests to me a vulgar attempt to obtain money.”

“Which is generally very badly wanted by the people who use it,” said the girl, with a little smile, “and, according to your argument, they are also justified.”