The Joker by Edgar Wallace (best inspirational books .txt) 📕

Well, that’s a very wise

precaution. I now realise that not only are you a lucky but you are a

short-sighted young man!’

 

‘Why?’ asked Jim, so sharply that Harlow laughed.

 

‘I will tell you one of these days,’ he said.

 

The two detectives waited until a taxicab had been hailed; they drove

into Palace Yard at the moment Sir Joseph’s car was moving back to the

rank.

 

‘I don’t see why you pulled me away from that party, Carlton,’ grumbled

Elk. ‘Look on this picture and look on that! Look at gay Park Lane and

dirty old Westminster!’ And then, when his companion did not reply, he

asked anxiously: ‘Something wrong?’

 

‘I don’t know. I’ve only a sort of feeling that we’re going to see an

earthquake—that’s all,’ said Jim emphatically, as they passed into the

lobby.

 

Sir Joseph was in his room and could not be disturbed, a messenger told

them. Jim had signed tickets and they passed into the chamber and took a

seat under the gallery.

 

The house was well filled, except the Government benches, which save for

the presence of an under-secretary deeply immersed in the contents of his

dispatch box, were untenanted. Evidently some motion had been put to the

House and the result announced just before the two visitors arrived, for

the clerk was reading the terms of an interminable amendment to a Water

and Power Bill when Sir Joseph strode in from behind the Speaker’s chair,

dropped heavily on the bench and, putting on his glasses began to read a

sheaf of notes which he carried.

 

At that moment somebody rose on the Opposition front bench.

 

‘Mr Speaker, I rise to ask the right honourable gentleman a question of

which I have given him private notice. The question is: Has the right

honourable gentleman seen a statement published in the Daily Megaphone to

the effect that relationships between His Majesty’s Government and the

Government of France are strained as the result of the Bonn incident? And

will he tell the House whether such a statement was issued, as is hinted

in the newspaper account, with the knowledge and approval of the Foreign

Office?’

 

Sir Joseph rose slowly to his feet, took off his horn-rims and replaced

them again, nervously gripped the lapels of his coat, and leaning forward

over the dispatch box, spoke:

 

‘The right honourable gentleman is rightly informed,’ he began, and a

hush fell on the House.

 

Members looked at one another in amazement and consternation.

 

‘There does exist between His Britannic Majesty’s Government and the

Government of France a tension which I can only describe as serious. So

serious, in fact, that I have felt it necessary to advise the Prime

Minister that a state of emergency be declared, all Christmas leave for

the Armed Forces be cancelled and that all reserves shall be immediately

mobilised.’

 

A moment of deadly silence. Then a roar of protest.

 

There was hurled at the Government benches a hurricane of indignant

questions. Presently the Speaker secured silence; and Sir Joseph went on,

in his grave, husky tone: ‘I am not prepared to answer any further

questions tonight, and I must ask honourable members to defer their

judgement until Monday, when I hope to make a statement on behalf of His

Majesty’s Government.’

 

And with that, unheeding the calls, he turned and walked behind the

Speaker’s chair and out of sight.

 

‘Good God!’ Jim was white to the lips. ‘That means war!’

 

Elk, who had fallen into a doze, woke with a start, in time to see his

companion dashing out of the House. He followed him along the corridor to

Sir Joseph’s room and knocked at the door. There was no answer. Jim

turned the handle and walked in.

 

The room was in darkness and empty. Rushing out into the passage, he

waylaid a messenger.

 

‘No, sir, I’ve not seen Sir Joseph. He went into the House a few minutes

ago.’

 

By the time he got back Jim found the lobby crowded with excited members.

The Prime Minister was in the West of England; the First Lord of the

Admiralty and the Secretary for War had left that afternoon to address a

series of public meetings in the North; and already the telephones were

busy seeking the other members of the Cabinet. He found nobody who had

seen Sir Joseph after he left the House, until he came upon a policeman

who thought he had recognised the Foreign Minister walking out into

Palace Yard. Jim followed this clue and had it confirmed. Sir Joseph had

come out into the Yard and taken a taxi (though his car was waiting), a

few minutes before. The detectives almost ran to Whitehall Gardens; and

here they had a further shock. The Minister had not arrived at his home.

 

‘Are you sure?’ asked Jim incredulously, thinking the butler had orders

to rebuff all callers.

 

‘Positive, sir. Why, is anything the matter?’ asked the man in alarm.

 

Jim did not wait to reply. They found a cab in Whitehall and went beyond

legal speed to Park Lane. There was just a chance that the Foreign

Minister had returned to Harlow’s.

 

When they reached Greenhart House there came to them the strains of an

orchestra; dancing was in full swing, both in the library and in the

large drawing-room overlooking Park Lane. They found Harlow, after a

search, and he seemed the most astonished man of all.

 

‘Of course he hasn’t come back here. He told me he was going to the House

and then home to bed. What has happened?’

 

‘You’ll see it in the newspapers in the morning,’ said Jim curtly and

drove back to Parliament in time to find the members streaming out of the

House, which had been adjourned.

 

Whilst he was talking with a member he knew, a car drove up and the man

who alighted was instantly hailed. It was the Chancellor of the

Exchequer, a broad-shouldered man, with a stoop, the most brilliant

member of the Cabinet.

 

‘Yes, I’ve heard all about it,’ he said, in his thin, rasping voice.

‘Where is Sir Joseph?’

 

He beckoned Jim, who was known to him and, pushing his way through the

crowd of members, went back with him along the corridor to his room.

 

‘Were you in the House when Sir Joseph spoke?’ he asked.

 

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jim.

 

‘Just tell me what happened.’

 

Briefly, almost word for word, Jim Carlton repeated the astonishing

speech.

 

‘He must be mad,’ said the Chancellor emphatically. ‘There is not a word

of truth in the whole story, unless—well, something may have happened

since I saw him last.’

 

‘Can’t you issue a denial?’

 

Mr Kirknoll bit his lip. ‘In the absence of the Prime Minister, I suppose

I should, but I can’t do that until I have seen Sir Joseph.’

 

A thought struck Jim. ‘He is not what one would describe as a neurotic

man, is he?’

 

‘No man less so,’ said the Chancellor emphatically. ‘He is the sanest

person I’ve ever met. Is his secretary in the House?’

 

He rang a bell and sent a messenger in search, whilst he endeavoured to

telephone the absent Ministers.

 

The secretariat of Downing Street were evidently engaged in a similar

quest, with the result that until one in the morning neither had managed

to communicate with the head of the Government.

 

‘We can’t stop this getting into the newspapers, I suppose?’

 

‘It is in,’ said the Chancellor laconically. ‘I’ve just had a copy of the

first editions. Why he did it, heaven only knows! He has certainly

smashed the Government. What other result will follow I dare not think

about.’

 

‘What do you think will be the first result of Sir Joseph’s speech?’

 

The Minister spread out his hands. ‘The markets of course will go to

blazes, but that doesn’t interest us so much as the feeling it may create

in France. Unhappily, the French Ambassador is in Paris on a short

visit.’

 

Jim left him talking volubly on the Paris line and at three o’clock in

the morning was reading a verbatim report of Sir Joseph Layton’s

remarkable lapse. The later editions carried eight lines in heavy type:

 

‘We are informed by the Chancellor of the Exchequer that the Bonn

incident has never been before the Cabinet for discussion, and it is not

regarded as being of the slightest importance. The Chancellor informs us

that he cannot account for Sir Joseph Layton’s extraordinary statement in

the House of Commons.’

 

All night long Jim literally sat on the doorstep of Whitehall Gardens,

waiting without any great hope for Sir Joseph’s return. He learnt that

the Prime Minister was returning from the West by special train; and that

a statement had already been issued repudiating that of the Foreign

Minister.

 

The opening of the Stock Exchange that morning was witnessed by scenes

which had no parallel since the outbreak of the War. Stocks declined to

an incredible extent, and even the banks reacted to the panic. It was too

early to learn what had happened in New York, the British being five

hours in advance of Eastern American time, and only at four o’clock that

afternoon was the position on Wall Street revealed. Heavy selling—all

gilt-edged stocks depreciated; the failure of a big broking house, were

the first consequences observable in the press. In France the Bourse had

been closed at noon, but there was heavy street selling; and one famous

South African stock, which was the barometer in the market, had dropped

to its lowest level.

 

At five o’clock that evening a statement was issued to the press over the

signatures of the Prime Ministers of Britain and France.

 

‘There is no truth whatever in the statement that a state of tension

exists between our two countries. The Bonn incident has been from first

to last regarded as trivial, and the speech of the British Foreign

Minister can only have been made in a moment of regrettable mental

aberration.’

 

For Jim the day’s interest had nothing whatever to do with stock

exchanges or the fall of shares; nor yet the fortune which he knew was

being gathered, with every minute that passed, by Harlow and his agents.

His interest was solely devoted to the mystery of Sir Joseph Layton’s

disappearance.

 

There had been present at Harlow’s reception a very large number of

notable people, many of whom were personal friends of the missing

Minister. They were emphatic in declaring that he had not returned to

Park Lane; and they were as certain that Harlow had not left the house

after Sir Joseph’s departure. More than this, there were two policemen on

duty at the door; and they were equally certain that Sir Joseph had not

returned. The suggestion was made that the Minister had gone to his

country house in Cheshire, but when inquiry was set on foot it was

learned that the house and the shooting had been rented by a rich

American.

 

Immediately he had returned to London the Prime Minister flew to Paris.

When he got back Jim saw him, and the chief officer of state was a

greatly worried as well as a very tired man.

 

‘Sir Joseph Layton has to be found!’ he said, thumping his table. ‘I tell

you this, Carlton, as I have told your superiors, that it was,

impossible, unless Sir Joseph went mad, that he should have stood up in

the House of Commons and said something which he knew to be absolutely

untrue, and which he himself would repudiate! Have you seen this man

Harlow?’

 

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jim.

 

‘Did he tell you what