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

me!’

 

The chauffeur uttered a tut of impatience. ‘Go ahead, Bluebeard!’ he

said.

 

Apparently one hundred and forty pounds of femininity was not too great a

tax on the chauffeur’s strength, for as he walked behind the weeping

little man, one hand on the scruff of his collar, he was whistling softly

to himself.

 

Up the stone steps he walked and into the hall. The ancient maid came

peeping round the corner, and almost fell down the kitchen stairs in her

excitement, for something was happening at Royalton House—where nothing

had happened before.

 

The chauffeur lowered the girl into a little armchair. Her eyes were

open; she was feeling deathly ill.

 

‘There is nothing in the world like a cup of tea,’ suggested the

chauffeur, and called in the maid, so imperiously that she never even

glanced at her master. He seemed dwindled in stature. In his hand he

still held the wet haft of the axe.

 

He was rather a pathetic little man.

 

‘I think you had better put that axe away,’ said the chauffeur gently.

 

Aileen only then became aware of his presence. He had a funny moustache,

walrus-like and black, and as he spoke it waggled up and down. She wanted

to laugh, but she knew that laughter was halfway to hysteria. Her eyes

wandered to the axe; a cruel-looking axe—the handle was all wet and

slippery. With a shiver she returned her attention to the chauffeur; he

was holding forth in an oracular manner that reminded her of somebody.

She discovered that he was watching her too, and this made her uneasy.

 

‘You’ve got to help me, young lady,’ said the man gravely.

 

She nodded. She was quite willing to help him, realising that she would

not be alive at that moment but for him.

 

The chauffeur rolled his eyes round to Ellenbury.

 

‘O, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!’ he

said reproachfully; and stripped his black moustache with a grimace of

pain.

 

‘Thank God that’s gone!’ he said, and pulled up a chair to the fire. ‘I

was once very useful to Nova—Nova has this day paid his debt and lost a

client. Why don’t you take off your overcoat? It’s steaming.’

 

He glanced at the axe, its wet haft leaning against the fireplace and

then, reaching out his hand, took it on to his knees and felt its edge.

 

‘Not very sharp, but horribly efficient,’ he said, and laid his hand on

the shoulder of the shrinking man. ‘Ellenbury, my man, you’ve been

dreaming!’ Ellenbury said nothing. ‘Nasty dreams, eh? My fault. I had you

tensed up—I should have let you down months ago.’

 

Now Ellenbury spoke in a whisper.

 

‘You’re Harlow?’

 

‘I’m Harlow, yes.’ He scarcely gave any attention to the two suitcases;

one glance, and he did not look at them again. ‘Harlow the Splendid. The

Robber Baron of Park Lane. There’s a good title for you if you ever write

that biography of mine!’

 

Mr Harlow glanced round at the girl and smiled; it was a very friendly

smile.

 

Ellenbury offered no resistance when the big man relieved him of his wet

coat and held up the dressing-gown invitingly. ‘Take off your shoes.’ The

old man obeyed; he always obeyed Harlow. ‘When are you leaving?’

 

‘Tomorrow,’ The admission was wrung from him. He had no resistance.

 

‘One suitcase full of money is enough for any man,’ said Harlow. ‘I’ll

take a chance—you shall have first pick.’

 

‘It’s yours!’ Ellenbury almost shouted the words.

 

‘No—anybody’s. Money belongs to the man who has it. That is my

pernicious doctrine-you will go to Switzerland, get as high up the

mountains as you can. St Moritz is a good place. Very likely you’re mad.

I think you are. But madness cannot be cured by daily association with

other madmen. It would be stupid to hide you up in an asylum—stupid and

wicked. And if you will not think of killing people any more, Ellenbury.

You—are—not—to—think—about—killing!’

 

‘No!’ The old man was weeping foolishly.

 

‘Our friend Ingle leaves for the Continent tomorrow—join him. If he

starts talking politics, pull the alarm cord and have him arrested. I

don’t know where he is going—anywhere but Russia, I guess… ‘

 

All the time he was talking, Aileen sensed his anxiety. Just then the

maid brought in the tea and the big fellow relaxed.

 

‘Drink that hot,’ he ordered, and when the servant had gone he moved

nearer to the girl and lowered his voice. ‘He doesn’t respond. You

noticed that? No reflexes, I’m certain. I dare not try; he’d think I was

assaulting him. It was my own fault. I kept him too tense—too keyed up.

If I had let him down… umph!’ He shook his head; the thick lips pursed

and drooped. Presently he spoke again. ‘I’ll have to bring you both

away—you can be very helpful. If you insist upon going to Carlton and

telling him about… this’—he nodded to the unconscious man by the

fire—‘I shan’t stop you. This is the finish, anyway.’

 

‘Of what?’ she asked.

 

‘Harlow the Joker,’ he said. ‘Don’t you see that? Here’s a man who tried

to murder you—a madman. Why? Because he thought you knew he was bolting.

Here’s Harlow the magnificent masquerading like a fiction detective with

a comic moustache! Why? Imagine the police asking all these questions.

And Ellenbury of course would tell them quite a lot of things—some

silly, some sane. The police are rather clever—not very, but rather.

They’d smell—all sorts of jokes. I want a day if I can get it. Would you

come to Park Lane for a day?’

 

‘Willingly!’ she said; and he went red.

 

‘That is a million-pound compliment,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to sit on the

floor with a rug over you; you mustn’t be seen. As it is, if you are

missed, your impetuous lover—did you speak?’

 

‘I didn’t,’ she said emphatically.

 

‘If he learns that you have disappeared, my twenty-four hours will be

shortened.’

 

She glanced at Ellenbury. ‘What shall you do with… him?’ she asked.

 

‘He sits by my side; I dare not leave him here.’ He lifted up one of the

suitcases and weighed it in his hand. ‘Would you like half a million?’ he

asked pleasantly.

 

Aileen shook her head. ‘I don’t think there is much happiness in that

money,’ she said.

 

He laughed. ‘Forgive me! I’ve got a little joke at the back of my

mind—maybe I’ll tell you all about it!’