The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ pigtails, and had moreover visualised her as a freckled little girl with thin legs and snub nose, was abashed.

      He delivered a short lecture on the sacred rights of property, paid the girl the three months’ wages which were due to her — he had no doubt as to the legality of her claim — and dismissed her with instructions to go back to the house, pack her box and clear out.

      After the girl had gone, T.X. sat down to consider the position. He might see Kara and since Kara had expressed his contrition and was probably in a more humble state of mind, he might make reparation. Then again he might not. Mansus was waiting and T.X. walked back with him to his little office.

      “I hardly know what to make of it,” he said in despair.

      “If you can give me Kara’s motive, sir, I can give you a solution,” said Mansus.

      T.X. shook his head.

      “That is exactly what I am unable to give you,” he said.

      He perched himself on Mansus’s desk and lit a cigar.

      “I have a good mind to go round and see him,” he said after a while.

      “Why not telephone to him?” asked Mansus. “There is his ‘phone straight into his boudoir.”

      He pointed to a small telephone in a corner of the room.

      “Oh, he persuaded the Commissioner to run the wire, did he?” said T.X. interested, and walked over to the telephone.

      He fingered the receiver for a little while and was about to take it off, but changed his mind.

      “I think not,” he said, “I’ll go round and see him tomorrow. I don’t hope to succeed in extracting the confidence in the case of Lady Bartholomew, which he denied me over poor Lexman.”

      “I suppose you’ll never give up hope of seeing Mr. Lexman again,” smiled Mansus, busily arranging a new blotting pad.

      Before T.X. could answer there came a knock at the door, and a uniformed policeman, entered. He saluted T.X.

      “They’ve just sent an urgent letter across from your office, sir. I said I thought you were here.”

      He handed the missive to the Commissioner. T.X. took it and glanced at the typewritten address. It was marked “urgent” and “by hand.” He took up the thin, steel, paperknife from the desk and slit open the envelope. The letter consisted of three or four pages of manuscript and, unlike the envelope, it was handwritten.

      “My dear T.X.,” it began, and the handwriting was familiar.

      Mansus, watching the Commissioner, saw the puzzled frown gather on his superior’s forehead, saw the eyebrows arch and the mouth open in astonishment, saw him hastily turn to the last page to read the signature and then:

      “Howling apples!” gasped T.X. “It’s from John Lexman!”

      His hand shook as he turned the closely written pages. The letter was dated that afternoon. There was no other address than “London.”

      “My dear T.X.,” it began, “I do not doubt that this letter will give you a little shock, because most of my friends will have believed that I am gone beyond return. Fortunately or unfortunately that is not so. For myself I could wish — but I am not going to take a very gloomy view since I am genuinely pleased at the thought that I shall be meeting you again. Forgive this letter if it is incoherent but I have only this moment returned and am writing at the Charing Cross Hotel. I am not staying here, but I will let you have my address later. The crossing has been a very severe one so you must forgive me if my letter sounds a little disjointed. You will be sorry to hear that my dear wife is dead. She died abroad about six months ago. I do not wish to talk very much about it so you will forgive me if I do not tell you any more.

      “My principal object in writing to you at the moment is an official one. I suppose I am still amenable to punishment and I have decided to surrender myself to the authorities tonight. You used to have a most excellent assistant in Superintendent Mansus, and if it is convenient to you, as I hope it will be, I will report myself to him at 10.15. At any rate, my dear T.X., I do not wish to mix you up in my affairs and if you will let me do this business through Mansus I shall be very much obliged to you.

      “I know there is no great punishment awaiting me, because my pardon was apparently signed on the night before my escape. I shall not have much to tell you, because there is not much in the past two years that I would care to recall. We endured a great deal of unhappiness and death was very merciful when it took my beloved from me.

      “Do you ever see Kara in these days?

      “Will you tell Mansus to expect me at between ten and half-past, and if he will give instructions to the officer on duty in the hall I will come straight up to his room.

      “With affectionate regards, my dear fellow, I am, “Yours sincerely,

      “JOHN LEXMAN.”

      T.X. read the letter over twice and his eyes were troubled.

      “Poor girl,” he said softly, and handed the letter to Mansus. “He evidently wants to see you because he is afraid of using my friendship to his advantage. I shall be here, nevertheless.”

      “What will be the formality?” asked Mansus.

      “There will be no formality,” said the other briskly. “I will secure the necessary pardon from the Home Secretary and in point of fact I have it already promised, in writing.”

      He walked back to Whitehall, his mind fully occupied with the momentous events of the day. It was a raw February evening, sleet was falling in the street, a piercing easterly wind drove even through his thick overcoat. In such doorways as offered protection from the bitter elements the wreckage of humanity which clings to the West end of London, as the singed moth flutters about the flame that destroys it, were huddled for warmth.

      T.X. was a man of vast human sympathies.

      All his experience with the criminal world, all his disappointments, all his disillusions had failed to quench the pity for his unfortunate fellows. He made it a rule on such nights as these, that if, by chance, returning late to his office he should find such a shivering piece of jetsam sheltering in his own doorway, he would give him or her the price of a bed.

      In his own quaint way he derived a certain speculative excitement from this practice. If the doorway was empty he regarded himself as a winner, if some one stood sheltered in the deep recess which is a feature of the old Georgian houses in this historic thoroughfare, he would lose to the extent of a shilling.

      He peered forward through the semi-darkness as he neared the door of his offices.

      “I’ve lost,” he said, and stripped his gloves preparatory to groping in his pocket for a coin.

      Somebody was standing in the entrance, but it was obviously a very respectable somebody. A dumpy, motherly somebody in a sealskin coat and a preposterous bonnet.

      “Hullo,” said T.X. in surprise, “are you trying to get in here?”

      “I want to see Mr. Meredith,” said СКАЧАТЬ