Edgar Wallace - The Joker

‘Yes’. She wondered what was coming next.

‘My housekeeper’—he spoke slowly—‘is 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.’ His eyes did not leave her face. ‘I wonder if you know why I sent for you?’

The question took her aback for the moment.

‘Don’t say to write a letter,’ he smiled. ‘I 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.’ He waited for her to speak.

‘I don’t quite understand what you want, Mr Harlow.’

‘Really? I was afraid that you would—and understand wrongly!’

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.

‘I want a view—an angle. I can’t get that from any commonplace person. You arc not commonplace. You’re not brilliant either—forgive my frankness. You’re a woman, perhaps in love—perhaps not. I don’t know, but a normal soul. You have no interest to serve.’

He stopped abruptly, looked at her, pointing to the door. ‘That door is locked,’ he said. ‘There is nobody in the house but myself and my housekeeper. The telephone near your right hand is disconnected. I am very fond of you!’

He paused and then nodded approvingly.

‘A little colour—that is annoyance. No trembling—that may come later. Will you be so good as to press the bell—you will find it…yes, that is it.’

Mechanically she had obeyed, and almost immediately the door opened and a tall manservant came in.

‘I want you to wait in the servants’ hall until this young lady has gone, Thomas—I have a letter I wish posted.’

The man bowed and went out. Mr Harlow smiled.

‘That disproves two statements I made to you—that the door was locked and that we were alone in the house. Now I think I know you! I wasn’t certain before. And of course I’m not fond of you—I like you though. If you feel inclined to call up James Carlton, the telephone is through to the exchange.’

‘Will you please tell me,’ she said quietly, ‘what all this means?’

He stood by the desk now, his white fingers beating a noiseless tattoo.

‘I know you, that is the point,’ he said. ‘I can now speak to you very plainly. Would you, for a very large financial consideration, marry a man in whom I am greatly interested?’

She shook her head and he approved even of the refusal.

‘That is splendid! You did not say I was insulting you, or that you could not marry a man for money—none of the cliches of the film or the novelette! You would have disappointed me if you had.’

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 materialist—the 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 women—she 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.

‘I wonder if I know what you are thinking about?’

She mistrusted him now, having a sense of his uncanny power of mind-reading.

‘You are saying “I wonder if he is as great a scoundrel as people like Carlton say?” 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.’

‘I think I am,’ she said.

‘Which 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.’ He leaned forward over the desk and his voice sank. ‘Shall I tell you something?’

And though she made no sign, he read her interest aright.

‘If you had said “yes”, my day would have been done. I am selfishly relieved that you declined. But if it had been “yes”, all this would have crumbled into dust-all the splendours of the Splendid Harlow! Dust and memories and failure!’

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.

‘Strange, isn’t it? I like you. I like Carlton—unscrupulous 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.’

She gasped at this.

‘He is a detective. Carlton is scared for you—he suspects me of harbouring the most sinister plans.’ His chuckle had a rich music in it. ‘Maybe I can help you some time. I’d love to give you a million and see what you would do with it.’

He held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation.

‘You haven’t told me whom I was to marry?’

‘A man with a golden beard,’ he laughed. ‘Forgive my little joke!’

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 servants’ hall.

‘What did that girl want?’ she asked.

‘Liberty of action,’ he replied.

‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about half the time,’ she complained. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t a spy.’

‘Nothing would surprise you, my dear woman,’ he said, his hand on the grille of the elevator.

‘I don’t like the look of her.’

‘I, on the contrary, like the look of her very much.’ He was resigned to the conversation. ‘I asked her to marry.’

‘You!’ she almost screamed.

‘No.’ He jerked his head to the ceiling and broke in upon her violent comment. ‘I’m not mad. I am very clever. I can face truth—that is the cleverest thing any man can do. I’m going up to Saul Marling.’

Her shrill voice followed him up the elevator shaft.

‘Fantastical nonsense…wasting your time!’

He closed the door of Marling’s 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.

‘She has a tantrum today,’ he said, nodding his head wisely. ‘She was quite rude when I complained about the fish.’

‘The devil she was!’ Harlow sat upright, was on the point of rising but thought better of it. ‘You must have what you wish, my dear Saul. I will raise Cain if you don’t. What are you reading?’

Marling turned over the book to assure himself of the title.

‘The Interpretation of Dreams,’ he read.

‘Freud! Chuck it in the waste-paper basket,’ scoffed Harlow.

‘I don’t understand it very well,’ admitted his companion.

‘The man who can interpret other people’s dreams can interpret other people’s thought,’ said Harlow. ‘I have been dreaming for you, Saul Marling. I dreamt a wife for you, but she would have none of it.’