The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar Wallace
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door, and without waiting for invitation the private secretary walked into the room, excitedly waving a newspaper.
“Look at this!” he cried, “read this! The Four have admitted their failure.”
“What!” shouted the detective, reaching for the journal.
“What does this mean?” asked Sir Philip sharply.
“Only this, sir: these beggars, it appears, have actually written an article on their ‘mission’.”
“In what newspaper?”
“The Megaphone. It seems when they recaptured Thery the editor asked the masked man to write him an article about himself, and they’ve done it; and it’s here, and they’ve admitted defeat, and — and — —”
The detective had seized the paper and broke in upon the incoherent secretary’s speech.
“The Creed of the Four Just Men” he read. “Where is their confession of failure?”
“Half way down the column — I have marked the passage — here”; and the young man pointed with a trembling finger to a paragraph.
“‘We leave nothing to chance,’” read the detective, “‘if the slightest hitch occurs, if the least detail of our plan miscarries, we acknowledge defeat. So assured are we that our presence on earth is necessary for the carrying out of a great plan, so certain are we that we are the indispensable instruments of a divine providence, that we dare not, for the sake of our very cause, accept unnecessary risks. It is essential therefore that the various preliminaries to every execution should be carried out to the full. As an example, it will be necessary for us to deliver our final warning to Sir Philip Ramon; and to add point to this warning, it is, by our code, essential that that should be handed to the Minister by one of us in person. All arrangements have been made to carry this portion of our programme into effect. But such are the extraordinary exigencies of our system that unless this warning can be handed to Sir Philip in accordance with our promise, and before eight o’clock this evening, our arrangements fall to the ground, and the execution we have planned must be forgone.’”
The detective stopped reading, with disappointment visible on every line of his face.
“I thought, sir, by the way you were carrying on that you had discovered something new. I’ve read all this, a copy of the article was sent to the Yard as soon as it was received.”
The secretary thumped the desk impatiently.
“But don’t you see!” he cried, “don’t you understand that there is no longer any need to guard Sir Philip, that there is no reason to use him as a bait, or, in fact, to do anything if we are to believe these men — look at the time — —”
The detective’s hand flew to his pocket; he drew out his watch, looked at the dial, and whistled.
“Half past eight, by God!” he muttered in astonishment, and the three stood in surprised silence.
Sir Philip broke the silence.
“Is it a ruse to take us off our guard?” he said hoarsely.
“I don’t think so,” replied the detective slowly, “I feel sure that it is not; nor shall I relax my watch — but I am a believer in the honesty of these men — I don’t know why I should say this, for I have been dealing with criminals for the past twentyfive years, and never once have I put an ounce of faith in the word of the best of ‘em, but somehow I can’t disbelieve these men. If they have failed to deliver their message they will not trouble us again.”
Ramon paced his room with quick, nervous steps.
“I wish I could believe that,” he muttered; “I wish I had your faith.”
A tap on the door panel.
“An urgent telegram for Sir Philip,” said a grey-haired attendant.
The Minister stretched out his hand, but the detective was before him.
“Remember Pinkerton’s wire, sir,” he said, and ripped open the brown envelope.
Just received a telegram handed in at Charing Cross
7.52. Begins: We have delivered our last message to the
foreign Secretary, signed Four. Ends. Is this true?
Editor, Megaphone.
“What does this mean?” asked Falmouth in bewilderment when he had finished reading.
“It means, my dear Mr. Falmouth,” replied Sir Philip testily, “that your noble Four are liars and braggarts as well as murderers; and it means at the same time, I hope, an end to your ridiculous faith in their honesty.”
The detective made no answer, but his face was clouded and he bit his lips in perplexity.
“Nobody came after I left?” he asked.
“Nobody.”
“You have seen no person besides your secretary and myself?”
“Absolutely nobody has spoken to me, or approached within a dozen yards of me,” Ramon answered shortly.
Falmouth shook his head despairingly.
“Well — I — where are we?” he asked, speaking more to himself than to anybody in the room, and moved towards the door.
Then it was that Sir Philip remembered the package left in his charge.
“You had better take your precious documents,” he said, opening his drawer and throwing the package left in his charge on to the table.
The detective looked puzzled.
“What is this?” he asked, picking up the envelope.
“I’m afraid the shock of finding yourself deceived in your estimate of my persecutors has dazed you,” said Sir Philip, and added pointedly, “I must ask the Commissioner to send an officer who has a better appreciation of the criminal mind, and a less childlike faith in the honour of murderers.”
“As to that, sir,” said Falmouth, unmoved by the outburst, “you must do as you think best. I have discharged my duty to my own satisfaction; and I have no more critical taskmaster than myself. But what I am more anxious to hear is exactly what you mean by saying that I handed any papers into your care.”
The Foreign Secretary glared across the table at the imperturbable police officer.
“I am referring, sir,” he said harshly, “to the packet which you returned to leave in my charge.”
The detective stared.
“I — did — not — return,” he said in a strained voice. “I have left no papers in your hands.” He picked up the package from the table, tore it open, and disclosed yet another envelope. As he caught sight of the grey-green cover he gave a sharp cry.
“This is the message of the Four,” said Falmouth.
The Foreign Secretary staggered back a pace, white to the lips.
“And the man who delivered it?” he gasped.
“Was one of the Four Just Men,” said the detective grimly. “They have kept their promise.”
He took a quick step to the door, passed through into the anteroom and beckoned the plainclothes officer who stood on guard at the outer door.
“Do you remember my going out?” he asked.
“Yes, sir — both times.”
“Both times, eh!” said Falmouth bitterly, “and how did I look the second time?”
His subordinate was bewildered at the form the question took.
“As usual, sir,” he stammered.
“How