Edgar Wallace - The Best of Edgar Wallace

JAICO PUBLISHING HOUSE

1989 Jaico Publishing House

the best of edgar wallace

Published by
Ashwin J. Shah,
Jaico Publishing House,
121, Mahatma Gandhi Road,
Bombay 400 023.

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CONTENTS

THE FORGER

CHAPTER I

The big consulting-room at 903, Harley Street differed as much from its kind as Mr. Cheyne Wells differed from the average consultant.

It was something between a drawing-room and the kind of a library which a lover of books gathers together piecemeal as opportunity presents. There was comfort in the worn, but not too-worn, furniture, in the deep, leather-covered settee drawn up before the red fire. Two walls were filled with shelves wedged with oddly bound, oddly sized volumes; there were books on the table, a newspaper dropped by a careless hand on the floor, but nothing of the apparatus of medicinenot so much as a microscope or test-tube.

In one corner of the room, near the window where yellow sunlight was pouring in, was a polished door; beyond that a white-tiled bath-room without a bath but with many glass shelves and glass-topped table. You could have your fill of queer mechanisms there, and your nostrils offended by pungent antiseptics. There were cupboards, carefully locked, with rows and rows of bottles, and steel and glass cabinets full of little culture dishes. But though Peter Clifton had been a constant visitor for four years, he had never seen that door opened.

He was sitting now on an arm of one of the big chairs, his fine head screwed round so that he couldsee the street, though he had no interest in the big car which stood at the kerb, or the upper floors of the houses on the opposite side of the road which filled his vision. But he was a sensitive man, with a horror of emotional display, and just then he did not wish any maneven Cheyne Wellsto see his face.

Presently he jerked back his head and met the dark eyes of the man who straddled before the fire-place, a cigarette drooping from his lips.

Mr. Wells was rather thin, and this gave the illusion of height which his inches did not justify. The dark, saturnine face with its neat black moustache was almost sinister in repose: when he smiled, the whole character of his face changed, and he was smiling now.

Peter heaved a deep sigh and stretched his six feet of bone and muscle.

It was a good day for me when I mistook you for a dentist! he said.

There was a nervous tension in his laugh which Mr. Donald Cheyne Wells did not fail to note.

My good chap he shook his head it was a double-sided benefit, for you have been the most foolishly generous patient I have ever had. And I bless the telephone authorities that they made 903, Harley Street the habitation of a gentleman who left the week before I moved in.

Again the other laughed.

You even cured the old molar ! he said.

The smile left the surgeon's face.

I have cured nothing elseexcept your mist givings. The real assurance on which your faithmust rest is Sir William Clewers's. I would not have dared be so definite as he; even now I tell you that although the big danger is wiped out you are liable to the attacks I spoke about. I did not think it was worth while discussing that possibility with Sir William, but you may have another consultation if you wish ?

Peter shook his head emphatically.

In future I am making long detours to avoid Harley Street, he said, and added hastily : That's pretty ungracious

But the surgeon waved his agreement.

You'd be a fool if you didn't, he said, and then,turning the subject abruptly: What time is thisinteresting ceremony ?

He saw a frown gather for an instant on the broad forehead of his patient. It was a surprising expression to observe on the face of a very rich and a very good-looking young man who was to marry the most beautiful girl Cheyne Wells had seen in his life, yet the consultant was not wholly surprised.

Ertwelve-thirty. You'll be there of course ? The reception is at the Ritz and we go on to Longford Manor. I thought Jane would have preferred the Continentbut she seems rather keen on Longford.

There was no sound for a little while except the soft tick of the Swiss clock on the mantelpiece. Then:

Why the frown ? asked Wells, watching his patient's face intently.

Peter threw out his arms in a gesture of uncertainty.

The Lord knowsreally. Only... it has been such a queer courtship... with this thing hanging over my head. And sometimes Jane is ratherhow shall I put it ?' cold ' isn't exactly the word neither is ' indifferent.' Impregnablethat's the word. One can't get into her mind. She becomes a stranger, and that terrifies me. The whole thing started on the wrong notewe haven't kept step. I'll go on mixing my metaphors till I can get a littlelucid.

The smile was twitching the corner of Cheyne Wells's lips.

I introduced youhere beginneth the first wrong note ! he said. And

Don't be a silly assthat was the lightest thing you ever did. Donald, I adore Jane! There is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for her. She terrifies me because I feel that way and because I know she doesn't. And there is no reason why she shouldthat's my bit of comfort. I sort of burst into that quiet home and made myself an infernal nuisanceI almost bullied her into an engagement that wasn't an engagement

His teeth came together, and again that strained, worried look.

Donald, I bought her, he said quietly, and this time the consultant laughed aloud.

You're too imaginative, my friendhow could you buy her ? Stuff !

But Peter shook his head.

Of course, I didn't say, ' I want your daughter I'll give a hundred thousand pounds for her'; I'dhave been chucked out if I had. But when, like a blundering left-handed oaf, I cornered Leith in his study and blurted out that I would settle that sum if I married... and I'd only seen Jane twice ! I have an idea that broke down opposition... I'm not sure ... I feel rather rotten about it. Do you know that I've never kissed Jane ?

I should start to-day, said the other dryly. A girl who is going to be married the day after to-morrow expects some sort of demonstration.

Peter ran his fingers through his untidy brown hair.

It's wrong, isn't it ? he asked. It is my fault, of course... once I got panic-strickenI wondered if she had heard something about me. You know what I mean. Or whether there was some arrangement which I upsetHale, for example.

Why should she

There was a soft tap on the door of the consulting-room.

That is my wife, said Wells. Do you mind her coming in, or do you want to talk ?

I've talked enough, said Peter ruefully.

He went towards the slim, youthful woman who came in. Marjorie Wells was thirty-five and looked ten years younger, though darker than her husband.

They told me you were here, she said with a quick flash of teeth. Hail to the bridegroom! And, by the way, I saw the bride this morning, looking conventionally radiantwith the wrong man !

If she saw the quick sidelong glance her husband shot in her direction, she gave no evidence, Therewas a thread of malice in the most innocent of Marjorie's comments ; this was a veritable rope.

He it was who took up the challenge.

The wrong mannot Basil Hale by any chance?

He saw Peter's grey, questioning eyes turned in Marjorie's direction. He winced rather easily, did this young man who had once been deputy-sheriff of Gwelo and had hanged L'chwe, the rebel chief, out of hand.

It was Basil, of coursepoor old Basil! I'm sure he feels rotten