Wallace The Green Ribbon (Murder Mystery)

Enriched edition. Thriller Novel
1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-80-7583-044-9
Verlag: Musaicum Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 133 Seiten

In Edgar Wallace's 'The Green Ribbon,' readers are immersed in a captivating murder mystery set against the backdrop of early 20th-century England. The novel is intricately plotted with layers of suspense and deception, keeping readers on the edge of their seats as they follow the twists and turns of the narrative. Wallace's writing style is characterized by a keen eye for detail and a knack for creating complex, multi-dimensional characters that add depth to the story. The literary context of the book reflects the era of classic detective fiction, appealing to fans of the genre with its clever clues and unexpected revelations. As readers delve into the world of 'The Green Ribbon,' they will find themselves engrossed in a gripping tale of intrigue and suspense. Edgar Wallace, known for his prolific output of crime fiction, drew inspiration from his career as a journalist and war correspondent. His firsthand experiences provided him with insights into human nature and the darker aspects of society, which are reflected in his writing. 'The Green Ribbon' showcases Wallace's storytelling expertise and his ability to craft engaging narratives that keep readers guessing until the very end. I highly recommend 'The Green Ribbon' to readers who enjoy classic murder mysteries and intricate plot twists. Edgar Wallace's masterful storytelling and attention to detail make this novel a must-read for fans of the genre.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Wallace, Edgar

Weitere Mitwirkende

Whitaker, Troy

Leseproben

Chapter XII

Table of Contents

Luke was working in his office the next morning when his clerk came to tell him that a man had called.

“Looks like somebody who wants to touch you, sir.”

“Bring in this ambitious person, “ said Luke.

He swung round in his swivelled chair to meet the dilapidated little man who stood apologetically in the doorway, his greasy old cap in his hand.

“Hullo, Punch! Come in.”

He nodded to his clerk to withdraw. Punch had gone several degrees down the scale of respectability since Luke had seen him at Doncaster. The toes of his boots gaped; he was unshaven, and had obviously slept in his clothes the previous night, and probably many other previous nights.”

I walked up from Newbury, Mr. Luke. Couldn’t get a brief to get on to the course. If I had, and I’d found anybody with a couple of bob, I should have backed the winner of the Cup. Old Goodie was there, but when I asked him for the price of a drink he told me to go to hell. If I’d seen Trigger I’d have got it. Trigger’s not a bad feller. I did a couple of jobs for him when he was in a small way, and he’s always paid well—”

“You’re not going to tell me the story of your life, Punch,” said Luke. “What do you want?”

The man licked his cracked lips.

“I’ve had nothing to eat since yesterday.”

“And nothing to drink since this morning.”

The man shook his head vigorously. “ I’m on the wagon, I am indeed, Mr. Luke. More than a hundred thousand pounds have passed through my hands through booze, and it took me until a month ago to realise it. That’s what I wanted to see you about. It isn’t going straight, it’s going sober, and I know you’re the sort of gentleman who wouldn’t think twice about helping a feller if he thought he was willing to help himself.”

“You’ve had a few chances, Punch.” The man nodded.

“Yes, I have,” he said bitterly. “That’s why I’m having no chances now. Almost anybody’s willing to help a man once, even twice; it’s when he gets a regular sponger, as I have been, that he’s finished — can’t even raise the price of a meal. I’m not blaming anybody except meself. Nobody believes me when I tell ’em I’ve gone sober.”

Luke looked at him thoughtfully.

“I wonder if I could trust you,” he said, and interrupted the little man’s protestations with a gesture. “Anyway, I’m going to take a chance with you, Punch, and if you let me down I’ll never let up on you!”

He took out his pocketbook and found two five-pound notes.

“ Go out, have a bath, burn your clothes and get a respectable suit and a lodging. Report to me this afternoon; and keep your mouth shut about me.”

The man was incoherent, and ready to fly out on his mission, yet must stop to retail a little gossip.

“Field of Glory is no good for the Cambridgeshire. Tommy Dix rode him in a gallop yesterday morning. I saw one of the travelling lads at the station this morning, and he told me. I can’t see how he could be any good for a race like the Cambridgeshire and I don’t understand why he won the Stockton Handicap. I sold him for sixty-five quid—”

“Yes, yes, that’s a bit of ancient history. Report at four o’clock.”

Punch went out of the room, voluble to the last.

After he had gone, Luke took from a locked drawer three large blue folders marked “Green Ribbon.” He added a few notes to the dossier of Mr. Trigger, and, reading for the twentieth time the meagre particulars he had of that gentleman, could find little in the details of his known life that was in any way reprehensible.

Dr. Blanter’s dossier was a much more important affair. It contained newspaper cuttings of two inquests, particulars of a hearing before the Medical Association, and a score of letters, half of which were anonymous, the majority written by illiterate people. A current record of the doctor’s movements lay before him, but gave him little news that was of any value.

It was generally believed at Scotland Yard that the doctor had associations with several organised cliques of criminals, “clique” being a word preferable to “gang” to describe the loose associations of men, most of whom were operating individually, yet were bound together by some common object or interest, and could be relied upon to act in concert if occasion arose.

Blanter was a liberal paymaster, and he had also at his command a little army of men and women who had been in his employ at some period or other — the staffs of queer little night clubs which he had financed, and establishments of a less reputable character. He was known to be a man who could be depended upon to provide funds for the defence of those who had been brought within the reach of the law, and in one way and another he had accumulated a formidable reserve, upon which he could call in his necessity.

Luke, at any rate, did not underrate the importance of this man, and had taken certain precautions. Dr. Blanter was not unaware of the fact that he was shadowed. He had the instincts of a man who has lived dangerously near the edge of the law, and, moreover, he had a wholesome respect for the intelligence and perseverance of Scotland Yard.

Early 0hat Monday morning he arrived at his town house in Half Moon Street, to find a long telegram transmitted to him from an agent in South America. He read it through once and memorised every line of it — this was one of the tricks of which he was very proud — and destroyed the telegram. A few minutes later, after considering the various merits of four possible candidates, he called up a young lady who lived in Bayswater, and she answered him rather snappishly, for she had been aroused from her sleep.

“It’s the doctor speaking,” he said. “I want you, Maggie. Come round and see me at half-past eleven.”

“I’m so sorry, Blanter; I didn’t know it was you,” she apologised. “I’ll be with you on the tick.”

This young lady rejoiced in the name of Ruby de Vinne for stage purposes; it had been given to her by a fanciful press agent who had a bowing acquaintance with typography. It was her pleasure to describe herself as an actress, and certainly on occasions she had played a part. In one play she had said: “What will the prince think of you now, my lady?” and in another, addressing the leading man of a musical comedy, she had said, in a refined Cockney voice: “Tell us all about your adventures in China,” which had given the leading man an excuse for bursting into song.

Dr. Blanter called her Maggie because that was the name her parents had given her. She came at eleven-thirty to the second, a dark and pretty girl, who had once had the word “vivacious” explained to her, and had never forgotten its significance.

“Oh, doctor, you gave me such a start. I thought it was my boy come back from Germany. He’s playing at the Admiral Palast in ‘Aller’s Revue, and he stops the show. They’ve asked me to go out—”

“If you shout at your boy as you shout at me over the ‘phone, I don’t wonder he stays in Germany,” said the doctor with good humour. “And you’re still rather weak on your h’s, Maggie darling. Haller is pronounced Haller even in Berlin. I’ve got a job for you.”

She nodded. She had done work for the doctor before, and retained pleasant memories of the reward. There was nothing mean about the doctor; people who had “done jobs” for him, would be happy to go on doing jobs for the rest of their lives.

“You speak Spanish, don’t you?”

“Like a native,” she said promptly.

“Well, you know a word or two — that’s all I want. And, what is more important, you’ve been on South American tours once or twice. Cabaret work, wasn’t it?”

“I was starred,” she answered promptly, “or at least, the troupe was starred, and I was the leader of the troupe.”

“Now listen to me.” The doctor shook the ash of his cigar into the silver bowl. “Just forget that you were ever in a troupe, that you’ve ever been on the stage, and remember what I’m telling you. You went out to Buenos Aires with your father, who is a retired colonel, and while you were there you were introduced to Edna Gray. Her uncle — well, I’ll give you full particulars of where she lived and what she did. I’ll tell you the hotel she stayed at, and her dressmaker — as a matter of fact, you might have been introduced to her at her dressmaker’s. She came into town every three months, and it is quite possible you might have met her there. This young lady is staying at the Carlton Hotel. I want you to get in touch with her — meet her by accident; she usually lunches there when she’s in town, and she’s in town now. Make friends with her, but don’t overdo it. Get her to go with you to a theatre — I’ll get a box for the Pavilion revue whenever you want one. How are you off for clothes?”

Miss de Vinne was very well off for clothes just then.

“Don’t take her to any of the flash places. Lunch her at the Ritz or the Berkeley. Be careful of your h’s, and, whatever you do, don’t slop over. See me again this afternoon, after you’ve studied these particulars.”

He took a sheet of paper from a stationery rack, and in his copperplate hand wrote down a few facts for her to memorise.

“There’s your part,” he said humorously. “We’ll talk it over at tea. I’ll give you Fifty pounds for your expenses, and when that’s gone you can have another fifty.”

Miss de Vinne...