Elk 02 The Joker by Edgar Wallace Page B

walkers could possibly reach there. What was more important was that it was very clear to Jim that he and the girl were under observation, and had been followed that night from the moment he left the club where he lived, until the attack was delivered.
    The reason for the hold-up was not difficult to understand, even supposing he ruled out the very remote possibility that it was associated with Mrs Gibbins’s death. And that he must exclude, unless he gave Mr Harlow credit for supernatural powers.
    He saw the girl to her boarding house and went back to Scotland Yard, to find a telegram awaiting him. It was from the detective force of Birmingham, and ran:
    ‘Your inquiry 793 Mrs Louisa Gibbins, deceased. Letter which came to her regularly every quarter, and which was subsequently readdressed to Mrs Gibbins, of Stanmore Rents, Lambeth, invariably had Norwood postmark. This fact verified by lodger of late Mrs Gibbins of this town. Annie Maud Gibbins’s real name, Smith. She married William Smith, a platelayer on Midland Railway. Further details follow, Hooge. Ends.’
    A great deal of this information was not new to Jim Carlton. But the Norwood postmark was invaluable, for in that suburb of London lived Mr Ellenbury. Further details he would not need.
    But before that clue could be followed, Jim Carlton’s attention was wholly occupied by the strange behaviour of Arthur Ingle, who suddenly turned recluse, declined all communication with the outside world and, locking himself in his flat, gave himself to the study of cinematography.

    CHAPTER 10

    IN THE days which followed Jim Carlton was a busy man, and only once during the week did he find time to see Aileen, and then she related one of the minor troubles of life.
    A new boarder had come to the establishment where she lived, an athletic young man who occupied the room immediately beneath hers and whose apparent admiration took the form of following tier to her work every morning at a respectful distance.
    ‘I wouldn’t mind that, but he makes a point of being in the neighbourhood of the office when I come out for lunch, and when I go home at nights.’
    ‘Has he spoken to you?’ asked Jim, interested.
    ‘Oh, no, he’s been most correct; he doesn’t even speak at meals.’
    ‘Bear with him,’ said Jim, a twinkle in his eye. ‘It is one of the penalties attached to the moderately good-looking.’
    Jim interviewed the girl’s new admirer.
    ‘As a shadow you’re a little on the heavy side, Brown,’ he said. ‘You should have found a way of watching her without her knowing.’
    ‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ said Detective Brown, and thereafter his espionage was less oppressive.
    It was remarkable that in none of the excursions which Jim Carlton made from day to day did he once see Arthur Ingle. Deliberately he called at those restaurants and places of resort which in the old days were favoured by the man. It would not be a sense of shame or an unwillingness to meet old friends and associates of a more law-abiding life, that would keep him away. If anything, he was proud of his accomplishments, for by his fantastic twist of reasoning he had come to regard himself as a public benefactor.
    Nobody had seen him; even the comrades whom it was his joy to address in frowsy Soho halls had not been honoured by speech or presence.
    ‘It almost looks as if he had gone over to the capitalists,’ said one.
    ‘I didn’t notice the flags were flying in Piccadilly,’ said Jim.
    One night it happened that he found himself walking along the street at the back of Fotheringay Mansions and, looking up, noticed a bright light burning behind the green blind in an upper room. Mr Ingle’s apartment was easily located. There was a narrow parapet to identify the height; the lumber room where the light showed was four windows from the fire escape.
    Elk was with him, and to that unenthusiastic man he confided his intentions.
    ‘He’ll start a squeal about police persecution,’