CHAPTER 1 The 415 from Victoria to Lewis had been held up at three bridges in consequence of a derailment, and—though John Nexman was fortunate enough to catch a belated connection to Best and Tracy—the wagonet, which was the sole communication between the village and the outside world, had gone. "'If you can wait half an hour, Mr. Nexman,' said the stationmaster, "'I will telephone up to the village, and get Briggs to come down for you.' John Nexman looked out upon the dripping landscape, and shrugged his shoulders. "'I'll walk,' he said shortly, and leaving his bag in the stationmaster's care, and buttoning his Macintosh to his chin, he stepped forth resolutely into the rain, to negotiate the two miles which separated the tiny railway station from little Tracy. The downpour was incessant, and likely to last the night. The high hedges on either side of the narrow road were so many leafly cascades. The road itself was in place's ankle-deep in mud. He stopped, under the protecting cover of a big tree, to fill and light his pipe, and with its bowl turned downwards continued his walk. But for the driving rain which searched every crevice and found every chink in his waterproof armour, he preferred, indeed welcomed, the walk. The road from Best and Tracy to the Little Beston was associated in his mind with some of the finest situations in his novels. It was on this road that he had conceived the Tilbury mystery. Between the station and the house he had woven the plot which had made Gregory Standish the most popular detective story of the year. For John Lexman was a maker of cunning plots. If, in the literary world, he was regarded by superior persons as a writer of shockers, he had a large and increasing public who were fascinated by the wholesome and thrilling stories he wrote, and who held on breathlessly to the scheme of any mystery until they came to the denument he had planned. But no thoughts of books or plots or stories filled his troubled mind, as he strode along the deserted road to Little Beston. He had had two interviews in London, one of which, under ordinary circumstances, would have filled him with joy. He had seen T. X. And T. X was T. X. Meredith, who would one day be chief of the criminal investigation department, and was now an assistant commissioner of police, engaged in the more delicate work of that department. In his erratic, tempestuous way, T. X had suggested the greatest idea for a plot that any author could desire. But it was not of T. X that John Lexman thought as he breasted the hill, on the slope of which was the tiny habitation, known by the somewhat magnificent title of Beston Priory. It was the interview he had had with the Greek on the previous day which filled his mind, and he frowned as he recalled it. He opened the little wicked gate and went through the plantation to the house, doing his best to shake off the recollection of the remarkable and unendifying discussion he had had with the moneylender. Beston Priory was little more than a cottage, though one of its walls was an indubitual relic of that establishment, which a pious Howard had erected in the thirteenth century. A small and unpretentious building, built in the Elizabethan style, with quaint gables and high chimneys, its lattice windows and sunken gardens, its rosary and its tiny meadow, gave it a certain menorial completeness, which was a source of great pride to its owner. He passed on to the thatched porch, and stood for a moment in the broad hallway, as he stripped his drenching macintosh. The hall was in darkness. Grace would probably be changing for dinner, and he decided that, in his present mood, he would not disturb her. He passed through the long passage, which led to the big study at the back of the house. The fire burnt readily in the cold-fashioned grate, and the snug comfort of the room brought a sense of ease and relief. He changed his shoes and lit the table-lamp. The room was obviously a man's den. The leather-covered chairs, the big and well-filled bookcase, which covered one wall of the room. The huge, solid oak writing desk, covered with books and half-finished manuscripts, spoke unmistakably of its owner's occupation. After he had changed his shoes, he refilled his pipe, walked over to the fire, and stood looking down into its glowing heart. He was a man a little above medium height, slidly built, with the breaths of shoulder which was suggestive of the athlete. He had indeed rode fore in his boat, and had fought his way into the semifinals of the amateur boxing championship of England. His face was strong, lean, yet well moulded. His eyes were grey and deep. His eyebrows straight and little forbidding. The clean-shaven mouth was big and generous, and the healthy tan of his cheek told of a life lived in the open air. There was nothing of the recluse or the student in his appearance. He was in fact a typical, healthy-looking Britisher, very much like any other man of his class, whom one would meet in the mess room of the British Army, in the wardrooms of the fleet, or in far-off posts of the Empire, where the administrative cogs of the great machine are to be seen at work. There was a little tap at the door, and before he could say, come in, it was pushed open, and Grace Lexman entered. If you described her as brave and sweet, you might secure from that brief description both her manner and her charm. He half-crossed the room to meet her, and kissed her tenderly.  Until you saw the horrible mess my Macintosh had made, he smiled. I know your methods, Watson. She laughed, but became serious again. I am very glad you've come back. We have a visitor, she said. He raised his eyebrows. A visitor? Whoever came down on a day like this? She looked up at him a little strangely. Mr. Cara, she said. Cara? How long has he been here? He came at four.  I can't understand why you don't like old Cara, rallied her husband. There are very many reasons, she replied, a little curtly for her. Anyway, said John Lexman, after a moment's thought. His arrival is rather opportune. Where is he? He's in the drawing-room. The priory drawing-room was a low-ceilinged, rambling apartment. All old printing chrysanthemums. Choose Lexman's description. Cozy armchairs, a grand piano, an almost medieval open grate, faced with dull green tiles, a well-worn but cheerful carpet, and two big silver candelabras, were the principal features which attracted the newcomer. There was in this room a harmony, a quiet order, and a soothing quality, which made it a haven of rest to a literary man with jagged nerves. Two big bronze bowls were filled with early violets. Another blazed like a pale sun with prim-roses, and the early woodland flowers filled the room with a faint fragrance. A man rose to his feet, as John Lexman entered, and crossed the room with an easy carriage. He was a man possessed of singular beauty of face and of figure. Half a head taller than the author, he carried himself with such a grace as to conceal his height. I missed you in town, he said. So I thought I'd run down on the off chance of seeing you. He spoke in the well-modulated tone of one who has had a long acquaintance with the public schools and universities of England. There was no trace of any foreign accent. Yet Remington Cara was a Greek, and had been born and partially educated in the more turbulent area of Albania. The two men shook hands warmly. You all stayed to dinner? Cara glanced round with a smile at Grace Lexman.  If Mrs. Lexman doesn't object, said the Greek, I should be pleased if you would, she said, almost mechanically. It is a horrid night, and you won't get anything worth eating this side of London, and I doubt very much. She smiled a little. If the meal I can give you will be worthy of that description. What you can give me will be more than sufficient, he said, with a little bow, and turn to her husband. In a few minutes they were deep in discussion of books and places, and Grace seized upon the opportunity to make her escape. From books in general to Lexman's books in particular, the conversation flowed. I've read every one of them, you know, said Cara. John made a little face. Poor devil, he said sadonically. On the contrary, said Cara, I am not to be pitted. There is a great criminal lost in you, Lexman. Thank you, said John. I am not being uncomplimentary, am I? smiled the Greek. I am merely referring to the ingenuity of your plots. Sometimes your books baffle and annoy me. If I cannot see the solution of your mysteries before the book is half through, it angers me a little. Of course, in the majority of cases I know the solution before I have reached the fifth chapter. John looked at him in surprise, and was somewhat piqued. I flatter myself it is impossible to tell how my stories will end until the last chapter, he said. Cara nodded. That would be so in the case of the average reader. But you forget that I am a student. I follow every little thread of the clue which you leave exposed. You should meet T. X. Said John with a laugh, as he rose from his chair to poke the fire. T. X? T. X. Meredith. He is the most ingenious beggar you could meet. We are at kaius together, and he is by way of being a great pal of mine. He is in the criminal investigation department. Cara nodded. There was a light of interest in his eyes, and he would have pursued the discussion further. But at the moment dinner was announced. It was not a particularly cheerful meal, because Grace did not, as usual, join in the conversation. And it was left to Cara and to her husband, to supply the deficiencies. She was experiencing a curious sense of depression, a premonition of evil which she could not define. Again and again, in the course of the dinner, she took her mind back to the events of the day, to discover the reason for her unease. Usually, when she adopted this method, she came upon the trivial causes in which apprehension was born. But now she was puzzled to find that a solution was denied her. Her letters of the morning had been pleasant, neither the house nor the servants had given her any trouble. She was well herself, and though she knew John had little money trouble, since his unfortunate speculation in Romanian gold shares, and she half suspected that he had had to borrow money to make good his losses, yet his prospects were so excellent, and the success of his last book so promising, that she, probably seeing with a clearer vision the unimportance of those money worries, was less concerned about the problem than he. You will have your coffee in the study, I suppose? said Grace. And I know you'll excuse me, I have to see Mrs. Chantler on the mundane subject of laundry. She favoured Cara with a little nod as she left the room, and touched John's shoulder lightly with a hand in passing. Cara's eyes followed her graceful figure until she was out of view. Then— I want to see you, Cara, said John Lexman, if you'll give me five minutes. You can have five hours, if you like! said the other easily. They went into the study together. The maid brought the coffee and liqueur, and placed them on a little table near the fire, and disappeared. For a time the conversation was general. Cara, who was a frank admirer of the comfort of the room, and who lamented his own inability to secure with money, the coziness which John had obtained at little cost, went on a foraging expedition whilst his host applied himself to a proof which needed correcting. I suppose it's impossible for you to have electric light here? Cara asked. Quite. replied the other. Why? I rather like the light of this lamp. It isn't the lamp, drawed the Greek, and made a little grimace.  He waved his hand to the mantel-shell, where the six tall white waxen candles stood out from the two wool scones. Why on earth do you hate candles? asked the other in surprise. Cara made no reply for the moment, but shrugged his shoulders. Presently he spoke.  John was amazed to see the perspiration stand upon the forehead of his guests. That sounds thrilling, he said. The Greek wiped his forehead with the silk handkerchief, and his hand shook a little. It was something more than thrilling, he said. And when did this occur? asked the author curiously. In Albania, replied the other, it was many years ago, but the devils are always sending me reminders of the fact. He did not attempt to explain who the devils were, or under what circumstances he was brought to this unhappy pass, but changed the subject definitely. So, entering round the cosy room, he followed the bookshelf which filled one wall, and stopped now and again to examine some title. Presently he drew forth a stout volume. Wild Brazil, he read. By George Gathacol, do you know Gathacol? John was filling his pipe from a big blue jar on his desk, and nodded. Met him once, a tact turned devil, very short of speech, and, like all men who have seen and done things, less inclined to talk about himself than any man I know. Kara looked at the book with a thoughtful pucker of bow, and turned the leaves idly. I've never seen him, he said as he replaced the book. Yet, in a sense, his new journey is on my behalf. The other man looked up, on your behalf? Yes, you know he has gone to Patagonia for me. He believes there is gold there. You will learn as much from his book on the mountain systems of South America. I was interested in his theories and corresponded with him. As a result of that correspondence he undertook to make a geological survey for me. I sent him money for his expenses, and he went off. You never saw him? asked John Lexman, surprised. Kara shook his head. That was not, began his host. Not like me, you were going to say? Frankly, it was not. But then I realised that he was an unusual kind of man. I invited him to dine with me before he left London, and in reply I received a wire from Southampton, intimating that he was already on his way. Lexman nodded. It must be an awfully interesting kind of life, he said. I suppose you'll be away for quite a long time? Three years, said Kara, continuing in his examination of the bookshelf. I envy those fellows who ran around the world writing books. Said John, puffing reflexively at his pipe. They have all the best of it. Kara turned, he stood immediately behind the author and the other could not see his face. There was, however, in his voice an unusual earnestness, and an unusual quiet vehemence. What have you to complain about?  You have your own creative work, the most fascinating branch of labour that comes to a man. He, poor beggar, is bound to actualities. You have the full range of all the worlds which your imagination gives you. You can create men and destroy them, calling to existence fascinating problems, mystify and baffle ten or twenty thousand people, and then, at a word, elucidate your mystery. John laughed. There is something in that, he said. As for the rest of your life? Kara went on in a lower voice. I think that you have that which makes life worth living. An incomparable wife. Lexman swung round in his chair, and met the other's gaze, and there was something in the set of the other's handsome face which took his breath away. I do not see—he began. Kara smiled. That was an impertinent's, wasn't it? He said banteringly. But then you mustn't forget, my dear man, that I was very anxious to marry your wife. I don't suppose it is secret. And when I lost her, I had ideas about you which were not pleasant to recall. He had recovered his self-possession, and had continued his aimless stroll about the room. You must remember that I am a Greek, and the modern Greek is no philosopher. You must remember, too, that I am a petted child of fortune, and have had everything I wanted since I was a baby.  For a moment Kara did not speak. Then he made as though he would say something, checked himself, and laughed. I wonder if I am, he said. And now he spoke with a sudden energy. What is this trouble you are having with Valisero? John Rosen, his chair, and walked over to the fire, stood gazing down into its depths, his legs wide apart, his hands clasped behind him, and Kara took his attitude to supply an answer to the question. I warned you against Valisero, he said, stopping by the other side to light a cigar with a spill of paper. My dear Lexman, my fellow countrymen are unpleasant people to deal with in certain moons. He was so obliging at first, said Lexman, half to himself. And now he is so disobliging, drawled Kara. That is a way which money lenders have, my dear man. You were very foolish to go to him at all. I could have lent you the money. There were reasons why I should not borrow money from you, said John quietly, and I think you yourself have supplied the principal reason when you told me just now what I already knew, that you wanted to marry Grace. How much is the amount? asked Kara, examining his well-manicured fingernails. Two thousand five hundred pounds, replied John, with a short laugh, and I haven't two thousand five hundred shillings at the moment. Will he wait? John Lexman shrugged his shoulders. Look here, Kara, he said suddenly.  Kara nodded. Well, I can tell you he has been very unpleasant indeed, said John with a frown. I had an interview with him yesterday, in London, and it is clear that he is going to make a lot of trouble. I depended upon the success of my play in town, given me enough to pay him off, and I very foolishly made a lot of promises of repayment, which I have been unable to keep. I see, said Kara, and then, does Mrs. Lexman know about this matter? A little, said the other. He paced restlessly up and down the room, his hands behind him, and his chin upon his chest. Naturally I have not told her the worst, or how beastly unpleasant the man has been. He stopped and turned.  Kara smiled. I can tell you it was no laughing matter, said the other angrily. I nearly took the little whippersnapper by the scruff of the neck and kicked him. Kara dropped his hand on the other's arm. I am not laughing at you, he said. I am laughing at the thought of Alicero threatening to kill anybody.  What on earth induced him to take this drastic step? He said he is being hard pushed for money, said the other moodily. And it is possibly true. He was beside himself with anger and anxiety.  Kara, who had continued his stroll, came down the room and halted in front of the fireplace, looking at the young author with a paternal smile. You don't understand, Alicero, he said.  You will probably discover he is full of firearms and threats of slaughter, but you have only to click a revolver to see him collapse. Have you a revolver, by the way? Oh, nonsense, said the other roughly. I cannot engage myself in that kind of melodrama. It is not nonsense, insisted the other, when you are in Rome, etc. And when you have to deal with a low-class Greek, you must use methods which will at least impress him. If you thrash him, he will never forgive you, and will probably stick a knife into you or your wife. If you meet his melodrama with melodrama, and at the psychological moment produce your revolver, you will secure the effect you require. Have you a revolver? John went to his desk, and pulling open a drawer took out a small browning. That is the extent of my armory, he said. It has never been fired, and was sent to me by an unknown admirer last Christmas. A curious Christmas present, said the other, examining the weapon. I suppose the mistaken donor imagined from my books that I lived in a veritable museum of revolvers, sword-sticks, and noxious drugs, said Lexman, recovering some of his good humour. It was accompanied by a card. Do you know how it works? asked the other. I have never troubled very much about it, replied Lexman. I know that it is loaded by slipping back the cover. But as my admirer did not send ammunition, I never even practised with it. There was a knock at the door, and that is the post, explained John. The maid had one letter on the salver, and the author took it up with a frown. From Valicero, he said, when the girl had left the room. The Greek took the letter in his hand, and examined it. He writes a vile fist. It was his only comment as he handed it back to John. He slit open the thin, buff envelope, and took out a dozen sheets of yellow paper. But only a single sheet of which was written upon. The letter was brief. I must see you to-night without fail, ran the scrawl. Made me at the crossroads between Beston Tracy and the East One Road. I shall be there at eleven o'clock, and if you want to preserve your life, you had better bring me a substantial instalment. It was signed, Valicero. John read the letter aloud. He must be mad to write a letter like that, he said. I'll meet the little devil, and teach him such a lesson in politeness as he is never likely to forget. He handed the letter to the other, and Cara read it in silence. Better take your revolver, he said, as he handed it back. John Lexman looked at his watch. I have an hour yet, but it will take me the best part of twenty minutes to reach the East One Road. Will you see him? asked Cara in a tone of surprise. Certainly, Lexman replied emphatically. I cannot have him coming up to the house and making a scene, and that is certainly what the little beast will do. Will you pay him? asked Cara softly. John made no answer. There was probably ten pounds in the house, and a cheque which was due on the morrow would bring him another thirty pounds. He looked at the letter again. It was written on paper of an unusual texture. The surface was rough, almost like blotting paper, and in some places the ink absorbed by the porous surface had run. The blank sheets had evidently been inserted by a man in so violent a hurry that he had not noticed the extravagance. I shall keep this letter, said John. I think you are well advised. Valaceiro probably does not know that he transgresses a law in writing threatening letters, and that should be a very strong weapon in your hand in certain eventualities. There was a tiny safe in one corner of the study, and this John opened with a key which he took from his pocket. He pulled open one of the steel drawers, took out the papers which were in it, and put in their place the letter, pushed the drawer to, and locked it. All the time Cara was watching him intently, as one who found more than an ordinary amount of interest in the novelty of the procedure. He took his leave soon afterwards. I would like to come with you to your interesting meeting, he said. But unfortunately I have business elsewhere. Let me enjoin you to take your revolver, and at the first sign of any bloodthirsty intention on the part of my admirable compatriot. Produce it, and click it once or twice. You won't have to do more. Grace rose from the piano as Cara entered the little drawing-room. And murmured a few conventional expressions of regret that the visitor's stay had been so short. That there was no sincerity in the regret Cara for once had no doubt. He was a man singularly free from illusions. They stayed talking a little while. I will see if your chauffeur is asleep, said John, and went out of the room. There was a little silence after he had gone. I don't think you are very glad to see me, said Cara. His frankness was a little embarrassing to the girl, and she fluttered slightly. I am always glad to see you, Mr. Cara, or any other of my husband's friends. She said steadily. He inclined his head. To be a friend of your husband is something, he said, and then as if remembering something. I wanted to take a book away with me. I wonder if your husband would mind my getting it. I will find it for you.  I know my way. Without waiting for her permission, he left the girl with the unpleasant feeling that he was taking rather much for granted. He was gone less than a minute, and returned with a book under his arm. I have not asked Lexman's permission to take it, he said, but I am rather interested in the author. Oh, here you are! He turned to John, who came in at that moment. Might I take this book on Mexico? he asked. I will return it in the morning. They stood at the door, watching the tail light of the motor disappear down the drive, and returned in silence to the drawing-room. You look worried, dear, she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. He smiled faintly. Is it the money? she asked anxiously. For a moment he was tempted to tell her of the letter. He stifled the temptation, realising that she would not consent to his going out if she knew the truth. It is nothing very much, he said. I have to go down to Beston Tracy to meet the last train. I am expecting some proofs down. He hated lying to her, and even an innocuous lie of this character was repugnant to him. I am afraid you have had a dull evening, he said. Kara was not very amusing. She looked at him thoughtfully. He has not changed very much. She said slowly. He's a wonderfully handsome chap, isn't he? He asked in a tone of admiration. I can't understand what you ever saw in a fellow like me, when you had a man who was not only rich, but possibly the best-looking man in the world. She shivered a little. I have seen aside a Mr. Kara that is not particularly beautiful. She said, Oh John, I am afraid of that man. He looked at her in astonishment. Afraid, he asked. Good heavens, Grace! What a thing to say! Why, I believe he'd do anything for you. That is exactly what I am afraid of, she said in a low voice. She had a reason which she did not reveal. She had first met Remington Kara in Salmonchia two years before. She had been doing a tour through the Balkans with her father. It was the last tour the famous archaeologists made, and had met the man who was fated to have such an influence upon her life, at a dinner given by the American consul. Many were the stories which were told about this Greek with his jove-like face, his handsome carriage, and his limitless wealth. It was said that his mother was an American lady, who had been captured by Albanian brigands, and was sold to one of the Albanian chiefs who fell in love with her, and for her sake became a Protestant. He had been educated at Yale and at Oxford, and was known to be the possessor of vast wealth, and was virtually king of a hill district, forty miles out of Durazzo. Here he reigned supreme, occupying a beautiful house, which he had built by an Italian architect, and the fittings and appointments of which had been imported from the luxurious centres of the world. In Albania they called him Cararumo, which meant the Black Roman, for no particular reason so far as anyone could judge, for his skin was as fair as the Saxons, and his close cropped curls were almost golden. He had fallen in love with Grace Terrell. At first his attentions had amused her, and then there came a time when they frightened her, for the man's fire and passion had been unmistakable. She had made it plain to him that he could base no hopes upon her returning his love, and in a scene which she even now shuddered to recall, he had revealed something of his wild and reckless nature. On the following day she did not see him, but two days later, when returning through the bazaar from her dance, which had been given by the Governor General, her carriage was stopped, she was forcibly dragged from its interior, and her cries were stifled with a cloth impregnated with a scent of a peculiar aromatic sweetness. Her assailants were about to thrust her into another carriage, when a party of British bluejacks who had been on leave came upon the scene. And without knowing anything of the nationality of the girl, had rescued her. In her heart of hearts she did not doubt Carra's complicity, in the medieval attempt to gain a wife, but of this adventure she had told her husband nothing. Until her marriage she was constantly receiving valuable presents, which she has constantly returned to the only address she knew. Carra's estate at Limazzo. A few months after her marriage, she had learned, through the newspapers, that this leader of Greek society had purchased a big house near Cadogan Square.  His visits had been happily few, but the growing intimacy between John and this strange undisciplined man had been a source of constant distress to her. Should she, at this, the eleventh hour, tell her husband all her fears and her suspicions? She debated the point for some time, and never was she nearer taking him into her complete confidence than she was as he sat in the big arm-chair by the side of the piano.  Had he been less worried, she might have spoken. As it was, she turned the conversation to his last work, the big mystery story which, if it would not make his fortune, would mean a considerable increase to his income. At a quarter to eleven he looked at his watch and rose. She helped him on with his coat. He stood for some time irresolutely. Is there anything you have forgotten? She asked. He asked himself whether he should follow Carra's advice. In any circumstance it was not a pleasant thing to meet a ferocious little man who had threatened his life, and to meet him unarmed was tempting providence. The whole thing was, of course, ridiculous, but it was ridiculous that he should have borrowed, and it was ridiculous that the borrowing should have been necessary, and yet he had speculated on the best of advice. It was Carra's advice. The connection suddenly occurred to him, and yet Carra had not directly suggested that he should buy Romanian gold shares, but had merely spoken glowingly of their prospects. He thought a moment, and then walked back into the study, pulled open the drawer of his desk, took out the sinister little browning, and slipped it into his pocket. I shan't be long, dear, he said, and kissed in the girl he strode out into the darkness.  The rain was still falling, and Carra had to rub the windows free of the mist which had gathered on them to discover where he was. From time to time he looked out as though he expected to see somebody, and then with a little smile he remembered that he had changed his original plan, and that he had fixed the waiting room of Louis junction as his rendezvous. Here it was that he found a little man, muffed up to the ears in a big top coat, standing before the dying fire. He started as Carra entered, and at a signal followed him from the room. The stranger was obviously not English. His face was sallow and peaked, his cheeks were hollow, and the beard he wore was irregular, almost unkempt. Carra led the way to the end of the dark platform before he spoke. You have carried out my instructions," he asked brusquely. The language he spoke was Arabic, and the other answered him in that language. Everything that you have ordered has been done offending, he said humbly. You have a revolver? The man nodded and padded his pocket. Loaded. Excellency! asked the other in surprise. What is the use of a revolver if it is not loaded? You understand you are not to shoot this man, said Carra. You are merely to present the pistol. To make sure you had better unload it now. Wonderingly the man obeyed, and clicked back the ejector. I will take the cartridges, said Carra, holding out his hand. He slipped the little cylinders into his pocket, and after examining the weapon returned it to its owner. You will threaten him, he went on, present the revolver straight at his heart. You need do nothing else. The man shuffled uneasily. I will do as you say, Effendi, he said, but— There are no buts, replied the other harshly. You are to carry out my instructions without any question. What will happen then you shall see. I shall be at hand. That I have a reason for this play be assured. But suppose he shoots, persisted the other uneasily. He will not shoot, said Carra easily. Besides, his revolver is not loaded. Now you may go, you have a long walk before you. You know the way? The man nodded. I have been over it before, he said confidently. Carra returned to the big limousine, which had drawn up some distance from the station. He spoke a word or two to the chauffeur in Greek, and the man touched his hat. End of chapter 1 The Clue of the Twisted Candle by Redgar Wallace Chapter 2 Assistant Commissioner of Police T. X. Meredith did not occupy offices in New Scotland Yard. It is the peculiarity of public offices that they are planned with the idea of supplying the margin of space above all requirements, and that on their completion they are found wholly inadequate to house the various departments which mysteriously come into progress coincident with the building operations. T. X, as he was known by the police forces of the world, had a big suite of offices in Whitehall. The house was an old one facing the board of trade, and the inscription on the ancient door told passersby that this was the public prosecutor's special branch. The duties of T. X were multifarious. People said of him, and like most public gossip this was probably untrue, that he was the head of the illegal department of Scotland Yard. If by chance you lost the keys of your safe, T. X could supply you, so popular rumour ran, with a burglar who would open that safe in half an hour. If they're dwelt in England a notorious individual against whom police could collect no scintillar of evidence to justify a prosecution, and if it was necessary for the good of the community that that person should be deported, it was T. X who arrested the obnoxious person, hustled him into a cab, and did not lose his hold upon his victim, until he had landed him on the indignant shores of an otherwise friendly power. It is very certain that when the minister of a tiny power which shall be nameless was suddenly recalled by his government, and brought to trial in his native land for putting into circulation spurious bonds, it was somebody from the department which T. X controlled, who bargled his excellency's house, burnt the locks from his safe, and secured the necessary incriminating evidence. I say it is fairly certain, and here I am merely voicing the opinion of very knowledgeable people indeed, heads of public departments who speak behind their hands, mysterious under-secretaries of state who discuss things and whispers in the remote corners of their club rooms, and the more frank views of American correspondents who had no hesitation in putting those views into print for the benefit of their readers. That T. X had a more legitimate occupation, we know, for it was that flippant man whose outrageous comment on the home of his administration is popularly supposed to have sent one home secretary to his grave, who traced the depth-foot madras through a labyrinth of parjury, and who brought to books Julia's walk-light, though he had covered his trail of defolcation through the balance sheets of 34 companies. On the night of March 3, T. X sat in his inner office, interviewing a disconceried inspector of metropolitan police, named Mansus. In appearance T. X conveyed the impression of extreme youth, for his face was almost boyish, and it was only when you looked at him closely, and saw the little greases about his eyes, the setting of his straight mouth, that you guessed he was on the way to 40. In his early days he had been something of a poet, and had written a slide volume of woodland lyrics, the mention of which at this later stage was sufficient to make him feel violently unhappy. In manner he was tactful but persistent, his language was at times marked by a violent extravagance, and he had had the distinction of having provoked by certain correspondents which had seen the light, the comment of a former home secretary that it was unfortunate that Mr. Meredith did not take his position with the seriousness which was expected from a public official. His language was, as I say, under great provocation, violent and unusual. He had a trick of using words which never were on land or sea, and illustrating his instruction or his admonition with the quaintest phraseology. Now he was tilted back in his office chair at an alarming angle, scowling at his distressed subordinate who sat on the edge of a chair at the other side of his desk. But T. X protested the inspector there was nothing to be found. It was the outrageous practice of Mr. Meredith to insist upon his associates calling him by his initials, a practice which had earned his approval in the highest quarters. Nothing is to be found, he repeated breathfully, curious Mike. He set up with the suddenness which caused the police officer to start back in alarm. Listen, said T. X, grasping an ivory paper knife savagely in his hand, and tapping his blotting pad to emphasise his words.  I'm a policeman, said the other patiently. A policeman, exclaimed the exasperated T. X.  I'm afraid I shall never make a detective of you.  You are neither wise nor wily. You combine the innocence of a baby with the grubbinous of a county parson. You ought to be in the choir. At this outrageous insult Mr. Mences was silent. What he might have said, or what further provocation he might have received may be never known, for at that moment the chief himself walked in. The chief of the police in these days was a grey man, rather tired, with a hawk nose and device that glared under shaggy eyebrows, and he was a terror to all men of his department, safe to T. X who respected nothing on earth and very little elsewhere. He nodded curtly to Mences. Well, T. X he said, what have you discovered about our friend Cara? He turned from T. X to the discomfited inspector. Very little said T. X. I've had Mences on the job. And you found nothing, eh? growled the chief. He has found all that it is possible to find, said T. X. We do not perform miracles in this department, Sir George, nor can we pick up the threads of a case at five minutes notice. Sir George Haley grunted. Mences has done his best, the other went on easily, but it is rather absurd to talk about one's best when you know so little of what you want. Sir George dropped heavily into the armchair and stretched out his long thin legs. What I want, he said, looking up at the ceiling and putting his hands together, is to discover something about one Remington Cara, a wealthy Greek who has taken ours in Cadegan Square, who has no particular position in London society, and therefore has no reason for coming here, who openly expresses his detestation of the climate, who has a magnificent estate and some wild place in the Balkans, who is an excellent horseman, a magnificent shot and a passable aviator. T. X nodded to Mences and with something of gratitude in his eyes the inspector took his leave. Now Mences has departed, said T. X, sitting himself on the edge of his desk and selecting with great care a cigarette from the case he took from his pocket. Let me know something of the reason for the sudden interest in the great ones of the earth. Sir George smiled grimly. I have the interest, which is the interest of my department, he said, that is to say I want to know a great deal about abnormal people. We have had an application from him, he went on, which is rather unusual. Apparently he is in fear of his life from some cause or other and wants to know if he can have a private telephone connection between his house and the central office. We told him that he could always get the nearest police station on the phone, but that doesn't satisfy him. He has made bad friends with some gentleman of his own country who soon later he thinks will cut his throat. T. X nodded. All this I know, he said patiently, if you will further unfold the secret dossier, Sir George, I am prepared to be thrilled. There is nothing thrilling about it, grout the older man rising, but I remember the Macedonian shooting case in South London, and I don't want repetition of that sort of thing. If people want to have blood feuds, let them take them outside the metropolitan area. By all means, said T. X, let them. Personally I don't care where they go, but if that is the extent of your information I can supplement it. He has had extensive alterations made to the house he bought in Cadegan Square, the room in which he lives is practically a safe. Sir George raced his eyebrows. A safe, he repeated. T. X nodded. A safe, he said. It's walls are burglar-proof, floor and rover reinforced concrete. There is one door which, in addition to its ordinary lock, is closed by a sort of steel latch, which he lets fall when he retires for the night, and which he opens himself personally in the morning. The window is unreachable, there are no communicating doors, and altogether the room is planned to stand the siege. The chief commissioner was interested. Any more, he asked. Let me think, said T. X, looking up at the ceiling. Yes, the interior of his room is plainly furnished, there is a big fireplace, rather an ornate bed, a steel safe built into the wall and visible from its outer side to the policeman whose bead is in that neighborhood. How do you know all this? asked the chief commissioner. Because I've been in the room, said T. X simply, having by an underhand trick succeeded in gaining the misplaced confidence of Kara's housekeeper, who, by the way, he turned round to his desk and scribbled a name on the blotting-pad, will be discharged tomorrow and must be found a place. Is there any? Began the chief. Funny business interrupted T. X, not a bit. House and man are quite normal, say for these eccentricities. He has announced his intention of spending three months of the year in England and nine months abroad. He is very rich, has no relations, and has a passion for power. Then he'll be hung, said the chief, rising. I doubt it, said the other. People with lots of money sell them get hung. You only get hung for wanting money. The new and some danger, T. X smiled the chief, for according to my account you're always more or less broke. A genius liable, said T. X. But talking about people being broke, I saw John Lexman today, you know him. The chief commissioner nodded. I have an idea he's rather hit for money. He wasn't that Romanian gold swindle, and by his general gloom which only comes to a man when he's in love, and he can't possibly be in love since he's married, or when he's in debt, I fear that he is still feeling the effect of that rosy adventure. A telephone bell in the corner of the room rang sharply, and T. X picked up the receiver. He listened intently. A trunk call, he said over his shoulder to the departing commissioner, it may be something interesting. A little pause, then, or whore's voice spoke to him. Is that you, T. X? That's me, said the assistant commissioner, commonly. It's John Lexman speaking. I shouldn't have recognized your voice, said T. X.  Can't you get your plot to end?  I have shot a man, killed him. T. X gasped.  End of Chapter 2 Recording by Silver Chapter 3 Of The Clue Of The Twisted Candle This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Clue Of The Twisted Candle by Edgar Wallace Chapter 3 In the early hours of the morning a tragic little party was assembled in the study at Beston Priory. John Lexman, white and haggard, sat on the sofa with his wife by his side. Immediate authority as represented by a village constable was on duty in the passage outside, whilst T. X, sitting at the table with a writing-pad and a pencil, was briefly noting the evidence. The author had sketched the events of the day. He had described his interview with the moneylender the day before and the arrival of the letter. You have the letter? Asked T. X. John Lexman nodded. I am glad of that, said the other with a sigh of relief. That will save you from a great deal of unpleasantness, my poor old chap. Tell me what happened afterward. I reached the village, said John Lexman, and passed through it. There was nobody about. The rain was still falling very heavily and, indeed, I didn't meet a single soul all evening. I reached the place appointed about five minutes before time. It was the corner of Eastbourne Road on the station side, and there I found Basilero waiting. I was rather ashamed of myself at meeting him at all under these conditions. But I was very keen on his not coming to the house, for I was afraid it would upset Grace. What made it all the more ridiculous was this infernal pistol which was in my pocket, banging against my side with every step I took, as though to nudge me to an understanding of my folly. Where did you meet, Basilero? Asked T. X. He was on the other side of the Eastbourne Road and crossed the road to meet me. At first he was very pleasant, though a little agitated, but afterward he began to behave in a most extraordinary manner, as though he was lashing himself up into a fury which he didn't feel. I promised him a substantial amount on account, but he grew worse and worse, and then suddenly, before I realized what he was doing, he was brandishing a revolver in my face and uttering the most extraordinary threats. Then it was I remembered Cara's warning. Cara? said T. X. quickly. A man I know who was responsible for introducing me to Basilero. He is immensely wealthy. I see, said T. X. Go on. I remembered this warning, the other proceeded, and I thought it worthwhile trying it out to see if it had any effect upon the little man. I pulled the pistol from my pocket and pointed it at him, but that only seemed to make it, and then I pressed the trigger. To my horror four shots exploded before I could recover sufficient self-possession to loosen my hold of the butt. He fell without a word. I dropped the revolver and knelt by his side. I could tell he was dangerously wounded and indeed I knew at that moment that nothing would save him. My pistol had been pointed in the region of his heart. He shuddered, dropping his face in his hands, and the girl by his side, encircling his shoulder with a protecting arm, murmured something in his ear. Presently he recovered. He wasn't quite dead. I heard him murmur something but I wasn't able to distinguish what he said. I went straight to the village and told the constable and had the body removed. T. X rose from the table and walked to the door and opened it. Come in, constable, he said, and when the man made his appearance, I suppose you were very careful in removing this body, and you took everything which was lying about in the immediate vicinity? Yes, sir, replied the man. I took his hat and his walking stick, if that's what you mean. And the revolver, asked T. X. The man shook his head. There warn't any revolver, sir, except the pistol which Mr. Lexman had. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled it out gingerly, and T. X took it from him. I'll look after your prisoner. You go down to the village, get any help you can, and make a most careful search in the place where this man was killed, and bring me the revolver which you will discover. You'll probably find it in a ditch by the side of the road. I'll give a sovereign to the man who finds it. The constable touched his hat and went out. It looks rather a weird case to me, said T. X, as he came back to the table. Can't you see the unusual features yourself, Lexman? It isn't unusual for you to owe money, and it isn't unusual for the usurer to demand the return of that money. But in this case he is asking for it before it was due, and further than that he was demanding it with threats. It is not the practice of the average moneylender to go after his clients with a loaded revolver. Another peculiar thing is that if he wished to blackmail you, that is to say, bring you into contempt in the eyes of your friends, why did he choose to meet you in a dark and unfrequented road, and not in your house where the moral pressure would be the greatest? Also, why did he write you a threatening letter, which would certainly bring him into the grip of the law, and would have saved you a great deal of unpleasantness if he had decided upon taking action? He tapped his white teeth with the end of his pencil, and then suddenly, I think I'll see that letter, he said. John Lexman rose from the sofa, crossed to the safe, unlocked it, and was unlocking the steel drawer in which he had placed the incriminating document. His hand was on the key when T. X noticed the look of surprise on his face. What is it? asked the detective suddenly. This drawer feels very hot, said John. He looked round as though to measure the distance between the safe and the fire. T. X laid his hand upon the front of the drawer. It was indeed warm. Open it, said T. X, and Lexman turned the key and pulled the drawer open. As he did so, the whole contents burst up in a quick blaze of flame. It died down immediately, left only a little coil of smoke that flowed from the safe into the room. Don't touch anything inside, said T. X quickly. He lifted the drawer carefully and placed it under the light. In the bottom was no more than a few crumbled white ashes and a blister of paint where the flame had caught the side. I see, said T. X slowly. He saw something more than that handful of ashes. He saw the deadly peril in which his friend was standing. Here was one half of the evidence in Lexman's favor gone, irredeemably. The letter was written on a paper which was specially prepared by a chemical process, which disintegrated the moment the paper was exposed to the air. Probably, if you delayed putting the letter in the drawer another five minutes, you would have seen it burn before your eyes. As it was, it was smouldering before you had turned the key of the box. The envelope? Kara burnt it, said Lexman in a low voice. I remember seeing him take it up from the table and throw it in the fire. T. X nodded. There remains the other half of the evidence, he said grimly, and when an hour later the village constable returned to report that, in spite of his most careful search, he had failed to discover the dead man's revolver, his anticipations were realized. The next morning John Lexman was lodged in Lewis Jail on a charge of willful murder. A telegram brought Mansus from London to Beston Tracy, and T. X received him in the library. I sent for you, Mansus, because I suffer from the illusion that you have more brains than most of the people in my department, and that's not saying much. I am very grateful to you, sir, for putting me right with the Commissioner, began Mansus, but T. X stopped him. It is the duty of every head of departments, he said, oracularly, to shield the incompetence of his subordinates. It is only by the adoption of some such method that the decencies of the public life can be observed. Now get down to this. He gave a sketch of the case from start to finish, and as brief a space of time as possible. The evidence against Mr. Lexman is very heavy, he said. He borrowed money from this man, and on the man's body were found particulars of the very promissory note which Lexman signed. Why he should have brought it with him, I cannot say. Anyhow, I doubt very much whether Mr. Lexman will get a jury to accept his version. Our only chance is to find the Greek's revolver. I don't think there's any very great chance, but if we are to be successful we must make a search at once. Before he went out he had an interview with Grace. The dark shadows under her eyes told of a sleepless night. She was unusually pale and surprisingly calm. I think there are one or two things I ought to tell you, she said, as she led the way into the drawing-room, closing the door behind him. And they concerned Mr. Kara, I think, said TX. She looked at him startled. How did you know that? I know nothing. He hesitated on the brink of a flippant claim of omniscence, but realizing in time the agony she must be suffering, he checked his natural desire. I really know nothing, he continued. But I guess a lot. And that was as near to the truth as you might expect TX to reach on the spur of the moment. She began without preliminary. In the first place I must tell you that Mr. Kara once asked me to marry him, and for reasons which I will give you I am dreadfully afraid of him. She described without reserve the meeting at Solonica and Kara's extravagant rage, and told of the attempt which had been made upon her. Does John know this? asked TX.  I wish I had told him now, she said. Oh, how I wish I had! She wrung her hands in an ecstasy of sorrow and remorse. TX looked at her sympathetically. Then he asked, Did Mr. Kara ever discuss your husband's financial position with you? Never. How did John Luxman happen to meet Vazalero? I can tell you that, she answered. The first time we met Mr. Kara in England was when we were staying at Babacombe on a summer holiday, which was really a prolongation of our honeymoon. Mr. Kara came to stay at the same hotel. I think Mr. Vazalero must have been there before. At any rate they knew one another, and after Kara's introduction to my husband the rest was easy. Can I do anything for John? she asked piteously. TX shook his head. So far as your story is concerned I don't think you will advantage him by telling it, he said. There is nothing whatever to connect Kara with this business, and you would only give your husband a great deal of pain. I'll do the best I can. He held at his hand and she grasped it. And somehow at that moment there came to TX Meredith a new courage, a new faith, and a greater determination than ever to solve this troublesome mystery. He found Mansus waiting for him in a car outside, and in a few minutes they were at the scene of the tragedy. A curious little knot of spectators had gathered, looking with morbid interest at the place where the body had been found. There was a local policeman on duty, and to him was deputed the ungracious task of warning his fellow villagers to keep their distance. The ground had already been searched very carefully. The two roads crossed almost at right angles, and at the corner of the cross thus formed the hedges were broken, admitting to a field which had evidently been used as a pasture by an adjoining dairy farm. Some rough attempt had been made to close the gap with barbed wire, but it was possible to step over the drooping strands with little or no difficulty. It was to this gap that TX devoted his principal attention. All the fields had been carefully examined without result. The four drains which were merely the connecting pipes between ditches at the sides of the crossroads had been swept out, and only the broken hedge and its tangle of bushes behind offered any prospect of the new search being rewarded. Hullo! said Manson suddenly, and stooping down he picked up something from the ground. TX took it in his hand. It was unmistakably a revolver cartridge. He marked the spot where it had been found by jamming his walking stick into the ground and continued his search, but without success. I am afraid we shall find nothing more here, said TX after half an hour's further search. He stood with his chin in his hand and a frown on his face. Manson, he said, suppose there were three people here, Lexman, the moneylender, and a third witness, and suppose this third person, for some reason unknown, was interested in what took place between the two men, and he wanted to watch unobserved. Isn't it likely that if he, as I think, instigated the meeting, he would have chosen this place because this particular hedge gave him a chance of seeing without being seen? Manson thought. He could have seen just as well from either of the other hedges, with less chance of detection, he said, after a long pause. TX grinned. You have the makings of a brain, he said admiringly. I agree with you. Always remember that, Manson, that there was one occasion in your life when TX merited and you thought alike. Manson smiled a little feebly. Of course, from the point of view of the Observer, this was the worst place possible, so whoever came here, if they did come here, dropping revolver bullets about, must have chosen the spot because it was get at Abel from another direction. Obviously, he couldn't come down the road and climb in without attracting the attention of the Greek who was waiting for Mr. Lexman. We may suppose there is a gate farther along the road. We may suppose that he entered that gate, came along the field by the side of the hedge, and that somewhere between here and the gate he threw away his cigar. His cigar, said Manson's in surprise. His cigar repeated TX. If he was alone, he would keep his cigar alight until the very last moment. He might have thrown it into the road, said Manson's. Don't jibber, said TX, and led the way along the hedge. From where they stood, they could see the gate which led onto the road about a hundred yards further on. Within a dozen yards of that gate, TX found what he was looking for, a half-smoked cigar. It was sodden with rain and he picked it up tenderly. A good cigar, if I am any judge, he said, cut with a pen knife and smoked through a holder. They reached the gate and passed through. Here they were on the road again, and this they followed until they reached another cross-road, that to the left inclining southward to the new Eastbourne Road, and that to the westward looking back to the Lewis Eastbourne Railway. The rain had obliterated much that TX was looking for, but presently he found a faint indication of a car-wheel. This is where she turned and backed, he said, and walked slowly to the road on the left, and this is where she stood. There is the grease from her engine. He stooped down and moved forward in the attitude of a Russian dancer. And here are the wax matches which the chauffeur struck. He counted one, two, three, four, five, six. Allow two for each cigarette on a boisterous night like last night, that makes three cigarettes. Here is a cigarette and, Mansus, gold-flake brand, he said, as he examined it carefully, and a gold-flake brand smokes for twelve minutes in normal weather, but about eight minutes in gusty weather. A car was here for about twenty-four minutes. What do you think of that, Mansus? A good bit of reasoning, TX, said the other calmly. If it happens to be the car you're looking for. I am looking for any old car, said TX. He found no other trace of car-wheels, though he carefully followed up the little lane until it reached the main road. After that it was hopeless to search because rain had fallen in the night and in the early hours of the morning. He drove his assistant to the railway station in time to catch the train at one o'clock to London. You will go straight to Categan Square and arrest the chauffeur of Mr. Kara, he said. Upon what charge? asked Mansus hurriedly. When it came to the step which TX thought fit to take in the pursuance of his duty, Mansus was beyond surprise. You can charge him with anything you like, said TX with fine carelessness. Probably something will occur to you on your way up to town. As a matter of fact, the chauffeur has been called unexpectedly away to Greece and has probably left by this morning's train for the continent. If that is so, we can do nothing, because the boat will have left over and will have landed him at Boulogne. But if by any luck you get him, keep him busy until I get back. TX himself was a busy man that day, and it was not until night was falling that he again turned to best in Tracy to find a telegram waiting for him. He opened it and read, chauffeur's name Goul, formerly waiter English club Constantinople, left for East by early train this morning, his mother being ill. His mother ill, said TX contemptuously, how very feeble! I should have thought Kara could have gone one better than that. He was in John Lexman's study as the door opened and the maid announced, Mr. Remington Kara. End of Chapter 3 CHAPTER 4 TX folded the telegram very carefully, and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. He favoured the newcomer with a little bow, and taken upon himself the honours of the establishment, pushed a chair to his visitor. I think you know my name, said Kara easily. I am a friend of poor Lexman's. So I am told, said TX, but don't let your friendship for Lexman prevent you from sitting down. For a moment the Greek was non-plast. And then, with a little smile and bow, he seated himself by the writing-table. I am very distressed at this happening, he went on, and I am more distressed because I feel that as I introduce Lexman to this unfortunate man, I am, in a sense, responsible.  I shouldn't let the fact keep me awake at night. Most people are murdered as a result of an introduction. The cases where people murder total strangers are singly rare. That, I think, is due to the insularity of our national character. Again the other was taken aback, and puzzled, by the flippancy of the man from whom he'd expected at least the official manner. When did you see Mr. Valacero last? Asked TX pleasantly. Kara raised his eyes, as though considering. I think it must have been nearly a week ago. Think again, said TX. For a second the Greek started, and again relaxed into a smile. I am afraid, he began. Don't worry about that, said TX, but let me ask you this question. You were here last night when Mr. Lexman received a letter. That he did receive a letter, there is considerable evidence. He said, as he saw the other hesitate, because we have the supporting statements of the servant and the postman. I was here, said the other deliberately, and I was present when Mr. Lexman received a letter. TX nodded. A letter written on some brownish paper, and rather bulky? He suggested. Again there was a momentary hesitation. I would not swear to the colour of the paper, or as to the bulk of the letter, he said. I should have thought you would, suggested TX. Because you see, you burnt the envelope, and I presumed you would have noticed that. I have no recollection of burning any envelope, said the other easily. At any rate, TX went on. Mr. Lexman read this letter out to you. To which letter are you referring? Asked the other with a lift of his eyebrows. Mr. Lexman received a threatening letter. Repeated TX patiently, which he read out to you, and which was addressed to him by Valicero. This letter was handed to you, and you also read it. Mr. Lexman, to your knowledge, put the letter in his safe, in a steel drawer. The other shook his head, smiling gently. I'm afraid you've made a great mistake. He said almost apologetically. Though I have a recollection of his receiving a letter, I did not read it, nor was it read to me. The eyes of TX narrowed to the very slits, and his voice became metallic and hard. And if I put you into the box, will you swear that you did not see that letter, nor read it, nor have it read to you, and that you have no knowledge, whatever, of such a letter having been received by Mr. Lexman? Most certainly, said the other coolly. Would you swear that you have not seen Valicero for a week? Certainly, smiled the Greek. That you did not, in fact, see him last night. Persisted TX. And interview him on the station platform at Lewis. That you did not, after leaving him, continue on your way to London, and then turn your car and return to the neighbourhood of Beston Tracy? The Greek was white to the lips, but not a muscle in his face moved. Will you also swear, continued TX inexorably, that you did not stand at the corner of what is known as my tears lot, and re-enter a gate near to the side where your car was, and that you did not watch the whole tragedy? I'd swear to that. Kara's voice was strained and cracked. Would you also swear as to the hour of your arrival in London? Somewhere in the region of ten, or eleven, said the Greek. TX smiled. Would you swear that you did not go through Guilford at half-past twelve, and pull up to replenish your petrol? The Greek had now recovered his self-possession, and rose.  I think that is your name. That is my name, said TX calmly. There has been no need for me to change it, as often as you have found the necessity. He saw the fire blazing in the other's eyes, and knew that his shot had gone home. I am afraid I must go, said Kara. I came here intending to see Mrs. Lexman, and I had no idea that I should meet a policeman. My dear Mr. Kara, said TX, rising and lighting a cigarette. You will go through life enduring that unhappy experience. What do you mean? Just what I say, you will always be expecting to meet one person, and meeting another. And unless you are very fortunate indeed, that other will always be a policeman. His eyes twinkled for it recovered from the gust of anger which had swept through him. There are two pieces of evidence I require to save Mr. Lexman from very serious trouble, he said. The first of these is the letter, which was burnt, as you know. Yes, said Kara. TX lent across the desk. How did you know? He snapped. Somebody told me. I don't know who it was. That's not true, replied TX. Nobody knows except myself and Mrs. Lexman. But my dear good fellow, said Kara, pulling on his gloves. You have already asked me whether I didn't burn the letter. I said envelope, said TX, with a little laugh. And you were going to say something about the other clue? The other is the revolver, said TX. Mr. Lexman's revolver, drawed the Greek. That we have, said TX shortly. What we want is the weapon which the Greek had when he threatened Mr. Lexman. There, I'm afraid, I cannot help you. Kara walked to the door, and TX followed. I think I will see Mrs. Lexman. I think not, said TX. The other turned with a sneer. Have you arrested her too? he asked. Pull yourself together, said TX coarsely. He escorted Kara to his waiting-lamazine. You have a new chauffeur tonight, I observe, he said. Kara, towering with rage, stepped daintily into the car. If you are writing to that other, you might give him my love, said TX. And make most tender inquiries after his mother. I particularly ask this. Kara said nothing, until the car was out of earshot. Then he lay back on the down-cushions, and abandoned himself to a paroxym of rage and blasphemy. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of The Clue of the Twisted Candle This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jason Oakley. The Clue of the Twisted Candle by Edgar Wallace. Chapter 5. Six months later, TX Meredith was laboriously tracing an elusive line which occurred on an ordinance map of Sussex when the Chief Commissioner announced himself. So George described TX as the most wholesome corrective a public official could have, and never missed an opportunity of meeting his subordinate, as he said, for this reason. What are you doing here? he growled. The lesson this morning, said TX without looking up, is maps. So George passed behind his assistant and looked over his shoulder. That is a very old map you have got there, he said. 1876, it shows the course of a number of interesting little streams in this neighborhood which have been lost sight of, for one reason or the other, by the gentleman who made the survey at a later period. I am perfectly sure that in one of these streams I shall find what I am seeking. You haven't given up hope then, in regard to Lexman? I shall never give up hope, said TX, until I am dead, and possibly not then. Let me see, what did he get? 15 years. 15 years repeated TX, and a very fortunate man to escape with his life. So George walked to the window and stared out onto a busy white hall. I am told you are quite friendly with Kara again. TX made a noise which might be taken to indicate his assent to the statement. I suppose you know that gentleman has made a very heroic attempt to get you fired, he said. I shouldn't wonder, said TX. I made as heroic an attempt to get him hung. One good turn deserves another. What did he do? See ministers and people? He did, said Sir George.  I can understand all that, the Chief Commissioner turned round, but what I cannot understand is your apology to him. There are so many things you don't understand, Sir George, said TX, totally that I despair of ever cataloging them.  Come to lunch. Where will you take me? asked TX cautiously. To my club. I'm sorry, said the other with the elaborate politeness. I have lunched once at your club. Need I say more? He smiled as he worked after his Chief had gone, at the recollection of Kara's profound astonishment and the gratification he strove so desperately to the skies. Kara was a vain man, immensely conscious of his good looks, conscious of his wealth. He had behaved most handsomely for not only had he accepted the apology, but he left nothing undone to show his desire to create a good impression upon the man who had so grossly insulted him. TX had accepted an invitation to stay a weekend at Kara's little place in the country, and had found there assembled everything that the heart could desire in the way of fellowship eminent politicians who might conceivably be of service to an ambitious young assistant commissioner of police, beautiful ladies to interest and amuse him. Kara had even gone to the length of engaging a theatrical company to play Sweet Lavender, and for this purpose the big ballroom at Haver Court had been transformed into a theatre. As he was undressing for bed that night, TX remembered that he had mentioned to Kara that Sweet Lavender was his favorite play, and he realized that the entertainment was got up especially for his benefit. In a score of other ways, Kara had endeavored to consolidate the friendship. He gave the young commissioner advice about a railway company which was operating in Asia Minor, and the shares of which stood a little below par. TX thanked him for the advice and did not take it, nor did he feel any regret when the shares rose three pounds in as many weeks. TX had super intended the disposal of best and priory, he had the furniture removed to London, and had taken a flat for Grace Lexman. She had a small income of her own, and this added to the large royalties which came to her, as she was bitterly conscious, in increasing volume as the result of the publicity of the trial, pleased her beyond fear of want. Fifteen years murmured TX as he worked and whistled. There had been no hope for John Lexman from the start. He was in debt to the man he had killed. His story of threatening letters was not substantiated. The revolver which he said had been flourished at him had never been found. Two people believed implicitly in the story, and a sympathetic home secretary had assured TX personally that if he could find the revolver and associate with the murder beyond any doubt, John Lexman would be pardoned. Every stream in the neighbourhood had been dragged. In one case a small river had been dammed, and the bed had been carefully dried and sifted, but there was no trace of the weapon. And TX had tried methods more effective and certainly less legal. A mysterious electrician had called at 456 Cadogan Square in Cara's absence, and he was armed with such indisputable authority that he was permitted to penetrate to Cara's private room in order to examine certain fitments. Cara returning the next day thought no more of the matter when it was reported to him, until going to his safe that night he discovered that he had been open and ransacked. As it happened, most of Cara's valuable and confidential positions were at the bank. In a fret of panic and at considerable cost, he had the safe removed, and another put in its place of such potency that the makers offered to indemnify him against any loss from burglary. TX finished his work, watched his hands, and was drying them when Mansers came bursting into the room. It was not usual for Mansers to burst into anywhere. He was such a slow, methodical, painstaking man with a deliberate and an official manner. What's the matter, asked TX quickly. We didn't search Vasilaro's lodgings, cried Mansers breathlessly. It just occurred to me as I was coming over Westminster Bridge. I was on top of a bus. Wake up, said TX. You're amongst friends, and cut all that bust stuff out. Of course we searched Vasilaro's lodgings. No, he didn't, said the other triumphantly. He lived in Great James Street. He lived in the Adelphi, corrected TX. There were two places where he lived, said Mansers. When did you learn this? asked his chief, dropping his flippancy. This morning I was on a bus coming across Westminster Bridge, and there were two men in front of me, and I heard the word Vasilaro, and naturally I pricked up my ears. It was very unnatural, but proceed, said TX. One of the men, a very respectable person, said, That chap Vasilaro used to lodge in my place, and I've still got a lot of his things. What do you think I ought to do? And you said, suggested the other. I nearly frightened the life out of him, said Mansers. I said, I am a police officer, and I want you to come along with me.  That's true, sir, said Mansers, but after a while I got him to talk. Vasilaro lived in Great James Street, 604 on the third floor. In fact some of his furniture is still there. He had a good reason for keeping two addresses, by all accounts. TX nodded wisely. What was her name? he asked. He had a wife, said the other, but she left him about four months before he was killed. He used the Adelphi address for business purposes, and apparently he slept two or three nights of the week at Great James Street. I've told the man to leave everything as it is, and that we will come around. Ten minutes later the two officers were in the somewhat gloomy apartments with Vasilaro had occupied. The landlord explained that most of the furniture was his, but there were certain articles which were the property of the deceased man. He added, somewhat unnecessarily, that the late tenant owed him six months' rent. The articles which had been the property of Vasilaro included a tin trunk, a small writing bureau, a secretary bookcase, and a few clothes. The secretary was locked, as was the writing bureau. The tin box, which had little or nothing of interest, was unfastened. The other locks needed very little attention. Without any difficulty, mansus opened both. The leaf of the bureau, when let down, formed the desk, and piled up inside was a whole mess of letters opened and unopened, accounts, notebooks, and all the paraphernalia which an untidy man collects. Letter by letter, TX went through the accumulation without finding anything to help him. Then his eye was subtracted by a small tin case thrust into one of the oblong pigeon holes at the back of the desk. This he pulled out and opened, and found a small wad of paper wrapped in tin foil. Chapter 6 OF THE CLUE OF THE TWISTED CANDLE This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chuck Spahn, Sherwood, Wisconsin, February 2007. THE CLUE OF THE TWISTED CANDLE by Edgar Wallace. Chapter 6 A man stood in the speckless courtyard before the governor's house at Dartmoor Jail.  His head was clipped short, and there was two days of growth of beard upon his haggard face. Standing with his hands behind him he waited for the moment when he would be ordered to his work. John Lexman, AO 43, looked up at the blue sky as he had looked so many times from the exercise yard and wondered what the day would bring forth. A day to him was the beginning and the end of an eternity. He dare not let his mind dwell upon the long aching years ahead. He dare not think of the woman he left, or let his mind dwell upon the agony which he was enduring. He had disappeared from the world, the world he loved and the world that knew him, and all that there was in life, all that was worthwhile, had been crushed and obliterated into the granite of the Princeton quarries, and its wide horizon shrunken by the gaunt moorland with its menacing tours. New interest made up his existence. The quality of the food was one. The character of the book he would receive from the prison library another. The future meant Sunday chapel, the present, whatever task they found him. For the day he was to paint some doors and windows of an outlying cottage. A cottage occupied by a warder who for some reason on the day previous had spoken to him with a certain kindness and a certain respect which was unusual. Face the wall growled the voice, and mechanically he turned, his hands still behind him, and stood staring at the gray wall of the prison storehouse. He heard the shuffling feet of the quarry gang. His ears caught the clink of the chains which bound them together. They were desperate men, peculiarly interesting to him, and he had watched their faces furtively in the early period of his imprisonment. He had been sent to Dartmoor after spending three months in warm wood scrubs. Old hands had told him variously that he was fortunate or unlucky. It was usual to have twelve months at the scrubs before testing the life of a convict establishment. He believed there was some talk of sending him to Parkhurst, and here he traced the influence which TX would exercise for Parkhurst was a prisoner's paradise. He heard his warden's voice behind him. Right turn, forty-three, quick march! He walked ahead of the armed guard through the great and gloomy gates of the prison, turned sharply to the right, and walked up the village street toward the moors, beyond the village of Princeton, and on the Tavistock Road where there were two or three cottages which had been lately taken by the prison staff, and it was to the decoration of one of these that A043 had been sent. The house was as yet without a tenant. A paper-hanger under the charge of another warder was waiting for the arrival of the painter. The two warders exchanged greetings and at first went off, leaving the other in charge of both men. For an hour they worked in silence, under the eyes of the guard. Presently the warder went outside, and John Lexman had an opportunity of examining his fellow sufferer. He was a man of twenty-four, twenty-five, live, and alert, by no means bad-looking. He lacked the indefinable suggestion of animalism which distinguished the majority of the inhabitants at Dartmoor. They waited until they heard the warders' step clear the passage, and until his iron-shot boots were tramping over the cobbled path which led from the door through the tiny garden to the road before the second man spoke. What are you in for, he asked, in a low voice. Murder, said John Lexman, leconically. He had answered the question before, and he noticed, with a little amusement, the look of respect which came into the eyes of the questioner. What have you got? Fifteen years, said the other. That means eleven years and nine months, said the first man. You've never been here before, I suppose. Hardly, said Lexman Dryly. I was here when I was a kid, confessed the paper-hanger. I am going out next week. John Lexman looked at him enviously. Had the man told him that he had inherited a great fortune and a greater title, his envy would not have been so genuine. Going out, the drive and the break to the station, the ride to London increased but comfortable clothing, free as the air, at liberty to go to bed and rise when he liked, to choose his own dinner, to answer no call save the call of his conscience, to see, he checked himself. What are you in for? he asked in self-defense. Conspiracy and fraud, said the other, cheerfully. I was put away by a woman after three of us had got clear with twelve thousand pounds. Damn rough luck, wasn't it? John nodded. It was curious, he thought, how sympathetic one grows with these exponents of crimes. One naturally adopts their point of view and sees life through their distorted vision. I bet I'm not given away with the next lot, the prisoner went on. I've got one of the biggest ideas I've ever had, and I've got a real good man to help me. How? asked John in surprise. The man jerked his head in the direction of the prison. Larry Green, he said briefly. He's coming out next month too, and we are all fixed up proper. We are going to get the pile, and then we're off to South America, and you won't see us for dust. Though he employed all the colloquialisms which were common, his tone was that of a man of education, and yet there was something to his address which told John, as clearly as though the man had confessed as much, that he had never occupied any social position in life. The warder stepped on the stones outside, reduced them to silence. Suddenly, his voice came up the stairs. Forty-three, he called sharply. I want you down here. John took his paint pot and brush, and went clattering down the uncarpeted stairs. Where's the other man, asked the warder, in a low voice. He's upstairs in the back room. The warder stepped out of the door and looked left and right. Coming up from Princeton was a big gray car. Put down your paint pot, he said. His voice was shaking with excitement. I am going upstairs. When that car comes abreast of the gate, ask no questions, and jump into it.  And do not get up until the car stops. The blood rushed to John Luxman's head, and he staggered. My God! he whispered. Do as I tell you, hissed the warden. Like an automaton, John put down his brushes, and walked slowly to the gate. The gray car was crawling up the hill, and the face of the driver was half enveloped in a big rubber mask. Through the two gray goggles, John could see little to help him identify the man. As the machine came up to the gate, he leapt into the tonneau, and sank instantly into the bottom. As he did so, he felt the car leap forward underneath him. Now it was going fast. Now faster. Now it rocked and swayed as it gathered speed. He felt it sweeping downhill and uphill, and once he heard a hollow rumble as it crossed a wooden bridge. He could not detect from his hiding place in what direction they were going, but he gathered they had switched off to the left, and were making for one of the wildest parts of the moor. Never once did he feel the car slacken its pace, until, with a grind of brakes, it stopped suddenly. Get out, said a voice. John Lexman threw off the cover and leapt out, and as he did so, the car turned and sped back the way it had come. For a moment he thought he was alone, and he looked around. Far away in the distance he saw the gray bulk of Princeton Jail. It was an accident that he should see it, but it so happened that a ray of sun fell a thwarted, and threw it into relief. He was alone on the moors. Where could he go? He turned at the sound of a voice. He was standing on a slope of a small tour. At the foot there was a smooth stretch of green suede. It was on this stretch that the people of Dartmoor held their pony races in the summer months. There was no sign of horses, but only a great bat-like machine without stretched pinions of taut white canvas, and by that machine a man clad from head to foot in brown coveralls. John stumbled down the slope. As he neared the machine he stopped and gasped. Kara, he said, and the brown man smiled. But I do not understand. What are you going to do? asked Lexman, when he had recovered from a surprise.  I have no reason to be grateful to you as yet, Kara, breathed Lexman. A word from you could have saved me. I could not lie, my dear Lexman, and honestly I had forgotten the existence of the letter, if that is what you are referring to. But I am trying to do what I can for you and your wife. My wife? She is waiting for you, said the other. He turned his head, listening. Across the moor came the dull, sullen boom of a gun. You haven't time for argument. They've discovered your escape, he said. Get in. John clambered up onto the frail body of the machine, and Kara followed. This is a self-starter, he said, one of the newest models of model planes. He clicked over a lever, and with a roar, the big three-bladed tractor-screw spun. The aeroplane moved forward with a jerk, and ran with an increasing gait for a hundred yards, and then suddenly the jerky progress ceased. The machine swayed gently from side to side, and looking over, the passengers saw the ground recede beneath him. Up, up, they climbed, in one long sweeping ascent, passing through drifting clouds, till the machine soared like a bird above the blue sea. John Lexman looked down. He saw the indentations of the coast, and recognized the fringe of the white houses that stood for Torkway, but in an incredibly short space of time, all the signs of the land were blotted out. Talking was impossible. The roar of the engines defied penetration. Kara was evidently a skillful pilot. From time to time, he consulted the compass on the board before him, and changed his course ever so slightly. Presently, he released one hand from the driving wheel, and scribbling on a little block of paper, which was inserted in a pocket at the side of the seat. He passed it back. John Lexman read, If you cannot swim, there is a life built under your seat. John nodded. Kara was searching the sea for something, and presently he found it. Viewed from the height at which they flew, it looked no more than a white speck in a great blue saucer. But presently, the machine began to dip, falling at a terrific rate of speed, which took away the breath of the man who was hanging on with both hands to the dangerous seat behind. He was deadly cold, but he hardly noticed the fact. It was all so incredible, so impossible. He expected to wake up, and wondered if prison was also part of the dream. Now he saw the point for which Kara was making. A white steam yacht, long and narrow of beam, was steaming slowly westward. He could see the feathery wake in her rear, and as the aeroplane fell, he had time to observe that a boat had been put off.  We ought to be able to keep afloat for ten minutes, said Kara, and by that time they will pick us up. His voice was high and harsh in the almost painful silence which followed the stoppage of the engines. In less than five minutes the boat had come alongside, manned, as Lexman gathered, from a glimpse of the crew, by Greeks. He scrambled aboard, and five minutes later he was standing on the white deck of the yacht, watching the disappearing tail of the monoplane. Kara was by his side. There goes fifteen hundred pounds, said the Greek with a smile. Add that to the two thousand pounds I paid the water, and you have a tidy sum, but some things are worth all the money in the world. TX came from Downing Street at eleven o'clock one night, and his heart was filled with joy and gratitude. He swung his stick to the common danger of the public, but the policeman on point duty at the end of the street, who saw him, recognized and saluted him, did not think it feared to issue any official warning. He ran up the stairs to his office, and found Mansus reading the evening paper. My poor dumb beast, said TX, I'm afraid I have kept you waiting for a very long time, but tomorrow you and I will take a little journey to Devonshire. It'll be good for you, Mansus. Where did you get that ridiculous name, by the way? M-O-N replied Mansus leconically. I repeat that there is the dawn of an intellect in you, said TX offensively. He became more serious as he took from a pocket inside his waistcoat a long blue envelope containing the paper which had cost him so much to secure. Finding the revolver was a master stroke of yours, Mansus, he said, as he was in earnest as he spoke. The man coloured with pleasure for the subordinates of TX loved him, and a word of praise was almost equal to promotion. It was on the advice of Mansus that the road from London to Luz had been carefully covered, and such streams as past beneath that road had been searched. The revolver had been found after a third attempt between Gatwick and Horsley. Its identification was made easier by the fact that Vassalaro's name was engraved on the butt. It was rather an ornate affair, and in its earlier days had been silver-plated. The handle was mother of pearl. Obviously the gift of one began to another was TX's comment. Armed with this, his task would have been fairly easy, but when to this evidence he added a rough draft of the threatening letter which he had found amongst Vassalaro's belongings, and which had evidently been taken down a dictation, some of the words were miss-belt and been corrected by another hand. The case was complete. But what clinched the matter was the finding of a wad of that peculiar chemical paper, a number of sheets of which TX had ignited for the information of Chief Commissioner and the Home Secretary by simply exposing them for a few seconds to the light of an electric lamp. Instantly it had filled the Home Secretary's office with a pungent and most disagreeable smoke for which he was heartily cursed by his superiors, but it had rounded off the argument. He looked at his watch. I wonder if it's too late to see Mrs. Lexman, he said. I don't think any hour would be too late, suggested Mansus. You shall come and chaperone me, said his superior. But a disappointment awaited. Mrs. Lexman was not in, and neither the ringing at her electric bell nor vigorous applications to the knocker brought any response. The whole porter of the flats where she lived was under the impression that Mrs. Lexman had gone out of town. She frequently went out on Saturdays and returned on the Monday, and, he thought, occasionally on Tuesdays. It happened that this particular night was a Monday night, and TX was faced with a dilemma. The night porter, who had only the vaguest information on the subject, thought that the day porter might know more and aroused him from his sleep. Yes, Mrs. Lexman had gone. She went on the Sunday, an unusual day to pay a weekend visit, and had taken with her two bags. The porter ventured the opinion that she was rather excited, but when asked to define the symptoms, relapsed him to a chaos of incoherence you knows and what I means. I don't like this, said TX suddenly. Does anybody know that we have made these discoveries? Nobody outside the office, said Mansus. Unless, unless, unless what? asked the other irritably.   What is it? I am wondering, said Mansus slowly, if the landlord at Great James Street said anything. He knows we have made a search. We can easily find that out, said TX. They hailed a taxi and drove to Great James Street. That respectable thoroughfare was wrapped in sleep, and it was some time before the landlord could be aroused. Recognizing TX, he checked his sarcasm, which he had prepared for a keyless lodger, and led the way into the drawing room. You didn't tell me not to speak about it, Mr. Meredith, he said, in a grieved tone, and as a matter of fact, I have spoken to nobody except the gentleman who called the same day. What did he want, asked TX. He said he had only just discovered that Mr. Vassolaro had stayed with me, and he wanted to pay whatever rent was due, replied the other. What like of man was he, asked TX. The brief description the man gave sent a cold chill to the commissioner's heart. Kara for a Jew-cat, he said, and swore long and variously. Catigan Square, he ordered. His ring was answered promptly. Mr. Kara was out of town, had indeed been out of town since Saturday. This much the man servant explained with a suspicious eye upon his visitors, remembering that his predecessor had lost his job from a too-confinding friendliness with spurious electrical fitters. He did not know when Mr. Kara would return. Perhaps it would be a long time, and perhaps a short time. He might come back that night, or he might not. You're wasting your young life, said TX bitterly.  This settles the matter, he said, in the cab on the way back. Find out the first train for Tavistock in the morning, and wire the George Hotel to have a car waiting. Why not go out tonight, suggested the other. There is the midnight train. It is rather slow, but it will get you there by six or seven in the morning. Too late, he said, unless you can invent a method of getting from here to Paddington in about fifty seconds. The morning journey to Devonshire was a dispiriting one, despite the finest of the day. TX had an uncomfortable sense that something distressing had happened. The run across the moor in the fresh spring air revived him a little. As they spun down to the valley of the dart, Mansus touched his arm. Look at that, he said, and pointed to the blue heavens, where, a mile above their heads, a white-winged aeroplane, looking no larger than very distant dragonfly, shimmered in the sunlight. By Jove, said TX, what an excellent way for a man to escape. It's about the only way, said Mansus. The significance of the aeroplane was born upon TX a few minutes later, when he was held up by an armed guard. A glance at his card was enough to pass him. What is the matter, he asked? A prisoner has escaped, said the sentry. Escaped by an aeroplane? asked TX. I don't know anything about aeroplane, sir. All I know is that one of the working party got away. The car came to the gates of the prison, and TX sprang out, followed by his assistant. He had no difficulty in finding the governor, a greatly-protubed man, for an escape is a very serious matter. The official was inclined to be brusque in his manner, but again the magic card produced a soothing effect. I'm rather rattled, said the governor. One of my men has got away. I suppose you know that. And I'm afraid another of your men is going away, sir, said TX, who had curious reverence for military authority. He produced his paper and laid it out on the governor's table. This is an order for the release of John Lexman, convicted under sentence of fifteen years' penal servitude. The governor looked at it. Dated last night, he said, and breathed the sigh over the leaf. Thank the Lord, that is the man who escaped.


When looking at the income tax formula, we are once again looking at line one, that being income. Remembering that the first half of the income tax formula is in essence an income statement. Although a funny one, we've got income up top, the equivalent of deductions down below to get to the bottom line. Usually net income, but this time taxable income. Our objective being the opposite of a normal income statement, where we're trying to get the taxable income as low as possible. Installation for low income housing. As opposed to net income, we're typically trying to get as high as possible. So we're focused on the income line. So the question is, is this item we're thinking about, in this case, unemployment compensation, something that needs to be included in income, or is it exempt from income? Now unemployment compensation in its name says compensation. So you would think by that term, it might be something that would have to be included in income, but you also might think that this is kind of a welfare or benefit kind of program. So maybe it would kind of beat the purpose to get money from the government, which would then have to be taxed, and then you have to pay it back to the government. However, normally unemployment compensation is generally gonna be a taxable event. Obviously this happens when you're in employment and then you cease employment, and then the state in certain circumstances may be able to compensate you for that unemployment compensation, the general idea of that policy being that a sudden loss of employment can be kind of a shock. Employable or very employable? And you might need some temporary wages in order to find and seek and get employment elsewhere. So it's kind of supposed to help in that kind of transition period. But remember, there's a difference between the federal government and the state's government. So usually unemployment compensation isn't something that makes sense from a federal government standpoint because even if they were to apply that on a federal level, how would they possibly do that in a fair way given the fact that the states have different living conditions and so on through the cost of living itself is already a complicating factor that would make that a difficult situation. Usually those types of things happen on a state and local level, which makes a lot more sense to me to do that kind of thing, of course, at a state and local level. So you have a situation where there's an income from the state that, of course, could be an untaxable kind of event from the federal income tax type of system and that is generally what we have. Okay, so where would it be reported? We've got the line eight other income from schedule one and we've got the schedule one then where we have the unemployment compensation. We'll compensate money up front. Now, the unemployment compensation, you're generally gonna get a form just like you would for any other kind of potential income from if it was the state that gave you the unemployment and that form might be a 1099G type of form. Now, in prior years, due to the whole COVID pandemic type of thing, there was this whole weird thing with the unemployment where they tried to basically say that the unemployment or part of the unemployment is not gonna be includeable in income due to the whole crisis and due to them basically saying the government shutting people down. So obviously it's not your fault if the government shut says you cannot work due to social distancing and so on. So then they tried to say, well, we'll try to give a benefit to people by not having the unemployment they receive as a taxable event, but they kind of put that in a little bit late. So a lot of people still filed with the unemployment in place and then the government was trying to fix it, but that new law was not updated. So now we're back to the normal situation where the unemployment is gonna be included. Now also just note that unemployment for the last couple of years has also been an area where fraud has kind of come into play because we have all this people that are likely unemployed and the fraudsters came in and tried to take advantage to try to receive unemployment compensation for those who possibly didn't file for unemployment but possibly could qualify for the unemployment. So if you do receive like a 1099G, and you didn't get any unemployment, then you're gonna want to address that because somebody probably got paid unemployment and basically stole your identity, which means you've got an issue with regards to the state that they stole your identity and possibly if they could steal your identity there, they might be able to use your social security number and whatnot to file a fraudulent tax return. So you could take action on that. We saw a lot of like tax news last year that was concerned with this type of thing. So just be aware of that.