The Four Just Men
By Edgar Wallace.
Imprint
This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain.
This particular ebook is based on a transcription from Faded Page and on digital scans from the Internet Archive.
The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook.
Standard Ebooks is a volunteer-driven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org.
I
Thery’s Trade
Four men sat about a table on the sidewalk in front of the Café of the Nations in the High Street of Cádiz and talked business.
Leon Gonsalez was one, Poiccart was another, George Manfred was a notable third, and one Thery, or Saimont, was the fourth. Of this quartet, only Thery requires no introduction to the student of contemporary history. In the Bureau of Public Affairs you will find his record. As Thery, alias Saimont, he is registered and to all students of Criminology and Physiognomy, he must need no introduction.
He sat at the little table, this man, obviously ill at ease, pinching his fat cheeks, smoothing his shaggy eyebrows, fingering the white scar on his unshaven chin, doing all the things that the lower classes do when they suddenly find themselves placed on terms of equality with their betters.
For although Gonsalez, with the light blue eyes and the restless hands, and Poiccart, heavy, saturnine, and suspicious, and George Manfred, with his grey shot beard and single eyeglass, were less famous in the criminal world, each was a great man, as you shall learn.
Manfred laid down the Heraldo de Madrid, removed his eyeglass, rubbed it with a spotless handkerchief, and laughed quietly.
“These Russians are droll,” he commented.
Poiccart frowned and reached for the newspaper. “Who is it—this time?”
“A Governor of one of the Southern Provinces.”
“Killed?”
Manfred’s moustache curled in scornful derision.
“Bah! Who ever killed a man with a bomb! Yes, yes; I know it has been done—but so clumsy, so primitive, so very much like undermining a city wall that it may fall and slay—amongst others—your enemy.”
Poiccart was reading the telegram deliberately and without haste, after his fashion.
“The Prince was severely injured and the would-be assassin lost an arm,” he read, and pursed his lips disapprovingly. The hands of Gonsalez, never still, opened and shut nervously, which was Leon’s sign of perturbation.
“Our friend here”—Manfred jerked his head in the direction of Gonsalez and laughed—“our friend has a conscience and—”
“Only once,” interrupted Leon quickly, “and not by my wish; you remember, Manfred; you remember, Poiccart”—he did not address Thery—“I advised against it. You remember?” He seemed anxious to exculpate himself from the unspoken charge. “It was a miserable little thing, and I was in Madrid,” he went on breathlessly, “and they came to me, some men from a factory at Barcelona. They said what they were going to do, and I was horror-stricken at their ignorance of the elements of the laws of chemistry. I wrote down the ingredients and the proportions, and begged them, yes, almost on my knees, to use some other method. ‘My children,’ I said, ‘you are playing with something that even chemists are afraid to handle. If the owner of the factory is a bad man, by all means exterminate him, shoot him, wait on him after he has dined and is slow and dull, and present a petition with the right hand and—with the left hand—so’!”
Leon twisted his knuckles down and struck forward and upward at an imaginary oppressor. “But they would listen to nothing I had to say.”
Manfred stirred the glass of creamy liquid that stood at his elbow, and nodded his head with an amused twinkle in his grey eyes.
“I remember—several people died, and the principal witness at the trial of the expert in explosives was the man for whom the bomb was intended.”
Thery cleared his throat as if to speak, and the three looked at him curiously. There was some resentment in Thery’s voice.
“I do not profess to be a great man like you, señors. Half the time I don’t understand what you are talking about—you speak of governments and kings and constitutions and causes. If a man does me an injury I smash his head”—he hesitated, “I do not know how to say it … but I mean … well, you kill people without hating them, men who have not hurt you. Now, that is not my way. …” He hesitated again, tried to collect his thoughts, looked intently at the middle of the roadway, shook his head and relapsed into silence.
The others looked at him, then at one another, and each man smiled. Manfred took a bulky case from his
