The Council Of Justice: “An intellectual is someone who has found something more interesting than sex.”
3.5/5
()
About this ebook
Richard Horatio Edgar Wallace was born on the 1st April 1875 in Greenwich, London. Leaving school at 12 because of truancy, by the age of fifteen he had experience; selling newspapers, as a worker in a rubber factory, as a shoe shop assistant, as a milk delivery boy and as a ship’s cook. By 1894 he was engaged but broke it off to join the Infantry being posted to South Africa. He also changed his name to Edgar Wallace which he took from Lew Wallace, the author of Ben-Hur. In Cape Town in 1898 he met Rudyard Kipling and was inspired to begin writing. His first collection of ballads, The Mission that Failed! was enough of a success that in 1899 he paid his way out of the armed forces in order to turn to writing full time. By 1904 he had completed his first thriller, The Four Just Men. Since nobody would publish it he resorted to setting up his own publishing company which he called Tallis Press. In 1911 his Congolese stories were published in a collection called Sanders of the River, which became a bestseller. He also started his own racing papers, Bibury’s and R. E. Walton’s Weekly, eventually buying his own racehorses and losing thousands gambling. A life of exceptionally high income was also mirrored with exceptionally large spending and debts. Wallace now began to take his career as a fiction writer more seriously, signing with Hodder and Stoughton in 1921. He was marketed as the ‘King of Thrillers’ and they gave him the trademark image of a trilby, a cigarette holder and a yellow Rolls Royce. He was truly prolific, capable not only of producing a 70,000 word novel in three days but of doing three novels in a row in such a manner. It was in, estimating that by 1928 one in four books being read was written by Wallace, for alongside his famous thrillers he wrote variously in other genres, including science fiction, non-fiction accounts of WWI which amounted to ten volumes and screen plays. Eventually he would reach the remarkable total of 170 novels, 18 stage plays and 957 short stories. Wallace became chairman of the Press Club which to this day holds an annual Edgar Wallace Award, rewarding ‘excellence in writing’. Diagnosed with diabetes his health deteriorated and he soon entered a coma and died of his condition and double pneumonia on the 7th of February 1932 in North Maple Drive, Beverly Hills. He was buried near his home in England at Chalklands, Bourne End, in Buckinghamshire.
Edgar Wallace
Edgar Wallace (1875-1932) was a London-born writer who rose to prominence during the early twentieth century. With a background in journalism, he excelled at crime fiction with a series of detective thrillers following characters J.G. Reeder and Detective Sgt. (Inspector) Elk. Wallace is known for his extensive literary work, which has been adapted across multiple mediums, including over 160 films. His most notable contribution to cinema was the novelization and early screenplay for 1933’s King Kong.
Read more from Edgar Wallace
Big Book of Christmas Tales: 250+ Short Stories, Fairytales and Holiday Myths & Legends Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Terrible People Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Crimson Circle Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5The Angel of Terror Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA pénzhamisító - The Forger Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA bosszúálló - The Avenger Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA fekete kísértet - The Black Abbott Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Fourth Plague Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA sárga nárciszok rejtélye - The Daffodil Mystery Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK ®: 18 Tales of Doom Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5A mindentudó - The Man Who Knew Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA 13-as szoba - Room 13 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA smaragd nyaklánc - The Square Emerald Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsEdgar Wallace: The Complete Works Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related to The Council Of Justice
Related ebooks
The Council of Justice Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Four Just Men: “An intellectual is someone who has found something more interesting than sex.” Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Summons: 'Then he caught sight of a telegram'' Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Singing Bone (A Dr Thorndyke Mystery) Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Man-Stealers Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFrom This World To The Next: “I am content; that is a blessing greater than riches; and he to whom that is given need ask no more.” Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFather Brown Short Stories Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Man Stealers: 'The Hero, murdered, becomes a Saint'' Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHenry Dunbar Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Scarlet Pimpernel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans - A Sherlock Holmes Short Story Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Adventures Of Heine Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5American Notes Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Squeaker Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Major Haynes of the Secret Service: "'I do not like your habit,' said Haynes in Spanish and shot him through the mouth" Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWhy Spencer Perceval Had to Die: The Assassination of a British Prime Minister Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Man Called Jones Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Evil That Men Do: 'No one would question the fact of heredity'' Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHenry Dunbar: The Story of an Outcast Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsEurope and the Jews: The Pressure of Christendom on the People of Israel for 1,900 Years Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsIn the Fog Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Ultimate Mystery Collection of R. Austin Freeman Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings7 best short stories by G. K. Chesterton Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Mystery Of The Glass Bullet Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Old Man in the Corner Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDialogue with Death Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Shadow Over Innsmouth and Dagon Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Thrillers For You
Animal Farm Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Fairy Tale Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Leave the World Behind: A Read with Jenna Pick Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Pretty Girls: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Eyes of the Dragon Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Sympathizer: A Novel (Pulitzer Prize for Fiction) Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Mr. Mercedes: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Housemaid Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Shantaram: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Razorblade Tears: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Only Good Indians Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Institute: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Cryptonomicon Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I'm Thinking of Ending Things: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5You: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Troop Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Billy Summers Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Family Upstairs: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The It Girl Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Dry: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Cabin at the End of the World: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Last Flight: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Golden Spoon: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Whisper Man: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Perfect Marriage: A Completely Gripping Psychological Suspense Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Paris Apartment: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Finn Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Pet Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for The Council Of Justice
5 ratings6 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Four Just Men is a mystery by Edgar Wallace, one of the most popular writers in England in the early 20th century. The self-named Four Just Men are vigilantes of a sort, traveling to various parts of the world to correct what they perceive as slights to justice. They are in the business of righting wrongs, fatally so.In the particular tale told by Wallace they are acting atypically. They are proclaiming their intent publically and being pro-active, i.e. they threaten to commit an act of murder on a certain high minister in the British government, should the government pursue what they perceive to be an unjust course of action.As Wallace's tale unfolds we see the history of the Four Just Men emerge and begin to understand the motives for their actions. Cases of curious deaths now find that there is a thread linking them. That the Four Just Men are murderers is not in doubt, but the cases in which they have acted to appear to be egregious miscarriages of justice. Perhaps there is a just purpose in their course of action.Wallace's tale is well-told. There is a steady level of suspense but crafted in such a way as to be reasonably plausible. The outcome is never clear until the tale's very end. And you'll have to read for yourself, because it is too good to give away in a review!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5'The Four Just Men' of the title are a criminal group that only kill their victims under strict rules. Those who commit crimes,which are perhaps not seen as crimes by all,are their prey. They work under the most stringent codes of conduct such as delivering a number of warnings that if their crimes or conduct is changed,then the death threats will be removed.The British Foreign Secretary intends to pass a Bill which is thought by many to be flawed and which will do much harm. The Just Men give him his warnings which he intends to ignore although he is badly frightened.Edgar Wallace has once more given us a superb thriller of the 'Locked Room' type. An excellent read and one in which the Just Men excel.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Interesting twist to the mystery format - the book starts with the "4 just men" (vigilantes) planning the death of English minister Ramon and the murder doesn't occur until almost the very end.
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Really rather tedious. Sadly this novel hasn't aged well.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5An Anarchist group, the Red Hundreds, is meeting in London,, though apparently made up of Russian exiles, The Council istyin to opr
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5As is often the case with Edgar Wallace, not a lot of the plot really makes a hell of a lot of sense in this follow up to THE FOUR JUST MEN. It is, however, an interesting read as the story features a well organised group of terrorists threatening the safety of one of the most important cities of the world at the time, London, through an airborn attack by Zeppelin. Does that sound surprisingly familiar for a book written in 1908? The Zeppelins end up getting defeated by nothing more mundane than a bunch of well trained falcons. Also of interest: The story takes place in 1910, i.e. 2 years after the book was published, so a point could be made that we are dealing with a modest attempt at Science Fiction here.
Book preview
The Council Of Justice - Edgar Wallace
Edgar Wallace – The Council Of Justice
BOOK 2 IN THE JUST MEN SERIES
Richard Horatio Edgar Wallace was born on the 1st April 1875 in Greenwich, London. Leaving school at 12 because of truancy, by the age of fifteen he had experience; selling newspapers, as a worker in a rubber factory, as a shoe shop assistant, as a milk delivery boy and as a ship’s cook.
By 1894 he was engaged but broke it off to join the Infantry being posted to South Africa. He also changed his name to Edgar Wallace which he took from Lew Wallace, the author of Ben-Hur.
In Cape Town in 1898 he met Rudyard Kipling and was inspired to begin writing. His first collection of ballads, The Mission that Failed! was enough of a success that in 1899 he paid his way out of the armed forces in order to turn to writing full time.
By 1904 he had completed his first thriller, The Four Just Men. Since nobody would publish it he resorted to setting up his own publishing company which he called Tallis Press.
In 1911 his Congolese stories were published in a collection called Sanders of the River, which became a bestseller. He also started his own racing papers, Bibury’s and R. E. Walton’s Weekly, eventually buying his own racehorses and losing thousands gambling. A life of exceptionally high income was also mirrored with exceptionally large spending and debts.
Wallace now began to take his career as a fiction writer more seriously, signing with Hodder and Stoughton in 1921. He was marketed as the ‘King of Thrillers’ and they gave him the trademark image of a trilby, a cigarette holder and a yellow Rolls Royce. He was truly prolific, capable not only of producing a 70,000 word novel in three days but of doing three novels in a row in such a manner. It was in, estimating that by 1928 one in four books being read was written by Wallace, for alongside his famous thrillers he wrote variously in other genres, including science fiction, non-fiction accounts of WWI which amounted to ten volumes and screen plays. Eventually he would reach the remarkable total of 170 novels, 18 stage plays and 957 short stories.
Wallace became chairman of the Press Club which to this day holds an annual Edgar Wallace Award, rewarding ‘excellence in writing’.
Diagnosed with diabetes his health deteriorated and he soon entered a coma and died of his condition and double pneumonia on the 7th of February 1932 in North Maple Drive, Beverly Hills. He was buried near his home in England at Chalklands, Bourne End, in Buckinghamshire.
Index Of Contents
Chapter I. The Red Hundred
Chapter II. The Fourth Man
Chapter III. Jessen, Alias Long
Chapter IV. The Red Bean
Chapter V. The Council of Justice
Chapter VI. Princess Revolutionary
Chapter VII. The Government and Mr. Jessen
Chapter VIII. An Incident in the Fight
Chapter IX. The Four v. The Hundred
Chapter X. The Trial
Chapter XI. Manfred
Chapter XII. In Wandsworth Gaol
Chapter XIII. The 'Rational Faithers'
Chapter XIV. At the Old Bailey
Chapter XV. Chelmsford
Chapter XVI. The Execution
Edgar Wallace – A Short Biography
Edgar Wallace – A Concise Bibliography
I — THE RED HUNDRED
It is not for you or me to judge Manfred and his works. I say 'Manfred', though I might as well have said 'Gonsalez', or for the matter of that 'Poiccart', since they are equally guilty or great according to the light in which you view their acts. The most lawless of us would hesitate to defend them, but the greater humanitarian could scarcely condemn them.
From the standpoint of us, who live within the law, going about our business in conformity with the code, and unquestioningly keeping to the left or to the right as the police direct, their methods were terrible, indefensible, revolting.
It does not greatly affect the issue that, for want of a better word, we call them criminals. Such would be mankind's unanimous designation, but I think, indeed, I know, that they were indifferent to the opinions of the human race. I doubt very much whether they expected posterity to honour them.
Their action towards the cabinet minister was murder, pure and simple. Yet, in view of the large humanitarian problems involved, who would describe it as pernicious?
Frankly I say of the three men who killed Sir Philip Ramon, and who slew ruthlessly in the name of Justice, that my sympathies are with them. There are crimes for which there is no adequate punishment, and offences that the machinery of the written law cannot efface. Therein lies the justification for the Four Just Men, the Council of Justice as they presently came to call themselves a council of great intellects, passionless.
And not long after the death of Sir Philip and while England still rang with that exploit, they performed an act or a series of acts that won not alone from the Government of Great Britain, but from the Governments of Europe, a sort of unofficial approval and Falmouth had his wish. For here they waged war against great world-criminals--they pitted their strength, their cunning, and their wonderful intellects against the most powerful organization of the underworld--against past masters of villainous arts, and brains equally agile.
It was the day of days for the Red Hundred. The wonderful international congress was meeting in London, the first great congress of recognized Anarchism. This was no hole-and-corner gathering of hurried men speaking furtively, but one open and unafraid with three policemen specially retained for duty outside the hall, a commissionaire to take tickets at the outer lobby, and a shorthand writer with a knowledge of French and Yiddish to make notes of remarkable utterances.
The wonderful congress was a fact. When it had been broached there were people who laughed at the idea; Niloff of Vitebsk was one because he did not think such openness possible. But little Peter (his preposterous name was Konoplanikova, and he was a reporter on the staff of the foolish Russkoye Znamza), this little Peter who had thought out the whole thing, whose idea it was to gather a conference of the Red Hundred in London, who hired the hall and issued the bills (bearing in the top left-hand corner the inverted triangle of the Hundred) asking those Russians in London interested in the building of a Russian Sailors' Home to apply for tickets, who, too, secured a hall where interruption was impossible, was happy, yea, little brothers, it was a great day for Peter.
'You can always deceive the police,' said little Peter enthusiastically; 'call a meeting with a philanthropic object and—voila!'
Wrote Inspector Falmouth to the assistant commissioner of police:—
Your respected communication to hand. The meeting to be held tonight at the Phoenix Hall, Middlesex Street, E., with the object of raising funds for a Russian Sailors' Home is, of course, the first international congress of the Red Hundred. Shall not be able to get a man inside, but do not think that matters much, as meeting will be engaged throwing flowers at one another and serious business will not commence till the meeting of the inner committee. I inclose a list of men already arrived in London, and have the honour to request that you will send me portraits of under-mentioned men.
There were three delegates from Baden, Herr Schmidt from Frieburg, Herr Bleaumeau from Karlsruhe, and Herr Von Dunop from Mannheim. They were not considerable persons, even in the eyes of the world of Anarchism; they called for no particular notice, and therefore the strange thing that happened to them on the night of the congress is all the more remarkable.
Herr Schmidt had left his pension in Bloomsbury and was hurrying eastward. It was a late autumn evening and a chilly rain fell, and Herr Schmidt was debating in his mind whether he should go direct to the rendezvous where he had promised to meet his two compatriots, or whether he should call a taxi and drive direct to the hall, when a hand grasped his arm.
He turned quickly and reached for his hip pocket. Two men stood behind him and but for themselves the square through which he was passing was deserted.
Before he could grasp the Browning pistol, his other arm was seized and the taller of the two men spoke.
'You are Augustus Schmidt?' he asked.
'That is my name.'
'You are an anarchist?'
'That is my affair.'
'You are at present on your way to a meeting of the Red Hundred?'
Herr Schmidt opened his eyes in genuine astonishment.
'How did you know that?' he asked.
'I am Detective Simpson from Scotland Yard, and I shall take you into custody,' was the quiet reply.
'On what charge?' demanded the German.
'As to that I shall tell you later.'
The man from Baden shrugged his shoulders.
'I have yet to learn that it is an offence in England to hold opinions.'
A closed motor-car entered the square, and the shorter of the two whistled and the chauffeur drew up near the group.
The anarchist turned to the man who had arrested him.
'I warn you that you shall answer for this,' he said wrathfully. 'I have an important engagement that you have made me miss through your foolery and—'
'Get in!' interrupted the tall man tersely.
Schmidt stepped into the car and the door snapped behind him.
He was alone and in darkness. The car moved on and then Schmidt discovered that there were no windows to the vehicle. A wild idea came to him that he might escape. He tried the door of the car; it was immovable. He cautiously tapped it. It was lined with thin sheets of steel.
'A prison on wheels,' he muttered with a curse, and sank back into the corner of the car.
He did not know London; he had not the slightest idea where he was going. For ten minutes the car moved along. He was puzzled. These policemen had taken nothing from him, he still retained his pistol. They had not even attempted to search him for compromising documents. Not that he had any except the pass for the conference and the Inner Code!
Heavens! He must destroy that. He thrust his hand into the inner pocket of his coat. It was empty. The thin leather case was gone! His face went grey, for the Red Hundred is no fanciful secret society but a bloody-minded organization with less mercy for bungling brethren than for its sworn enemies. In the thick darkness of the car his nervous fingers groped through all his pockets. There was no doubt at all, the papers had gone.
In the midst of his search the car stopped. He slipped the flat pistol from his pocket. His position was desperate and he was not the kind of man to shirk a risk.
Once there was a brother of the Red Hundred who sold a password to the Secret Police. And the brother escaped from Russia. There was a woman in it, and the story is a mean little story that is hardly worth the telling. Only, the man and the woman escaped, and went to Baden, and Schmidt recognized them from the portraits he had received from headquarters, and one night... You understand that there was nothing clever or neat about it. English newspapers would have described it as a 'revolting murder', because the details of the crime were rather shocking. The thing that stood to Schmidt s credit in the books of the Society was that the murderer was undiscovered.
The memory of this episode came back to the anarchist as the car stopped, perhaps this was the thing the police had discovered? Out of the dark corners of his mind came the scene again, and the voice of the man... 'Don't! don't! O Christ! don't!' and Schmidt sweated...
The door of the car opened and he slipped back the cover of his pistol.
'Don't shoot,' said a quiet voice in the gloom outside, 'here are some friends of yours.'
He lowered his pistol, for his quick ears detected a wheezing cough.
'Von Dunop!' he cried in astonishment.
'And Herr Bleaumeau,' said the same voice. 'Get in, you two.'
Two men stumbled into the car, one dumbfounded and silent, save for the wheezing cough, the other blasphemous and voluble.
'Wait, my friend!' raved the bulk of Bleaumeau; 'wait! I will make you sorry’
The door shut and the car moved on.
The two men outside watched the vehicle with its unhappy passengers disappear round a corner and then walked slowly away.
'Extraordinary men,' said the taller.
'Most,' replied the other, and then, 'Von Dunop, isn't he—?'
'The man who threw the bomb at the Swiss President, yes.'
The shorter man smiled in the darkness.
'Given a conscience, he is enduring his hour,' he said.
The pair walked on in silence and turned into Oxford Street as the clock of a church struck eight.
The tall man lifted his walking-stick and a sauntering taxi pulled up at the curb.
'Aldgate,' he said, and the two men took their seats.
Not until the taxi was spinning along Newgate Street did either of the men speak, and then the shorter asked:
'You are thinking about the woman?'
The other nodded and his companion relapsed into silence; then he spoke again:
'She is a problem and a difficulty, in a way, yet she is the most dangerous of the lot. And the curious thing about it is that if she were not beautiful and young she would not be a problem at all. We're very human, George. God made us illogical that the minor businesses of life should not interfere with the great scheme. And the great scheme is that animal men should select animal women for the mothers of their children.'
'Venenum in auro bibitur,' the other quoted, which shows that he was an extraordinary detective, 'and so far as I am concerned it matters little to me whether an irresponsible homicide is a beautiful woman or a misshapen negro.'
They dismissed the taxi at Aldgate Station and turned into Middlesex Street.
The meeting-place of the great congress was a hall which was originally erected by an enthusiastic Christian gentleman with a weakness for the conversion of Jews to the New Presbyterian Church, With this laudable object it had been opened with great pomp and the singing of anthems and the enthusiastic proselytizer had spoken on that occasion two hours and forty minutes by the clock.
After twelve months' labour the Christian gentleman discovered that the advantages of Christianity only appeal