Edgar Wallace

“ On the other side of the mystery door a man crouched, with his ear against the panel: a thin man, whose emaciated face was pink with silent laughter. Fear amused the gaunt man—he who had never known fear; who had taken graver risks, more terrifying than any of his kind.
"Meister, change your plans!"
The warning ring in John Lenley's voice was unmistakable.
"Change your plans about Mary—or I'll get you before the Ringer."
"You're crazy!" gasped Meister. "What have I to be afraid of? Didn't I look after him—didn't I defend him in the police court, and brief the best attorney at the Old Bailey? ”

“ Other men have tried it, and where are they now? Where is Bill Palmer? Where is Lew Morley, who was going to do this and that to me? Where is the Ringer—"
"In London," snapped the other, and Meister reeled back.
"That's a lie!" he breathed.
"Here in London!" Lenley's fist came down on the table. "Meister, you know it—I can see the proof in your face!"
Frozen with horror, the lawyer could only lick his lips, the white lips that moved without sound.
"It's a lie," he said at last in a strangled voice. "The Ringer is in Australia—he wouldn't dare show his face in London! ”

“ And then London and the stink and grime of Flanders Lane would know him no more: he would find fields where he could work without the supervision of an overarmed guard, and with the knowledge that peace and comfort lay at his day's end. ”