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1.
When Evelyn had at last removed the traces of her muddy adventure, she hurried into the saloon. She was ashamed that in the presence of the great scientist she had been so flustered, and had cast down her eyes like a silly schoolgirl. When she had finished her dinner, she went straight back to her cabin. She prepared to go to bed, but instead sat down by the porthole and read.
She had never before spent a night at sea. The Channel, as usual, was a bit rough, and she began to feel giddy. She therefore put down her book and went out to take a walk in the fresh air. It was a dark and foggy night and there was not another soul on deck.
She walked towards the stern and, feeling a little better, turned back. The ship seemed to be abandoned, as if she were the only passenger. Nor did she see a single deck-hand. In the eerie silence she listened to her own footsteps. She began to hurry. She could hear the echo of her footsteps. Then her heart leapt into her mouth as she realised that the echo was ahead of her. She stopped dead in her tracks and saw at the end of the empty corridor a man waiting outside her cabin. It was the ex-convict!
Her hand flew to her heart, and she stifled the scream that rose to her lips. She began to reassure herself that she could not be attacked here, on a cross-channel boat. But all her reasoning was in vain. She was exhausted by the exciting events and now, alone, she gave way to panic.
Ahead, the bald-headed man continued to stand, feet wide apart, outside the door of her cabin, and for a fleeting second she made out the disfiguring scar on his nose.
With a sudden resolve, she moved forward, but faltered immediately as she saw with what determination her enemy remained at his post.
Under the door of the nearest state-room she could see a faint bar of light. Shuddering with fear, scarcely knowing what she was doing, breathless and blind with panic she flung open the door, fell upon the slumbering figure within, and said in trembling tones:
"My name is Evelyn Weston. Please allow me to spend the night here in your state-room... I am being followed!"
2.
When Lord Bannister realised the identity of the young lady by whom he had been so rudely awakened, he could scarcely have been more perturbed had he been confronted by the stuffed rhinoceros that dwelt in his London home and found himself invited by that animal to a friendly game of poker. In fact it would have been a welcome alternative to his present predicament for the eminent scientist was more likely to have known what to say to a card-playing rhino than to the lady in the heliotrope pyjamas who called herself Evelyn Weston, and was trying to run away from some great danger in her bedroom slippers.
However, there was one thing he knew he must do in the presence of a lady and that was to extricate himself from his chair forthwith; such an enterprise was not without its hazards and at his first cautious movement, his most persistent enemy, his tea-cup, crashed to the floor. At the same moment he found that the table-cloth was rising with him, suspended by a thread from his waistcoat buttons so that the sugar basin and the spirit stove tumbled to one side while his book was flung to the other side taking with it a large bottle from which the friendly rum began to trickle across the floor of the cabin, lapping up the sugar as it went and soaking the carpet in syrupy mud.
"What can I do for you?" asked Lord Bannister, polite even in his despair. The girl looked with dazed eyes at the wrecked state-room but scarcely seemed to notice the havoc for which she was responsible.
"I... I wonder," she said, "if you'd mind if I stay in here for the rest of the crossing? We'll be there soon, anyway... I am being followed."
"Perhaps you would allow me to escort you back to your state-room?"
"Oh, no! By no means! I mustn't let you leave your room... I couldn't have you run into trouble... on my account! There is a murderer lying in wait for me! One of them just served a sentence of six years... Oh, I'm sorry... I... I think I'd better go away after all..." And she began to move towards the door.
Then at last the eminent scientist observed that the girl was shaking like a leaf. He could not let her go; he took her hand and found it cold as ice.
"Please sit down. First, you must have a spot of whisky." When she was sitting in Lord Bannister's comfortable chair with an empty glass in her hand the girl in the heliotrope pyjamas felt considerably less uneasy. Lord Bannister's alarm, on the other hand, was increasing every minute.
"I don't think... this is quite in order, you know," he began, for the awful impropriety of the situation was beginning to weigh upon his mind.
"But I am being followed by a murderer... He is waiting outside this room," Evelyn stammered. "I daren't even go as far as my cabin."
"But you can't stay in my state-room all night in your pyjamas... That wouldn't do your reputation much good. And besides, I have strong views about what is morally permissible."
"You are right, Lord Bannister," she whispered bravely and started for the door; but she presented such a pitiful sight that the scientist once again barred her way.
"I can't let you go away like that." He walked up and down nervously, jingling a few coins in his pocket as he struggled with the question of what was morally permissible. "There's nothing wrong, I suppose, in your spending a few hours with a physician when you are in such a state of nervous agitation. Sit down, please. It will soon be daybreak and then we will be arriving at Calais." He had been speaking in his most formal and scientific tones and so he added in a more friendly manner: "I am sorry to seem so nervous... You mustn't take it amiss... After all, you can't expect to walk in and out of a man's state-room as if it were a pub."
He was rather annoyed. Without more ado, he seated himself at the table, picked up his book and began to read. Evelyn was overcome with shame and sat watching him sadly. Then she knelt on the rug and began to pick up the pieces of broken glass. Lord Bannister could not resist a sidelong glance at her as she worked nor could he reject the thought that she certainly looked like a lady, though there could be little doubt that she was an adventuress - or worse.
"Don't trouble yourself," he said. "The steward will clear all that away in the morning."
"I am really awfully sorry..."
"Please. We must dismiss this catastrophe from our minds. It can't be helped now. This couple of hours will pass, and I hope there'll be no gossiping... That would be exceedingly unpleasant... By the way, Miss Weston, just why are you being followed, may I ask?"
"I am looking for an old family jewel. And I'm being followed by a murderer who has accidentally discovered where the jewel has been hidden."
"Then I am very sorry for you. Generally speaking, I can feel only pity for people who waste energy and emotion on transient pleasures and vanities of this world. Money, family jewels... If you had studied philosophy, Miss Weston, you would be acquainted with Aristotle's maxim 'That which is not eternal is not true'."
"I have studied philosophy, Lord Bannister, and I am afraid that maxim was formulated, so far as I know, not by Aristotle, but by Hermes Trismegistos."
There was a painful pause. Lord Bannister was assailed by doubt and the unhappy conviction that he was not in a position to argue. His suffering was acute and his reply correspondingly frigid.
"This is hardly the time for a scholarly discussion. I am not under the impression that it is for such a purpose that I am entertaining you."
He pored over his book anew. A gentleman may have a duty to rescue damsels in distress - even damsels who only claim to be in distress. But he is not called upon to converse with them - especially if they have the temerity to correct a fellow's quotations, and still less if they have the impertinence to be right. He looked so severe that Evelyn became thoroughly alarmed. She sat down in an armchair behind him and said not another word.
The scientist seemed to be absorbed in his book but in fact he was not reading. He felt angry with the woman. For the second time his peace had been shattered by this blonde whirlwind. For the second time he had felt the shock of her lightning appearance. He didn't care for women who rushed upon him like a hurricane.
Yes, a hurricane was just the word for her! He had experienced the sultry calm before the storm when the tropical leaves stir lazily and the air is still and tense with heat; and he had experienced the shock of the ensuing hurricane.
What mischief was she brewing now? But the minutes passed, there was no sound from behind his back and it was gradually borne in upon him that he was being a little too severe with this scholarly whirlwind. He began to wonder if he had really frightened her and to suspect that she was in silent tears.
He looked round intending to give her a friendly word, and found his visitor - fast asleep.
She was sleeping with parted lips, her head cradled in the corner of the big chair - like a child.
He was obliged to admit that the girl looked very pretty in that charming child-like pose.
He even murmured this thought aloud, then went on with his reading, looking up from time to time to cast an uneasy sidelong glance at Evelyn. But she slept as only the young can sleep.
3.
For the next hour and a half Evelyn slept uninterruptedly, while Lord Bannister continued to read - with a good many interruptions.
With the first light of dawn Lord Bannister grew restless. They would soon be at Calais. It was time to get her back to her cabin before the other passengers woke up and began to move about the ship.
"Miss Weston."
She started up in alarm. Then as she took in her strange surroundings and realised the awful impropriety of her situation she began to blush with shame. Her nerves must have been frayed indeed for her to have felt such an unreasonable fear of Gordon that she had not hesitated to seek shelter in his unseemly fashion. She began to apologise again. "Oh, I am so frightfully sorry. I apologise..."
"I have no illusions about the nervous system of the Modern Woman," he answered, with a slight gesture of deprecation. "Now make haste to your cabin and don't let anyone catch a glimpse of you on the way."
He opened the door for her and stood beside her in the passage. And it was there that Fate now dealt him her unkindest blow. It was a blow timed with devilish cunning and aimed with the precision of a well-rehearsed actor. For Evelyn and her reluctant host now found themselves face to face with the mayor, his garrulous helpmate and P. J. Holler, a trio of nature-lovers all waiting to catch a glimpse of the rising sun. But no sunrise could have pleased them more than the appearance of Lord Bannister and his charming young companion in her heliotrope pyjamas. The scientist's stern face betrayed none of the anxious thoughts which now invaded his mind. He preserved a dignified silence broken at last by the mayor. "Ah, vous voilà, milord!" he cried. "You too come to see ze rizing of ze sun. And, I am happy to observe that Lady Bannister also is an admirer of ze nature!"
Meanwhile Pest Holler had already taken advantage of the first rays of the sun to photograph the embarrassed couple and now had the effrontery to come up to them and introduce himself.
"I am sure glad to meet you, Lady Bannister! P. J. Holler, of Provincial Papers, at your service, ma'am!"
The mayor, too, made so bold as to introduce himself and then presented his burbling wife. Never for a moment did it occur to them that the lady who had emerged from the scientist's state-room could be anyone other than Lady Bannister. Evelyn did not dare to speak and Lord Bannister could only produce a few inarticulate murmurs. By the time they recovered their composure, the trio had moved tactfully away, belatedly aware, as they now realised, that Lady Bannister could not have enjoyed being interviewed in her pyjamas.
The mayoress became voluble in her reproaches; she was shocked by her husband's effrontery.
Left to themselves, Evelyn was apologising all over again. "Oh dear, what have I done? What have I done now," she moaned.
"My dear Miss Weston, you are something of a hurricane, only more dangerous. Don't you realise what you have done? I have just divorced my wife without incurring any publicity. And these people are now convinced that you are my wife. We shall have to make them realise their mistake immediately..."
"But Lord Bannister! What will they think of me? And what will they think of you? I hope I am speaking to a gentleman and that you are aware that it is your duty to guard my reputation?"
"I am sorry, Miss Weston, I have no intention of marrying again."
"I am not thinking of anything so drastic. It will be quite enough to put matters right if we leave the boat together at Calais. We must be nearly there now. In the meantime they may as well go on believing that I am your wife. You can thus keep the secret of your divorce. As soon as we have landed and your friends have departed I shall thank you for your chivalrous conduct and promise that you will not see me again."
"Your hand on it," agreed the noble scientist.
Miss Weston's ingenuity thus reduced Lord Bannister's public ordeal to those few moments when together they said their good-byes to the press magnate, the mayor and his wife, who, however, insisted on miladying Evelyn so much that it was the scientist's turn to blush with shame. Their own moment of parting came at last. The splendid Alfa-Romeo, which Lord Bannister had bought only a few days previously, was hoisted to the quayside; Evelyn told the porter to take her luggage to the express for Paris. Then they said good-bye to each other.
"Thank you very much indeed... and I'm very sorry," she said.
Then, slowly and sadly, she walked away.
Lord Bannister gazed after her, wondering not a little. She was an unusual girl, he decided, and really very charming. He almost missed her... even though she had made such a mess of his future. He would have to rack his brain for some lie to explain why his wife was not with him in Paris. Lord Bannister hated lies - first of all because he thought they were the cause of much inconvenience, and as we know, he had a distinct preference for peace and quiet. All the same, she was rather nice... And he saw her in his mind's eye as she was sleeping - parted lips, head on one side; like a child.
4.
Evelyn huddled sorrowfully in a corner of the Pullman. She had been with the scientist for only a few hours, but during that time she had acquired a sense of security; she had been a damsel in distress and she had been rescued by a man. Now once more she was on her own.
There were few passengers on the train, and she had managed to find a seat in an empty compartment. A cheerful countryside rushed past the window; meadows and copses were regularly followed by wayside stations which her tram saluted with curt whistles.
The compartment door swung open.
"May I come in?"
The man who entered was tall, bald-headed, and there was a disfiguring scar on his nose.
But the ex-convict no longer filled Evelyn with terror. Her panic during the previous night had been the result of extreme fatigue; she was no coward and though she quailed a little, she remained calm.
She nodded curtly in answer to his question thus indicating that she had no desire to enter into conversation with the man. Pointedly, she continued to look out of the window.
A few goats were nibbling at the sparse tussocks of grass on the embankment.
"You are making a big mistake, Miss Weston. It's bad policy not to have a chat with me. It would pay you to get to know the other folks in the game."
"I have no need to get to know you," she replied coolly, "since I know you already. You are Charles Gordon, recently released from Dartmoor Prison, and are now making an attempt to steal the late Jimmy Hogan's legacy. That's what you mean by 'the game,' I take it."
The crook smiled.
"If it was in fact my intention to steal the Buddha, I should take good care to avoid you. Why, if it should happen to be stolen I would be the first person you would suspect and you'd certainly run to the police with my description." She had to admit that what he said made sound sense. "What is it you want, then?" He produced a cigarette-case. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all."
"I propose that we come to terms. With all my experience and ingenuity at your disposal you would have a much better chance of finding the statuette than you would by yourself. For, naturally, you won't be able to get hold of the diamond by wholly lawful means. The diamond is your lawful property, it is true; and there's nothing illegal about your attempt to gain possession of it. But first you have to gain possession of something that does not belong to you - the statuette. I don't suppose you would want the owner of the Buddha to know your little secret, so the only thing you can do is to steal it. And for such an enterprise, I may say without immodesty that, as a felon and criminal, I have an outstanding record of achievement for which Scotland Yard could provide me with excellent references. It would be childish of you - to put it mildly - to turn down my offer, which I'd consider, of course, on a fifty per cent basis."
"If I understand you right, you want to enter into partnership with me."
"That's right."
"Can I speak plainly with you?"
"Delicacy of feeling is something that can always be dispensed with in my profession."
"Right. Then you can take it from me that there is in this world no diamond beautiful enough, and no bequest substantial enough, to induce me to enter into partnership with a rascal."
The ex-convict looked out of the window, lost in thought, and took a few deep pulls at his cigarette.
"I didn't know that you were a woman of such strict principles."
"Now you know."
"There is yet another aspect of this matter which you may care to consider. Naturally, I want to get hold of the statuette whether you help me or not. And I am not in any position to pick and choose my method. I may have to rob you, knock you out, or even murder you. After all, if we fail to come to an agreement, I shall not be bound by the ordinary decencies, or any notions about fair play."
"No, probably you won't. And now that we know where we stand in this matter, you will be good enough to find yourself a seat in some other compartment."
"Let me tell you just one more thing."
An unpleasantly mauve tint began to suffuse the brow of the ex-convict.
"Do you seriously believe you have the ghost of a chance against me?" he shouted. "Why, you can see that I'm already just as far advanced on the trail as you are and I haven't even seen the ledger."
"Yes, because you've been following me."
"And I shall continue to follow you."
Evelyn shrugged her shoulders.
"Sooner or later, I hope I shall find a way of throwing you off the scent. But if I don't, you can have the diamond for yourself." She moved as if to get up. "Do you wish me to pull the communication cord?"
"No. I'm going now. But I warn you that you'd be wise to hand over the sales ledger you've got in your suitcase." He did not explain that he had noticed the ledger when she had opened her luggage in the customs shed. The ledger was in her small yellow leather trunk. "I'll go half and half with you, if you let me see it..."
"I shall now count three and if you've not gone then, I shall pull the cord."
Gordon rose quickly and nodded.
"See you again."
"One... Two..."
The compartment door closed behind him.
Gordon retreated to a distant third-class compartment where his friends were waiting for him. For this venture he had taken two old cronies into partnership and they were all travelling together.
"She's digging her toes in," Gordon reported to Crony No. I. "As arranged, then, Rainer."
Rainer, a sad-looking, grey-haired gentleman wearing pince-nez who might have passed for a commercial traveller but was in fact a specialist in robbery with violence, responded in rather peevish tones.
"All right, all right," he said. "I'll see about it. Have you got this morning's paper by any chance?"
5.
Evelyn was in fact less composed than she appeared. It was all too probable that her own chance of success was slight in an undertaking in which she was opposed by Charles Gordon with his excellent references for robbery with violence.
But what was she to do? She wanted to secure her rightful possession but surely it would be unpardonable to enlist the help of a man with a criminal record? She shuddered at the thought of working with a murderer. What was it Uncle Marius used to say? "Integrity is like the fee for a Gentleman's Tailor - not to be bargained over."
Well, she thought, let the future look after itself! She would fight single-handed.
She could always go to the police; and she might even come across a gentleman to protect her in her hour of need. If not, poverty might be her lot once more.
In any case, what could they do to her, she wondered, scornfully.
She received an answer to this question when the train arrived at Paris. There, a short, grey-haired porter seized her small yellow-leather trunk and dashed away towards the exit, and Evelyn went on standing beside her second trunk, waiting for the porter to return.
But the minutes passed and the porter did not return. In fact Evelyn did not see him again, nor her yellow trunk containing the sales ledger. Had Evelyn travelled third-class she would have realised that the grey-haired luggage porter and Rainer were one and the same person. Just before the train drew into Paris the respectable-looking murderer had transformed his appearance by donning the peaked cap and tunic of a French porter.
"What a lucky thing," Evelyn was ruminating, "that I tore the vital page out of the book and stowed it away in my writing-pad in the big trunk!"
Gordon's reaction was much less philosophical when, after carefully thumbing through the ledger a number of times, it dawned upon him that the entry for which he was looking, had been torn out and that Miss Weston had outwitted him.
"What I don't understand," said Rainer, after watching Gordon beat his head with both fists for several minutes, "is why you are so jumpy. We'll have to go on following her, that's all. Sooner or later we'll find out who she's looking for in Paris. And then we'll know who has the diamond."
"You're an optimist, aren't you. How do you know she won't fool us again?"
"I have an idea she won't. At the moment, we've put Beefy on her trail. Perhaps after her next move, we shan't even need the address, which we would already know if only you had been released a few hours earlier. That's the great drawback to life in jail: you can't leave it just when you choose. I say, where're you going to have lunch?"
Rainer's trick of suddenly firing trivial questions at a fellow without warning tended to send Gordon's blood pressure soaring.
"I'm not going to lunch anywhere, thank you. I'm fed up to the teeth already!"
"In that case I can recommend coffee, at the Cafe Rome. But you must go upstairs - it's a Turkish woman who makes the coffee there... Hullo! What's the idea?"
A bulky volume had whizzed past Rainer's head.
After lunch, they were rung up by Beefy at the Cafe Rome.
"She has taken forty different vehicles so far," Beefy reported. "It looks as if she knows she's being followed and she's up to every kind of trick to put us off the scent. Much good it did her. First she called at 7, Rue Mazarin, and from there she went to 12, Rue Salpetriere to see the manager of Columbus Travel Agency. She is still there now. I am speaking from a call-box across the street; I'm bound to see her from here when she comes out and I'll keep on her tail. Tell Gordon that at 7, Rue Mazarin, she inquired after a Mrs. Brandon, a widow, and was told that the flat was occupied by Edward Wilmington, the manager of the Columbus Agency. Either he's got the statuette or he can supply a clue. Perhaps it'd be a good idea if Gordon went to see this fellow Wilmington and ask him point blank if he's got the statuette."
"Right-o. I'll tell Gordon all. He'll be here any minute."
"Well, I must go. She's coming out now."
"Hallo!... Wait..."
"What d'you want?"
"Do you know if there's any racing on today?"
Without a word, Beefy hung up.
6.
At 7, Rue Mazarin, Evelyn obtained discouraging information. Lieutenant-Commander Brandon's mother had died six months previously. Soon afterwards, her daughter, Mrs. Wilmington, had died too. Since then, Mr. Wilmington had been in sole occupation of the flat. An unlucky sort of man, people said, to have lost mother-in-law and wife within such a short time.
Evelyn tried to lose herself in the crowds, travelling short distances in one vehicle after another. She looked back several times, but could not see Gordon. She decided that she had successfully evaded him.
But she was wrong.
Beefy had been dogging her all the time. However many times she looked back, he always made sure that she didn't see him. She noticed a rather flashy, monocled gentleman on the opposite pavement and watched him smiling at a little girl whose ball he had kindly retrieved from the gutter. He was a stupid looking muscular gentleman but Evelyn never guessed that he was Beefy who owed his nickname to the fact that he had more brawn than brain.
From Rue Mazarin, Evelyn hurried to the Columbus Travel Agency and before long she was sitting in Mr. Wilmington's office.
The manager was a slim, well-dressed gentleman with greying hair, penetrating blue eyes and a youthful complexion. So this was the brother-in-law of the unfortunate Lieutenant-Commander Brandon and, very likely, the owner of the £ 1,000,000 statuette.
"My name is Evelyn Weston."
"What can I do for you, Miss Weston?"
"I am looking for an old family relic. It is a small, rather ornate casket surmounted by a ceramic statuette representing Buddha with head bowed."
"I know that statuette."
"I understand that it was purchased by Commander Brandon fifteen years ago, and passed subsequently into the possession of Mrs. Brandon, who died recently..."
"Oh, I think I know what you are looking for. That ceramic statuette must be among the works of art left by my late mother-in-law. She was very fond of that kind of thing. Now all her belongings are in my flat."
Evelyn spoke hesitatingly, for she was excited now and began to breathe quickly.
"Yes, yes," she said. "I would like to buy that statuette... It's an old family..."
"I am sorry, Miss Weston, I'm afraid I can't sell anything left to me by my late mother-in-law."
"So you have got the statuette of Buddha?"
"My late mother-in-law was fond of objets d'art and has left a great many ornaments of one kind and another. I am attached to all such family relics and nothing would induce me to part with any of them. That sort of thing is not done in the best English families."
"I understand those things were the property of Commander Brandon..."
"I would be still more unwilling to revive unhappy memories of my unfortunate brother-in-law. No, I'm sorry, neither the Buddha nor any other of our family possessions is for sale." At this point, Mr. Wilmington was called to the telephone and she heard him arrange an appointment with somebody for that evening and then direct his secretary to order cold supper for two from Felix Potain. When he turned back to Evelyn, he refused her request in no uncertain terms. Thus she was unable to ascertain whether Wilmington was indeed in possession of the statuette of Buddha.
However, it seemed likely that the statuette, if it was still whole, was to be found in Wilmington's apartment.
She was in very low spirits when she emerged into the street. Here she was thwarted and helpless, yet with the goal in sight. She would not yet resign herself to failure! She would persist in hoping for help from some quarter however unlikely, from old Hogan's ghost maybe, or, even more improbably, her own impractical, scholarly brain. She was determined to find a way of getting into Wilmington's flat. She would break into the house!
Evelyn shuddered, more from determination than horror. From the next call-box she rang up Felix Potain. "This is Mr. Wilmington's secretary, of the Columbus Travel Agency. Some minutes ago, I ordered supper for two for Mr. Wilmington and a friend... That's right... 7, Rue Mazarin... Would you please cancel the order?... Yes, probably tomorrow... Thank you..." She hung up.
Through the glass-panes of the call-box, she eyed the man idling across the street. He was short, stout, showily dressed, wearing a monocle... This was the third time she had noticed him today... Only a little while ago she had watched him return a ball to a child in Rue Mazarin...
Her scholarly brain quickly informed her that the man had been following her. How could she have been so deceived! She should have realised that Gordon would choose someone she had never seen before to follow her. Well, she knew him now and she must get rid of him without more ado.
She emerged from the call-box and walked straight ahead, pretending not to have noticed Beefy. At the corner of the street, she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of her hotel. Presently, peering cautiously through the rear window of the cab, she could see that a car was following close behind. Undoubtedly the dressed-up lump of beef was within. She leaned forward to the driver.
"Monsieur," she said. "Here is ten francs for you... There is a man following me in a taxi; he is pestering me. Will you please turn into the next street and brake just long enough for me to jump out. Then follow a zigzag route for a while to make the man think I'm still here trying to get away from him."
The driver grinned and took the money. He turned into the next street, cleverly drew up for a brief second so that Evelyn could descend, and sped on his way again. Evelyn sheltered in a doorway, and watched the second taxi with Beefy in it, hurtle round the corner in hot pursuit. And Evelyn's kind-hearted driver certainly took him for a ride. It occurred to him that here was a good opportunity to have some minor repairs done at a cheap garage in the suburbs, and so he drove right out of town, with Beefy on his tail, and didn't stop until he was outside the Gate of Vincennes, at the garage near the famous Père Lachaise Cemetery.
By this time Beefy had guessed that something was amiss. He got out, paid off his taxi, and hurried across to the other cab. All his fears were justified; it was unoccupied.
"Where is the lady you've been carrying?" he asked the driver. "She's not in the cab."
"Not in the cab?"
"Well, go and take a closer look. Maybe she's hiding under the seat."
"Are you trying to play jokes with me?"
"Perhaps I am - for the moment," said the driver with a sinister look, tossing a heavy spanner in the air as if it was an Indian hatchet. Beefy enjoyed a fight, and would have looked upon one now as a case of justifiable self-defence; but he realised that that was no way to obtain information and therefore decided not to take offence.
"Look here, my man. Here's ten francs for you." The driver lowered the spanner, swinging it loosely in one hand - a weapon no longer.
"Now where did you drop that lady?"
"When I drove from the Quay into the Boul. Mich., I slowed down and she jumped out. She said you were pestering her, and I believed her."
"And what do you believe now that you've seen me?"
"Now I'm sure that you were."
Beefy had obtained all the information he needed, and so he decided to give the driver a good trouncing. After all, a blow administered in self-defence was equally justifiable if given after a period of reflection. He therefore wrenched the spanner from the driver's hand, tossed it away, and proceeded to pummel the fellow for a couple of minutes, holding the man by the neck and pinioning him against the wall, taking care to keep as far away as possible so as not to soil his gaudy clothes. Since he could scarcely do himself justice with only one arm, he directed a few random kicks at the cabbie's knees.
The white-headed proprietor of the garage rolled an oil drum to a safe distance from the fray, and sat down on it, thus securing for himself a ring-side seat, as it were, from which to watch Beefy at his exercises. The display lasted for several minutes, after which Beefy let go of the battered driver and with two fingers flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve.
"Do you still think that I was pestering the lady?"
The cabbie staunched his wounds.
"Ahem... Now that I come to look more closely I see that you are really a very respectable gentleman."
"Good. Now take me to the Café Rome."
The boss relinquished the oil drum and quietly filled up the taxi with petrol while the driver settled himself once again at the wheel. Then he slammed the door and the taxi drove off, bearing the monocled gentleman to the centre of the city.
Beefy rushed into the cafe, greatly agitated, and discovered Rainer, the specialist in robbery-with-violence, playing chess with a knock-out specialist. Rainer excused himself and moved aside to hear his colleague's apologetic story of pursuit and failure.
"It's an odd thing," he ruminated. "Gordon had a sort of presentiment that she'd turn out to be brainier than you. It's my opinion that she's no newcomer to the game or else it's you that are getting old. Time spares no man, it seems, not even the gentlest of crooks. Gordon has gone round to that Columbus Agency you were speaking of on the phone. We are to wait here for him to come back. That's the programme."
"Who would have thought that she was such a sneak?" Beefy lamented.
"Certainly she behaved rather tactlessly towards a bona fide criminal. That's true. Tell me, how much does a cabbie charge you for a ride as far as Pére Lachaise nowadays?"
At this moment Gordon returned, apparently in a state of great agitation.
"Where's the girl?"
"Well,... er," Beefy stammered. "Well, she's given me the slip. Jumped out of a cab."
Gordon gnashed his teeth and swore.
"You damn fool! Now off you go and find Lord Bannister. It's on the cards that he'll be meeting her. He's taken a room at the Ritz. He may quite likely lead us to the girl. Send any messages back to this place. Rainer, you are to stay here and act as liaison. I must be on my way now."
"Where are you going?"
"To get the Buddha. It's in the flat at 7, Rue Mazarin." "You ought to have a coffee first," said Rainer seriously, but Gordon merely gave him a withering look.
7.
Once she had thrown off her "shadow," Evelyn walked back to the Quay. She paused outside a small draper's shop and studied the garments displayed in the window, then she went in.
"I want a black parlour maid's dress and a frilled apron to go with it, like the one in the window."
She tried the dress on and left the shop still wearing it, her own dress rolled up under her arm. Next she bought a black leather bag into which she put her folded dress. Thus prepared, she set out to look for the nearest branch of Felix Potain's chain of delicatessen stores. Paris is studded with Felix Potain's stores. At Potain's she bought a selection of cold dishes, had them wrapped, and took her parcels to 7, Rue Mazarin where she rang the bell of Wilmington's flat. The door was opened by the charwoman.
"I am from Felix Potain's. I've brought supper."
"Oh, yes, I know," the cleaning woman muttered. "Will you just put it down."
"If you don't mind I'll lay the table and arrange the dishes. A supper from Potain's has to be served properly, you know."
"All right. Please yourself."
Quickly and dexterously, she laid the table and arranged the dishes while the cleaning woman continued to potter about in one of the inner rooms. Nothing could have been better for Evelyn's purpose. She hurried out into the hall and slammed the door loudly; but she did not leave the flat. She remained in the hall hidden behind a large cupboard. The cleaning woman came shuffling out slowly, tried the door handle to make sure that the door was shut properly, then went back into the room. Half-an-hour passed. It was growing dark. Evelyn continued her motionless vigil and this time luck was on her side. The cleaning woman appeared once more but this time she was wearing an overcoat and hat, and was clutching a small bag and umbrella. "She must be only a daily," Evelyn thought happily, "and she's going home now." She guessed right and in another moment was in sole possession of the flat!
She went quickly into the drawing-room and switched on the light. She breathed quickly now, feeling both fearful and agitated. There were three glass cabinets in the drawing-room, all of them filled with objets d'art. She could not see the Buddha. The rooms opened one into the other and through the open door of the dining-room she could see right into the small drawing-room. As she looked, one of the windows was slowly opened from without and there appeared over the window-sill first, two large hands, then, a bald head below which she could make out the disfigured nose of the crook Gordon.
She stood rooted to the carpet with terror.
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