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1.
Evelyn scarcely dared to breathe lest she betray her presence in the flat.
In one of the rooms, a clock began to chime out the hour. The gangster climbed over the window-sill and stepped into the room. Then he carefully brushed his trousers to remove all traces of the lime which had soiled them as he climbed the wall. Evelyn watched his every movement, while Gordon remained ignorant of her presence.
She had withdrawn behind the door-curtain just in time and now couldn't help wondering what he would do if he discovered her. It was not an enviable situation to find oneself alone in a flat with a gangster. And she could scarcely cry out for help since she had no more right to be there than Gordon. They were both housebreakers in the eyes of the law.
She could hear the floor creak as he moved about. He must be going from one cabinet to the other, looking for the "Dreaming Buddha." She was filled with rage to think that it had been almost within her grasp and now she might have to actually watch her rival steal it while she stood by, afraid for her life.
Since she must now give up hope of gaining possession of the statuette she felt that she should at least try to escape or move to some more strategic position in which she could cry out for help.
Cautiously, she started for the window. The thick carpet deadened the sound of her footsteps and the creaking of the floor. Now her hope of escaping depended on whether the handle would grate or not. She touched it, and very slowly began to turn it. Soundlessly the window opened. There was only a faint stir of air, probably because Gordon had left the window open in the adjoining room.
This time it seemed that Evelyn was in luck. The flat was on the fourth floor but there was a fire escape just beside the window. There was every possibility of escape.
But now that she felt secure of an avenue of escape, she plucked up more courage. She had not had time to examine the glass-case by the window and it was just possible that the little enamelled box with the Buddha was in it.
She moved a few steps back from the window.
Evening was closing in and it was dark in the room. She had to move quite close to the glass cabinet to make out the contents. At the very moment when she had satisfied herself that the Buddha was not there she heard someone slam the front door of the flat. She heard first voices, then the click of the electric switch in the entrance hall.
Wilmington had come home, bringing a visitor with him!
2.
"But he ordered supper for eight o'clock only," was Evelyn's first thought. Now she dared not move. The gangster, too, must be standing riveted to the floor as she was, and equally dismayed.
What now?
"Your attitude, Adams, absolutely beats me," she could hear the host saying firmly. "It was out of curiosity, not fear, that I yielded to your request to visit me in my flat."
"You'll understand everything soon enough," said the other shortly.
The door was ajar, and Evelyn was able to see quite clearly all that was happening in the dining-room. The visitor was a short, stout man, with a slightly rasping voice and a slovenly dub-footed gait; a cigarette drooped from the corner of his lips and he allowed the ash to fall and rest on the front of his coat, making only the most perfunctory gesture of flicking it away. He had scarcely been in the flat for a minute when Evelyn became aware of the foul odour of cheap French tobacco.
Wilmington seemed both pale and nervous. She noticed an occasional twitch of his fine nostrils and he gnawed his lips as he paced the room. The stout one flung himself into an armchair, and, with the seemingly confident air of the bully and in similarly strident tones he began:
"Look here, Wilmington. You're expecting Fleury at eight o'clock; so you have just sixty minutes to consider my offer, because I'm not going to wait till our friend arrives. I must warn you that your game is up."
"You want to frighten me."
"No, I don't. This is only a warning. Four months ago, when I told you that I suspected you had Clayton's map, you laughed at me. You said you'd given up spying since your marriage; that you had nothing to do with that unhappy fellow Brandon's tragedy; and that I should leave you alone or you'd report me to the police. I knew you were only bluffing."
"You are bluffing yourself, Adams," the host said, with the gentleness of a purring leopard. He narrowed his eyes unpleasantly. "I know your tricks - after all, we used to work together..."
"Then you ought to know that I carry a gun in the outer pocket of my coat, and that at the present moment my finger is on the trigger. And you must also have seen me pick a fellow off by firing from my pocket at a distance of fifteen yards."
Wilmington glared at the man in impotent rage.
The stout chap took out another Caporal with his yellow, claw-like fingers and lit it from the stump of the one he had just smoked. He stubbed out this stump on a glass salad-server, and from the expression on his face one would have thought he was in great pain.
"You've been holding out on the map in the hope of getting a higher price for it once the riots in the colonies had been quelled. What you forget is that these delaying tactics have given me time for making some careful investigations. Quite apart from my own formidable influence there is also to be considered the fact that my employers can use their authority all over the world. I have taken full advantage of my fortunate position and I am now here to take possession of the map together with the necessary documents before Fleury arrives here or, possibly, the police. For naturally we are all under police observation."
"My dear fellow, you are very confident in your game of bluff. But I know you of old."
"Since you are so insistent, I will now remind you of some of the facts which have put you in my power. When you realise just how familiar to me are your foul deeds, you will not be so ready to speak of my 'bluff.' Well, then, my dear Wilmington - or should I say Mr. Stuck, since that was the name on the warrants when you were in the Intelligence - a year ago you married Lieutenant - Commander Brandon's sister. Your address and manner as well as the financial support you received from your employers made it possible for you to move in good society. As Brandon was a most capable man with an important post as ordnance officer in the Admiralty, your marriage gave you new scope in your work. And you didn't fritter your energies away. You did not go in for stealing merely trivial documents. You did not waste time on minor snippets of information. You were biding your time until something big came your way, meantime adapting yourself until you felt at home in your high-class surroundings. And since you are sly and cunning as well as clever you managed very well. At last came your lucky chance. Clayton, the explorer, returned from his last expedition, dangerously ill. He had been exploring the jungles of Central Africa and when he arrived in Britain he was a dying man. For several weeks the newspapers were full of his story and loud in praise of his achievements. Nevertheless, no more than a handful of people knew that the man had handed over to the Minister of Defence a diary, several maps and a great many photographs. He had struck oil - oil wells of exceptional richness!"
Wilmington shrugged.
"I've already heard that story."
"Wait a minute... All this priceless material was placed in an official envelope at the Ministry of Defence, sealed in five places and delivered to the Admiralty's cartography department. In due course this envelope found its way to Lieutenant-Commander Brandon's desk. Soon afterwards, Clayton died. Now you are just as well aware as I am of the immense importance of a discovery of oil in African territory not yet controlled by any of the Great Powers! And no one working for the other Powers had managed to get anywhere near that particular territory. The orange-coloured envelope containing the map and relevant information was the only key to possession; never in all the history of espionage had there been such a priceless document. But the man who had access to it was himself unapproachable. Meanwhile riots had broken out in the colonies and all the Great Powers were united in opposition. It was at this moment that you gained possession of the orange-coloured envelope with the five seals!"
"Tell me, Adams, why don't you write? With your vivid imagination..."
"Because, as you will shortly have to admit, I'm more gifted in my old profession. Let me tell you that your life is at stake now; the police are looking for you, Fleury, Hannusen and everyone else involved."
"Will you kindly get to the point and tell me what you want?"
Adams lit another cigarette from the stump of his last one, then blew forth a huge cloud of smoke which rained flakes of ash on every side. He lay back still more comfortably, throwing his legs over the arms of his chair, and continued in drawling tones, but without ever taking his hand from his bulging coat pocket.
"In your endeavour to carry out your plan you corrupted a whole family. Today, only the eldest of the Brandon brothers and the unfortunate lieutenant-commander are alive - if any can be said to be alive after spending agonised months in the hell of the Sahara... Ah, you have gone pale? Didn't you know that Brandon was in the Legion?"
"Rubbish!" Wilmington hissed, and took a step forward.
"Be careful!" There was a threatening rasp in Adams's voice now. "My finger is still on the trigger."
The bulge in his pocket moved menacingly, and Wilmington, panting with rage, was checked. The stout fellow laughed.
"Beginning to find the story a bit awkward, are you? Your wife, Isabel Brandon, gave birth to a child. One day, the baby disappeared. You told the despairing mother that she could get her child back provided she obtained an impression of the office keys used by her brother, the naval officer! You taught that unhappy woman whom you had driven half-crazy with despair, how to take impressions like a burglar. She endured two weeks of mental agony, then produced the impressions. But how would it be possible for you to get hold of the document without losing your splendid social position? You devised a magnificent scheme. Lieutenant-Commander Brandon doted on his brother, a young man of twenty who was head over heels in love with a dancer. But that lady was your chosen instrument. I know her well. Ethel Ardfern is her name. She had seduced the boy, who had been brought up by Lieutenant-Commander Brandon since his father's death. She persuaded the boy, Derek, to run away to Canada taking her with him. The day they were to take a train to Southampton, the boy wrote a letter to his brother."
Wilmington stood riveted to his place and looked fixedly at his visitor.
"That letter read as follows. 'George, I've had no choice but to do this. Can you forgive your wicked brother? - Derek.' They agreed to post the letter immediately before embarking in Southampton. Ethel had a big car and before driving out to the railway station, she asked him to accompany her on a visit to her mother, who lived near London. But she stopped the car in a lonely country lane and a fellow called Dickman, who was her accomplice, murdered the boy. That night, Ethel danced at the bar as usual. But Derek's farewell letter, extracted from the boy's pocket, was by then on its way to you. The following morning, you stole the envelope - and your methods, I have to admit, were worthy of a genius. In the morning, you called at the Admiralty a few minutes before Lieutenant-Commander Brandon was due to arrive. By some means you managed to gain access to his office; there you used the duplicate key, extracted the document, and went back into the vestibule and sat down. When Brandon arrived you were waiting for him with his brother's farewell letter together with the wax impression used to make the duplicate key. You told him that Derek had rung you up in a state of great agitation to tell you about some crime he said he had committed... He dared not ring up his brother... he was in debt... he would have landed in jail... he had been blackmailed and driven to have a duplicate key made that he could steal the orange-coloured envelope. Now he was emigrating, leaving England for good. Naturally - so you told Lieutenant-Commander Brandon - you had driven straight to Derek's rooms. The boy had already gone, leaving behind this letter and the wax impression. You hadn't been able to make head or tail of the business, so you'd brought the things round to Brandon. The commander stared, pale-faced, at the impression and the letter, in which he read the lines, written in his younger brother's familiar hand: 'George, I've had no choice but to do this. Can you forgive your wicked brother? - Derek.' He then went into his study and found that the orange-coloured envelope containing Clayton's map had vanished. The poor blighter had not the faintest idea that the orange-coloured envelope, folded in two, was in the pocket of your overcoat at that moment hanging in the vestibule. Who would have thought of such a thing? It was truly a stroke of genius!"
Now Wilmington was no longer standing bolt upright. His eyes were fixed on the floor. Adams lit himself yet another Caporal from the wet, yellow stump, then poured himself some wine from a bottle on the table, and drained the glass.
"You had better luck with your scheme than you had dared to hope for. That crazy Brandon just could not bring himself to denounce his younger brother... He was not aware, of course, that he had been murdered... Well, so this mad hero, this Commander Brandon, decided to give his brother Derek a chance to make a fresh start; he did not want him to be a social outcast because of what he had done... Brandon wrote a letter to his superiors, telling them that the map had been stolen, that he felt responsible for its loss and therefore felt obliged to tender his resignation. He explained that he had taken the papers from the office without permission, and that on his way home he had been attacked and had his attaché case wrested from him.
"The authorities would not believe this story. Commander Brandon was denounced as a spy. They could not arrest him, but news of his disgrace circulated throughout the world. So you have ruined a respectable old family. The mother died here, in Paris. One of her sons was murdered, another had to flee the country, the eldest a misanthrope..."
"I've heard enough of your rot. How can you prove your extraordinary story?"
Adams grinned complacently.
"I can prove it all right. But I haven't finished my story yet. Some time afterwards, your wife died, too."
3.
Wilmington had been pacing up and down, and when these last few words had been spoken he had his back turned to Adams. Now he swung round and stared at the stout little man in dismay.
"Ah, that one's struck a nerve, eh?... Well, let's get the story straight. First I grilled Ethel Ardfern as I'd seen you do it. I got her on board a hired yacht... you get the idea? First inject with tetanus, then withhold inoculation until victim signs confession in the presence of witnesses. Ethel also knew about this kind of interrogation. She knew that no quarter would be given, and she spilled the beans to get the inoculation... Unfortunately, as she was a bit slow about making her confession, the inoculation didn't work..."
"You scoundrel!"
"Easy!" shrilled the stout fellow, pointing his gun at Wilmington's chest.
There was a moment's pause. Evelyn was paralysed with horror, her lips parted, her hands pressed to her cheeks, in an unconsciously theatrical pose, while in the other room Gordon was also listening in amazement.
Wilmington sat down, lit a cigarette, and said nothing. White-faced, he drew deeply and blew out clouds of smoke.
"From Ethel's confession," Adams went on, "we learned of Dickman. He was the bloke that stabbed Derek Brandon to death. Dickman told us everything hoping that we would let him get away with it. Well, we didn't. I have him locked away on a boat in Toulon harbour, in spite of the fact that I have a written confession, duly witnessed, that he received his instructions and payment from you. I can also produce evidence to prove that your wife's death certificate was forged. Then I risked a heavy sentence some nights ago when I did a little exhumation on my own in Pére Lachaise; your wife's body was examined by qualified experts who tell me that there is still the blue discoloration of cyanosis on her lips."
"Stop it!... Shut up!... You..."
"I have more bluffs up my sleeve. For instance, we can easily get hold of Lieutenant-Commander Brandon. We've found out that he serves, under the assumed name of Münster, in the 2nd company of the Legion, and is at present being treated for serious wounds in Morocco. So, you see, my star witness is alive. The man whose name has been dragged through the mud because of your criminal activity is still alive!"
"Stop it, I tell you," said Wilmington, panting and cowering as if he had seen a ghost. "Take the map! Take it away! Only be quick about it, for Fleury will be here any minute... How much are you prepared to pay for the orange-coloured envelope?.. You have it, you bloody stool-pigeon."
"You won't do too badly. But first I want to make sure that the seals on the envelope haven't been tempered with. Don't try to tell me it's in the other room and don't put your hand in your pocket. Just go to the safe over there and open it."
Evelyn had been listening to the dialogue in a sort of coma. She was sure they would kill her if they discovered her presence. But terrified as she was, she could not put out of her mind the thought of the unhappy Brandons. She made a silent vow that if ever she got out of this place alive, she would make all these secrets public... Though it would be difficult to prove anything. Meantime, Wilmington had crossed over to the safe from which he extracted a large envelope on which the five seals were evidently intact. He put it on the table and Evelyn had a great longing to snatch up that envelope and run off with it to Morocco to rescue poor Commander Brandon! She wondered if Gordon had also heard the story - or had he got away already? In any case, she would memorise the poor commander's alias as a legionary. Münster... Münster, she repeated to herself.
"We ought to move quickly now," Wilmington said. "Today, two different people came to my office inquiring after Commander Brandon. They pretended to be looking for a statuette of the Dreaming Buddha that was surmounted on some sort of a box-something left here with the rest of his belongings. I suppose that was just an excuse. They must have been agents from one of the organisations."
"Why? Isn't there a statuette like that among Brandon's things?"
"Oh, yes. I remember seeing it at the Brandon brothers' flat. In the bathroom, if my memory serves me well. But I don't believe their story. They would have to think up something which would sound plausible. Somehow they must have found out that Commander Brandon did own a box like that."
Adams's face darkened.
"But why should both of them ask the same question? It sounds to me as if there is really something about that statuette. A number of people must have discovered something special about it, the clues lead to you, and now they're all competing with each other to get there first. I don't like this business."
Wilmington paled.
"Do you think so? But what on earth would they want to do with an enamelled case which has been in a bathroom for years - or with the statuette either, for that matter?"
The stout chap reflected.
"Have you got the statuette here?"
"Hell, no. I fobbed them off by saying that I had it, or at least that's what I let them think. The thing must be in Africa, with Brandon - though he may well have thrown away a gew-gaw like that when he absconded."
"I would give a lot to know about this Buddha business," Adams brooded.
"I say, Fleury may be here any moment."
"You're right. Now let's have that envelope."
"But you must hand over the money first, Adams! This represents two years of risky work by an ambitious man who has not yet received a cent for his pains."
"You have sacrificed enough lives in the cause for me to appreciate that fact."
At that moment there was the resounding crash of falling window followed by the tinkle of broken glass. A light breeze had arisen and a sudden gust of air had slammed the window in the room where Gordon was hiding. It was only because of the unusual stillness of the evening that this had not happened earlier.
4.
Like two startled animals, Adams and Wilmington bounded into the next room. But Gordon was on the alert, and met them with a battery of chairs, one of which caught Adams on the shoulder. Next came a small table and a Chinese vase. Then Adams fired two random shots and hurled himself upon Gordon who retaliated by seizing Wilmington by the waist, and tossing him bodily at his assailant. During the next few minutes the flat resounded with the noise of combat, the thud of falling bodies, the crash of overturned furniture and the splintering sound of broken china and glass; the general effect was like a stampede of beasts of prey.
Suddenly a shot rang out, fired from somewhere on the stairs outside the flat; this was followed by the sharp peal of the door bell and the sound of fists pounding on the door; next came the regular sound of a swinging axe. There was only a second before the door would give way; the police must have been lying in wait for Fleury and having caught him, were preparing to raid the flat.
In the empty room, the orange-coloured envelope with the five seals had been left lying on the table. Evelyn now saw her chance. She slipped into the dining-room, picked up the orange-coloured envelope from the table, put it in her handbag and stepped out of the drawing-room window onto the ladder of fire escape. Now she had all that was necessary to clear the name of the Brandon family and if she could find Brandon still alive he would surely be ready to give her the statuette in exchange for this envelope.
She was already planning to go to Morocco when the sound of fighting was redoubled and she realised that she was still in danger and might not even get to the street in safety.
Gordon hurled himself on Adams. Wilmington whipped out a gun. Now Gordon freed himself with a powerful kick that sent the stocky fellow rolling. He thus became a sitting target for Wilmington, who however did not shoot. The accumulated hatred, rage, resentment and thirst for revenge of a man whose vanity had been grievously wounded, welled up into a determination to shoot Adams like a mad dog. He fired into his face from a distance of only two yards.
But the gun misfired and it was Wilmington who now faced death, while Gordon escaped. For Adams heard the click of the trigger and aimed at Wilmington the bullet he had reserved for Gordon. Wilmington received it in the stomach, gasped, and with the last movement of his hand, clutched at the curtain, rolled over and wrapped himself into the bright brocade as if into his own shroud.
At that moment the door fell before the last blow of the axe and it was borne in upon Adams that Gordon had escaped and that he alone was left to face the police.
Quickly he ran into the dining-room, noticing immediately that the window of the adjoining room was wide open. Behind him he heard the commotion as the police surged into the hall, stumbling over the body of Fleury. He just had time to slam the door and lock it so that the police would be detained in the vestibule for a few more minutes. Then he leapt into the adjoining room, through the open window, and was standing on the ladder of the fire-escape in time to look up and see a foot lifted from the top step and disappear onto the roof. He fired a shot after the fugitive.
5.
When she stepped out of the window and looked down Evelyn cried out in horror.
In the street below, a pitched battle seemed to be in progress. Patrol cars were arriving, their sirens screeching. People were running hither and thither and it seemed that Rue Mazarin was being blocked on every side. Four men, handcuffed, their clothes in tatters, were led out of the house from which Evelyn was fleeing and were taken to a police van. In the light streaming from the open door she could see a man lying on his face, motionless, in a large, dark pool of blood. A smartly dressed woman was dragged by the straps of the handcuff fastened about her wrists, then hustled, screaming, into the van. This scene of horror was floodlit by the headlights of an armoured car.
When Evelyn heard the first shot fired in the flat behind her, she began to climb up the ladder, at first hesitatingly, then more quickly as she began to realise the danger of her situation. She could not flee in the direction of the street; her only way of escape was over the roof. She struggled upwards, tearing her skirt on the way, and summoned all her strength to grip the edge of the gutter and hoist herself onto the roof. Once there, oblivious of her bedraggled hair, muddy hands and torn clothes, she ran along the roof, searching for some place of safety. Once she fell to her knees and rested a moment in a pool of rain, almost unconscious with pain. She struggled to her feet, ran on and came to a halt beside a chimney-stack.
Then, looking back across her perilous route, she caught her breath in horror, for there, at the very point where she had emerged from the fire-escape onto the roof, she saw first two large hands, then a bald head and finally the nose with the disfiguring scar.
As she turned to flee once again from her enemy, the ex-convict, he was already so close that she could hear his footsteps. A shot rang out and she stumbled over some planks; a taut clothes-line caught her by the throat; she fell, sprang to her feet and fled on.
There was another shot, but this time it was her pursuer who was being pursued: by someone who was himself being followed. She won a breathing space, for Gordon ran to cover behind a chimney and fired back at Adams. So they hunted each other while the Paris police hunted them both.
Evelyn seized the opportunity to run ahead, still clutching her small black handbag containing the valuable envelope, and suddenly she came to the sky-light of a studio.
Without hesitation, she gripped the frame of the open window, lowered herself into the room, hung there suspended for one breathless second, then, eyes closed, relinquished her hold.
Fortunately it was a rather low-ceilinged room, and she landed safely in the darkness within. She listened and began to distinguish voices in the adjoining room.
"You can choose which you like. The postcards are nine-by-twelve. But if you would like enlargements..."
She was in a photographer's studio.
Quickly, she looked about. There was a door on the right; this she opened, went through and crossed another dark room, this time long like an entrance-hall. When she opened a second door at the far end, she felt a rush of fresh air: she was on the stairs.
Hurriedly she descended, stumbling in her anxiety and again tearing her skirt. Her hands and face were sticky with mud but she had no time yet to worry about her appearance.
The stairs led down into a dimly lit yard. A servant girl was cleaning poultry; two white-aproned boys were emptying a large pail into the drain. Through an open door, she could see into a vast kitchen. This must be the yard of one of the elegant restaurants along the Quay. She made for the door of the building.
The police sirens were still wailing behind her but she thought that if she could only get through the restaurant she would leave the danger zone and reach the safety of the Quay.
One of the boys approached and began to look at her curiously. Her sense of danger renewed, she stepped boldly indoors, and walked straight through the kitchen without glancing at the dumbfounded kitchen boys; she opened another door - and found herself under the brilliant lights of an elegant restaurant. The diners sitting at the tables nearest to her raised their eyebrows in amazement for by now her clothes were in rags, her hair hanging over her shoulders and her face quite black with grime. She walked resolutely forward, intent on reaching the front door which, she could already see, gave onto the freedom of the Quay.
All eyes were turned upon her, but she had almost gained the exit when there was an exclamation close at hand:
"Why, it is Lady Bannister! Good heavens, what have you been doing to yourself?"
It was the Mayor of Paris.
Seated next to the mayor was P. J. Holler, while at the head of the table Lord Bannister, in full evening dress, was presiding over what appeared to be a banquet attended by a very great number of very distinguished gentlemen.
6.
Lot's wife, when she felt herself being transformed into a pillar of salt, could not have assumed a more vacant expression than that which appeared on his lordship's countenance when Evelyn made her astonishing appearance at the banquet held in his honour. For a moment, the silence was absolute. During that moment, Evelyn's brain was racing: she realised that Lord Bannister's reputation was at stake. The next moment, she saw in a flash the only possible way in which she could save the situation. She gave a little, embarrassed laugh and said, guessing wildly at the scientist's Christian name,
"Oh, Henry, I know I'm an awful nuisance, but I'm afraid I must ask you to take me back to the hotel immediately. Some clumsy cyclist has just knocked me down, here by the kerb. Look what's happened to my dress."
She knew on the instant that she had brought off her little coup.
The fresh tears and mud patches made what she said sound fairly plausible. The guests expressed their sympathy and spoke comfortingly to 'Lady Bannister.' One after the other, members of the Academy, university professors and generals introduced themselves, and 'her ladyship' said she was truly sorry she could not possibly stay with them in this state, and finally took Lord Bannister's arm and led him away.
As soon as they had settled themselves in Lord Bannister's car, Evelyn cautiously peered out to see if she had been recognised by her pursuers. She felt sure that so long as she had that envelope she could expect to be hard pressed by not a few desperate men. She could see no one. Lord Bannister waited patiently for her to turn round, then he said:
"Will you please shut the door and tell me where you would like me to take you?"
He was too indignant to say more. Indeed, he was too scandalised to be angry. It was true, and there was no use denying it, that several times in the last few days his thoughts had strayed in her direction and he had thought it would be nice to see her again. Nevertheless, he found the circumstances under which he now actually saw her, quite unnerving. He had to restrain an impulse to throw her out of the car. What on earth could this girl be doing? Why was she always to be seen in torn and muddy clothes? And what could she be up to that she had to prowl about the streets at night by herself?
It was just like her to appear in this unexpected fashion, rushing madly towards him, her blonde hair glinting like lightning; for the second time she had descended on him like a hurricane.
"Oh, please drive as fast as you can and take me out of Paris, to some place quite out of the city where I can take a train or hire a car," she entreated him breathlessly.
"But... I can't do that in evening dress..."
"I'm being followed!"
"I seem to have heard you say that before. Now, my dear Miss Weston, I am fully aware of a gentleman's duty towards the fair sex; still, I must call your attention to the fact that, unfortunately, I am only a scientist, not a knight errant. I find it puzzling that, when we have such a well-qualified, efficient police force at our disposal, you should persistently seek my assistance. I have a great respect for you, Miss Weston, but perhaps you will allow me to repeat myself and point out that you have no right to walk in and out of my life as if I were a pub."
"You are right... I will get out at once," she said. But the next moment, she leaned against the windscreen and began to weep. She was afraid that every railway station in Paris would be watched-perhaps the garages, too. She knew that her life was in peril. Possibly they were already on her track and her only chance was to hire a car at some distant place outside Paris. She suddenly felt very lonely.
"Now please tell me where you want to be taken," said Lord Bannister resolutely, for he found it impossible to speak as curtly as he would have wished. "And kindly stop crying. I'll drive you out of Paris. I'll take you anywhere you want."
"To Marseilles," she said, her face brightening.
"What!" snorted Lord Bannister, for he had a strict regard for the conventions. "To Marseilles, in evening dress?"
"Oh, of course you mustn't do that. Just drive me a long way out of the city... to the nearest village where I can hire a car."
Angrily he trod on the accelerator, and the powerful Alfa-Romeo started noiselessly along the road to Lyons.
7.
Meantime, on the rooftop the two men were still trying to conceal themselves, each one behind a separate chimney stack. Gradually the commotion in the street had subsided, and it would now have been risky to fire any more shots.
"I say, stranger!" Gordon called out. "Do you seriously insist on our tracking each other down? We're bound to be caught if we do." As the other made no reply, he added: "Much better to join forces. What d'you say?"
Adams made no reply.
"If we work together, we might find that girl with the document. I happen to have some information without which you can't hope to succeed. What I say is, let's team up."
"Who are you?"
"An Englishman. Of an allied trade."
"What use would I have for you?"
"You promise me equal shares in the deal with Clayton's map and I'll do the same for you in the deal with the statuette."
"What deal is that?"
"It's for a statuette worth one million pounds sterling."
"I suspected there was something fishy about that Buddha. Unfortunately, just now I've no time for anything except that orange-coloured envelope."
"Then we both want the same thing," Gordon replied. "We can get hold of the statuette and the envelope once we find Evelyn Weston. Well? Let's go halves. We could form a syndicate if you like. Or we could turn our backs to each other and get down from this roof separately. You, I suppose, don't want to grow a beard up here, any more than I do?"
There was a pause.
"All right," Adams said at last. "At the moment neither of us dare move from behind our chimneys. At least, I don't trust you. The best idea would be to meet at the King of Beans Tavern in half an hour. It's near the Château Rouge."
"All right. See you later."
Each man then retreated carefully from his respective chimney, covering himself as he did so.
As soon as he got down into the street, Gordon phoned Rainer.
"I want you and Beefy to come along to the King of Beans Tavern."
"Is the cooking good? I haven't had dinner yet."
"You damn fool! This is a matter of life and death. We may become millionaires if we can find Evelyn Weston."
"That's what you say! Beefy was on the phone just now saying that he saw her riding in Lord Bannister's car. They'd tanked up under his very nose on the road to Lyons. He's following them and will leave messages for us at every filling-station. I say, how far is that King of Beans place?"
8.
Adams and his two men had been at the bistro some time when Rainer and Gordon arrived. The gentlemen introduced themselves, also their respective accomplices.
Yoko was one of Adam's confederates, a bearded fellow in a striped jersey who never stopped chewing tobacco and spitting. He had once been a contortionist in a circus, but had changed his profession after causing the death of more than one of his colleagues.
The other man with Adams was a Dr. Cournier, a hulking great fellow with a pale face, tired eyes and white hair who was a drug addict. He would make slow gestures with his bloated, freckled hands as he talked; he had a deep, reverberating voice and the kindly manner of a wise old man.
"Gentlemen," Gordon began, "we're pressed for time. There is in fact no necessity for me to collaborate with you; but if I don't, we are bound to clash at some point. And the cake is big enough to feed us all."
"To the point!" said the man with the beard, and he began to clean his nails with the tip of an incredibly long knife.
"Absolutely," declared Rainer. "It is high time we came to the point." He hailed a waiter: "Bring me fried veal, with plenty of chips, half a litre of claret, and two hard-boiled eggs."
"Well, then, gentlemen," Gordon went on. "I know where I can find the girl with the envelope. Also, I know how to get hold of the ceramic statuette worth one million pounds sterling."
"Now I know about that, too," said Adams. "That man Münster's got it. Still, if you tell us where the girl is, we'll agree to team up with you."
"We'll go fifty-fifty."
"It's a deal."
Gordon then supplied them with the bare facts of the case, beginning with the story of Dartmoor and Jimmy Hogan's will and ending up with Beefy's telephone message.
"It was lucky for us that Beefy lost track of the girl and so I was able to send him to tail Lord Bannister, in whose company Evelyn Weston had made the crossing posing as his wife. I thought she was bound to turn up again in his company. And sure enough, they met again, immediately after all that happened in Rue Mazarin."
Adams jumped to his feet.
"Then we'll run them down!" he cried turning to Rainer. "When did you talk to your mate on the phone?"
"Less than an hour ago. The lousy service they have at this place! I've been waiting for the mustard for half an hour. No point in eating hard-boiled eggs without mustard."
The bearded man stopped trimming his nails and pointed the tip of his knife at Rainer's chest in a threatening way.
"Right. Get going, everybody!" Adams snapped.
Soon they were racing madly along the road to Lyons. At Armentieres, they overtook Beefy in his taxi.
"They've outstripped me by a long way," he informed his friends when he had settled down in the Packard. "That scientist has a gem of a car. But he hasn't the faintest idea that we're hot on their heels."
The car raced along at breakneck speed.
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