The Mysterious Mickey Finn (17 page)

‘I know.'

‘He reads a lot, too. French translations of the old Nick Carters.'

‘Harmless and entertaining,' Evans said.

‘Yeah. Within limits. But he got hepped on Mickey Finns.'

‘Mickey Finns?'

‘You know. Knock-out drops. Read about 'em and wanted to try one. Well, one thing led to another, and you know how I am. I can't refuse a guy nothing. So one day this Henri he wanted to sneak out on his wife, had met a tart in here and wanted to know about Americans, probably. You know how it is. Well, he got the idea that if he slipped his wife a Mickey, she wouldn't wake up when he beat it and would sleep until after he came in. I fell for the plan, gave him a Mickey, and he said it worked. In fact, I've done it more than once.'

‘Still harmless and entertaining,' Evans said.

‘Yeah. But to-day didn't look so good. Henri wasn't himself. He wasn't just out for a little cheating. He was worried about something. Said he had to find you. And he got another Mickey, a little stronger than usual. That was about five o'clock this afternoon.'

‘Tell me about a Mickey Finn,' Evans said. ‘Does it fail to work if the patient is worried or agitated?'

‘.Not so's you'd notice it,' Joe said. ‘I never use 'em myself, except when I have to – if someone starts getting nasty, or spilling something he'd be sorry for if it got out. I have to look after the interests of my customers.... They trust me, you know.'

‘Well, I've got to amble,' Evans said. ‘Thanks, and don't worry about Henri. His wife's still conscious, unless he's been there in the last five minutes.'

‘I think Henri's a very considerate man,' Miriam said. ‘Imagine taking all that trouble to spare his wife pain. Some men would flaunt their conquests.'

‘I'm glad you appreciate the value of discretion,' Evans said.

‘Oh, I do. I do,' she said. ‘Don't worry about that.'

‘I've got enough to worry about. Damn Henri. I wish I could be in several places at once. I want to have a talk with Abel and Dodo. I want to reassure myself about Gring and get him to a place of safety. I must find Hugo and Kvek, get our friends out of jail, retrieve the paintings from the Louvre. . .. And I can do nothing more until our precious police officials agree not to run me in whenever I show my face. That's the first step. Convincing Frémont. It's going to be rough going. Come on.'

‘Where to, boss?' asked the American Negro at the wheel.

‘The Café de la Paix, and not too fast. I've got to think as we joggle along.'

‘I won't disarrange your innermost ratiocinations,' the driver said and slipped smoothly into gear.

Evans was silent as the taxi moved steadily out of Montpar-nasse. ‘The pieces simply won't fit together,' he said. ‘Ah, well. If the answers were too apparent, I suppose even Frémont would solve the problem. He's the only one on the force with any flair. The prefect's a politician, and a traitorous one at that. The
commissaires
are given their jobs on account of long service and few arrests; that's the standard of promotion. The cop who makes the least trouble wins a sergeantcy, and so on.'

‘There seem to be hundreds of cops around here,' Miriam said, glancing apprehensively from the window. They were gliding along the avenue de l'Opéra in the neighbourhood of the Café de la Paix.

Evans rapped on the window. ‘Hold everything, chauffeur,' he said, and the cab pulled up at the kerb without a jolt. To Miriam, Evans said: ‘That unspeakable fathead of a prefect must have ordered my arrest. The dragnet's out again.' He did not pause long in indecision, however. Pointing to a small bar in the rue Daunou he said to the driver: ‘You know Sergeant Frémont?'

‘Of Rosary Game fame? Certainly, boss.'

‘Ever seen him?' The Negro grinned.

‘In first class embarrassing circumstances, sah,' he said.

‘How come?'

The face of the Negro grew serious. ‘A chauffeur's like a priest, you know. Can't spill nothing.'

Evans pulled a thousand franc note from his pocket and dangled it gently. ‘This is a cause of life and death, of guilt and innocence. You wouldn't want a whole jailful of good Americans framed....'

‘If you put it on a patriotic basis, I place country above professional ethics,' the Negro said, reaching for the note.

‘Good man,' Evans said, and to Miriam: ‘What should we do without Lefty Gomez?'

The Negro smiled bashfully in Miriam's direction. ‘Should I tell you this in confidence, boss?'

‘I know all about life, theoretically,' Miriam said. ‘Also, I'm Mr Evans' official assistant and amanuensis.' She flashed her imposing documents and the Negro turned pale.

‘I hope I'm not getting into anything judiciary,' he said. ‘I didn't really desert the army, boss. You wouldn't haul me in?'

‘Not if you come clean about the sergeant,' said Evans, showing his papers with the ribbons and seals. ‘I'm a special agent of the United States government, but of the civil branch. Military peccadilloes are of no interest to me, except as means to an end.'

‘I'll come across. It's my bounden duty,' the Negro said. ‘You see, the sergeant, when he was on that Duke Ormington case, got acquainted with the cast of the “Blackbirds” that came here from Harlem with a show. There was one girl, especially, who took his eye. She liked him, too. You know how Frenchmen are with coloured women. Polite. Admiring. Seem to get all young again.'

‘Naturally,' Evans said.

‘They call it changing your luck, out west,' Miriam said.

‘There was one drawback,' the driver said. ‘If Hydrangea had been yellow, or even light brown, the sergeant could have passed her off as a Spaniard and no talk would have been caused. As it was, Hydrangea was the blackest of the troupe. The sergeant was afraid his wife would get wind of the affair, and he was more afraid of the prefect, who hated women of all sorts. So they had to be discreet and Hydrangea vouched for me as discretion personificated. I took them everywhere, and when things got hot, pretended to be Hydrangea's escort. Boss, them was days. I got enough swell clothes to last me till almost now.'

‘You've been of great service to your country this day, and I shall see you're properly rewarded,' Evans said. ‘Now I want you to drive alone to the Café de la Paix, find Frémont, who'll be pacing anxiously in front of the
terrasse,
and simply tell him that Hydrangea's come back and is waiting for him in the little
Café
I've indicated.'

The Negro started trembling with fright. ‘'Fore God, boss, I don't dare do that. He'll lock me up forever. He'll beat me till he uses me up. Hydrangea's a sore point with him, boss. He never got over it when she went back to Harlem.'

‘I'll square it with him,' Evans said, and Miriam grunted.

Reluctantly, the chauffeur started away. Miriam took a seat and ordered a whisky. ‘Can't we get a sandwich before we're thrown into the
conciergerie
? I haven't eaten so irregularly since the 1922 roundup when some rustlers stole the grub and ran a bunch of shorthorns off the range.'

‘Just a few minutes with Frémont, then I'll order you the best meal in France,' Evans said. As he was speaking, Sergeant Frémont broke in, but it was not the lethargic Sergeant Frémont who had haunted the corridors of the
préfecture
that day. It was a man filled with eagerness and hope, to say nothing of vitality and joy. When he caught sight of Evans his expression changed with such ferocity that the Negro abandoned his taxi and started running down the street.

‘Patience,' Evans said. ‘I happened to-day to learn of the whereabouts of Miss Hydrangea Palmerstone Waite….'

The sergeant lost his ferocity and became wistful again.

‘Where is she? Let me see her.'

‘Not so fast,' Evans said. ‘I have been led to believe that you had the ridiculous idea of arresting me.'

‘That can wait. Everything can wait except Hydrangea. Monsieur Evans, you wouldn't believe what a woman she is. Why, I have neglected case after case of the gravest import just to see her dance, to watch the supple motion of her limbs and try to realize that when the show was over she would be mine, hidden from all other eyes.'

‘I'm afraid the chauffeur got my message wrong,' Evans said. ‘Miss Hydrangea's not here in Paris at the moment, but I know where she is and can persuade her to come.... On one condition.'

Sergeant Frémont sank pitifully into a chair. ‘She's not here? Not in Paris?' he murmured.

‘Another whisky,' Miriam said to the waiter.

‘On one condition,' Evans said, producing his impressive set of papers. ‘You will see that my government has given me charge of the Weiss case, as special plenipotentiary agent. That will excuse you, if the prefect finds out. I'll have the ambassador settle with the prefect in the morning. Meanwhile, to-night I must be free, and I promise you results.'

The sergeant was slowly coming out of his fog of disappointment, so Evans talked fast. ‘Sergeant,' he said. ‘This case involves millions of dollars, and an internationally important kidnapping. Fortunately there's no murder in it yet.'

‘Who said there was no murder?' demanded the sergeant, still fumbling the papers with indecision. ‘That mackerel Greeng Ambrose ...'

Miriam screamed. ‘He's not dead?'

‘God. How unutterably thoughtless I've been,' said Evans.

‘Greeng was poisoned on the
terrasse
of the Dôme between two and seven o'clock,' the sergeant said. Then he added: ‘I can't think. I don't know what to do. Hydrangea.'

‘Sergeant,' Evans said kindly, ‘I know all about your tragedy. Hydrangea was fond of you.... She wanted to stay here with you.. ..'

‘Yes.'

‘But on account of the language, she got homesick, began to waste away. She herself hardly understood what was happening. Surrounded by strange tongues, she thought everyone was talking about you and about her. She was afraid she'd bring you disgrace. Several of the girls had had frightful experiences of the sort at home, you know. Involved with white men. Ruined them, the men, of course. We've got the most barbarous notions about race in our country. Scarcely credible, you know. Wives can practically name their own figure of alimony if they can drag a husband into court with a coloured girl. ...'

‘But won't it be the same? Won't she waste away again?'

‘Ah, I've thought that all out,' Evans said. Miriam tried to stuff her handkerchief into her mouth but the former wasn't big enough. A sound escaped that was about halfway between the tinkle of a breaking liqueur glass at the Coupole and the gurgling of the waters of Beef Creek just at fly time. Evans glanced at her reproachfully. ‘I've thought it all out,' he said. ‘I've made the acquaintance of a coloured model, a black girl called Cirage. Most extraordinary woman. Intelligent. Warmhearted. She'll take an apartment with Hydrangea, teach her French, explain all the foreign ways, act as a companion during the long hours you are tracking down the denizens of the underworld....'

Frémont clasped Evans' hand with fervour. ‘Monsieur Evans, I'm in your hands. My life. My job. My future....'

‘Problem “e”,' Evans muttered. ‘Will this series never end?'

Suddenly Frémont rose like a jack-in-the-box, tearing his hair. ‘What did you say was the name of the future companion of my beloved?'

‘In the quarter she is affectionately known as Cirage,' Evans said. ‘Her real name is Marie-ThérèseEugénie Berthe Mortelle.'

‘But I've spoiled everything. I've arrested this Mademoiselle Cirage. She's in jail this very instant,' the sergeant said.

‘She won't hold it against you if you let her go right away. Release Madame Stier, by the way, also the Swedish actress, Olga, and those reputable painters MM. Simon and Sturlusson. Yes. I forgot Mile Poularde. By all means release her, and we must get those paintings you sent to the Louvre. I'll explain everything later. But pacify the prefect to-night….'

‘If you could see what your friend Gonzo has done to the prefect, you would understand that pacifying my superior tonight is not a job to be undertaken lightly,' Sergeant Frémont said.

‘I'll send a cable to Hydrangea,' said Evans.

‘If I let these people go I'll have to have them shadowed,' said the sergeant. ‘I can say it's necessary in order to find their confederates.'

‘Good man,' Evans said. ‘I won't be unreasonable. I know that Gonzo and Oklahoma Tom seem to have incriminated themselves. They're innocent as lambs. . ..'

‘Lambs ! If your pal Gonzo is an American lamb. . . .'

‘Gonzo's a trifle impulsive, when he's crossed,' Evans said.

‘He was crossed by the entire staff of the
préfecture,
and twenty-two of them will be eligible for hospitalization and convalescent pay. And this in time of national economy,' Frémont said.

‘Nevertheless, I'll need him to-night. Without Gonzo we can't hope to solve this case. He's the only one who can lead us to Hugo Weiss,' said Evans.

‘Then we're lost. Merely on the assault and battery charges he's piled up since we got him in jail, the prefect would hold him fifteen years. You didn't see the prefect, all covered with violet ink.'

‘You stir in me the only desire I ever have felt to see your prefect,' Evans said. ‘By all means, in violet ink. It takes an artist to put on just the right touch, old man. You'll begin to see their merits before this case is over. But come on. We'vegot to get going.'

T
HE
next step was to go to the cable office in the boulevard des Capucines where Evans dispatched the following: