Eye For A Tooth Read Free Page A

note-case besides money? Visiting-cards, for instance. She must have seen him use it time and again.”
    When the interpretation was done—
    “She says he had a photograph in it, but she doesn’t think anything else.”
    “How does she know that?”
    “One day he took out the photograph and showed it to her. He said it was a picture of his home. And she said how lovely it was, and he laughed and said he’d give her the photograph to keep, when he went away.”
    There was another silence, broken by the sobs of the woman – no doubt, the hostess.
    “Tell her not to cry. It may only be a case of loss of memory.”
    The translation was made, and the sobbing began to subside.
    “How much does she consider that he owes her?”
    “Seven pounds fifteen.”
    “Well, tell her this. If she wants to see her money, she’d better do as I say.”
    The interpreter spoke again, and the woman replied.
    “She will obey implicitly.”
    “We’re going to pack his things and to leave his bags here. I shall take his passport and cheque-book. If he should come back or communicate with her in any way, she is to wire us immediately. Better write down the address – just British Consulate, Salzburg. Oh, and if any letters should come, she must send them to me at once.”
    The translation was being made, when I heard the scrape of a chair.
    At once I slipped out of the house, made a sign to George and ran for the car. Bell, on the watch, saw us coming and opened the doors.
    As I took my seat—
    “I want to know if we’re seen. Keep your eyes on the inn.”
    Forty seconds later we had left Latchet behind. And had seen no one.
    “Anyone see us, Bell?”
    “I don’t think so, sir. If they did, they never showed up.”
    “Inform me,” said George. “And I want a damned good reason for being done out of my beer.”
    “Here it is,” said I, and told him my tale.
    When I had done—
    “Good enough,” said George. He sighed. “It’s always the way. I sit still and flog my wits, and you walk into the grocer’s and pick up the figs. And now what?”
    “Salzburg and Mansel,” said I, “as quick as ever we can. He may be there tonight. If he is…”
    “Go on,” said George. “Go on. I’m beginning to see.”
    “Well, the special idea is for us to prevent an announcement that Bowshot has disappeared. The very best way to do that is to give people reason to think that he is alive and well. Supposing tomorrow morning the hostess at Latchet goes into Bowshot’s room – to find his luggage gone and, left on the table, seven pounds fifteen and the photograph of his house ?”
    “I hand it to you,” said George. “I think I should make it ten pounds, but the photograph is the thing. That will be proof positive. For only Bowshot knew that he had said she should have it before he went away. Oh, very good indeed. An’ then she wires to the Consul, an’ he marks his file ‘No action’ and that is that.” He slewed himself round in his seat. “You’re growing quite cunning, Bill. It must be being so much with Mansel and me.”
     
    How burglars feel, I cannot pretend to say, but I know that I felt ashamed of the work that we did – not that, but the following night. The thing was too easy. Latchet slept like the dead, and the door of the inn was not locked. The whole business took six minutes from first to last. Mansel and I went in, while Bell stood on guard by the doorway and George remained with the car. The dead man’s luggage was piled in a first-floor room – a trunk, two suitcases, a rug and a fishing-rod. I set the trunk on my shoulder and picked up a case, and Mansel brought down the rest. On the table we left an envelope, containing the photograph and ten pounds in Austrian notes. And then we were all four gone, like the thieves we were.
    And about the time, I suppose, at which the British Consul received his telegram, the cloak-room at Salzburg station accepted the stolen goods. But Mansel lodged the receipt at