Missing Person Read Free

my heart pounding.
    "We're not good at dates," said Sonachidze. "But, in any case, it goes back to the beginning of time, all that..."
    Suddenly he seemed exhausted.
    "There certainly are some strange coincidences," said Heurteur.
    And he got up, went over to a little bar in a corner of the room, and brought back a newspaper, turning over the pages.
    Finally, he handed me the paper, pointing to the following notice:
    The death is announced of Marie de Rosen, on October 25th, in her ninety-second year.
    On behalf of her daughter, her son, her grandsons, nephews and grand-nephews.
    And on behalf of her friends, Georges Sacher and Styoppa de Dzhagorev.
    A service, followed by the interment in the Sainte-Geneviève-des-Bois Cemetery, will take place, on November 4th, at 4 :00 P . M . in the cemetery chapel.
    Ninth Day Divine Service will be held on November 5 th, in the Russian Orthodox Church, 19 Rue Claude-Lorrain, 75016, Paris.
    "Please take this announcement as the only notification."
    "So, Styoppa is alive?" said Sonachidze. "Do you still see him?"
    "No," I said.
    "You're right. One must live in the present. Jean, how about a brandy?"
    "Good idea."
    From then on, they seemed completely to lose interest in Styoppa and my past. But it made no difference, since at last I was on the track.
    "Can I keep the paper?" I asked casually.
    "Certainly," said Heurteur.
    We clinked glasses. All that was left of what I had once been, then, was a dim shape in the minds of two bartenders, and even that was almost obliterated by the memory of a certain Styoppa de Dzhagorev. And they had heard nothing of this Styoppa since "the beginning of time," as Sonachidze said.
    "So, you're a private detective?" Heurteur asked me.
    "Not any more. My employer has just retired."
    "And are you carrying on?"
    I shrugged and did not answer.
    "Anyway, I should be delighted to see you again. Come back any time."
    He had got to his feet and held out his hand to us.
    "Excuse me for showing you out now, but I still have my accounts to do ... And those others with their ... orgy."
    He gestured in the direction of the pond.
    "Good-bye, Jean."
    "Good-bye, Paul."
    Heurteur looked at me thoughtfully. Speaking very softly:
    "Now that you're standing, you remind me of something else..."
    "What does he remind you of?" asked Sonachidze.
    "A customer who used to come every evening, very late, when we worked at the Hôtel Castille ..."
    Sonachidze, in his turn, looked me up and down.
    "It's possible," he said, "that you're an old customer from the Hôtel Castille after all..."
    I gave an embarrassed smile.
    Sonachidze took my arm and we crossed the restaurant, which was even darker than when we had arrived. The bride in the pale blue dress was no longer at her table. Outside, we heard blasts of music and laughter coming from across the pond.
    "Could you please remind me what that song was that this ... this ..."
    "Styoppa?" asked Sonachidze.
    "Yes, which he always asked for ..
    He started whistling the first few bars. Then he stopped.
    "Will you see Styoppa again?"
    "Perhaps."
    He gripped my arm very hard.
    "Tell him Sonachidze still thinks of him a lot."
    His gaze lingered on me:
    "Maybe Jean's right after all. You were a customer at the Hôtel Castille ... Try to remember ... The Hôtel Castille, Rue Cambon..."
    I turned away and opened the car door. Someone was huddled up on the front seat, leaning against the window. I bent down and recognized the bride. She was asleep, her pale blue dress drawn up to the middle of her thighs.
    "We'll have to get her out of there," said Sonachidze.
    I shook her gently but she went on sleeping. So, I took her by the waist and managed to pull her out of the car.
    "We can't just leave her on the ground," I said.
    I carried her in my arms to the restaurant. Her head lay against my shoulder and her fair hair caressed my neck. She was wearing some highly pungent perfume which reminded me of something. But what?

3
    I T WAS a quarter to six. I