empty square, I found a small cafe, and since this was just what I wanted, I sat down beneath its awning and called for beer.
I WAS sitting drinking my liquor when I saw a car go by on the opposite side of the square.
For a moment I sat spellbound. Then I was up and was running as hard as I could.
The car was a cabriolet, very long and handsome and painted green. Its hood was raised, so that whoever was in it was not to be seen, but in front were sitting two chauffeurs— in an unmistakable dark green livery. Exactly like that of the man whom I had seen lying that morning, awaiting his grave.
The car was gathering speed, when I flung myself on to the step.
As someone within exclaimed, I thrust my head over the door.
"Forgive me." I said, using German, "but I have most urgent news. Of the very gravest import. I don't know who you are, but you're deeply concerned."
A girl was regarding me as though I were less than the dust, and as the car came to rest, a hand was laid on my arm.
"How can your news concern me if you don't know who I am?"
The words were spoken in English, with the faintest American touch, and the tone was less cold than imperious— the tone of a lady accustomed to be obeyed.
The pressure upon my arm became very strong.
"I recognised your livery," I said. "Hasn't one of your men disappeared?"
The girl never moved, but her eyes looked straight into mine.
Then:
"Stand back, Franz," she said quietly. As the chauffeur let go my arm "What do you know," she added, "of one of my men?"
"I know that he's dead," said I.
I saw her start at the word, and a hand went up to her mouth.
"And I know who killed him," I said, "and I'll help you to rope them in. But we'll have to go carefully, because they're a gang of four, and they're pretty hot stuff. Besides, they didn't kill him for nothing. I mean, I rather think there's a good deal behind the crime."
The girl looked at me curiously. Then she sat back in the cushions and glanced at her watch.
"I expect the police," she said coldly, "will be glad to hear any facts. The station is in the next street."
My speech was impetuous, I know, and never would have been spoken if I had had but a moment to choose my words: but to whip me so was monstrous, and the blood came into my face.
"On the other hand," I said thickly "the police may agree with you."
"Agree with me— what do you mean?"
"That it's none of my business," said I.
With that, I made her a bow— for I had no hat to take off—and, inwardly raging at my treatment, turned on my heel and sauntered back to my cafe on the opposite side of the square.
As I gained the pavement. I heard a step at my side.
Then a chauffeur was speaking, hat in hand.
"Her ladyship, sir, would be glad of your name and address." .
"Tell her ladyship this. My name does not matter, and my address is this cafe— until I have finished my beer."
The man withdrew, and, more enraged than ever, I sat myself down at my table and mopped my face.
As I glared at the glass before me I could see the pride of her mouth and the lift of her delicate chin; when I shut my eyes I saw her lovely temples and the sweep of her blue-black hair when I frowned at my watch I saw her aquiline nose and her great grey eyes: and when at last I looked up, there was the car before me with my lady's face framed in its window and the second chauffeur standing beside the door.
"If you will forgive me, perhaps I can give you a lift."
This unadorned apology acted on me as a charm. All my resentment vanished, as though it had never been, and I know that my heart leaped up at the sight of her eager beauty and the friendly light in her eyes.
I got to my feet, laid a coin on the table and picked up my hat.
As I took my seat beside her—
"I'm to blame," I said, "and I've nothing at all to forgive. I'm afraid I shook you up. But I— I hadn't rehearsed this meeting and I guess I went off half-cocked. I shall do it again in a minute, so I'd better just tell you
I WAS sitting drinking my liquor when I saw a car go by on the opposite side of the square.
For a moment I sat spellbound. Then I was up and was running as hard as I could.
The car was a cabriolet, very long and handsome and painted green. Its hood was raised, so that whoever was in it was not to be seen, but in front were sitting two chauffeurs— in an unmistakable dark green livery. Exactly like that of the man whom I had seen lying that morning, awaiting his grave.
The car was gathering speed, when I flung myself on to the step.
As someone within exclaimed, I thrust my head over the door.
"Forgive me." I said, using German, "but I have most urgent news. Of the very gravest import. I don't know who you are, but you're deeply concerned."
A girl was regarding me as though I were less than the dust, and as the car came to rest, a hand was laid on my arm.
"How can your news concern me if you don't know who I am?"
The words were spoken in English, with the faintest American touch, and the tone was less cold than imperious— the tone of a lady accustomed to be obeyed.
The pressure upon my arm became very strong.
"I recognised your livery," I said. "Hasn't one of your men disappeared?"
The girl never moved, but her eyes looked straight into mine.
Then:
"Stand back, Franz," she said quietly. As the chauffeur let go my arm "What do you know," she added, "of one of my men?"
"I know that he's dead," said I.
I saw her start at the word, and a hand went up to her mouth.
"And I know who killed him," I said, "and I'll help you to rope them in. But we'll have to go carefully, because they're a gang of four, and they're pretty hot stuff. Besides, they didn't kill him for nothing. I mean, I rather think there's a good deal behind the crime."
The girl looked at me curiously. Then she sat back in the cushions and glanced at her watch.
"I expect the police," she said coldly, "will be glad to hear any facts. The station is in the next street."
My speech was impetuous, I know, and never would have been spoken if I had had but a moment to choose my words: but to whip me so was monstrous, and the blood came into my face.
"On the other hand," I said thickly "the police may agree with you."
"Agree with me— what do you mean?"
"That it's none of my business," said I.
With that, I made her a bow— for I had no hat to take off—and, inwardly raging at my treatment, turned on my heel and sauntered back to my cafe on the opposite side of the square.
As I gained the pavement. I heard a step at my side.
Then a chauffeur was speaking, hat in hand.
"Her ladyship, sir, would be glad of your name and address." .
"Tell her ladyship this. My name does not matter, and my address is this cafe— until I have finished my beer."
The man withdrew, and, more enraged than ever, I sat myself down at my table and mopped my face.
As I glared at the glass before me I could see the pride of her mouth and the lift of her delicate chin; when I shut my eyes I saw her lovely temples and the sweep of her blue-black hair when I frowned at my watch I saw her aquiline nose and her great grey eyes: and when at last I looked up, there was the car before me with my lady's face framed in its window and the second chauffeur standing beside the door.
"If you will forgive me, perhaps I can give you a lift."
This unadorned apology acted on me as a charm. All my resentment vanished, as though it had never been, and I know that my heart leaped up at the sight of her eager beauty and the friendly light in her eyes.
I got to my feet, laid a coin on the table and picked up my hat.
As I took my seat beside her—
"I'm to blame," I said, "and I've nothing at all to forgive. I'm afraid I shook you up. But I— I hadn't rehearsed this meeting and I guess I went off half-cocked. I shall do it again in a minute, so I'd better just tell you
Similar Books
ICAP 2 - The Hidden Gallery
Maryrose Wood
Duskfall
Christopher B. Husberg
The House of Shattered Wings
Aliette de Bodard
Swimming Without a Net
MaryJanice Davidson
Arctic Summer
Damon Galgut
Demon Lord VII - Dark Domain
T C Southwell
White Pine
Caroline Akervik
Witchcraft (#2 Witchblood Series)
Emma Mills
Falconfar 03-Falconfar
Ed Greenwood
Cat on the Scent
Rita Mae Brown