CLOWNS AND CRIMINALS - Complete Series (Thriller Classics). E. Phillips Oppenheim

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СКАЧАТЬ Antoine,” he said, “I am sorry to cause you any inconvenience, but here is my card. I am a detective officer from Scotland Yard, and I have received information which compels me with your permission, to examine at once the sleeping apartments in your hotel.”

      Antoine was fiercely indignant.

      “But, Monsieur!” he exclaimed. “I do not understand! Examine my rooms? But it is impossible! Who dares to say that I harbor criminals?”

      “I have information upon which I can rely,” John Dory answered, firmly. “This comes from a man who is no friend of mine, but he is well-known. You can read for yourself what he says.”

      Monsieur Antoine, with trembling fingers, took the piece of paper from John Dory’s hands. It was addressed to—

      Mr. JOHN DORY, DETECTIVE:

       If you wish to find Jean Lemaitre, search in the upper rooms of the Hotel de Flandres. I have certain information that he is to be found there.

       PETER RUFF.

      “Never,” Antoine declared, “will I suffer such an indignity!”

      Dory raised a police whistle to his lips.

      “You are foolish,” he said. “Already there is a cordon of men about the place. If you refuse to conduct me upstairs I shall at once place you under arrest.”

      Antoine, white with fear, poured himself out a liqueur of brandy.

      “Well, well,” he said, “what must be done, then! Come!”

      He led the way out into that smelly network of passages, up the stairs to the first floor. Room after room he threw open and begged Dory to examine. Some of them were garishly furnished with gilt mirrors, cheap lace curtains tied back with blue ribbons. Others were dark, miserable holes, into which the fresh air seemed never to have penetrated. On the third floor they reached the little sitting-room, which bore more traces of occupation than some of the rooms below. Antoine would have passed on, but Dory stopped him.

      “There is a door there,” he said. “We will try that.”

      “It is the sick waiter who lies within,” Antoine protested. “Monsieur can hear him groan.”

      There was, indeed, something which sounded like a groan to be heard, but Dory was obstinate.

      “If he is so ill,” he demanded, “how is he able to lock the door on the inside? Monsieur Antoine, that door must be opened.”

      Antoine knocked at it softly.

      “Francois,” he said, “there is another doctor here who would see you. Let us in.”

      There was no answer, Antoine turned to his companion with a little shrug of the shoulders, as one who would say—“I have done my best. What would you have?”

      Dory put his shoulder to the door.

      “Listen,” he shouted through the keyhole, “Mr. Sick Waiter, or whoever you are, if you do not unlock this door, I am coming in!”

      “I have no key,” said a faint voice. “I am locked in. Please break open the door.”

      “But that is not the Voice of Francois!” Antoine exclaimed, in amazement.

      “We’ll soon see who it is,” Dory answered.

      He charged at the door fiercely. At the third assault it gave way. They found themselves in a small back bedroom, and stretched on the floor, very pale, and apparently only half-conscious, lay Peter Ruff. There was a strong smell of chloroform about. John Dory threw open the window. His fingers trembled a little. It was like Fate—this! At the end of every unsuccessful effort there was this man—Peter Ruff!

      “What the devil are you doing here?” he asked.

      Peter Ruff groaned.

      “Help me up,” he begged, “and give me a little brandy.”

      Antoine set him in an easy-chair and rang the bell furiously.

      “It will come directly!” he exclaimed. “But who are you?”

      Peter Ruff waited for the brandy. When he had sipped it, he drew a little breath as though of relief.

      “I heard,” he said, speaking still with an evident effort, “that Lemaitre was here. I had secret information. I thought at first that I would let you know—I sent you a note early this morning. Afterwards, I discovered that there was a reward, and I determined to track him down myself. He was in here hiding as a sick waiter. I do not think,” Peter Ruff added, “that Monsieur Antoine had any idea. I presented myself as representing a charitable society, and I was shown here to visit him. He was too clever, though, was Jean Lemaitre—too quick for me.”

      “You were a fool to come alone!” John Dory said. “Don’t you know the man’s record? How long ago did he leave?”

      “About ten minutes,” Peter Ruff answered. “You must have missed him somewhere as you came up. I crawled to the window and I watched him go. He left the restaurant by the side entrance, and took a taxicab at the corner there. It went northward toward New Oxford Street.”

      Dory turned on his heel—they heard him descending the stairs. Peter Ruff rose to his feet.

      “I am afraid,” he said, as he plunged his head into a basin of water, and came into the middle of the room rubbing it vigorously with a small towel, “I am afraid that our friend John Dory will get to dislike me soon! He passed out unnoticed, eh, Antoine?”

      Antoine’s face wore a look of great relief.

      “There was not a soul who looked,” he said. “We passed under the nose of the gentleman from Scotland Yard. He sat there reading his paper; and he had no idea. I watched Jean step into the motor. Even by now he is well on his way southwards. Twice he changes from motor to train, and back. They will never trace him.”

      Peter Ruff, who was looking amazingly better, sipped a further glass of liqueur. Together he and Antoine descended to the street.

      “Mind,” Peter Ruff whispered, “I consider that accounts are squared between me and ‘Double-Four’ now. Let them know that. This sort of thing isn’t in my line.”

      “For an amateur,” Antoine said, bowing low, “Monsieur commands my heartfelt congratulations!”

      Mrs. BOGNOR’S STAR BOARDER

       Table of Contents

      In these days, the duties of Miss Brown as Peter Ruff’s secretary had become multifarious. Together with the transcribing of a vast number of notes concerning cases, some of which he undertook and some of which he refused, she had also to keep his cash book, a note of his investments and a record of his social engagements. Notwithstanding all these demands upon her time, however, there were occasions when she found herself, of necessity, idle. In one of these she broached the subject which had often been СКАЧАТЬ