THE RED LEDGER. Frank L. Packard

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ burst through the circle, dropped on his knees beside the motionless, outstretched figure—and stared wildly into the white, upturned face. Relief, incredible, so overpowering as almost for the instant to leave him weak and helpless, swept upon him—it was not Charlebois. There was a resemblance, much of it, enough of it, owing to the restricted view and the distance across the room, to have deceived even him when he had seen the other enter; but then, of course, he had been expecting Charlebois, and the little old gentleman's street clothes were rarely twice alike. The man was of about the same age, the same build as Charlebois; and, like Charlebois, had blue eyes and silvery hair—but it was not Charlebois.

      But Stranway was in action now, and, on his feet again in an instant, he sprang through the door and out into the street. The man who had fired the shots could not have got very far away as yet, and Stranway was morally certain he could identify the other again if he but got a glimpse of him—the man was slim, tall, fair-haired, and was wearing a light-grey suit.

      Five minutes' search, however, from one end of the block to the other resulted in—nothing. Talimini's, the locality, was a well-chosen spot! The hawkers, the heterogeneous mass of people and pushcarts that crowded the pavements and the curbs, had swallowed the man up effectually.

      Stranway returned to the café, and elbowed his way inside through the crowd that had collected at the door. Some degree of order had been restored, but the place still seethed with commotion and excitement. A man, a doctor evidently from his professional actions, probably one who had been among the guests, was on his knees beside the man who had been shot. A little group, in which everyone talked at once, eagerly recounted what had happened to a police officer. The doctor looked up and shook his head gravely in response to an inquiry from the policeman.

      "Can't tell till we get him to the hospital," he said. "He has a chance—a bare chance, I should say."

      Someone pressed Stranway's elbow with a light but significant touch.

      "I am here, my boy," said a quiet voice in his ear.

      It was the voice and the sharp, steel-blue eyes of Henri Raoul Charlebois that Stranway recognised—nothing else proclaimed the other's identity. The neatly dressed gentleman beside him, brown-haired, moustached, bearded, marvellous in his make-up, might readily have passed for a well-preserved man of forty.

      Before Stranway could respond, the officer spoke again, raising his voice and waving his hand toward the wounded man:

      "Anybody here come in with this gentleman, or know who he is?"

      There was no answer, and Stranway leaned close to Charlebois.

      "I think we would better get out of here," he said in a low tone. "I'll go and get my hat."

      Charlebois agreeing with a slight nod, Stranway made his way back to his table.

      "Emile," he said to the man who regularly waited upon him, "get my hat for me as quickly as you can, please."

      "Monsieur will not dine here, then, to-night?" asked the man.

      "No," Stranway replied. "Not to-night. Hurry, Emile."

      The man was back in a moment, and, as he politely extended the hat, took from his pocket an envelope which he also handed to Stranway.

      "What's this?" demanded Stranway.

      "I do not know." Emile smiled and lifted his shoulders. "It was left by a gentleman this afternoon, who said you would dine here to-night, and that I was to give it to you—but not until you were going away."

      "Not until I was going away!" echoed Stranway in astonishment.

      "Yes," said Emile. "That is what he said. It is perhaps a joke, I do not know—I am innocent of it—monsieur knows I would not take liberties."

      Stranway tore the envelope open, and as he read the words that were scrawled on the sheet of paper he had found therein, his lips straightened into a grim line. He put the note back into the envelope, and the envelope into his pocket.

      "All right," he said unconcernedly, as he slipped a coin into the waiter's hand. "Good-night, Emile."

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4Rj3RXhpZgAATU0AKgAAAAgADAEAAAMAAAABB9AAAAEBAAMAAAABDIAAAAECAAMAAAADAAAA ngEGAAMAAAABAAIAAAESAAMAAAABAAEAAAEVAAMAAAABAAMAAAEaAAUAAAABAAAApAEbAAUAAAAB AAAArAEoAAMAAAABAAIAAAExAAIAAAAkAAAAtAEyAAIAAAAUAAAA2IdpAAQAAAABAAAA7AAAASQA CAAIAAgACvyAAAAnEAAK/IAAACcQQWRvYmUgUGhvdG9zaG9wIENDIDIwMTcgKE1hY2ludG9zaCkA MjAxNzoxMDowMiAxNjoyNjo0OQAABJAAAAcAAAAEMDIyMaABAAMAAAABAAEAAKACAAQAAAABAAAD hKADAAQAAAABAAAFoAAAAAAAAAAGAQMAAwAAAAEABgAAARoABQAAAAEAAAFyARsABQAAAAEAAAF6 ASgAAwAAAAEAAgAAAgEABAAAAAEAAAGCAgIABAAAAAEAABdtAAAAAAAAAEgAAAABAAAASAAAAAH/ 2P/tAAxBZG9iZV9DTQAB/+4ADkFkb2JlAGSAAAAAAf/bAIQADAgICAkIDAkJDBELCgsRFQ8MDA8V GBMTFRMTGBEMDAwMDAwRDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAENCwsNDg0QDg4QFA4O DhQUDg4ODhQRDAwMDAwREQwMDAwMDBEMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwM/8AAEQgA oABkAwEiAAIRAQMRAf/dAAQAB//EAT8AAAEFAQEBAQEBAAAAAAAAAAMAAQIEBQYHCAkKCwEAAQUB AQEBAQEAAAAAAAAAAQACAwQFBgcICQoLEAABBAEDAgQCBQcGCAUDDDMBAAIRAwQhEjEFQVFhEy

СКАЧАТЬ