The Four Stragglers. Frank L. Packard

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      Twenty-five minutes later, Captain Francis Newcombe stood at the door of his apartment. Runnells admitted him.

      "Paul Cremarre here yet?" demanded the ex-captain of territorials briskly.

      "Yes," said Runnells. "Been here half an hour."

      With Runnells behind him, Captain Francis Newcombe entered the living room of the apartment. A tall man, immaculately dressed, with a small, very carefully trimmed black moustache, with eyes that were equally black but whose pupils were curiously minute, stood by the mantel.

      "Ah, monsieur!" He waved his arm in greeting. "Salut!"

      "Back, eh, Paul?" nodded Captain Francis Newcombe, flinging himself into a lounge chair. "Expected you, of course, to-night. Well, what's the news? How's the fishing smack?"

      Paul Cremarre smiled faintly.

      "Ah, the poor Marianne!" he said. "Such bad weather! It is always the bilge. If it did not leak so furiously!" He lifted his shoulders, and blew a wreath of cigarette smoke languidly ceilingward.

      "So!" said Captain Francis Newcombe. "Been searched again, eh?"

      The Frenchman laughed softly.

      "Two very charming old gentlemen who were summering on the French coast, and were so interested in everything. Could they come aboard? But, why not? It was a pleasure! Such harmless old children they looked—not at all like Leduc and Colferre of the Préfecture!"

      "One more sign of the times!" commented Captain Francis Newcombe a little shortly. "And Père Mouche?"

      "Ah!" murmured the Frenchman. "That is another story! I am afraid it is true that his back is really bending under the load. He has done amazingly, but though the continent is wide, it can only absorb so much, and there are always difficulties. He says himself that we feed him too well."

      Captain Francis Newcombe frowned.

      "Well, he's right, of course! Leduc and Colferre, eh? I don't like it! If we needed anything further to back us up in our decision lately that it was about time to lay low for a while, we've got it here. There is to-morrow night's affair, of course, that naturally we will carry through, but after that I think we should come to a full stop for, say—a six months' holiday. Personally, as you know, I'm rather anxious to make a little trip to America. I'll take Runnells along as my man for the looks of it. He can play at valeting and still enjoy himself if he keeps out of mischief—which I will see to it"—Captain Francis Newcombe's lips thinned—"that he does! That will account for the temporary closing up of this apartment here. And you, Paul—I suppose it will be the Riviera for you?"

      The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.

      "Ah!" he said. "As to that I do not know, but what does it matter?" He laughed good-humouredly. "I have no attraction such as monsieur with a charming ward in America. I am of the desolate, one of the forlorn of the earth in whom no one has more than a passing interest."

      "Except Scotland Yard and the Préfecture," said the ex-captain of territorials with a grim smile. He rose suddenly from his chair and paced once or twice the length of the room. "Yes," he said decisively, "we'd be fools to do anything else. It will give Père Mouche a chance to work down his surplus stock, and the police to lose a little of their ardour. It's getting a bit hot. Scotland Yard is badly flicked on the raw. London is becoming unhealthy. Even Runnells here, whom I would never accuse of having any delicate sense of prescience, has been uneasy of late as though he felt the net drawing in."

      "You're bloody well right!" said Runnells gruffly. "I don't know how, but it's true. Let the coppers nose a cold scent for a while, I says. I can do with a bit of America whenever you're ready!"

      "Quite so!" said Captain Francis Newcombe. "It's in the air. Like Runnells, I do not know exactly where it comes from, but I know it's there."

      "Monsieur," said the Frenchman, "I have often wondered about the fourth—stragglers, I think you called us that night—about the fourth straggler."

      "You mean?" demanded Captain Francis Newcombe sharply.

      "Nothing!" said the Frenchman. "One sometimes wonders, that is all. The thought flashed through my mind as you spoke. But it means nothing. How could it? More than three years have gone. Let us forget my remark." He flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Well, then, as I am the only one left to speak, I will say that I too agree. For six months we do not exist so far as business is concerned—after to-morrow night." He made a wry face, and laughed. "Well, it will be dull! I fear it will be dull, and one will become ennuyé, but it is wise. So! It is decided. And so there remains only to-morrow night. I was to be here this evening to discuss the details—and here I am. Shall we proceed to discuss them? I have made a promise to the little Père Mouche that when I return he shall eat a ragoût from a veritable gold plate, and that Scotland Yard—"

      The doorbell interrupted the Frenchman's words.

      Runnells left the room to answer the summons. He was back in a moment with a card on a silver tray, which he handed to the ex-captain of territorials.

      The card tray was significant. Captain Francis Newcombe glanced first at Runnell's face, frowned—then picked up the card. His eyes narrowed as he read it. On the card was written:

      DETECTIVE-SERGEANT MULLINS

       NEW SCOTLAND YARD

      He handed the card coolly to Paul Cremarre.

      "Everything all right so far as you are concerned?" he demanded in a low, quick tone.

      The Frenchman smiled at the card in a curious way, handed it back, and lighted a fresh cigarette.

      "Yes," he said.

      "Sure?" said Captain Francis Newcombe.

      "Absolutely!" replied the Frenchman in the same low tone.

      "Very good!" said the ex-captain of territorials. "Don't look so damned white around the gills, Runnells. And watch yourself!" He raised his voice. "Show the sergeant in, Runnells!" he said.

      A minute later, Runnells ushered in a thick-set, florid-faced man.

      "Sergeant Mullins, sir!" he announced, and withdrew from the room.

      The sergeant looked inquiringly from one to the other of the two men.

      "I'm sorry to intrude, gentlemen," he said. "It's Captain Newcombe, I—"

      Captain Francis Newcombe waved his hand pleasantly.

      "Not at all, sergeant!" he said. "I am Captain Newcombe. What can I do for you?"

      "Well, sir," said the man from Scotland Yard, "I'm not saying you can do anything, and then again maybe you can." He glanced at the Frenchman, and coughed slightly.

      "Mr. Cremarre is a close friend of mine," said Captain Francis Newcombe quietly. "You may speak quite freely before him, so far as I am concerned."

      "Very good, sir!" said Sergeant Mullins. "Well, then, even if the papers hadn't been full of it all day, you'd probably know about it anyway, being as how you were a СКАЧАТЬ