Read Online Death Has Deep Roots by Michael Gilbert - Free Book Online Page B

perched on one of the high stools.
    As he came in she looked up with a smile of plainest welcome and it occurred to Nap that he had no idea at all what he wanted to say to her.
    He was saved the trouble. The girl indicated the stool beside her and Nap sat down.
    She inspected him slowly but not rudely, and then said, “So young.”
    “You leave my youth alone,” said Nap, who was apt to be sensitive about his appearance. “I would remind you that I am a married man.”
    “And a lieutenant-colonel,” said the girl.
    “War Substantive,” said Nap. “We keep a Pekingese, too, and have a female child called Phylida.”
    “Charming,” said the girl. “So gosse. One would scarcely credit that you were pubic.”
    “Oh, but I am, I assure you,” said Nap. “Hairs on the chest and everything. Will you join me in a drink? What’s that you’ve got there?”
    “Pernod. Thank you.”
    Nap looked with increased respect at the girl. He knew the cloudy devil that lived in the harmless, lemonade-coloured liquid. He considered that his safest course would be to stick to business.
    “You appear to know a good deal more about me,” he said, “than I do about you. I regret that I do not even know your name.”
    “That is easily remedied,” said the girl. She opened her bag, took out a tiny snake – skin case, and picked out an ivory-coloured card. Nap took it up and read: “Josephine Delboise.” The card was edged in black.
    “My husband,” explained Madame Delboise.
    “Killed in the war?”
    “In the war, but not in action. He was tortured to death by the Germans.” She said this in the extremely matter-of-fact voice which the French reserve for announcements of this sort.
    “I am sorry,” said Nap.
    “Not so sorry as the Germans – of those concerned all were killed by us. Some sooner, some later.”
    “I see,” said Nap. He felt himself being sidetracked again. He ordered himself another gin and, seeing that she had finished hers, another Pernod for Madame Delboise, and dragged the conversation ruthlessly back.
    “What do you do in the Société de Lorraine?”
    “We help Frenchmen,” said Madame Delboise. “Englishmen, too, sometimes,” she added, “when they are themselves engaged in helping Frenchmen.”
    “I see,” said Nap. “Principally you find them jobs and homes.”
    “Principally, but by no means solely. We are prepared to offer them any help in our power.”
    “And is this all part of the service?”
    Madame Delboise contrived to look puzzled.
    “Escorting me across the Channel.”
    “Escorting – but he flatters himself. I go to Paris, on a visit to my child who is at school. I take this route because – since we are being frank – it costs the least. And you?”
    “I’m on my way—” Nap changed his mind at the last moment, and cobbled the sentence awkwardly—“I’m on my way to Paris, too.”
    “Not to Angers?”
    “Not immediately. I have first to visit the Sûreté’, to make myself known to your police.”
    “Indeed! You are acquainted with officials of the Sûreté?”
    “I know one of them. A man called Bren. I met him two or three years ago – he was helping the English police in some trouble we were having. A friend of mine called McCann was in that, too.”
    “What sort of trouble? Or may you not say?”
    “I don’t think there’s anything very hush-hush about it,” said Nap. “It was a sort of two-way smuggling business, gold sovereigns one way and jewelry the other.”
    “I see.” Madame Delboise sounded thoughtful. “And Major McCann was involved in that, too. Do you know Monsieur Bren well?”
    “Well enough to call him a friend. I think he will help me if he can.”
    “Friends are always helpful,” said Madame Delboise. “Would it be an irregularity if I were to offer to buy you a drink?”
    “Thank you no. I think I’ll have a turn round the deck.”
    “I trust that the motion—”
    “Nothing of the sort,” said Nap indignantly.