Read Online The Mysterious Mickey Finn by Elliot Paul - Free Book Online
Authors: Elliot Paul
Ads: Link
Hjalmarâs already bulging pockets than Gring came dashing in, more frenzied than ever.
âI canât find Evans either ! Heâs stolen her. I know heâs stolen herâ¦. You wait. Iâll find her, and Iâll get even with him. You see if I donât. Youâre all in league. Youâre all against me,â Ambrose said.
âHave a Calvados,â Hjalmar said. âIt canât be as bad as all that.â He had a generous expansive nature and when he himself was feeling so good he couldnât bear to have another man sad.
âIt canât be Evans who got her,â Hjalmar said, thinking that would comfort Gring. âEvans is banqueting with Hugo Weiss. Iâm sure. No women present. Swanky dinner of some sort. I saw them go away together.â
That seemed to give Ambrose a new lease of energy and, panting with dismay and apprehension, he dashed across the street to the Select.
By nine-fifteen, not one person who had been a party to the deception of Hugo Weiss in Hjalmarâs studio that day was to be seen in Montpamasse. They had, without exception, disappeared without trace. The light showed yellow-green around the street lamps and pink reflexions of the quarterâs mad glitter could be seen on the clouds above. Through the gay crowd the rug peddlers strolled with their wares, the fire-eater sprayed forth his first geyser of flame. All the seats on the terrasses were occupied and extra chairs and tables had been used to extend the area. Taxis arrived and departed. Everyone was carefree and light-hearted except Ambrose Gring, who staggered desperately from café to café , mumbling and imploring.
At ten oâclock, he could contain himself no longer. He rushed to a telephone, called the Cercle Interalliée and begged to be allowed to speak with Evans.
âNo M. Evans is here this evening,â the maître d â hôtel replied.
âMy God ! He must be ! Then let me speak with Hugo Weiss.â
The maître d â hôtel did not lose his head. He merely asked an assistant to call the prefect of police and ask him to trace the mysterious call and listen in, so the rest of the dialogue between the distracted Ambrose and the maître d â hôtel was heard by the prefect and a stenographer, while police reserves rushed towards the Dôme to take Gring into custody.
âI demand to speak with M. Weiss.... My girl has gone, the people may seize the oil at any moment. I canât find Miriam, I canât find Homer Evans....â
âWould you mind repeating those names?â the maître d â hôtel asked, having in mind that the police were on the wire.
âHomer Evans. Thereâs a plot ! I donât know what to do. Iâve looked everywhere. Homer Evans went to your club with Hugo Weiss. I know he did.... No, I didnât see him. Hjalmar told me.â
âDamn these foreign names,â said the stenographer.
âH for Henriette, J for Julienne. Yes, thatâs it. J. Hjalmar Jansen, a painter. He said Homer was with Mr Weiss. That they set out together for the club. . . . Glub. Help. Mamma !â
The conversation terminated in a series of pitiful shrieks as the heavy hands of a quartette of cops tore Ambrose from the phone booth, and rushed him through the crowded terrasse and into the wagon.
CHAPTER 7
The Dragnet Is Spread
M IRIAM , with Evans beside her, was sitting on the comer of the Café du Départ, her back to Notre Dame, with the Conciergerie on her right and the St Michel fountain on the starboard side.
âWe could have done nothing without your help,â Evans said. Nevertheless he was afraid Gring still might find out what had happened. âYouâre sure he didnât suspect anything?â he asked.
âHe wasnât out of my sight,â Miriam said. âOf course, last night two men Iâd never seen in the quarter sought him out and spoke with him. I
âI canât find Evans either ! Heâs stolen her. I know heâs stolen herâ¦. You wait. Iâll find her, and Iâll get even with him. You see if I donât. Youâre all in league. Youâre all against me,â Ambrose said.
âHave a Calvados,â Hjalmar said. âIt canât be as bad as all that.â He had a generous expansive nature and when he himself was feeling so good he couldnât bear to have another man sad.
âIt canât be Evans who got her,â Hjalmar said, thinking that would comfort Gring. âEvans is banqueting with Hugo Weiss. Iâm sure. No women present. Swanky dinner of some sort. I saw them go away together.â
That seemed to give Ambrose a new lease of energy and, panting with dismay and apprehension, he dashed across the street to the Select.
By nine-fifteen, not one person who had been a party to the deception of Hugo Weiss in Hjalmarâs studio that day was to be seen in Montpamasse. They had, without exception, disappeared without trace. The light showed yellow-green around the street lamps and pink reflexions of the quarterâs mad glitter could be seen on the clouds above. Through the gay crowd the rug peddlers strolled with their wares, the fire-eater sprayed forth his first geyser of flame. All the seats on the terrasses were occupied and extra chairs and tables had been used to extend the area. Taxis arrived and departed. Everyone was carefree and light-hearted except Ambrose Gring, who staggered desperately from café to café , mumbling and imploring.
At ten oâclock, he could contain himself no longer. He rushed to a telephone, called the Cercle Interalliée and begged to be allowed to speak with Evans.
âNo M. Evans is here this evening,â the maître d â hôtel replied.
âMy God ! He must be ! Then let me speak with Hugo Weiss.â
The maître d â hôtel did not lose his head. He merely asked an assistant to call the prefect of police and ask him to trace the mysterious call and listen in, so the rest of the dialogue between the distracted Ambrose and the maître d â hôtel was heard by the prefect and a stenographer, while police reserves rushed towards the Dôme to take Gring into custody.
âI demand to speak with M. Weiss.... My girl has gone, the people may seize the oil at any moment. I canât find Miriam, I canât find Homer Evans....â
âWould you mind repeating those names?â the maître d â hôtel asked, having in mind that the police were on the wire.
âHomer Evans. Thereâs a plot ! I donât know what to do. Iâve looked everywhere. Homer Evans went to your club with Hugo Weiss. I know he did.... No, I didnât see him. Hjalmar told me.â
âDamn these foreign names,â said the stenographer.
âH for Henriette, J for Julienne. Yes, thatâs it. J. Hjalmar Jansen, a painter. He said Homer was with Mr Weiss. That they set out together for the club. . . . Glub. Help. Mamma !â
The conversation terminated in a series of pitiful shrieks as the heavy hands of a quartette of cops tore Ambrose from the phone booth, and rushed him through the crowded terrasse and into the wagon.
CHAPTER 7
The Dragnet Is Spread
M IRIAM , with Evans beside her, was sitting on the comer of the Café du Départ, her back to Notre Dame, with the Conciergerie on her right and the St Michel fountain on the starboard side.
âWe could have done nothing without your help,â Evans said. Nevertheless he was afraid Gring still might find out what had happened. âYouâre sure he didnât suspect anything?â he asked.
âHe wasnât out of my sight,â Miriam said. âOf course, last night two men Iâd never seen in the quarter sought him out and spoke with him. I
Similar Books
