Read Online The Mysterious Mickey Finn by Elliot Paul - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elliot Paul
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but a St Germain to which M. Julliard had brought a true poetic touch as well as the prescribed ingredients. Miriam was conceded by all to be the heroine of the day and was toasted in various languages, including the Scandinavian.
Would it be too cruel to leave that happy company a moment and look upon Ambrose Gring? Ambrose, his face distorted with fear and his clothes awry, was cowering on the edge of the hard-wood bunk and staring at a blank plaster wall. A rat now and then peered at him suspiciously, then withdrew into its hole. There were, in the vicinity, neither tulips, roses, hydrangeas, nor lilies of the valley. When a draught through the bars of the door stirred the air, Ambrose, fond of money as he was, would have paid ten francs for even one sprig of catnip. He had been heaved rather forcefully into the wagon, in plain sight of all Montparnasse, jolted over cobbles and pavements, placed under a blinding white light, and asked what he knew about Hugo Weiss. He told them all he knew, and did his best at inventing more, but the officers had not thought he had told them enough. Not even half enough. The commissaire had barked and fumed, detectives had roared, threatened, and cajoled in turn. Whatever happens in police stations, hidden from the eyes of the public, happened that evening to Ambrose Gring, and all he could say was that he had interviewed Hugo Weiss at the Plaza Athénée two days previously in the hope of picking up saleable bits of information, and that he had not seen the magnate since. He repeated hundreds of times and under all conditions of light and pressure, that a painter named Hjalmar Jansen, which the prefectâs stenographer had written as Iallemaire Gonso, had told him (Ambrose) that Hugo Weiss and a man called Homer Evans (transcribed by the commissaire as Jaume Ivan), an alleged North American without visible means of support, had (Hugo and Jaume) entered a cab driven by a dangerous Russian, Lvov Kvek (even the commissaire could not make that one more improbable) and disappeared.
âYou are sure this fellow Iallemaire said â disappeared â?â asked the commissaire , shaking Ambrose with every word but especially hard with the words âIallemaireâ and âdisappeared.â The commissaire had a flair for emphasis and rhythm.
âNot disappeared. He said â drove awayâ.â
âFirst you say one thing, then another. Now what exactly did this ... this damned painter tell you?â
âHe just said that they got in the cab,â Ambrose said.
âLock up this imbecile until he can get his story straight,â the commissaire bellowed, âand then bring me this unpronounceable artist. Also this Jaume Ivan and the Russian Kvek. Also lallemaireâs concierge , if there is such a person and he has a concierge. If not, weâll consult this Greeng Ambrose again, but formally.â
âYouâre not going to let me go?â Ambrose asked in terror. âIâve done nothing at all. I wanted to find my girl, whoâs struck oil.â
âAh. Crime passionel . Her name?â
âMust I tell you that?â
âIf you like to remain healthy,â the commissaire said.
âHer name is Miriam ... Oil. . . Montana.â
âAh, Spanish. Take that down. Mademoiselle Montana. Bring her, and also her concierge â
âPlease bring her here. I must find her. You will find her, wonât you?â
âPatience, nom de Dieu . Weâve got to find half of Montparnasse, and probably not one of them can speak understandable French.â
âYou have no passport. That is enough to hold you thirty days, after which we can hold you six months or more for having failed to report that you had no passport. By that time, if Hugo Weiss is not found, alive or dead, you either will be guillotined or not, according to the circumstances. Take him away,â the commissaire roared.
âAwayâ was perhaps
Would it be too cruel to leave that happy company a moment and look upon Ambrose Gring? Ambrose, his face distorted with fear and his clothes awry, was cowering on the edge of the hard-wood bunk and staring at a blank plaster wall. A rat now and then peered at him suspiciously, then withdrew into its hole. There were, in the vicinity, neither tulips, roses, hydrangeas, nor lilies of the valley. When a draught through the bars of the door stirred the air, Ambrose, fond of money as he was, would have paid ten francs for even one sprig of catnip. He had been heaved rather forcefully into the wagon, in plain sight of all Montparnasse, jolted over cobbles and pavements, placed under a blinding white light, and asked what he knew about Hugo Weiss. He told them all he knew, and did his best at inventing more, but the officers had not thought he had told them enough. Not even half enough. The commissaire had barked and fumed, detectives had roared, threatened, and cajoled in turn. Whatever happens in police stations, hidden from the eyes of the public, happened that evening to Ambrose Gring, and all he could say was that he had interviewed Hugo Weiss at the Plaza Athénée two days previously in the hope of picking up saleable bits of information, and that he had not seen the magnate since. He repeated hundreds of times and under all conditions of light and pressure, that a painter named Hjalmar Jansen, which the prefectâs stenographer had written as Iallemaire Gonso, had told him (Ambrose) that Hugo Weiss and a man called Homer Evans (transcribed by the commissaire as Jaume Ivan), an alleged North American without visible means of support, had (Hugo and Jaume) entered a cab driven by a dangerous Russian, Lvov Kvek (even the commissaire could not make that one more improbable) and disappeared.
âYou are sure this fellow Iallemaire said â disappeared â?â asked the commissaire , shaking Ambrose with every word but especially hard with the words âIallemaireâ and âdisappeared.â The commissaire had a flair for emphasis and rhythm.
âNot disappeared. He said â drove awayâ.â
âFirst you say one thing, then another. Now what exactly did this ... this damned painter tell you?â
âHe just said that they got in the cab,â Ambrose said.
âLock up this imbecile until he can get his story straight,â the commissaire bellowed, âand then bring me this unpronounceable artist. Also this Jaume Ivan and the Russian Kvek. Also lallemaireâs concierge , if there is such a person and he has a concierge. If not, weâll consult this Greeng Ambrose again, but formally.â
âYouâre not going to let me go?â Ambrose asked in terror. âIâve done nothing at all. I wanted to find my girl, whoâs struck oil.â
âAh. Crime passionel . Her name?â
âMust I tell you that?â
âIf you like to remain healthy,â the commissaire said.
âHer name is Miriam ... Oil. . . Montana.â
âAh, Spanish. Take that down. Mademoiselle Montana. Bring her, and also her concierge â
âPlease bring her here. I must find her. You will find her, wonât you?â
âPatience, nom de Dieu . Weâve got to find half of Montparnasse, and probably not one of them can speak understandable French.â
âYou have no passport. That is enough to hold you thirty days, after which we can hold you six months or more for having failed to report that you had no passport. By that time, if Hugo Weiss is not found, alive or dead, you either will be guillotined or not, according to the circumstances. Take him away,â the commissaire roared.
âAwayâ was perhaps
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