Read Online The White Cottage Mystery by Margery Allingham - Free Book Online Page A

he said at last.
    Le Gris smiled.
    â€˜Yes, monsieur,’ he said. ‘That is all I can suggest. But you will not have long to wait,’ he went on, ‘and at the earliest opportunity you can rely on us to assist you to our utmost ability.’
    The two men shook hands.
    â€˜Monsieur, I am so much in your debt already,’ said W.T. gravely, ‘that I cannot fully express my deep appreciation of your courtesy. You can rely upon our respect for your confidence.’
    Le Gris bowed. ‘As soon as the necessary information comes through, monsieur, you shall be informed,’ he said.
    â€˜How extraordinary!’ said W.T., as he and Jerry walked down the leafy avenue together.
    â€˜What?’ said Jerry.
    Old W.T. sighed.
    â€˜The society,’ he said. ‘It’s known to every police force in Europe, of course, though professional etiquette forbids one to admit it. Nothing can be done to end it. The police of the world are powerless against it. We can only get proof against the servants of the society – not the members themselves. Even the French Intelligence Department can do nothing. We shall have to wait for our man, my boy.’

7 No. 28 Rue d’Aramis
    After ten days in Paris Jerry had not forgotten Norah Bayliss. On the contrary, he thought about her more often every succeeding day that he was away from her – wondered what was happening to her, if she had stayed by her sister, if he would ever see her again.
    He was absorbed with this last question when he turned into the foyer of the hotel and walked through into the lounge. W.T. was seated in the far corner of the room looking offensively English, with a litter of tea-things on the table before him.
    He looked up as Jerry came in and began to grumble before the boy had reached his side.
    â€˜I thought you were never coming,’ he said peevishly. ‘Have a cigarette.’
    Jerry took the rebuke and the peace-offering.
    â€˜Any luck?’
    â€˜At last. ‘Pon my soul, Jerry, I was thinking of sending home for my winter vests and digging in here for the rest of the year. But young Barthés was down here half an hour ago – Cellini is abroad again and they expect him to sleep at the jeweller’s in the Rue d’Aramis tonight. At ten o’clock, therefore, you, I, and an
agent de police
will go and get him. I thought I’d have you with us. Heaven knows, you’re better with your fists than your head.’
    Jerry grinned.
    â€˜Why,’ he said, ‘d’you expect a rough-house?’
    W.T. shrugged his shoulders.
    â€˜Probably,’ he said. ‘No one likes being hanged, you know most of ’em make a fight for it. Le Gris seems to expect trouble, anyway. It may be only his politeness, of course, but as far as Ican hear, half the police force is going to surround that shop tonight – gendarmes in every doorway – gendarmes on each window-sill – gendarmes sticking out of every chimney-pot.’
    Jerry laughed.
    â€˜Oh, well,’ said the boy, ‘it’s a blessing we’re getting a move on at last. What I want to know is why Cellini killed Crowther in Christensen’s house?’
    W.T. grunted.
    â€˜What I want to know is what Crowther had on him that Cellini waited seven years to kill him for.’
    At twenty minutes to ten the affable M. Barthés returned with an
agent de police
called Marbeuf. Neither was in uniform, and after some few moments of conversation the four climbed into the car and the chauffeur drove off at speed. After one of the most thrilling journeys Jerry had ever experienced, they arrived at the corner of an ill-lit and by no means odourless street in one of the poorer quarters of the town.
    â€˜I think, monsieur, it would be best to alight here,’ said M. Barthés in his quiet voice. ‘The shop is some eight doors down on the left-hand side – Number twenty-eight.’
    â€˜Very well,’ said