21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “Of course, it might have been he,” Wildburn agreed, “but on the other hand it doesn’t explain his hiding the boat in those bushes.”

  The Baron looked up with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Our neighbour is becoming nervous,” he said “Now is your time, Edouard, to bid him a trifle less than that ridiculous five thousand. I think Mr. Wildburn might possibly be induced to break his contract with Mademoiselle and get rid of his supposed treasure boat for—shall we say?—four thousand!”

  “And I thought that you were my friend, Baron!” Lucienne exclaimed reproachfully.

  “You needn’t worry, my dear,” Wildburn put in. “I shall sell my craft to no one at any price. It’s yours the day we are married. That’s my bribe to get you to hurry events up!”

  She hung on to his arm.

  “Quite unnecessary,” she whispered. “To-morrow would suit me admirably!”

  “Hello! More visitors,” the Baron pointed out “We are popular to-day, Edouard.”

  Mermillon turned his head lazily. The others were already looking down the deck with obvious curiosity. General Perissol, a fine figure of a man even in his loosely fitting flannels, was approaching, escorted by the first officer.

  “It is my friend, our famous neighbour from the lighthouse hill,” Mermillon announced. “I can guess what has brought him here.”

  He rose to his feet and held out his hands. The General clasped them and greeted the others to whom he was presented with a comprehensive bow.

  “You have come, my dear General, without doubt, to solve for us the mystery of that amazing explosion this morning,” Mermillon hazarded.

  “Not entirely for that purpose.”

  “You are very welcome in any case,” his host assured him. “That chair is comfortable? Good. Shall we have some fresh tea made or will you join us in our first cocktail?”

  “Thank you, I will take the cocktail. Will you, however, present me first to the young lady? I have an idea that she is the daughter of my old friend, the Marquis de Montelimar.”

  “A thousand apologies,” Mermillon said. “In the little fraternity of the bay it never occurred to me that you would not have met. Permit me, Mademoiselle—General Perissol—one of the most dangerous and important men in this troubled country of ours—Mademoiselle de Montelimar.”

  “Your father is an old friend of mine, Mademoiselle,” the General remarked as he shook hands. “It is owing to your frequent absences abroad, I imagine, that we never met.”

  “I am glad that I have been fortunate at last.” Lucienne answered. “I’m afraid that the greater part of my last two years has been spent in England and Italy. Let me present a young man in whom I have some slight interest—Mr Hamer Wildburn.”

  “A great pleasure,” the General said, shaking hands.

  “Now for the news, sir,” Mermillon insisted. “You have the air of one bearing tidings.”

  “I have none,” Perissol confessed calmly. “I am a policeman, and the police always keep what news they have to themselves. I am here in search of clues to this latest crime myself if anyone has any help to offer.”

  “We are all quite ready to assist the law,” Mermillon assured him. “But what is the crime?”

  “Sabotage,” the General replied. “The blowing up of a new block of flats with an absolutely novel explosive.”

  “But this is a purely local affair,” General Mermillon protested “You surely do not occupy yourself with such trifles.”

  “I do not,” Perissol admitted, “except where they touch the fringe of larger interests. The Chef de la Surete of the neighbourhood has been to see me. He is a nervous man, and he feared to approach you personally. I undertook to lessen his responsibilities in the matter. He is anxious to know whether you have had in your employ an engineer by the name of Chicotin?”

  “Paul Chicotin?” Mermillon repeated. “Why, certainly, Paul Chicotin has been my consulting engineer for some short time. He left me yesterday.”

  “May I presume to ask a further question?”

  “By all means, cher General.”

  “You perhaps dismissed him?”

  “Not at all. I ought to have done, because there was not enough work for him, but he himself was the first to realise this. He left entirely of his own accord. In fact, he has been so useful that I promised to take him back if he did not succeed in finding agreeable occupation.”

  “You know of his past?”

  “Ah, there I am at a loss,” Mermillon acknowledged. “Very little, I’m afraid. I knew that he was a Russian by birth, and amazingly skilful in dealing with machinery. He has increased the speed of my engines, for instance, without expense to me or change of fuel, by at least three knots.

  “I can assure you,” the General announced, with a certain dry inflection in his tone, “that he did not start life as a marine engineer, nor is that his special forte. However, I agree that we need not concern ourselves with his misdeeds of a generation ago. The point is that he is suspected of being concerned in the affair of the explosion at Juan-les-Pins last night.”

  “Incroyable!” the Baron exclaimed. “A young dandy like Chicotin to mix himself up with an affair like that!”

  “It is possible, my confrere,” the General continued, taking no notice of the interruption “that with many more important matters upon your mind you have neglected to notice the man Chicotin, or to concern yourself in his doings. He is the reputed lover of Mademoiselle Tanya, the dancer, and is said to have spent upon her a considerable amount of money. It is certain that in his younger days he was a skilled manufacturer of bombs.”

  “Bombs!” Lucienne cried. “What horrible things you make us listen to, General.”

  “What could a marine engineer know about bombs?” Hamer Wildburn protested.

  “The bomb which destroyed the block of flats in Juan-les-Pins could have been made by no amateur,” the General went on, ignoring the young man’s query. “A more wholesale piece of destruction I have never seen.”

  Mermillon sat up in his chair. It was obvious that he was disturbed.

  “My dear General,” he protested. “You do indeed bring a note of tragedy into our little haven of rest. I should be deeply grieved if what you suggest turned out to be the truth.”

  “I fear that there is very little doubt about it,” the General pronounced gravely. “Quite unwittingly on the part of its officers or Monsieur Mermillon, of course, I am afraid that the Aigle Noir has been harbouring a very dangerous criminal.”

  “This is most unpleasant information,” Mermillon acknowledged. “At the same time, if it is true the police are to be congratulated upon having got so far in their investigations.”

  “As I explained,” the General continued “Monsieur Sarciron himself, the local Chef de la Surete, would have paid you this visit, but he hesitated to do so, knowing that you were here seeking a period of complete tranquility. He asked me to come unofficially and make these few inquiries. You will not, I imagine, object to a visit from the gendarmes to search Monsieur Chicotin’s belongings and to ask your captain a few questions.”

  “Not in the least,” was the emphatic response. “In the meantime I myself am immensely curious to know what has become of that strange little man, and why, if he was bent on crime, he concerned himself with an empty flat.”

  “The mystery will probably unfold itself in time,” Perissol surmised. “Our friend Sarciron has already a theory. If it is correct you will never, I am afraid, see your engineer again.”

  “And the theory?” de Brett asked

  “He believes that Chicotin was in the flat when the explosion took place.”

  “If it was he who made the bomb,” Hamer Wildburn remarked, “that was the best place for him.”

  “Sarciron believes also,” the General proceeded, “that Chicotin was deeply enamoured of this Mademoiselle Tanya, who is a dangerous character, and a woman of many lovers. He believes that Chicotin quarrelled with her that night, and that s
he left him and went to the Casino. Chicotin remained behind, and in some way or other managed to work out his scheme of destruction, involving himself in it.”

  They had all been seated in a circle listening, and, as neither the General nor Mermillon himself had made any effort to keep the conversation secret, their interest had been growing all the time. Hamer Wildburn leaned forward in his place.

  “Perhaps I ought not to say so,” he ventured, “but I do not believe in the theory of your local Chef do la Surete.”

  The General looked at him tolerantly. “And why not?” he asked.

  “If Chicotin had wanted vengeance upon the girl,” Hamer pointed out, “he would have waited until she was in the flat, and then exploded the bomb. For a man of that type it was a senseless thing to do—to commit suicide and blow up her flat whilst Mademoiselle Tanya was seated happily in the Casino.”

  “Reasonable,” the General admitted. “You have an alternative theory of your own, perhaps?”

  “I have,” Hamer assented, “but you would probably laugh at it.”

  “Let us hear it, at any rate,” Perissol begged.

  “I believe that the bomb was intended for me, or rather for my boat.”

  “Hamer!” Lucienne cried.

  “You are surely not serious,” the General demanded.

  “Well, I rather think I am,” the young man persisted. “Certain things that have happened lately have put me on my guard, and for two nights I have taken to keeping a sort of watch myself, and both nights, between the searchlight flashes, I have seen a small boat of some sort between me and the shadow of the trees. Each time there was the same slim man in the boat, wearing a beret and a pullover, and each time he had a parcel between his feet—a parcel, or it might have been a leather case. Last night I was particularly on the look-out for him, because for some reason or other the searchlights left off earlier than usual. He didn’t appear, but there was the dinghy under the trees.”

  There was a puzzled silence, broken at last by the commander.

  “The searchlights left off earlier last night or rather this morning,” he explained, “at Monsieur Mermillon’s request. I can quite understand that they must have been a nuisance to everyone.”

  “I owe you at least four hours’ sleep for your forbearance,” Mermillon observed graciously. “Before you left this afternoon I intended to express my gratitude.”

  “Have you any personal knowledge of this man Chicotin?” the General inquired, turning to Wildburn.

  “I have never spoken to him in my life except to ask him what he meant by hanging around my boat about a week ago,” was the terse reply. “I began to think that I must have a false keel filled with precious stones or half a ton of cocaine!”

  Mermillon smiled.

  “I am afraid that little romance, Mr. Wildburn, is rather discounted by the fact that to blow up your ship would destroy any secret treasure that might be stored upon her or any value that she might have. However, the General will probably mention your theory to his friend, Monsieur Sarciron. He will naturally find it a little difficult to account for the bomb being in Juan-les-Pins while your boat is here, however.”

  “He might have been waiting for the searchlights to stop,” the young man suggested thoughtfully. “Curiously enough, the explosion took place within about ten minutes of the time that they left off.”

  Lucienne turned towards the commander with an idea of her own.

  “Did you tell anyone that you were going to stop the searchlights earlier last night?” she asked, curiously.

  “Never mentioned it to a soul,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, I only gave the order a few minutes beforehand.”

  The clock from the chapel in the woods struck the hour. The commander rose hastily to his feet.

  “You will excuse me,” he begged. “I am keeping an evening watch. I shall give you a respite again, Monsieur Mermillon, after three o’clock. I wish everybody good evening.”

  The commander hurried off and Hamer Wildburn and his companion followed suit a short time later. Only Perissol lingered. The frown upon his forehead had become more pronounced.

  “The situation,” he remarked dolefully, “is becoming a trifle more complicated.”

  Mermillon was inclined to be curt. He rose to his feet and sauntered along towards the gangway. It was almost an invitation to his guest to take his departure.

  “I must confess,” he admitted “that I am a little bored with my recreant marine engineer and this ingenuous young American with his mysterious boat. I have not yet finished my day’s despatches which it occurs to me, are of more vital importance.”

  Perissol promptly took the hint.

  “I am very much obliged to you, sir,” he acknowledged, “for the time you have given me. The solution of this matter will without a doubt present itself.”

  “I cannot see that the affair is of more than local importance,” was the terse reply.

  CHAPTER XVI

  Table of Contents

  The dinner party a deux at Juan-les-Pins had been very happily accomplished. The rising of the moon found Hamer Wildburn and Lucienne a little weary, but exceedingly content, still seated at their table on the terrace of the Casino. The place was thinning out, for the gambling was in full swing, but the divine stillness of the night, the queer attraction of the hanging lights, the softly played music, had tempted many to linger.

  “When,” the young man asked, not for the first time, “is that father of yours really coming back from Paris?”

  “I wish I knew,” she answered. “I want my boat.”

  “And I want you,” he sighed.

  “Would it be very unmaidenly of me,” she whispered, “If I told you that you would find me quite ready?”

  “Of course, you are driving me crazy,” he complained. “I wonder if you have any idea how beautiful you look to-night in that white frock and just the pearls?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea,” she told him. “Tell me, please.”

  “Well, you look just the most exquisite thing on earth,” he assured her. “I swear that your eyes have grown larger during the last few days and as for those eye-lashes of yours—why, no one could describe them. Shall I say a few words about your hair?”

  “What lovely nonsense,” she interrupted. “But I love to hear it. I love being here with you, too, especially to-night, Hamer. Shall I tell you something strange?”

  “Do,” he begged.

  “For the first time in my life I think I know what fear is.”

  “Fear?” he repeated incredulously. “Being afraid, do you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what are you afraid of?”

  “I can’t tell you. Life. It is not so much a personal fear. I seem to feel somehow that things are happening. The sort of feeling one might have if one were very religious and were told in a vision that the world were coming to an end. That is how I feel about life just now.”

  “For a sane and healthy young woman,” he declared, “I don’t think I ever heard anything so absurd. Try another glass of champagne, dear, quickly,”

  She obeyed him, but the look of trouble remained in her eyes.

  “Of course, I know that I’m silly,” she acknowledged “There’s only one thing in life I take seriously except you, and that’s France.”

  He nodded sympathetically,

  “A grand country,” he agreed, “but what’s wrong with it? I thought that since Edouard Mermillon and Chauvanne accepted portfolios in the Cabinet, and they created that wonderful new post for Perissol—a fine fellow, that—everything was so much better and sounder.”

  “On the surface,” she answered. “Perissol is splendid, of course, but I can’t help wishing that he were back in Paris.”

  “Even a superman must have a holiday sometimes,” Hamer protested. “I saw in one of the papers that he had not been away from the bureau since the day he accepted his office, five months ago.”

  “Of course,
I have a thoroughly stupid idea,” she confessed, “but there it is. I believe he is down here watching Mermillon.”

  Hamer Wildburn stared across at her without comprehension.

  “But listen, sweetheart,” he said. “I read the French papers a good deal. It’s my job rather not to come a bloomer over any of these things. It was Mermillon’s brilliant speech in the Chamber which united the votes of all parties except the extremists and gave Perissol his post. Why, look at them this afternoon, how friendly they were.”

  “I know,” she assented without enthusiasm “I dare say I’m crazy, Hamer, but even the Temps predicted once that if anything happened in the way of a rising in France, if someone fanned up the embers of all those terrible scandals of a year ago into flames again, it would happen during this period of long vacation with everyone away. Think of it now. The President is in his country house somewhere in the Pyrenees, where he boasts that he hasn’t a telephone and a motor car can only reach him with difficulty. As for Monsieur Chauvanne, no one knows where he is. He left Cherbourg in his own yacht, which is quite large enough to sail round the world, and a little paragraph in one of the papers this morning pointed out that his boat has not been reported since she left France. I wish I knew the General well enough. I would tell him that I think he ought to be back in Paris.”

  “If there had been anything going on there,” Hamer pointed out, “I should have heard of it through my paper. Even the Communists must rest some time, you know. Put all these things out of your mind. I never did thoroughly understand French politics,” he went on. “I spent a year in Paris trying to study them, and in the end I think I understood a little less than when I began. All I know is that the present Cabinet is considered the strongest which France has had for a long time.”

  “I expect it is all right,” she declared more cheerfully. “I suppose I am too happy in myself. That is what has made me feel nervous lately. Home influences, too, I suppose.”