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

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “It is a gentleman who has called to see Mademoiselle.”

  “He gave you his name?” the danseuse asked eagerly.

  “He said that his name was Suess, and that he had just arrived from Paris. He wears the ribbon of the Legion d’Honneur.”

  The enthusiasm died out of Tanya’s voice.

  “C’est bien,” she said. “It is a gentleman whom I desire to see. He can be shown in.”

  The boy made a lingering retreat. This visit into Mademoiselle’s room, with its perfumes and suggestions of the stage, to say nothing of Tanya’s own daring deshabille, was a moving event. He left reluctantly, but with the door once closed, he hurried to the man who was waiting in the hall—a pale-faced man, with a full, round stomach, short, but with a very upright carriage. The man wore spectacles, although the eyes behind them seemed bright enough.

  “If you will follow me, Sir,” the boy invited.

  Monsieur Suess did as he was bidden. He was wearing a dinner coat and white waistcoat, and he carried in his hand a paper bag of flowers. He was clean shaven, and his age was not easily guessed. The boy knocked once more at the door of the dressing-room and announced the visitor with an air.

  “Gentleman to see Mademoiselle Tanya. Monsieur Suess.”

  Tanya turned her head and nodded.

  “Find yourself a place somewhere, Adolf,” she begged. “My hair is almost finished—also my nails. You understand that I dance to-night?”

  “All Juan-les-Pins has been telling me so from the walls and from the lips of an excited people,” Monsieur Suess replied, with a bow. “I will not congratulate you upon your success, my dear Tanya. It is inevitable. Still, it will be very pleasant to see you once more making wild men of us.”

  “I do not think that I should have much luck at that with you, my friend,” she observed, leaning forward to look at her hair. “It is not good, but it will do,” she added, turning to the coiffeur. “Monsieur le Directeur will pay you at the caisse, and you, too,” she added to the manicurist. “I have no costume which would admit of a pocket.”

  The two took their leave. Suess, who was not far from the door, shook the handle gently after they had left. He took off his gloves and looked round the room with keen piercing glances. Tanya threw herself upon a couch. Her deshabille would have shocked a man with a different outlook upon life. Monsieur Suess was not shocked.

  “We are all right here,” she said shortly. “Before we begin let me tell you this. If another gentleman is announced—a Mr. Hamer Wildburn—leave me at once. It is important that I should see him.”

  “L’amour ou les affaires?” Monsieur Suess enquired, with a complete absence of jealousy in his tone.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” she answered. “A book of love would be less interesting to me than a page of affaires. You should know that.”

  “Yes, Tanya,” he admitted. “You are without a doubt devoted.”

  “Tell me how this affair of Lavandou has been received in Paris?” she asked.

  “A disappointment,” he announced. “The train was all laid. The blaze should have reached the skies. Then came the publication of the letter, the interviews with Madame Jacqueline. The thing fizzled out in sneers and laughter.”

  She moved in her place impatiently.

  “That, although it was known that Lavandou was in the Bureau of Finance, that he was practically taking Chauvanne’s place during his absence!”

  “There has been no hint at defalcations,” he said regretfully. “It does not appear that there have been any. We have no Press to compete with theirs. We did what we could. No one listened to us.”

  “Nevertheless, you have something else on your mind, comrade,” Tanya said, “or you would not have come all this way.”

  “I have something else in my mind,” he confessed. “It is a serious affair. All the same, I wish you would not lie three quarters naked before me. You know the sort of man I am.”

  She shook with barely suppressed laughter. Her face was impish.

  “Oh, yes, I know, Adolf,” she admitted. “Do I not know? But those things arc for afterwards. You men think too much of women.”

  “And you women,” he growled, with a gleam in his eyes. “It is not for your own pleasure that you writhe in those shreds of clothing, that you have always the air of longing to kick them off! A man works better who is not starved.”

  She caught up a beautifully embroidered opera cloak, wrapped it around her tightly and clutched it with one hand.

  “Now, a truce to your complaints, Adolf,” she enjoined. “You had more than this to tell me or you would not have come. The other things are for afterwards—if at all. I do not know. It depends upon my mood.”

  “You wrote to us of the man Chicotin.” Her face darkened.”

  “Another fool who had great things within his grasp and lost his head about me!” she scoffed. “Well?”

  “You know what Berthold was in Marseilles for?”

  “He said he came to see me,” she said. “There was other business, I suppose?”

  “Berthold was not like me,” Suess confided. “He loved you well enough but he never wholly trusted you.”

  “The man is a fool,” she answered carelessly, “who ever trusts wholly any woman.”

  “I sometimes ask myself whether you are a woman,” he snarled. “I think you are a wild animal—a tigress. I think blood is more to you than love. You have no sentiment—no softness. Bah, I could spit!”

  She laughed.

  “But, you won’t, dear Adolf,” she mocked him. “You know very well that it is I who fire your blood—who make you feel like great deeds.”

  “Well, let us speak now seriously,” Suess continued sullenly. “There is something else to be done. Berthold believed that Tositi left a written confession somewhere in Marseilles. Not only a confession for himself but the confession of his confederates.”

  “It has had something to do with a ship, then,” Tanya declared. “He was always down around the docks.”

  “You are quite right,” Suess admitted. “It had something to do with a ship. Berthold got as far as that when, as you know, the police made a swoop upon him. I will not say that Berthold had not earned the scaffold, but they gave him no chance. They executed him within a few hours for a crime that was never proved against him. They wanted him out of the world just as they wanted Tositi out of the world and just as they will want you or me out of the world if we discover the truth.”

  “They won’t get rid of me like that,” Tanya scoffed. “I have escaped from prison three times always the same way. There are no doors will remain closed on me if men are the gaolers.”

  Suess shivered. In his heart he believed that Tanya was telling the truth.

  “Listen,” he went on. “Berthold discovered the name of the boat on which is hidden this secret. It is the Bird of Paradise. Tositi had it built, for himself and some woman.”

  “Everything is clear to me now,” Tanya announced, sitting up. “You are not all fools at headquarters, Adolf. You have discovered something. If the confession of Tositi and his friends, or any part of the story of their doings, really exists, it is on a yacht not half a dozen kilometres from this spot!”

  “Who owns it?” Suess demanded.

  “A young American—Hamer Wildburn,” she declared. “He looks too honest to be anything but stupid, but I have written to him. I have asked him to come and see me, either before the show or after. I think it will be after the show. He will come to that, and he will not keep away.”

  “You are certainly as seductive as ever, you little beast,” Suess admitted. “You are also more conceited. As for me, I only find you fairly well.”

  “Oh, la, la,” she laughed. “A few moments ago you were shivering. If I had not put this coat on—”

  “Well?”

  “Oh, nothing. Only I know the signs when a man is nearly losing his head.”

  “You have an idea to work upon?” he asked.

  “If t
he young man comes to me, the confession will be mine,” she said. “If he does not come, I shall visit the boat in the night. If he will not give me the papers—whatever they are—I shall stab him, like I did Chicotin, by-the-by, and help myself. I am very clever at that.”

  “And if you are arrested?” he asked.

  “I shall say that it was in self-defence,” she said coolly. “I shall be tried by jury. I shall probably dine at night, when it is all over, with the Judge, and I shall have enough flowers for a palace. I have always rather fancied myself as the heroine of a cause célèbre.”

  “And if you succeed?”

  “You will find me either here, at the Provençal, or in the little dancing place next door,” she replied. “There will be serious business afoot then. Are you ready for it, Adolf Suess? That is what I ask myself. There will be far more danger in success than failure.”

  “If you can implicate Chauvanne or any one of the Ministers—Edouard Mermillon would be the best of all—the train is still ready. The fires could be lit in a matter of seconds,” he answered.

  “But money—how about money?” she asked. “It would require a woman to ask a question so foolish,” he scoffed. “There will be a mob of a hundred thousand loose in Paris and there will be ten thousand sane men to look after them. We know where to put our hands upon all the money we shall need, my little one. We must use the mob. It will be the same in every city in France. But we have brains as well, remember. We can put into the Chamber at least three Governments who would rule this country on the finest Soviet principles. It is not going to be a muddled affair. I can assure you of that. We have men ready for every post. The mob shall have their way up to a certain point, but the mob do not know where to look for the real loot. The banks will be our affair.”

  “I wonder who will look after me?” Tanya speculated.

  “The wisest man,” Suess said, rising to his feet, “will be the man who leaves you alone.”

  She laughed and threw her slipper after his disappearing figure. Bare legged and with the opera cloak slipping from her shoulders, she chased him out of the room, throwing his hat after him. Then she flung herself into a chair and rang a handbell vigorously.

  “My bath,” she called to the woman who made an unexpectedly swift appearance. “My half bottle of champagne, my dry biscuits, my cigarettes. In an hour I must dance. Wait on me quickly, Aimee. To-night I must be beautiful.”

  “More diamonds to-night,” the old woman cried with a satyr-like grin.

  “Serious business to-night, my old pet,” Tanya declared, springing to her feet. “In a week’s time the diamonds may be for you, and for me—this—”

  She stretched up her hands suddenly, arched her feet, and she danced. She danced softly at first and quietly. She crept like a cat, she sprang like a tigress. Then she seemed to be standing quite still. It was only her body that moved. Her eyes seemed to be piercing the ceiling. Then she became rigid. She was absolutely motionless. Her hands dropped to her sides. Her eyes became glazed. The fingers of one hand sought her throat. It was death that visited her…She drew a little breath.

  “You don’t understand that, Grannie.”

  The woman mumbled something. Tanya moved to the table, picked up a biscuit, and bit into it with her strong white teeth.

  “Open the wine, Grannie,” she directed.

  CHAPTER XX

  Table of Contents

  That night, once more Tanya danced to the enthusiastic plaudits of a huge audience. It was said, with absolute truth, that on that particular night she created a perfect furore. There were men, and women, too, wedged in amongst the crowds standing up in the background, who forgot themselves and their manners, in a wild struggle to force themselves into some place where they could catch a glimpse of that struggling phantasy of a black gown, the white limbs, scarlet lips, and blazing, eyes—calling, and calling, and calling. An elderly boulevardier of the last decade made his escape mopping his forehead.

  “My Heaven!” he exclaimed. “It is like when Cleo danced for those three weeks of her madness. Men fought their way on to the stage. They had to have a guard for her. That woman is a she devil, I tell you! There was, never a lady of the pavement who pleaded so eloquently as she.”

  But there were others, colder critics, who fancied that they detected that night an uneasiness in Tanya’s movements. Her eyes searched everywhere for something they failed to find. In her dressing-room afterwards, both bolts of the door firmly fastened, she flung her frock away and cursed like a mad person. Adolf Suess, smoking a cigar, her sole companion, watched her in amusement.

  “Pas de chance, petite,” he murmured looking, at her with twinkling eyes as he lit a cigarette. “Et le souper, hein?”

  She flashed round upon him.

  “You are a black-hearted pig.” she shouted You think more of your stomach than your patrie!”

  “And you, little one, think more of your hurt vanity than your failure here.”

  “And you call yourself a deputy,” she cried. “You are supposed to represent forty thousand eager Communists. You represent nothing except your appetite.”

  Suess was shivering a little, but he laughed at her. “I am the gentleman who prefers the blonde,” he said. “I know your tricks too well, little Tanya. You would never tear the soul out of my body, and this man you want—he will not come near you.”

  “A great compliment, my dear. He is afraid.”

  “Go and ring the bell three times,” she told him. “I need Aimee.”

  “Shall I help?” he asked, with an unpleasant grin.

  She stood facing him, her arms akimbo, but defiance in every feature.

  “If you came near me, if you put your filthy hands within reach,” she cried, “I would forget La Patrie for the first time in my life. Except that I fear you might be some small loss to her, I would stick a knife in your back! Remember that, and do what I tell you. Ring for Aimee.”

  He moistened his dry lips and obeyed. Presently there was a sound of voices outside the door, Aimee’s grumbling and protesting. She knocked—three times quickly and then twice. Satisfied, Tanya unfastened the door and peered out. Aimee slipped in. Tanya was on the point of closing the door when she recognised a face in the background.

  “Tanya, don’t be so cruel,” a young man with pallid features and straw-coloured hair drawled. “There’s Francois St. Pierre here and two other of my fellow-guests from the château. The little restaurant at Garoupe keeps open for you. Supper is all ordered. If you disappoint us we will come and howl the show down to-morrow night.”

  She laughed mockingly.

  “Poor little boys,” she jeered. “What could you do against the crowd of those who love my art? You would be thrown out. Nevertheless, the thought of supper is good. You are sure we can have it at Garoupe?’”

  “One hour,” the young man with straw-coloured hair, the Duc de Montesset declared with emphasis, “it took us to persuade Monsieur and Madame Crestner to keep their place open. There is a bouillabaisse there cooked, by the chef from Marseilles, and there’s a pate that came from Montpellier.”

  “Shall I make myself beautiful or shall I come to you like a guttersnipe?” she asked. “I can do either. The guttersnipe will be quicker.”

  “Let it be so,” the Duc replied. “Come as yourself.”

  “You pay for that later on, Monsieur le Duc, when that nice looking friend of yours sits on the other side!” she threatened.

  “Be off with you to the bar in the baccarat room. I will be there in twenty minutes.”

  She slammed the door and bolted it.

  “Wash the stuff off me, Aimee,” she ordered. “Make me, if you can, like the girl going to her first communion! Perhaps to-night I get a little revenge. Who can tell?”

  Aimee took possession. Tanya opened her eyes a few seconds later to find Suess still there.

  “Get out!’” she ordered. “Haven’t you heard? My plans for the evening are made. Why do you sit there staring
at me? Go and play with some of the little poules in the bar.”

  “So there is to be no supper?’” he asked sullenly.

  “Not with you, mon vieux,” she assured him.

  “How will these others help you?” he grumbled. “I thought to-night all was to be for La Patrie.”

  “You fool!”’ she answered. “You think of nothing but yourself. What do I care for those boys? The man with whom I am going to supper, the Due de Montesset, he is the unfortunate suitor of Mademoiselle de Montelimar, and it is Monsieur Hamer Wildburn who is his rival. Monsieur Hamer Wildburn will not come to me. Perhaps something may be done through one who hates him.”

  “This business may be all a legend,” Suess declared, rising unwillingly to his feet.

  “Zut, you have the brains of a rabbit!” she cried. “I go—I ask no questions. I just see and I know. Fifty yards away from the Bird of Paradise is a Government gunboat with naked guns and a searchlight. In a villa on the hill opposite is the great General, the one strong man of France—would to Heaven he belonged to us!—watching, and between him and the gunboat Edouard Mermillon in his yacht—watching. No one dare move by force. No one knows exactly how to move, but I am going to find out, Adolf Suess, and it will not be by force.”

  “And later?”

  “There will be no later,” she answered fiercely. “Go and wait till the morning. If there is anything to be told—you are my official chief—you will know it. After that—Marseilles and Paris and Lyons must be told simultaneously. If I succeed the end begins. You have the article written attacking the authenticity of Lavandou’s dying letter? You have the statement from Madame Jacqueline?”

  “I know my business,” the man growled. “If you succeed—I laugh when I think of your success—two of the papers which have the largest circulation in France will publish both. The revolution will commence to-morrow.”

  She rose to her feet—unrecognisable, pale, with dark spiritual eyes, the exquisite shape of her body nowhere concealed by the simple black robe which was all she wore.