The girl went out of the room, her cheeks burning as a result of her argument with Harrison.
“I wonder why,” said Henry.
“That,” Harrison replied, “seems to be very much her own affair.”
Chapter XVI
Heads Down
“Now for Madame’s,” said Harrison. “Time for an aperitif before our evening meal.”
Garfitt, who had been waiting in the “market-place,” keeping a weather eye on any heads which appeared above the wall bounding the garden, although the distance would have made later identification something of a gamble, greeted the suggestion with enthusiasm. All his life long, he said, he had been waiting to meet Madame, and he requested them to hasten to the temple where she was enshrined.
“That is, of course,” he added, “if my company is welcome. A feature which has been missing from the recent proceedings.”
“Of course it is,” answered Harrison, with a smile. “In fact, the Harrison gang, as you call it, is going to move in strength. After he’s seen Miss Rich home, Mallison will meet us at the café. It is a pity we have to divide our forces even that much on the way there. Numbers are going to be useful against any little surprise our Crewe enemies may plan.”
Mrs. Mallison explained that to reach the cafe they would have to go down the long lane again and when they reached the tramway lines turn left and follow them to the Sport Hotel where they would find Madame’s nestling near the entrance.
“Three more men,” she commented. “Madame will give you a great welcome.”
Which remark, according to Garfitt as they sallied forth, suggested that his good friend Bob had been slightly over-enthusiastic concerning his friendship with Madame.
They saw nothing suspicious as they made their way on to the high road. This was well patronised by motor-cars and, as there were no pavements, Harrison advise a cautious “look-out” for there seemed, in these circumstances, the possibility of a neatly-contrived accident. Indeed, Henry suggested that all the motorists they encountered must be in league with their most impassioned enemies, for he swore he had never escaped death so many times in such a short length of road. The cars certainly seemed to have no regard for speed or life and, from Henry’s point of view, made the most of the blatant Continental habit of “being on the wrong side of the road.”
Henry sighed with relief when they drew abreast of the large gates which gave on to the drive of the Sport Hotel. Here, at any rate, was an avenue of escape from some too furious Jehu. Just past this spot they found Madame’s. It was a tiny cafe with a few tables outside. These did not look particularly inviting, especially as they were so near the passing traffic as to seem positively dangerous. Indeed, the possibilities of accident were enhanced at this point by the fact that this was the tramway terminus, and one could be practically certain of finding a tramcar stationary in the middle of the thoroughfare at most hours of the day.
Obviously the real glory of Madame’s was within, and this was gained past a bead curtain covering the doorway which effectively hid the interior but allowed a certain amount of air to pass. The rattle of the beads as a newcomer entered was as good a warning as a bell on the door of any shop, but no such warning was needed, for the good lady of the café was standing expectantly behind her little bar.
The café was small and extraordinarily clean. In fact, it seemed to radiate cleanliness. There were four tables and a few accompanying chairs of spotless reputation, while the bar itself, with its array of bottles and pail of ice, was a joy to the eye. Beyond the bar was a little window behind which obviously Madame and any relatives lived. Should Madame not be behind her bar, which seemed a most unlikely event, this window was intended for her to see any new arrival. Next to the bar was a counter whereon were displayed newspapers magazines, lurid looking French novels, and, to the English taste, villainous cigarettes. Harrison was immediately attracted to the presiding genius of the establishment. Somewhat buxom, with a merry face and a clear bright eye, Madame was obviously a personality.
It was “Madame’s Bar,” there could be no doubt about that. She must certainly be a friendly soul, one look was enough to discover that. She must also be transparently honest, her eyes betrayed that. But underneath, Harrison felt there was a fair share of French peasant shrewdness mixed with a degree of native dignity, as becomes one owning the popular café in La Plage.
Madame’s English was not her strong point. She could muster “g’dev’ng” and leave it at that. This she did, realising the nationality of her customers. Harrison’s French, however, enraptured her, and she was soon ready for the most voluble of gossip, provided, of course, a certain amount of drink was consumed. Harrison explained that they were friends of Mallison.
“Ah, M. Bob,” answered Madame, her face lighting up; “there is a good Englishman for you. I love the English, all of them, but M. Bob, he is the one to love most.”
Hereupon she gravely shook hands with Harrison and then, demanding to be introduced to the others, shook hands with them also.
Garfitt explained, in more than villainous French, that he had spent the whole journey from London anticipating this honour. Madame laughed joyously and called him a grand flirt. Then she looked at Henry, expecting some gallant speech, but Harrison explained, on his behalf, that English was his only tongue. Whereupon Madame gave him a merry look with her twinkling eyes and said that it was a great pity but, what matter, she still loved all the English.
At this moment Mallison appeared and was greeted by Madame with becoming affection. He obviously held a special position in the Bar for all the frequenters greeted him on arrival and departure. “The sultan of La Plage,” said Garfitt, and Madame was entranced by the description.
While they were ordering their various liquids, Mallison just nodding to Madame and being supplied with the noxious-looking concoction which had been his choice at Toulon, Harrison asked him a few questions about his journey with Miss Rich. He gathered that nothing eventful had taken place. Mallison had seen no suspicious characters, and there had been no sign of the Crewe family when they had reached the Sport Hotel.
“Worried?” asked Mallison.
“Just a bit,” answered Harrison. “I oughtn’t to have let her go back. But she’s a young woman with a mind of her own and she insisted.”
“You don’t mean she’s in any danger?” asked Mallison, anxiously. “If so, I’ll go back at once.”
“Thank you for the offer, Mallison,” returned Harrison, “but I’m afraid it wouldn’t help. She has her wits about her and I expect she’ll get through all right. You’ll have to provide her with a bed.”
“Now I understand,” said Mallison, gravely. “She said she’d see me later, in a very serious sort of way, and I couldn’t think what she meant.”
“Now I want to talk with Madame,” said Harrison; “I may want your help.”
They went across to the little counter while Henry and Garfitt sat at one of the tables, the former writing postcards to various relations—on all of which he stated that the Mediterranean was even more blue than the representation on the back, which may have been true but was quite unbelievable, while the latter was already engrossed in a paper-covered French romance.
Mallison first of all explained that Harrison was the great English detective.
“I am always friendly with the police,” said Madame, sagely, “but I do not talk to them.”
Mallison then explained that Harrison was not a police detective. He discovered things privately. In fact he sometimes saved people going into law courts at all.
“A great work,” said Madame. “The law is expensive and, though I say it, unsatisfactory—even if you win.”
“But Mr. Harrison is really more interested in criminals,” said Mallison.
“Like the marvellous ones in the books?” asked Madame, waving a hand to the highly-covered productions on the other counter.
“Exactly,” answered Mallison. “He is even more marvellous. There have
already been books written about the work of Clay Harrison.”
“He has had books to himself?” asked Madame, her eyes sparkling.
“That is so,” answered Mallison.
“And he will have me in a book with him?” she asked, breathing quickly.
“It is possible,” was the answer.
“But it must be,” said Madame. “For everyone shall say that they have read of Madame of La Plage, and they shall come to the Bar and I shall do good business. Is that not so, M. Harrison?”
“I sincerely hope so,” answered Harrison.
“And you promise to put me in a book?”
“It shall be done,” said Harrison.
“Very well, that is agreed,” said Madame, with a melodramatic flourish. “Now I will talk. I will tell you everything. Still, there is one little point.”
“What is that?”
“You will speak no evil of the Bar,” she said solemnly. “You will not say the Bar is a place of criminals?”
“Why should I?” said Harrison. “That would not be the truth.”
“Assuredly not,” answered Madame. “Now ask me questions.”
“I am here in connection with a family named Crewe,” said Harrison.
“It was time,” answered Madame, seriously.
“That is interesting,” said Harrison. “What do you know about the Crewe family, Madame?”
“What do I not know,” was the reply. “They live at the Sport Hotel. They do not work. They have much money. They are crooks.”
“How do you know that, Madame?”
“It is not just the gossip,” said Madame, earnestly. “I should know, if any one. My niece, who lived in La Plage, she worked for them for a while. They were people of mystery, but so are many. But last year they took her to Cannes for a fortnight and she worked for them in their apartment. Then she knew by their visitors and the things they did that they were crooks. She was frightened, poor girl, and when she returned here she spoke with me of it. I did not like what she said and I was frightened too.”
“It is strange that you should be frightened?” queried Harrison.
“You do not know this coast as I do,” answered Madame. “It is fair and lovely to look at. It is Paradise to some. But there are the others. The crooks and murderers and even worse. And they have made this coast their home also.”
“And the Crewes?”
“They are of the others,” answered Madame. “They are clever, oh yes, very clever. They rob and kill, but they are not caught. They have money, they have courage, they have brains. But not all of them. Madame, if I may say it, is clever too.”
“Of course you may,” said Mallison, pushing across his empty glass for replenishment.
“In a flash, before they know, my niece disappears,” said Madame. “They ask me. They threaten me. But I do not know. I ask them and I threaten them. They are silent. They cannot answer. If I had not made my niece disappear they would have done so themselves.”
“That is true,” said Harrison, gravely, while Mallison looked somewhat bewildered at the turn taken by the conversation.
“It is right to talk with you, M. Harrison, for you understand,” said Madame. “My niece is in Madrid. She works there and is happy and she writes to me with such spirit and gaiety. They do not know, and they look at me for an answer. They do not love the Bar. And I am glad. Maybe they think she has made herself disappear. That is good. That is how it should be.”
“Bu why were you so certain, Madame, that they would make your niece disappear, as you say?”
“Toulon Harbour is wide,” was the simple answer. “I sometimes say to myself it is the crooks’ burying ground. Not once in a while, but week by week, there are bodies washed up in the harbour. Sometimes they are known, often they are unknown. And it is always said that it was accidental drowning. See,” she dashed across to the other counter and brought back a copy of a local newspaper, “here is a little paragraph of two bodies washed up only yesterday. A little paragraph, that is all. That is the importance of it. It happens so often. But the Crewe people know, and they can smile. Still no niece of Madame’s shall be found in Toulon Harbour.”
Harrison looked admiringly at the woman who, if her story was right, had won her battle single-handed, and had no idea that she had acted in any unusual manner. Just an episode in one’s fight with the world and then on again to something else.
“And the police do nothing?” asked Harrison.
“What can they do?” asked Madame. “I have said the crooks are clever and they do not give the police a chance. But you are different. You will give the Crewes something to think about.”
“Thank you,” said Harrison, with a smile. “Now for another question. What do you know about Drina Esberg?”
“You have heard of her, too?” asked Madame. “Poor girl.”
“She is in their power?”
“As my niece would have been,” answered Madame.
“And she cannot escape?”
“There is only one way if she should try.”
“I see,” said Harrison. “And the man who played the piano for her last year?”
“The great Wallace Sinclair, you mean?”
“Yes,” answered Harrison. “What’s happened to him?”
“I thought they had power over him, too,” said Madame. “But they say he is in America. That he was offered great money to go there. It may be true and it may not. At any rate, he is no longer here with her, and he is not on this coast. That much I know. I thought they had made him disappear, but Drina, when she came this time, told me she had news of him. Good luck to him for being able to do it. He may get Drina away, too, but I doubt it. I think she understands.”
“Another question, Madame,” said Harrison, “if I do not weary you.”
“That would be impossible, M. Harrison,” was the reply. “I know about the things I tell you, and I am helping you. Is that not true?”
“Perfectly,” said Harrison. “You are being exceedingly useful.”
“Then what would you ask?” said Madame, and then, as Mallison pushed his empty glass across to her again, “No, no, M. Bob, what will Madame Mallison say?”
Mallison looked gloomily at her and then settled down, unsatisfied, to listen again.
“Do the Crewes own the hotel or have any share in it?” asked Harrison.
“I should not think so,” said Madame. “But they have power here, great power. They are obeyed in the hotel and also at the Casino. They say—” Madame paused with an expressive gesture—“and the others obey.”
“Is that why Drina Esberg is singing at the Casino?”
“That is good, M. Harrison,” she answered, with a deep chuckle. “Of course it is. I know it had not been arranged, but suddenly she appears and is given her engagement.”
“Last question, Madame,” said Harrison. “Have you heard of a man named Hooker?” Madame thought carefully for a few moments and then shook her head.
“He is an American staying at the hotel,” explained Harrison. “I have heard he is very friendly with the Crewes.”
“Ah, the American,” said Madame, her face lighting up. “I did not know his name. He has been here once. He is not foolish. If they think they have trapped him they must be careful.”
“But Drina Esberg may have helped them,” said Harrison.
“That is possible,” said Madame, thoughtfully. “That is why she suddenly appears at La Plage and sings when he is here. Is that not so?”
“Madame is doing my thinking for me,” answered Harrison.
“That is good,” laughed Madame. “I like you, M. Harrison. We shall be great friends. You will drink with me?” Mallison looked up. “And you, too. M. Bob?”
“What about Madame Mallison?” asked Harrison.
“You will make M. Bob run home,” replied Madame. “But no one shall be left out,” and she called to Henry and Garfitt.
Visitors to La Plage have all commented on the generosity o
f Madame, and have wondered at her delight in providing a round of drinks at her own expense, but Madame had her own system of running the cafe, and even this excellent habit did not seem to curtail her prosperity. It is also worthy of note that the measure she gave in her own round was slightly larger than that provided in the normal way.
Harrison was very silent during this celebration, and the conversation was mainly in Garfitt’s charge, who vowed, with the cordial, if slightly maudlin, approval of Mallison, that it was his duty, on returning to London, to force his embittered news-editor to place La Plage and Madame on the map of Europe.
Henry was silent, too. He watched Harrison with the greatest care, and realised that his master was thinking deeply over the information he had gathered. There was a look in his eye which Henry recognised from old experience, and that look. Henry noticed with excitement, meant that his master had reached some important and satisfactory conclusion.
It was at Madame’s suggestion that they eventually departed homewards, and the four men started out for Mallison’s villa, walking abreast. Such a method was difficult to maintain and very often, owing to the traffic, they were even forced into single file, but something in Harrison’s tone had made the others feel that they should all keep as close together as was humanly possible.
Nothing unusual happened until they turned into the lane which led from the main road to the villa. They had not gone many paces along it when Harrison said, “I thought so.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Garfitt.
“Let’s moderate our pace a bit,” said Harrison; “I don’t like the look of that group of men in the road.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Mallison; “the French villagers always congregate together like that and have a gossip at the end of the day.”
“They don’t look like villagers to me,” said Harrison. “They look more like a rough lot from Toulon.”
“You may be right,” said Mallison. “But, even then, some of the Toulon people drift out here for a change.”
“We hadn’t better take any risks,” said Harrison. “I think we had better be prepared and a Rugby effort might be suitable. Suppose you, Mallison and Garfitt, run shoulder to shoulder at them with your heads well down and Henry and I follow on behind and complete the good work. I think we could get through quite safely that way. We might frighten them a bit, too. They would hardly be expecting it.”
Death on the Highway Page 21