Evening Star Newspaper, September 13, 1931, Page 83

NGTON, D. C, SEPTEMBER 13, 1931, 11 - S——— - Romantic Detective; Lady of Mystery — By E.P h ll ] lpS O pEn heim night. Rain streamed down the mountainous streets of Beausobeil, and here and there fell hissing on the still warm pavements. A short stout man, wrapped from head to foot in a black cloak, with his feet incased in galoshes, and holding a capacious umbrella over his head, mounted one of the most pre- cipitous of the side alleys, and pushed open the swing door of that cafe of dubious repute ~—the Cafe Regal. He shook the rain from bhis clothes and ing You Like” 1 / [e //g NS do with it.” That means that he can take in a few from each party. So he got him three Conservatives, three Labor and a couple of Liberals. The Liberals are the old Lloyd George Party, and they are the smallest party, but neither of the others have a majority so that leaves them like the Progressives in our Senate. They are the ones you have to deal with before you put anything over. Well the Co-lition got together and they knew that their only hope was to cut sone of the Dole, but they knew what had happened to Ramsey when he wanted to nip off half of it. So they kinder studied and figured if they pro- posed to slash off a third would they still be able to retain their Positions. Then they held another huddle and decided that about 10 per cent ought not to make em so mad that they would throw them (the Co-lition) out on their ear. So Co-lition reallys means Ca-reful. Now they are going to pull through. They are that kind of people. They feel their loss of banking prestige worse than they do any- thing else. When you have been the world's money headquarters, why its sorter hard to see it slip away. You know Mr. Hoover is sorter right about that “Dole.” He see’s what it has done for England, and he knows what it would do for this country. Of course no country in its right mind would ever adopt the method that Eng- land did. That is just give people money that couldent get work, and not make them do some- thing for it—just let thefn sit and draw enough pay to live on. Its got to be done by giving them something to do for that money. Thats what ruined the whole plan over there. I will never forget in one of the Arkansaw towns that I visited with Frank Hawkes last vear on our tour. They had been feeding some- thing over three hundred in their Soup kitchen, and one night they announced that they had arranged so that everyone would be given work the next morning at about (I think it was $1.50 A day). You could get a real meal in town for 25 cents, and after three meals that would have left you 75 cents. Well the next morning there was less than seventy five out of the three hun- dred showed up. So you see there is where England pulled their boner. You cant just give people somethin; %ar nothing, you got to do something for what you get. Now they got big Committees working in all the big Cities getting together a sum of money for the coming Fall and Winter. Mr. Hoover is going to insist on the people taking care of each other as long as it is possible to do so, and that will bc a long time, for never was there as much money in the hands of the few as now. So you see Englands problem is our preblen. He snatched his hand away and stood staring at it. hor- hor sealing his lips, paralyz- ing his nerves. glanced around with an affectation of careless- ness. Behind the bar was Toby, the popular voung nephew of the proprietress, Mme Hauser. Somnolent in a chair against the window was Pere Delous, the saddler from over the way. Mme. Anna, sprawling upon a stool at the bar, broke off in her conversation with Toby to stare insolently at the newcomer. “A terrible night,” the latter remarked amiably, as he approached. “Terrible indeed,” the girl assented. “One comes out only of necessity. I am waiting for the brave gentleman who will escort me home.” “That will arrive, my dear, that will arrive,” the stout little man chuckled. He leaned over the counter. “You wish to speak to me privately, Toby,” he said, in a low tone. “Well, I have com It is inconvenient. What have you to say?” At Toby's first eager words, the stranger stopped him. “Be careful,” he enjoined. *“Pere Delous there counts for nothing, but the young wom- an—send her away.” “She is always here,” Toby expostulated. “She is a customer.” “She knows nothing of me,” was the acid comment. “Do as I bid, or keep silent.” Toby disappeared through a low door into the rear premises. Simultaneously with his return, a bent old woman, with unkempt gray hair which seemed to have spread all over her face, untidily dressed in a soiled black gown, pushed her way through the side door. She looked at the stranger at the bar, whom she had known for 50 years, but she took no notice of him. “Mademoiselle,” she croaked, *you are wanted on the telephone.” Mademoiselle slipped from her stool, and, without remark, obeyed the summons. With the closing of the door Toby became eloquent. A stream of words broke from his lips. Now and then he banged the counter. The stranger listened, and his face, which one might have judged to be rubicund and cheerful, became as hard as granite. He did not once interrupt; he waited until words melted into sobs. “You may lose your place, Toby,” he warned bim. “I would give my soul to lose it,” was the passionate reply. “One must consider,” the stranger mur- mured. “Give me a fin, Toby, and another for Pere Delous.” Toby obeyed, and, with both glasses in his hand, his customer crossed the floor. Pere Delous chuckled. “For me!” he exclaimed, holding out his shaking hand. “Ah, it is the medicine I need, but work is scarce, and cognac is dear.” The man in the long cape felt his pulse and nodded gravely. “I will give you free medicine, Pere Delous,” he promised, “for I know that you will never pay for it.” His prospective patient mumbled. With greedy eyes he watched the pastille dropped into the glass of brandy; with greedy fingers The raised it to his lips and drained its con- tents. He sank back in his chair, crooning to himself, and closed his eyes. . . . IS benefactor sipped his own brandy, and recrossing the room, shook the apparently drunken man, and whispered in his ear. Then -he returned to the bar. “I will have another fin. Toby.” he ordered. “After all, you are perhaps right. You are scarcely old enough for such an important affair. Why do the lights burn so 1]l tonight?” “The storm. Soon I think they will be out altogether. Mounsicur is not angry with me?” “Not I,” was the genial reply. “Fetch an oil lamp before darkness comes.” The young man obeyed with alacrity. It was a great joy that this noble patron was not angry. The latter moved over to examine the switch. By the time Toby returned with the lamp, he was back in his place, however. One by one, the electric lamps failed. A thin pencil of light, creeping through the window from outside, seemed to wake the drunken man. He staggered to his feet, and lurched over to the countor. leering at made- moiselle, who had just returned and was climb- ing onto her stool. “A good sleep!” he declared. “It is excel- lent!” “Go and sleep some more then,” she advised him. “You're still drunk.” He held on to the counter with one hand: with the other he drew a handful of 100-franc notes from his pocket. “Who would not be drunk!” he exclaimed. “I have made wonderful business. 1 will walk with thee to thy door, little one.” She laughed at him scornfully. He thrust 500 francs into her hand. She looked at the notes with meticulous curiosity, opened her bag, and dropped them in. Then she finished her drink, ased slipped from her stool. “To the door,” she warned him, as they left the place togcther. . . . The dawn was late in coming, and little was to be seen by the fecble light of the lamp. The stranger felt in his pocket, and produced a folding black case. “Another brandy from the large bottle, ‘Toby,” he ordered. The boy turned around to the shelf. His patron leaned over, and even in that weird light, the thread of stecl in his hand glittered. He knew exactly where to strike, and Toby sank on to his low stool, with scarcely a moan. . . . Then, for a few minutes, his assailant was very busy indeed. First he bent over Toby, drew keys from his pocket, and emptied several drawers. Afterward he listened at- tentively to the stertorous breathing of Pere Delous in his corner, and finally passed through the swinging doors. For & few minutes the place was empty ex- cept for Pere Delous, who woke up once to gaze with surprise at an unexpected stain upon his coat sleeve. Then the door swung open. The drunken man lurched in, stumbled to his bench, and lay there. The silence of the cafe was re-established Outside, the rain had lessened, but the wind was moaning down the narrow streets. Again the door was opened. Mademoiselle Anna swaggered in. She looked across at the drunken man and laughed, made her way to her favorite stool at the bar, climbed on to it, and glanced downward. Toby, in that un- certain light, might seem to have been sleep- ing, but perhaps she guessed. Once again, and for the last time that night, & customer pushed open the door, letting in a faint streak of leaden daylight, and a gust of the wet storm. Peter Hames paused to shake the rain from his dripping mackintosh. “Wake up, Toby,” he enjoined, advancing a step or two nearer the bar. “My car is broken down at the bottom of the hill, and I am wet through tinkering with it. A glass of the best brandy, quickly!” After tea was served in the studio of the villa upon the slopes of 1= Turbie, and 7 o'clock cocktails followed. The footsteps of Peter Hames' temperamental butler fell upon the air. Undoubtedly he had done well to admit the importunate lady. HE mistral had passed, and Beausoleil was Jjustifying its very beautiful name. Down the sunlit thoroughfare walked Monsieur Charles Dutroyen, the prosperous and enter- prising druggist, the fame of whose business had carried so far that visitors even from the most aristocratic parts of the principality climbed the hill to buy his wares. Beausoleil is the poor relation of Monte Carlo, and very few of its tradespeople could afford that daily promenade of Monsieur Charles Dutroyen. Every morning, with the midday closing of his ever-increasing establishment, he discarded the overalls which protected his somber pro- fessional clothes, accepted a well brushed hat from the hands of his housekeeper, selected a cane, and made his way down to the Cafe de Paris. Every morning, he took his aperitif in the closed Brasserie, or out in the sunshine, according to the weather, and nearly every morning he ordered his luncheon from an at- tentive maitre d'hotel. On this particular morning his St. Rafael Quinquina had never tasted better, and the menu was to his liking—a delicious truite bleue, ribs of veal cooked in the Italian fash- ion, a trifie of cheese, and a pint of Turpin Monopole. It was the luncheon of an epicure! Monsieur Charles Dutroven glanced impa- tiently at the clock. It wanted still five min- utes of the hour at which he was accustomed to seat himself. This morning, he decided, rising to his feet, he would anticipate a little. There was to be an interruption, however. The vestiaire came hurrying through to him. “There is one who wishes to speak to mon- sieur on the telephone,” he announced. “It is from the establishment.” The druggist frowned. He made his way to the phone, and held the receiver to his ear. The agitated voice of his chief assistant answered his call. “Monsieur,” he confided, “things are happen- ing here which one cannot explain. Monsieur had better return at once.” Monsieur Dutroyen postponed his Junch, re- ceived his hat from the vestiaire, mounted into a little carriage and climbed the hill. He was a man of easy conscience, and still no thought of misfortune haunted his way. When he arrived, however, at that famous establisthment, as well known far beyond the limits of Beausoleil, the shock arrived. Three motor cars were drawn up by the side of the curb, and a gendarme stood at attention at his door. It specaks well for the courage and presence of mind of Monsieur Charles Dutroyen that he descended promptly from the littie carriage, and manfully crossed the threshold of his emporium. Worse things, however, awaited him. There were more gendarmes guarding a number of packets laid out upon the counter and his friend the commissaire of police turned a very grave face upon him. “What ails the world this morning. friend?” the druggist demanded, advancing with out- stretched hand. “A great deal ails the world, friend Charleg.” he replied, pointing to the long rows of pack- ages upon the counter. “Here is cocaine enough to stupely every human being in the princi- pality, and heroin sufficient to poison a city. Thesz have been discovered upon your premises, It is a disaster!” My assistants must have trafficked in them without my knowledge.” M. Dutroyven declared bravely. “The statements of your assistants have ale ready been taken down,” the commissaire de- plored. “Prepare yourself, Dutroyen, for thag which comes is more serious still. I have to arrest you for the murder, last Thursday, of Toby Dachener, barman at the Cafe Regal.” Imagination sometimes plays strange pranks with a man. For a moment, Dutroyen’s thoughts flashed regretfully backward to that succulent but never-to-be-eaten lunch. Then he leaned across the counter, and it was very much to the discredit of the commis- saire himself, and the surrounding gendarmes, that they let his hand tamper with the drawer on the other side, and reappear clutching a very formidable-looking revolver. “Paul Levadour,” he said, addressing his friend the commissaire, “I have always been a man who is fond of company. My tastes have leaned that way in life. They follow suit in death.” The commissaire dodged behind a portly gendarme, but his erstwhile friend shook his head reprovingly. “Have no fear, Paul,” he concluded. "YA) are a married man, with a charming wife. Have no fear. This journey I shall adventure alone.” M. Charles Dutroyen blew out his brains with the neatness of an artist, and, thcugh it was his business in life to cure, he succecded even better in destruction. N a tucked-away cafe at the top of one of the most crooked streets in Beausoleil, Peter Hames and Sybil Christian dined to- gether one evening at a corner table, Druggist Charles Dutroyen was buried, his business disposed of, and that vast stock of drugs had disappeared—no one knew exactly where. Pere Delous was at liberty, and drinks were free for him at every cafe within reach. Old Mother Hauser, the proprietress of the Cafe Regal, had died of heart failure, but, as she was reputed to be 93 years old, the in- cident was not to be considered of importance. Several hundred of exceedingly well informed people knew the whole story of Druggist Du= troyen's traffic in drugs, and suicide, and of the tragedy in the Cafe Regal, and were telling their story at every bar between Beausoleil and Nice. To Peter Hames, however, until the night of that dinner, theére remained an atmosphere of mystery about the whole busi~ ness. “Tell me,” he begged, leaning toward his companion—‘‘you weren't in the place at.the time—why were you so certain that Dutroyen had killed Toby?" “I knew that Dutroyen was supplying cere tain bars, including the Regal, with drugs which the barmen were selling. I knew tha$ Toby had made up his mind to be quit of the whole business, and that he had sent for Due troyen to tell him so. I know that that man who pretended to be drunk was an accomplice of Dutroyen, there to watch who came and went, and I knew that when he made his clumsy effort to get me out of the way it wag at Dutroyen's instigation. “The next morning I purchased, at Due- troyen’s shop, a second-hand leather roll of surgical instruments for home use. Onme, a long, daggerlike implement, corresponding exe actly with the weapon with which Toby was stabbed, was missing. “Added to all this, I knew that Dutroyen, whose drug traffic I was out to stop, was & bad man, a murderer at heart more than once. In a court of law, perhaps, it might have been difficult to obtain a verdict against him, bu$ there was quite enough anyhow to warrant an arrest.” “Why did you drag me into it?” he asked bluntly. “Because,” she answered, “for reasons which I may tell you some day, I did not wish to 80 to the commissaire of police myself. ., . » The restaurant was almost deserted. Peter Hames paid the bill, and they strolled outside together. A little carriage came lumbering up, with the waiter, who had been sent to fetch it, inside. ‘ “You will let me drive you home?” he begged. She shook her head. s “Then am I never to see you again?” he asked. She smiled at him pleasantly enough, but there was no response in her eyes to his own eagerness. “I have a conviction,” she confessed, “tha$ when either of us has need of the other, some- thing will happen.” She waved her hand. The carriage, ir’; obedience to her gesture, drove off along crooked street. Peter Hames lit a cigarette went on his no longer untroubled way. tCopyrisht. 1931.)