The Adventurers (48 page)
Authors: Robbins Harold
"What about you?" Sergei asked. "There was talk about your marrying el Presidente's daughter when you were in Corteguay. Now there are rumors about you and Giselle d'Arcy."
"Talk." Dax smiled. "People must always have something to talk about."
"I know. But you didn't ask me over just to make small talk, did you?"
"No." Dax carefully put his cigar down in the ash tray. "I'll make it simple. The day before yesterday the Germans seem to have taken Caroline de Coyne into custody. I suspect she is being held prisoner in the basement of the Royale Palace Hotel, which General Foelder has converted into a private jail. I intend to get her out."
Sergei let out a long whistle. "You don't ask for much, do you? How do you expect me to help?"
Dax relaxed He picked up the cigar again. The mere fact that his friend hadn't said no reassured him. "Your father's headquarters are in the same hotel. I must know where she is. Exactly. Then what 1 must do to get her out."
"And what if my father doesn't know, or won't tell me?"
Dax shrugged. "Then we'll have to find another way."
Sergei thought for a moment. "All right. I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks."
Sergei smiled as he got to his feet. "Don't thank me. The De Coynes are my friends too."
Two hours later he was back in Dax's office. "Why didn't you tell me she was being held under suspicion of being involved in a sabotage ring with Robert?"
Dax looked at him. "1 didn't know."
Sergei stared back. "That's a damn serious matter."
"Have they proved anything?"
"No. They're still questioning her."
"That's the end of it then. A week of their kind of questioning and she'll be ready to confess to setting the Reichstag fire." Dax slumped down in his chair. "Then I gather your father didn't tell you where she was?"
"My father told me exactly where she was. He also informed me who was in charge of her case, and the one way we could possibly get her out."
Dax stared at him. "I don't understand. Why would he do that?"
"Don't you know who owned the Royale Palace Hotel?"
Dax shook his head.
"Baron de Coyne. He was the only man in all Paris who would give my father a job when we came here from Russia."
Dax was silent for a moment. He put down the cigar carefully. "So, how do we get her out?"
"It's really quite simple, old man. You're the key to getting her out."
Dax was puzzled. "Me?"
Sergei nodded. "The Germans are very anxious to make that beef deal with you. Everyone of them has been ordered to put himself out for you."
”I still don't understand."
Sergei took an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the desk. "In that envelope are four passes to visit Caroline. All you have to do is to walk in there with a priest and two others to act as witnesses. You marry her, then go upstairs to my father's office and demand that he release your wife. He'll sign a release."
"But what about General Foelder? Won't he have to approve it too?"
"Foelder left for Berlin this morning. Something's come up with Himmler and he's gone there to straighten it out. Until his return my father is commanding officer."
"I'll need two witnesses," Dax said thoughtfully. "Fat Cat can be one of them but—the other?"
Sergei got to his feet quickly. "Don't look at me. You ought to know better."
Dax nodded thoughtfully. Sergei was out because of his father. It would be too direct a link. "I'm not thinking of you."
"I'm sure you'll find someone," Sergei said, "you know how the French love weddings." A faint smile came to his lips. "And may I be the first to offer my congratulations?"
"You can go to hell!" Giselle shouted.
Dax stood there quietly as she crossed the room. "What kind of a man are you anyway?" she demanded. "You ask me to be a witness to your marriage? Don't you think I have any feelings?"
"If I thought that, I wouldn't have asked. But you were the only one I dared even suggest it to."
"Great," she said sarcastically. "How would you like it if I asked you to be a witness at my wedding?"
He stared at her for a moment. "I wouldn't like it. But that's not what I'm really asking you to do. I'm asking you to help save a girl's life."
"Why should I care about her?" Giselle retorted. "What does she mean to me? I don't even know her."
"She's French. And the Germans have her. Isn't that reason enough?"
Giselle didn't answer. "Or has George*, finally got you over on their side?"
She looked up at him. "I love you, Dax. Did you know that?" He nodded silently.
"Don't you think I wanted to marry you?" she asked. "Why didn't you ever ask me, Dax?"
He held her gaze steadily. "I don't know," he answered slowly. "There always seemed to be so much time. I wish I had."
He saw the tears come into the corners of her eyes. "You mean that don't you?"
He nodded "I've never lied to you. I wouldn't start now."
She buried her face against his chest. "Dax, Dax," she cried. "What will happen to us now?" He stroked her hair gently. "Nothing. Soon this will be over, then things will be as they were before."
"No," she whispered. "Nothing is ever the same when you come back to it."
They got to their feet as the matron opened the door and led Caroline into the small room. "You have fifteen minutes," she said curtly in German then closed the door behind her.
Caroline stood there trembling, blinking her eyes at the light. "I don't know anything," she whispered. "I'm not lying. Please, don't hurt me any more!"
Dax glanced at the others. Fat Cat and the priest were staring at Caroline, but Giselle was looking at him. He turned and walked over to Caroline. He reached out his hand but she shrank away. "Caroline, it's me, Dax. I won't hurt you."
She shook her head violently. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus. "I don't believe you. It's a trick."
She began to cry and gently Dax took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. "It's no trick, Caroline."
He felt shocked at her appearance. He could see puffy black and blue marks on her face, and her clothing hung on her loosely. When he looked down he saw the vivid red welts across the upper part of her breasts. For a moment he couldn't speak, then he pulled her to him. She hid her face in his shoulder, still sobbing. He tried to raise her face but she wouldn't let him.
"Don't look at me," she cried harshly. "They did such terrible things. I can still feel the dirt on my face!"
"Caroline," he said, speaking very slowly. "I've come to marry you. It's the only way I can get you out of here. Do you understand?"
She shook her head against his shoulder. "I can't marry you," she said, her voice muffled against his jacket. "Not after what they've done, not after what they made me do."
"That doesn't matter. Nothing matters. You must listen to me."
"No!" She tore herself from his arms. She ran to the door and huddled against it, her face averted. "You wouldn't want me if you knew what they did. Nobody would." She sounded hysterical. "You wouldn't want me if you knew what I did just to stop them from hurting me! They made me—"
"Stop it!" Giselle's voice was loud in the tiny room.
Caroline's voice caught in her throat. For the first time she raised her face. Quickly Giselle crossed the room. Her voice was harsh and flat. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You're alive, that's all that matters." She caught Caroline by the shoulder and pushed her roughly back toward Dax. "Now shut up and do as he says before you get us all killed!"
Giselle's eyes met Dax's over Caroline's head. She turned to the priest. "Begin the ceremony."
The priest opened the small black book and motioned for them to stand in front of him. Fat Cat and Giselle took their places immediately behind him. The priest's voice was gentle as he began to read:
"We are gathered here in this simple ceremony, before the eyes of God and of man, to unite this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony. ..."
It was over in a moment. Caroline's face was still buried in his shoulder as Giselle came toward them. Dax looked at her. "Thank you."
The tears came suddenly to her eyes. She leaned forward and kissed him, first on one cheek, then the other. Then she put her arm around Caroline and tenderly drew her nearer. "Come, child," she said, "I have some lipstick. This is no way for a bride to look on her wedding day."Dax stared at them.
Giselle suddenly became aware of his eyes. "Don't mind me," she said, "I always cry at weddings."
BOOK
4
MARRIAGE
&
FASHION
CHAPTER 1
The smoke hung heavily in the air of the dimly lit cellar. In the far corner the small combo made up in noise what it lacked in quality. Robert looked up as Denisonde made her way through the crowded tables. He did not get up as she came to a stop beside him. He ignored her, looking down at his pastis.
"Bobby?"
He still didn't look up.
"Come on, it's time to go home."
"You all through for the night?"
"Yes."
He looked at his watch. "It's only two o'clock."
"There's no business."
For the first time he looked up at her. He gestured toward the crowded tables. "They have plenty of business here."
"Outside the streets are empty."
He reached across the table and took the small evening bag from her. Opening it, he emptied its contents onto the table. A lipstick, small compact and mirror, a few crumpled bills spread out before him. He picked up the bills and counted them. "Only six thousand francs?"
"I told you there was no business."
He threw the bills back on the table angrily. "I spent more than that sitting here waiting for you."
"I'm sorry."
He picked up the bills again and stuffed them into his pocket, pushing the rest of the articles back at her. "I'm not ready to go yet."
Denisonde stared at him for a moment, then put the things into her bag. "May I sit down?" she asked, almost humbly. "I'm tired."
He didn't look at her. "No, go sit somewhere else. I don't want you."
She hesitated a moment, then turned and made her way back through the tables to the bar. The bartender put a pastis in front of her as she climbed onto a stool. "He's in one of his moods again?"
She nodded.
"He's been sitting here all night like that. He won't talk to anybody."
She didn't answer.
"I don't see why you bother with him," the bartender said, leaning forward confidentially, "a girl like you. You should have a man who appreciates you. One who goes out and helps you in the business. He should get customers for you, not just sit there and expect you to do all the work."
"He's a gentleman."
"A gentleman!" The bartender snorted. "If that's what a gentleman's like give me an old-fashioned mac any time." He went down the bar to fill an order. When he had finished, he came back. He leaned across the bar.
"You're wasting yourself. Get rid of him, and I'll put you onto something good. Really good; no more pounding hard pavements in freezing weather."
She laughed. "I don't want to go into a house. I like working for myself."
"No house. I just got the O.K. from the boss. Get a few good girls, he told me, and right away I thought of you. Denisonde, I thought, that's the right sort of girl for a place like this. Real class."
Before she could answer he left and went down the bar to fill another order. Just then the combo stopped playing, and the trio came down from the stand to the bar The thin Negro who had been playing the drums stopped alongside her. He pulled a cigarette from a beat-up package, and stuck it in his mouth. "Hello, Denisonde."
"Jean-Claude."
He leaned his back against the bar so he could look at her and out over the room at the same time. "Bobby hasn't said a word all night."
"There wasn't any trouble?" she asked anxiously.
Jean-Claude shook his head. "No, we're kind of used to Bobby by now. Everybody's walking wide around him."
"Good." She glanced back over her shoulder. Robert was still staring down into his drink. "I wish he'd come home. He's in pain."
"How do you know?"
"I can always tell. I knew it the minute we came out tonight. I couldn't work for worrying about him. That's why I came in early."
"You're really gone on him, aren't you?"
She looked at Jean-Claude. "He's alone, he needs somebody."
"From what I hear he doesn't have to be alone."
"What do you hear?"
"That man was around again last night. You know, the one who was asking about Bobby?"
"Did Robert talk to him?"
"No. Same as usual, he told him to go away. After that Bobby went out and didn't come back until just before you did. From what the man said, Bobby's papa wants him to come home."
Denisonde didn't answer.
"That boy's a pure fool," Jean-Claude said. "He don't have to spend his life sitting in joints like this."
"The war did some funny things to people."
"I was in the war, and I'm the same as I always was."
Denisonde looked at him out of the corners of her slightly slanted eyes. "You were lucky."
The bartender came over to them. "I got a live one for you, Denisonde," he whispered. "Down there at the end of the bar."
Denisonde turned slowly. A small man, almost insignificant in his gray suit, stared back at her. She looked at the bartender and shook her head. "No, thanks. Bobby doesn't like me to pick up anybody in here."
"Don't be a fool. He'll meet you outside, and Bobby will never know. Five thousand francs."
"No, thanks."
Jean-Claude's voice came from behind her. "That's the man I was telling you about, the one Bobby wouldn't talk to. He must have just come in."
Denisonde looked down the bar again. Suddenly she made up her mind. "D'accord," she said to the bartender. Quickly she scooped up her bag from the bar and glanced back over her shoulder at Robert. He was still staring into his drink. She got off the stool and went out the door.
She shivered a little at the cold night air and pulled her coat around her. She walked down to the corner and stepped into a doorway. A moment later the man came out and walked down toward the corner.
"Over here," she hissed from the doorway.
The man turned and came toward her. "M'am'selle," he said politely.
"The bartender said five thousand francs."
Without a word he reached into his pocket and came out with a few bills. She took them and put them into her evening bag. "Your place or mine?"
"Your place."
"Follow me. It's just around the corner."
Denisonde walked briskly past him and turned the corner. About halfway down the street she turned into an apartment house. They stood silently in the hallway as she opened the door of her apartment.
"The bedroom's over here," she said, leading the way. She threw her coat onto a chair, and closed the door. She began to slip out of her dress, when she noticed that he was still standing there. He hadn't made a move. She let her dress settle back around her.
"What's the hurry?" he asked. "I've paid you five times the rate. Let's talk first."
She shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed. "O.K., if that's what you want."
He took off his coat and sat down on the edge of the chair facing her. He took out a package of cigarettes. "May I smoke?"
She shrugged.
He lit a cigarette, and after a moment he said, "His father wants him to come home."
"Why talk to me?" she said. "Talk to Robert."
"He won't listen."
She held out her hands expressively. "I'm not keeping him prisoner here. Robert can leave any time he wants to."
"His father will give you one million francs if you can get him to come home."
"His father doesn't have to give me anything. If Robert wants to he can go."
"You're not being very smart. A million francs is a lot of money. You wouldn't have to live like this. You could do anything you wanted."
"I can do anything I want now. Robert isn't holding me any tighter than I'm holding him." She got to her feet. "You tell his father that if he really wants him back the only way is by coming here and talking to Robert himself."
"His father is a proud man. He wouldn't do that."
"That's the baron's affair, it's his son. There's nothing I can do."
He sat there silently for a moment smoking his cigarette. "The baron is a dangerous man to have for an enemy."
"The baron is also a sensible man. He knows that Robert is safe with me, that I am looking out for him."
The man didn't answer.
"Is there anything else?" she asked in a tone of finality.
"Yes," he said, getting to his feet. He began to take off his shirt. "Five thousand francs is a lot of money for just conversation."
Robert was still at his table when she came back into the cellar club. She stopped beside the table and silently dropped the banknotes on the table. Without glancing at her, he picked up the money and stuffed it into his pocket. He got to his feet. "Come on. Let's go home."
Silently she followed him back through the club and out into the street. They walked round the corner and up the stairs to their apartment. Denisonde closed the door and bolted it as he went into the bedroom. In a few moments he returned and his hand lashed out suddenly, catching her across the face. She fell backward into the chair in stunned surprise.
His face was contorted with anger. "How many times have I told you to change the sheets after you're through work for the night?"
