The Mysterious Mickey Finn (25 page)

In the laboratory of Dr Hyacinthe Toudoux, all was formaldehyde and roses. The good doctor was holding triumphantly in his hand a beaker. He dipped in a bit of blue litmus paper and it turned just the right shade of pink. A drop of a certain acid produced bubbling and effervescence, a spoonful of another clouded the contents, five minutes over a Bunsen burner cleared them again.

‘Crotali confluenti
,' the doctor murmured. ‘How different, indeed, from the timber snake or the huge rattler of the Everglades. What oil ! I can never thank M. Evans enough. And the
Argalli spicati Texarkanae
. There's a weed to do one's heart good. The only thing that puzzles me is that a stiff dose of this Mickey or Michael Finn, so-called, will not kill a lady-bug (
Megilla maculata
), a white-footed mouse (
Peromyseus leucopus
), and least of all a guinea-pig. How could this unspeakable mackerel (he indicated Ambrose's scattered remains) have managed to die? The anaesthetic and soporific properties of this ancient Inca secret, the Mickey or Michael Finn, are excellent on all insects and animals. Likewise its hypnotic and anti-aphrodisiac qualities. Ladybugs pass out for six hours, white-footed mice, two hours and fifteen minutes, and guinea-pigs sleep soundly for at least forty-five minutes. I must consult with M. Evans again before I sign the certificate. Ah ! Natural death, indeed ! Prefect, bah ! Perhaps this will teach him not to interfere in scientific matters that are beyond him. I shall not let him forget Greeng Ambrose. I shall put Greeng back together tenderly.' And with that Dr Toudoux began humming a song:

                
‘
Hélas
,
pauvre Yorick
,

                
Je vous ai connu bien dans le temps.
'*

                
 

                
* Alas, poor Yorick, I knew you well.

Back in Frontville, the rescuers and the rescued were having a chat in the neighbourhood saloon, Evans first congratulated Colonel Kvek on his presence of mind in sending the message, and assured Weiss that the Gonzo self-portrait could easily be repaired. Two powerful speed cars were obtained from the Chatillon garage and the party was divided as follows: Kvek and Hugo Weiss, with Sergeant Frémont, set out for Paris. It was agreed that Weiss was to remain in hiding, at the residence of one of his cousins, until Homer gave the word. To Hjalmar and Jackson, Evans assigned the task of rounding up the horses and riding hard to the Café des Imprévoyants to head off the bandits on the snub-nosed tug. In the other speed car, Evans himself and Miriam burned up the miles to the boulevard Haussmann.

On the subject of concealing the millionaire and of gunning for the higher-ups, Sergeant Frémont was more than doubtful. Stalking master minds simply was not done in the Third French Republic. Before the separation of the party, Weiss and Kvek had related briefly the kidnapping episode. Their taxi had been intercepted near the Pont Royal, both had been jabbed with hypodermics and they had regained consciousness aboard the large grey barge named the
Presque Sans Souci.

‘We'll hear the details later,' Evans said, and in clouds of yellow dust the speed cars roared away.

‘Do you think those men will ever come back to see us again?' asked the daughter of the tavern-keeper.

‘You should have been here when the Americans came through in 1918,' he said.

The girl smiled.' I missed that by less than a year, Pa,' she said.

The tavern-keeper grew suddenly thoughtful. ‘So you did,' he said, irritably. ‘So you did.'

The premises of Heiss and Lourde had the shutters drawn, but after some banging Homer and Miriam aroused the guards and were admitted. Instantly Evans telephoned the
préfecture
and asked to have Dinde sent to him, together with all the confiscated candlelight Grecos.

The pitiful clerk's teeth were chattering, his muscles were twitching. Homer at once reassured him.

‘Monsieur Dinde,' he began, ‘no harm will come to you. I've sent for you to do you a favour. Your employers, from time to time, have expressed dissatisfaction because of your lack of initiative, is that not true?'

‘Every day. I try ...'

‘Precisely,' Evans said. ‘Now I'm giving you a chance to make good. Messrs Heiss and Lourde are detained elsewhere. Their business is at a standstill. I want you to wrap up those paintings, send them where they are supposed to go, and then, when your employers return they will be overjoyed not to have lost the sales.'

‘How can I ever repay you?' Dinde said, tears of gratitude in his eyes. The clerk reached behind a false Tintoretto depicting Christ throwing the money changers out of the temple, and opened the door of a hidden vault in which three sets of books were kept, one for the French government, one for publicity purposes, and one for the partners themselves. It was from the third set that Dinde hastily copied out six names and addresses, all small museums in the United States. Within half an hour, the paintings were packed separately, and addressed.

‘I'll attend to the customs certificates,' Evans said. ‘Now, M. Dinde, go home and get a good night's sleep. The authorities will trouble you no further, neither will my friend Oklahoma Tom. He's just a diamond in the rough, you know. Means no harm.'

The customs office was only a few blocks away. A brief word from the minister of justice put the inspector in an accommodating frame of mind and soon each package was properly stamped and certified. The contents were antique and duty free, the certificates stated. When the inspector looked closely at the addresses he stopped and scratched his head.

‘Say, what is this?' he asked. ‘I shipped another batch exactly like this, not twenty minutes ago. Same museums, same addresses. Grecos, too.'

‘Indeed,' asked Evans, fingering a thousand-franc note, ‘may I ask who brought them?'

‘An express man brought them, a guy named Jean Bart. He has a little business of his own, just a couple of trucks, in the boulevard Sebastopol,' the inspector said. ‘But, say, shall I forward this duplicate shipment just the same?'

‘By all means,' Evans said. ‘Let nothing deter you.' And he handed over the thousand francs.

‘They'll be on the way in less than a minute,' the inspector said.

Homer was already on the way to the boulevard Sebastopol, and thinking hard.

‘More fragments that won't fit,' he murmured.

T
HE
proprietor of the Rendez-vous des Imprévoyants, having been fatigued and almost thrown off his feed by events of the morning, had given up wondering who, if anyone, was to pay for the bottles broken by the fragments of the hand grenade, and had shuffled upstairs for a well-earned nap. Likewise his wife, having released her vigilance over her daughter when Hjalmar had got safely away, had rolled in on the other side of the broad family bed and was dreaming of the days in which she had outwitted her own mother. Gabrielle, or Gaby, was sitting on the small
terrasse
and wishing she were a motor boat so that big strong men would fight over her.

The
Deuxième Pays
was still resting on the sand bar just around the big bend and in it, where Hjalmar had hurriedly tossed them, were the remains of the late trigger man known as Eloi le Mec.

Before setting out from the island, Hjalmar and Jackson had bound more thoroughly the mobsters Miriam had lassoed and turned them over to the two Chatillon officers to guard.

‘We can make it to the Rendez-vous a good half hour ahead of the tug, and I wouldn't be surprised if the men aboard the tug stopped off there for a bite to eat, maybe to make a getaway. It's the most likely point along the river, plenty of woods, unfrequented roads. Not bad as a hideout,' Hjalmar said.

‘Won't they stop at the barge and try to escape in the taxi?' Jackson suggested.

‘It would take 'em too long to lift it out of the hold. Besides, the whole country's on the lookout for that taxi,' said Hjalmar.

They set out at a brisk trot and soon were galloping. A short time afterwards, when Gaby heard hoof beats she made haste to close the front door of the
café
, in the hope that her mother would not be aroused by the sound. Sure enough, when Hjalmar and Tom vaulted from their horses' backs Gaby was alone to receive them.

‘Hello,' she said, edging up to Hjalmar and smiling coyly.

‘Where have you been hiding?' he asked, always cheered by a pretty face and a receptive attitude.

‘Ma made me go upstairs when you were here this morning,' she said. ‘Ma's a hard woman, Ma is.'

‘Where is she now?' asked Hjalmar. Then he remembered the pressing business at hand. ‘Listen, kid,' he said, ‘I'll tend to you later. Just now I've to talk to your pa.'

‘Darn it all. I never get a break,' Gaby said, but Hjalmar chucked her under the chin and reiterated his promise to devote himself to her interests at the first possible moment.

‘Cross your heart,' she said.

Hjalmar grinned and crossed his heart and the girl crept reluctantly upstairs to wake her father. Sleepily Sosthène descended, pulling up his trousers as he came.

‘Four bottles,' he said. ‘Who's going to pay for them?'

Hjalmar slapped him on the shoulder so heartily that he lost hold of his trousers and had to start all over again with them.

‘You'll be paid double, and more if you give me a hand,' Hjalmar said.

‘I must insist that you incite no more bombardments,' Sosthène said. That more trouble was coming he had already surmised.

‘We've got to take 'em by surprise,' the Norwegian said. ‘The kidnapping gang are on their way here, in the snub-nosed tug. I've doped it out that they'll heave-to near the stranded
Deuxième Pays
to get the body of their buddy, so the cops won't be able to produce it as evidence. You see, once the cops know their buddy is Eloi the Mec, and can prove it, the rest of the mob can be traced.'

‘Me, I'm a peaceful man ...' Sosthène began.

The sound of voices had awakened Mme Sosthène, who stuck a tousled head from the upper window. ‘Them four bottles. Who's going to pay for 'em?' she said, then she spied Gaby, who was trying to hide behind one of the horses. ‘Gaby, you come up here this instant.'

‘Aw, Ma,' Gaby said.

‘Do what your ma says,' Sosthène said, half-heartedly ... adding for Hjalmar's benefit: ‘I'm not aimin' to be mixed up in more shootin' scrapes. I'm going to close the shutters and let that snub-nosed tug go by, buddies' bodies or no buddies' bodies.'

‘Sounds like something in a bathtub,' Tom Jackson said.

There was no time to be lost. Hjalmar had to think quickly.

‘All right,' he said, so Mme Sosthène could hear. ‘If you let 'em get by the
Deuxième Pays
, they'll stop here and loot your bloody shop. That's what they will do.'

‘Sosthène, you do what the gentleman says. Do just as he says, and I'll hide the stock in the bushes,' Mme Sosthène said, pulling up her stockings as she hurried downstairs. On the way down, she passed Gaby going up and took a healthy maternal swing at the girl.

‘Aw, Ma, I ain't done nothin' yet,' Gaby wailed. ‘But I'm a-goin' to,' she added under her breath, looking back at Hjalmar.

Hjalmar was giving Sosthène hasty instructions. He was to row Hjalmar and Jackson to the sand bar where the
Deuxième Pays
was stranded. Jackson, being nearer the size of the late Eloi le Mec, was to change clothes with the corpse and huddle in the cabin as corpselike as possible, while Hjalmar, automatic in each hand, was to hide beneath some nearby gunnysacks. Then Sosthène was to return with the corpse to the
bistrot
and await the all clear signal, three shots in rapid succession. That would mean that the kidnappers had been captured and tied up, in which case Sosthène would row back to take them all ashore.

Swiftly Hjalmar elaborated his plan to Tom, as soon as they were alone. The danger lay in that swivel machine gun in the stem of the tug. As far as Hjalmar knew, there were three of the mobsters left. Two would board the
Deuxième Pays
to lug the corpse, the third would remain at the machine gun. Hjalmar told Tom to play dead until he was aboard the tug, during which time Hjalmar would lie low, also, but with all the thugs covered from beneath the shelter of the gunnysacks. The moment Tom hit the deck, Hjalmar was to fire a shot in the air. The three thugs would turn their heads involuntarily toward the
Deuxième Pays
, at which moment Tom was to knock the machine gunner cold with the butt of his automatic while Hjalmar arose, gun in each hand, and told the others to stick up their hands. Tom would then frisk the pair still on their feet, Hjalmar would board the tug also and the manoeuvre would be rounded out by tying up the victims.

The only catch was the possibility that the thugs might see at once that Jackson was an American.

‘How about
rigor mortis
?' Jackson asked. ‘Has it had time to set in, or not?'

‘Take a chance on it. Be stiff and unwieldy,' Hjalmar said, then added quickly: ‘Here they come.'

The snub-nosed tug, indeed, was rounding the bend and Hjalmar's practised ear told him at once that his surmise had been a sound one. The tug was slowing down, and after what seemed an interminable time, the slap of a hawser hit the deck of the
Deuxième Pays
. The noose had slipped neatly over the steering wheel. There was a thud of feet, gruff voices, and Hjalmar saw two pair of heavy boots, followed by corduroy trousers legs, on the short ladder into the cabin.

‘Here's the stiff,' said one of the thugs, and Tom Jackson felt himself picked up roughly and lugged across the cabin and up the stairs. That was the moment he had dreaded, the first exposure to the daylight, with the eyes of the two kidnappers focused on him. Sure enough, he felt a tightening of the muscles in the arms which were holding him.