The Mysterious Mickey Finn (27 page)

Miriam was hurt but tried not to show it. ‘That's not fair,' she said. ‘You shall not take the risks….'

‘Oh, risks,' he said, relieved. ‘This isn't a risk. It's likely to be messy, that's all. I've got to pay my respects to Dr Hyacinthe Toudoux and ... er ... his laboratory, you know. All sorts of odds and ends lying around. Bad smells.'

‘I understand. Poor Ambrose,' she said. ‘Well. It takes a lot to tear me from your side but in this case I won't object. That is, unless I have to go too far away.'

‘Wait on one of the benches in front of the
préfecture
,' he said. ‘I'll have an officer keep his eye on you, if you like.'

‘I can take care of myself,' she said. ‘Only don't be too long. I'm hungry.'

‘Of course. What a brute I am. We haven't eaten since yesterday, or was it the day before? I won't be a minute,' said Evans and hurried into the
préfecture.
He saw the prefect's door ajar but did not want to speak with him or to make any report until all the fragments were in place and the
Presque Sans Souci
had arrived. As he passed, however, he had the feeling that the prefect had seen him and also, for some reason, wished to postpone the interview. That set him thinking as he hastened down the corridor and knocked on the doctor's door.

‘Come in,' said Dr Toudoux. Then, seeing who it was, he came forward and embraced Evans heartily. ‘Ah, what
Oleum crotali confluenti !
Such divine snake oil as I have never seen before ! How did you hit on it, my boy? And the
Argalli spicati Texarkanae.
A touch of genius, Monsieur Evans. Only one point still baffles me. How did the beggar die? I've tried the stuff on ladybugs, white-footed mice, guinea-pigs and even, in the interest of science, fed a fairly stiff dose to the prefect's pug-dog, Frou Frou, who messes up the corridors in a most disgusting way.'

The remains of Gring, respectably assembled, were covered with a sheet. Evans tapped them thoughtfully before he spoke. ‘That's why I came here, doctor. To clear up that angle of the case. I wouldn't presume, of course, in view of your experience and reputation ...'

‘That's all right, my boy. Scientists can work together. It's when that miserable prefect sticks his nose in that I boil.'

‘I understand,' Evans said. ‘It chances that I had the doubtful pleasure of Gring's acquaintance and happened to know of his activities just before he died. Now ordinarily a Mickey Finn is harmless. As you have so aptly proved, it wouldn't kill a lady-bug, much less a pugdog or white-footed mouse. However, take into consideration the fact that Gring, at the time he drank the fatal
crême de cacao
, was in a state of physical and moral collapse. His
élan vital
, never much to brag of, was at its lowest ebb. You see, he had just lost, or thought he had lost, a fabulous fortune in oil. Petroleum.'

‘Ah, gushers spouting and streaming into the air, black oil inundating the prairies. He had lost some of those, you say? Poor chap. Perhaps I've spoken of him harshly. I didn't think he was a man of affairs. I took him, frankly, for a pimp. The loss of oil, indeed, would explain his death from such an innocuous cause. I shall put that in the certificate. Extreme fatigue and financial ruin contributing factors. Ah ! Science after all is the safest mistress to woo. No moth can corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal. Think of it. Losing gushers. I've only seen them in the movies, of course, but they must be dashed hard things to lose. But pardon me. I'm being selfish. I'm so elated at having solved, with your indispensable aid, the toughest problem that ever was stretched on this well-worn slab that I forgot your search for the multi-millionaire. Have you, too, been successful?'

‘Between you and me, and the
corpus delicti
, I have found Hugo Weiss, the Russian colonel, the taxi, and all the kidnappers, only one of them dead.'

‘Less work for me, thank God,' said Dr Toudoux.

‘Not a word of this, not even to the prefect. ...'

‘Least of all to
that
heel. I was tempted to try a bit of the
crotali confluenti
on him and hope for the worst.'

‘Good evening, then. I'll see you again to-morrow evening. Until that time, good-bye. Remember. Not a word.'

‘I led my team to defeat in Rome ...' Dr Toudoux began, but Evans was already on his way down the corridor. He was thinking hard again. When he had decided to pass up the prefect he had not suspected that the prefect was not anxious to meet him. What could that mean? Homer hesitated only a moment, then rapped sharply on the prefect's door. There was no response. Evans rapped again, more sharply. Almost hysterically, in fact. He was suddenly obsessed with a feeling that something had gone wrong, most frightfully wrong. Trying the door, he found it was locked. He put his shoulder to it, shoved, and the lock gave way so easily that Evans found himself lying across the prefectorial desk, surrounded by splinters and violet ink. The room, aside from that, was empty.

An urgent premonition drew him to the window. From there he could see clearly the bench on which Miriam had been sitting. The bench was empty, too. With an oath Evans tore the window open and vaulted through, running madly to the sidewalk. There were only a few pedestrians walking idly, not an untoward sight or sound. But Miriam was nowhere to be found. Homer tried to calm himself. She might have gone inside a moment. . . . Girls do, even the handsomest of them, he reflected. With his heart beating furiously, he steeled himself to wait. He took out his watch and clenched it in his fist as the second hand crawled around. One minute. Two. Three. He could bear it no longer. He rushed back into the
préfecture
, almost upsetting Agent Schlumberger.

‘Where is that boss of yours? I must see him this instant,' Evans demanded. The prefect was nowhere to be found.

All the nonchalance had gone from Homer's manner. His face was white and set, his fingers clenched. No longer was he engaged in an impersonal problem which he could view in cold blood. Gone also was his former slight uneasiness about involving the sergeant in a clash with the higher-ups. As he rushed down the avenue de la Justice, the most casual passer-by could see that he would stop at nothing.

Not two minutes later, the dim doorway of the Hôtel des Hirondelles swallowed him up. Ben Sidi greeted him with his customary politeness.

‘The peace of Allah descend on you and your .. but pardon me. I see you're in a hurry,' the tactful Arab began.

Desperate as he was, Homer Evans could not forget his manners.

‘I thank you for your solicitude, O honourable Ben Sidi Abdel Mamout,' he said, salaaming. ‘Our common foe, the police, have not laid hands on me as yet.'

‘In my country they would be left on the desert for the jackals to feed upon,' said Ben Sidi with feeling. ‘Twice this week they have raided my peaceful establishment.'

‘Exactly, Evans said. ‘But have you seen my barber, the one who helped me look like a Believer?'

Soundlessly Ben Sidi beckoned to a bell hop, uttered a soft question in Arabic, and nodded:

‘Knowing that Monsieur Henri, the barber, was in your confidence, O friend, I have kept him hidden.' And with that he led the way to a small secret chamber where, in fact, Abdel Krim and Vincent Ben Shee'an had been entertained when visiting Paris in the course of the Riff wars.

Henri was on the verge of collapse, and when he saw Homer, threw himself at his feet, in a manner of speaking, instead of jumping out of the window, as he had started to do when his door was suddenly opened.

‘This Unbeliever is not at peace with the world,' Ben Sidi said, and Evans tried to calm the barber.

‘Henri,' he said, ‘if you wish to save yourself, tell me everything. I know that you were accustomed, from time to time when philandering, to give your wife some sleeping medicine...'

At that Henri made a dive for the open window and was restrained by Ben Sidi's ready hand.

‘I think that was decent of Henri,' the Arab remarked, gravely. ‘A little thought for others, an example of tenderness, is never amiss.'

Henri, by that time, had got hold of himself a little.

‘I didn't mean any harm,' he said. ‘I went to the Dingo to get one of those American Mickey Finns....'

Ben Sidi salaamed.

‘I'd been thinking of you, Mr Evans,' Henri continued. ‘I knew you were in trouble and that Gring was mixed up in it somehow. Never trust a man who shaves himself, Mr Evans.'

Homer promised, and the barber continued: ‘I saw Gring on the Dôme
terrasse
and it came over me right away that you might like to see him, and that the boss here (pointing to Ben Sidi) might know where you were. On the way, a plain-clothes man who had seen me buy the Mickey took me to the station. There the prefect frisked me, asked me questions about the Mickey and I was so scared I told him all about it. He took it away....'

‘That's all I need to know,' Evans said, and started abruptly to leave the hotel. However, it occurred to him that if the gangsters in question would strike at Miriam, how much more likely it would be that his own life would be blotted out before his mission was finished. The Arab scribe, Ben Abou, was adept at Infidel shorthand, and to him Homer dictated rapidly what he knew of the picture ring, enough to ruin everyone concerned. Four copies were to be made and delivered: one for the American ambassador, one for Hugo Weiss, one for the minister of justice, and the fourth for Evans himself.

That accomplished, Homer reached for the unlisted phone. Long ago it had become clear to him that the desperados he had pitted himself against would by no means let a barge load of incriminating evidence float down the river unchallenged.

Within ten minutes, he was in communication with Hjalmar at the Rendez-vous des Imprévoyants. Rapidly Homer outlined the situation, then asked Jansen at what point he thought the attack would be made.

‘At Charenton,' Hjalmar said promptly.

‘Exactly what I thought,' Evans said. ‘The river is very tricky just above the town and there is frequent blasting in the nearby quarries. Also there are numerous roads leading in and out, like spokes of a wheel. There are crowded factory areas, and woods with solitary houses. Guard the boats every minute of the night, don't take any chances with the prisoners, and, above all, stay sober, you and Jackson. If you are attacked, I'll be on hand, but out of sight at first. So long.'

Notwithstanding Homer's fearful anxiety, he had to keep a firm grip on himself and think about the fragments. Thus it was that, instead of proceeding at once to Paty de Pussy's studio, he sought out Dr Hyacinthe Toudoux.

‘Dr Toudoux,' he said, ‘you have on record and on file all confiscated drugs, liquids, powders, or pills found on suspects, have you not?'

‘But certainly, Mr Evans,' he said.

‘Two days ago a man named Henri Duplessis was arrested in a raid of the Hotel des Hirondelles,' Evans began.

‘Just a minute. Duplessis. I'll look under “D”. ' He rummaged in the files, first calmly then with growing impatience, until he was stripping out folders like a bear tearing bark from a tree. ‘That's strange,' he said. ‘No record.'

‘I thought so,' Evans said, grimly. ‘There was taken from that man a small phial containing a Mickey Finn.'

‘Ah, a clue. The fatal Mickey Finn.'

‘That phial should have been turned over to you. It was not. I want you to come with me,' Evans said, and led the way to the prefect's office. It was closed and locked again, but the door had not been repaired. Once more Evans put his shoulder to it and shoved, and again the door gave way. Without consulting further his astonished companion, Homer started pulling out the drawers of the prefect's desk.

‘As I expected,' he said, when the bottom drawer was opened. In it was a small phial.

‘But it's full,' the doctor said. ‘That can't be the one.'

‘One moment, doctor. Let's go back to the laboratory,' said Evans. In the laboratory he took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and borrowed a white apron. With unerring precision he reached for test tubes and beakers and lighted the Bunsen burner. He poured a few drops of the phial's contents into an empty test tube, added an acid, and nothing happened. Dr Toudoux watched him, fascinated. The blue litmus paper did not turn pink in the mysterious liquid, neither did the same chemicals that caused the
Oleum crotali confluenti
to cloud, bubble and clear again produce orthodox results. Evans sniffed, then grunted and smiled.

‘I should have thought of that,' he said. ‘It's just plain
Oleum machinae scribendi
, or typewriter oil.'

‘
Merde alors
,' snorted Hyacinthe Toudoux. But Evans was pulling off his apron with an air of satisfaction.

‘You don't mind if I keep the phial and its contents. I'll return it for the files after it has served its purpose,' Evans said.

‘Whatever you wish. This case becomes more baffling every hour,' the doctor said. Evans did not hear. He was already streaking through empty offices, in the hope of reaching the side entrance without being observed and trailed.

‘
Enfin
, my friends Abel and Dodo ! We are about to have our long-deferred interview. I promised, once, to wring you dry of information like a lemon cast from the squeezer. I shall try to do better than that. And as for that hypocrite, Paty de Pussy. ... Here. Taxi,' he said, and gave the address in the avenue Pierre Premier de Serbie. Feverishly he pressed the button and the grilled door swung open.

‘Excuse me, sir. But whom did you wish to see?' asked the
concierge
with deep respect.

‘M. Paty de Pussy,' Evans replied.

‘I regret that M. Paty de Pussy is not at home. I saw him leave between four and six o' clock and he has not yet returned,' the
concierge
said.