The Lone Wolf, Louis Joseph Vance [best historical fiction books of all time txt] 📗

the wide plate-glass windows, perhaps

a dozen patrons sat round half as many tables—no more—idling over

dominoes and gossip: steady-paced burghers with their wives, men in

small ways of business of the neighbourhood.

 

Entering to this company, Lanyard selected a square marble-topped table

against the back wall, entrenched himself with the girl upon the seat

behind it, ordered coffee and writing materials, and proceeded to light

a cigarette with the nonchalance of one to whom time is of no

consequence.

 

“What is it?” the girl asked guardedly as the waiter scurried off to

execute his commands. “You’ve not stopped in here for nothing!”

 

“True—but lower, please!” he begged. “If we speak English loud enough

to be heard it will attract attention…. The trouble is, we’re

followed. But as yet our faithful shadow doesn’t know we know

it—unless he’s more intelligent than he seems. Consequently, if I

don’t misjudge him, he’ll take a table outside, the better to keep an

eye on us, as soon as he sees we’re apparently settled for some time.

More than that, I’ve got a note to write—and not merely as a

subterfuge. This fellow must be shaken off, and as long as we stick

together, that can’t well be done.”

 

He interrupted himself while the waiter served them, then added sugar

to his coffee, arranged the ink bottle and paper to his satisfaction,

and bent over his pen.

 

“Come closer,” he requested—“as if you were interested in what I’m

writing—and amused; if you can laugh a bit at nothing, so much the

better. But keep a sharp eye on the windows. You can do that more

readily than I, more naturally from under the brim of your hat…. And

tell me what you see….”

 

He had no more than settled into the swing of composition, than the

girl—apparently following his pen with closest attention—giggled

coquettishly and nudged his elbow.

 

“The window to the right of the door we came in,” she said, smiling

delightedly; “he’s standing behind the fir-trees, staring in.”

 

“Can you make out who he is?” Lanyard asked without moving his lips.

 

“Nothing more than that he’s tall,” she said with every indication of

enjoying a tremendous joke. “His face is all in shadow….”

 

“Patience!” counselled the adventurer. “He’ll take heart of courage

when convinced of our innocence.”

 

He poised his pen, examined the ceiling for inspiration, and permitted

a slow smile to lighten his countenance.

 

“You’ll take this note, if you please,” he said cheerfully, “to the

address on the envelope, by taxi: it’s some distance, near the

Etoile…. A long chance, but one we must risk; give me half an hour

alone and I’ll guarantee to discourage this animal one way or another.

You understand?”

 

“Perfectly,” she laughed archly.

 

He bent and for a few moments wrote busily.

 

“Now he’s walking slowly round the corner, never taking his eyes from

you,” the girl reported, shoulder to his shoulder and head

distractingly near his head.

 

“Good. Can you see him any better?”

 

“Not yet….”

 

“This note,” he said, without stopping his pen or appearing to say

anything “is for the concierge of a building where I rent stabling for

a little motor-car. I’m supposed there to be a chauffeur in the employ

of a crazy Englishman, who keeps me constantly travelling with him back

and forth between Paris and London. That’s to account for the

irregularity with which I use the car. They know me, monsieur and

madame of the conciergerie, as Pierre Lamier; and I think they’re

safe—not only trustworthy and of friendly disposition, but quite

simple-minded; I don’t believe they gossip much. So the chances are De

Morbihan and his gang know nothing of the arrangement. But that’s all

speculation—a forlorn hope!”

 

“I understand,” the girl observed. “He’s still prowling up and down

outside the hedge.”

 

“We’re not going to need that car tonight; but the h�tel of Madame

Omber is close by; and I’ll follow and join you there within an hour at

most. Meantime, this note will introduce you to the concierge and his

wife—I hope you won’t mind—as my fianc�e. I’m telling them we became

engaged in England, and I’ve brought you to Paris to visit my mother in

Montrouge; but am detained by my employer’s business; and will they

please give you shelter for an hour.”

 

“He’s coming in,” the girl announced quietly.

 

“In here?”

 

“No—merely inside the row of little trees.”

 

“Which entrance?”

 

“The boulevard side. He’s taken the corner table. Now a waiter’s going

out to him.”

 

“You can see his face now?” Lanyard asked, sealing the

note.

 

“Not well….”

 

“Nothing you recognize about him, eh?”

 

“Nothing….”

 

“You know Popinot and Wertheimer by sight?”

 

“No; they’re only names to me; De Morbihan and Mr. Bannon mentioned

them last night.”

 

“It won’t be Popinot,” Lanyard reflected, addressing the envelope;

“he’s tubby.”

 

“This man is tall and slender.”

 

“Wertheimer, possibly. Does he suggest an Englishman, any way?”

 

“Not in the least. He wears a moustache—blond—twisted up like the

Kaiser’s.”

 

Lanyard made no reply; but his heart sank, and he shivered

imperceptibly with foreboding. He entertained no doubt but that the

worst had happened, that to the number of his enemies in Paris was

added Ekstrom.

 

One furtive glance confirmed this inference. He swore bitterly, if

privately and with a countenance of child-like blandness, as he sipped

the coffee and finished his cigarette.

 

“Who is it, then?” she asked. “Do you know him?”

 

He reckoned swiftly against distressing her, recalling his mention of

the fact that Ekstrom was credited with the Huysman murder.

 

“Merely a hanger-on of De Morbihan’s,” he told her lightly; “a

spineless animal—no trouble about scaring him off…. Now take this

note, please, and we’ll go. But as we reach the door, turn back—and go

out the other. You’ll find a taxi without trouble. And stop for

nothing!”

 

He had shown foresight in paying when served, and was consequently able

to leave abruptly, without giving Ekstrom time to shy. Rising smartly,

he pushed the table aside. The girl was no less quick, and little less

sensitive to the strain of the moment; but as she passed him her lashes

lifted and her eyes were all his for the instant.

 

“Good night,” she breathed—“good night … my dear!”

 

She could have guessed no more shrewdly what he needed to nerve him

against the impending clash. He hadn’t hesitated as to his only course,

but till then he’d been horribly afraid, knowing too well the

desperate cast of the outlawed German’s nature. But now he couldn’t

fail.

 

He strode briskly toward the door to the boulevard, out of the corner

of his eye aware that Ekstrom, taken by surprise, half-started from his

chair, then sank back.

 

Two paces from the entrance the girl checked, murmured in French, “Oh,

my handkerchief!” and turned briskly back. Without pause, as though he

hadn’t heard, Lanyard threw the door wide and swung out, turning

directly to the spy. At the same time he dropped a hand into the pocket

where nestled his automatic.

 

Fortunately Ekstrom had chosen a table in a corner well removed from

any in use. Lanyard could speak without fear of being overheard.

 

But for a moment he refrained. Nor did Ekstrom speak or stir; sitting

sideways at his table, negligently, with knees crossed, the German

likewise kept a hand buried in the pocket of his heavy, dark ulster.

Thus neither doubted the other’s ill-will or preparedness. And through

thirty seconds of silence they remained at pause, each striving with

all his might to read the other’s purpose in his eyes. But there was

this distinction to be drawn between their attitudes, that whereas

Lanyard’s gaze challenged, the German’s was sullenly defiant. And

presently Lanyard felt his heart stir with relief: the spy’s glance had

winced.

 

“Ekstrom,” the adventurer said quietly, “if you fire, I’ll get you

before I fall. That’s a simple statement of fact.”

 

The German hesitated, moistened the corners of his lips with a nervous

tongue, but contented himself with a nod of acknowledgement.

 

“Take your hand off that gun,” Lanyard ordered. “Remember—I’ve only to

cry your name aloud to have you torn to pieces by these people. Your

life’s not worth a moment’s purchase in Paris—as you should know.”

 

The German hesitated, but in his heart knew that Lanyard didn’t

exaggerate. The murder of the inventor had exasperated all France; and

though tonight’s weather kept a third of Paris within doors, there was

still a tide of pedestrians fluent on the sidewalk, beyond the flimsy

barrier of firs, that would thicken to a ravening mob upon the least

excuse.

 

He had mistaken his man; he had thought that Lanyard, even if aware of

his pursuit, would seek to shake it off in flight rather than turn and

fight—and fight here, of all places!

 

“Do you hear me?” Lanyard continued in the same level and unyielding

tone. “Bring both hands in sight—upon the table!”

 

There was no more hesitation: Ekstrom obeyed, if with the sullen grace

of a wild beast that would and could slay its trainer with one sweep of

its paw—if only it dared.

 

For the first time since leaving the girl Lanyard relaxed his vigilant

watch over the man long enough for one swift glance through the window

at his side. But she was already vanished from the caf�.

 

He breathed more freely now.

 

“Come!” he said peremptorily. “Get up. We’ve got to talk, I

presume—thrash this matter out—and we’ll come to no decision here.”

 

“Where do we go, then?” the German demanded suspiciously.

 

“We can walk.”

 

Irresolutely the spy uncrossed his knees, but didn’t rise.

 

“Walk?” he repeated, “walk where?”

 

“Up the boulevard, if you like—where the lights are brightest.”

 

“Ah!”—with a malignant flash of teeth—“but I don’t trust you.”

 

Lanyard laughed: “You wear only one shoe of that pair, my dear

captain! We’re a distrustful flock, we birds of prey. Come along! Why

sit there sulking, like a spoiled child? You’ve made an ass of

yourself, following me to Paris; sadly though you bungled that job in

London, I gave you credit for more wit than to poke your head into the

lion’s mouth here. But—admitting that—why not be graceful about it?

Here am I, amiably treating you like an equal: you might at least show

gratitude enough to accept my invitation to fl�ner yourself!”

 

With a grunt the spy got upon his feet, while Lanyard stood back,

against the window, and made him free of the narrow path between the

tree-tubs and the tables.

 

“After you, my dear Adolph…!”

 

The German paused, half turned towards him, choking with rage, his

suffused face darkly relieving its white scars won at Heidelberg. At

this, with a nod of unmistakable meaning, Lanyard advanced the muzzle

of his pocketed weapon; and with an ugly growl the German moved on and

out to the sidewalk, Lanyard respectfully an inch or two behind his

elbow.

 

“To your right,” he requested pleasantly—“if it’s all the same to you:

I’ve business on the Boulevards…”

 

Ekstrom said nothing for the moment, but sullenly yielded to the

suggestion.

 

“By the way,” the adventurer presently pursued, “you might be good

enough to inform me how you knew where we were dining—eh?”

 

“If it interests you—”

 

“I own it does—tremendously!”

 

“Pure accident: I happened to be sitting in the caf�, and caught a

glimpse of you through the door as you went upstairs. Therefore I

waited till the waiter asked for your bill at the caisse, then

stationed myself outside.”

 

“But why? Can you tell