Part 67 (1/2)
”Violet,” he said, ”you were asking me just now about the telephone.
You were quite right. These were not ordinary messages which I have been receiving. I am engaged in a little matter which, I must confess, perplexes me. I want your advice, perhaps your help.”
”I am quite ready,” she answered, smiling. ”It is a long time since you gave me anything to do.”
”You have heard of Guillot?”
She reflected for a moment.
”You mean the wonderful Frenchman,” she asked, ”the head of the criminal department of the Double-Four?”
”The man who was at its head when it existed. The criminal department, as you know, has all been done away with. The Double-Four has now no more concern with those who break the law, save in those few instances where great issues demand it.”
”But Monsieur Guillot still exists?”
”He not only exists,” answered Peter, ”but he is here in London, a rebel and a defiant one. Do you know who came to see me the other morning?”
She shook her head.
”Sir John Dory,” Peter continued. ”He came here with a request. He begged for my help. Guillot is here, committed to some enterprise which no one can wholly fathom. Dory has enough to do with other things, as you can imagine, just now. Besides, I think he recognizes that Monsieur Guillot is rather a hard nut for the ordinary English detective to crack.”
”And you?” she demanded, breathlessly.
”I join forces with Dory,” Peter admitted. ”Sogrange agrees with me.
Guillot was a.s.sociated with the Double-Four too long for us to have him make scandalous history either here or in Paris.”
”You have seen him?”
”I have not only seen him, but declared war against him.”
”And he?”
”Guillot is defiant,” Peter replied. ”He has been here only this evening. He mocks at me. He swears that he will bring off this enterprise, whatever it may be, before midnight to-night, and he has defied me to stop him.”
”But you will,” she murmured, softly.
Peter smiled. The conviction in his wife's tone was a subtle compliment which he did not fail to appreciate.
”I have hopes,” he confessed, ”and yet, let me tell you this, Violet.
I have never been more puzzled. Ask yourself, now. What enterprise is there worthy of a man like Guillot, in which he could engage himself here in London between now and midnight? Any ordinary theft is beneath him. The purloining of the crown jewels, perhaps, he might consider, but I don't think that anything less in the way of robbery would bring him here. He has his code and he is as vain as a peac.o.c.k. Yet money is at the root of everything he does.”
”How does he spend his time here?” Violet asked.
”He has a handsome flat in Shaftesbury Avenue,” Peter answered, ”where he lives, to all appearance, the life of an idle man of fas.h.i.+on. The whole of his spare time is spent with Mademoiselle Louise, the danseuse at the Empire. You see, it is half-past eight now. I have eleven men altogether at work, and according to my last report he was dining with her in the grill-room at the Milan. They have just ordered their coffee ten minutes ago, and the car is waiting outside to take Mademoiselle to the Empire. Guillot's box is engaged there, as usual. If he proposes to occupy it, he is leaving himself a very narrow margin of time to carry out any enterprise worth speaking of.”
Violet was thoughtful for several moments. Then she crossed the room, took up a copy of an ill.u.s.trated paper, and brought it across to Peter.
He smiled as he glanced at the picture to which she pointed, and the few lines underneath.
”It has struck you, too, then!” he exclaimed. ”Good! You have answered me exactly as I hoped. Somehow, I scarcely trusted myself. I have both cars waiting outside. We may need them. You won't mind coming to the Empire with me?”
”Mind!” she laughed. ”I only hope I may be in at the finish.”