Part 3 (2/2)

'No, that's true, poor devils,' agreed the proprietor.

He glanced around. 'Talking about the English, they say there was an Englishman here the other day-a spy.'

'Who says?' asked Ginger, grimacing as he sipped the rough wine.

'Everyone knows about it,' answered the proprietor, and would have gone on, but the gendarme gendarme stopped him with a frown. stopped him with a frown.

'It is better not to talk of these things,' said he.

The proprietor sighed, which gave Ginger an idea of what he thought of the state of things.

Ginger pa.s.sed off an awkward situation by offering to sel him some onions.

'They're too strong,' said the proprietor, shaking his head.

'They go al the farther for that in the pot,' declared Ginger.

'That's the truth, by G.o.d,' said the gendarme gendarme, wiping his eyes. 'I should say this onion I am eating would stop a tank.'

'Now food is scarce, the idea is to make things go a long way,' argued Ginger.

'How much?' asked the proprietor.

'Ten francs the kilo.'

'Too much. I'l give you five.'

'Nine.'

'Six.'

'I'l take eight, and not a sou sou less,' swore Ginger. less,' swore Ginger.

'Six.'

'Seven if you take two kilos and throw in a sardine to eat with the bread.'

' C'est-ca C'est-ca*7.' The proprietor fetched the scales, and the sardines. Between them they weighed off the two kilogrammes.

'One for luck,' said the proprietor, helping himself to two onions and throwing them in the scales.

' Carramba*8! Carramba*8! ' growled Ginger. 'And you cal us Spaniards thieves.' ' growled Ginger. 'And you cal us Spaniards thieves.'

Shouting with laughter the cheerful gendarme gendarme got up. 'I have a wife who expects me to come home,' he said, putting an onion in his pocket. ' got up. 'I have a wife who expects me to come home,' he said, putting an onion in his pocket. ' Au revoir Au revoir.'

Ginger was in no hurry. His introduction to the cafe proprietor offered possibilities of obtaining information, and he prepared to explore them.

'What's al this talk about a spy?' he asked casual y. The proprietor shrugged his shoulders.

'What a question! There are more spies in this place than there were sharpers before the war.'

'You said something about an Englishman?'

prompted Ginger, without looking up.

The Monegasque leaned forward. 'n.o.body knows the truth about that,' he a.s.serted. 'But they say there was a woman in the affair, and between them they kil ed five Italian police.'

'Phew! Were they caught?'

'Some say they were, others say they were not.

Some say they were both shot. Others say they are stil hiding in Monaco, which accounts for the Italian police everywhere. But there, n.o.body knows what to believe in times like these.'

'That's true,' agreed Ginger.

The proprietor bent stil nearer, breathing a pungent mixture of garlic and onions into Ginger's face. 'They say Zabani is mixed up in this, and that he has been put on the spot by the Camorra*9 for double-crossing one of them.'

'Camorra? I thought Mussolini boasted that he had wiped out al the Italian secret societies?'

The proprietor winked. 'Franco bragged that he had wiped out your Spanish society, the Black Hand,' he countered. 'Has he?'

Hand,' he countered. 'Has he?'

'For my part,' said Ginger slowly, 'I should doubt it.'

The Monegasque eyed him narrowly. 'You're not one of them I hope?'

'Me?' Ginger laughed. 'Not likely. I don't want a knife in my back.'

'Nor me. Once the Camorra sets its mark on a man he's as good as dead. If Zabani has betrayed one of them, G.o.d help him-not that he deserves any help.'

'He's a bad one, eh?'

'If half what they say of him is true, he is a match for Satan himself.'

'Is he Italian?'

'Yes.'

'If he is an Italian why does he live here?'

'Like others, to gamble in the casino. He is always in the gaming rooms. He is not Monegasque, you understand. The Monegasques do not go near the tables. I am a Monegasque.' The man spoke proudly.

The statement reminded Ginger that he had meant to ask Henri just what was a Monegasque. He realized of course that the word described the real natives of Monaco, but from what race they original y sprang he did not know. It seemed to be an opportunity to find out.

'What is a Monegasque that you are so proud of being one?' he enquired.

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