Part 6 (2/2)

'Whose body?'

Francois looked furtively to left and right. 'The body of Gaspard Zabani, of the Vil a Valdora.'

Chapter 6.

Strange Encounters There was a short silence during which Bertie stood and stared blankly at his informant.

'I stil say it's nonsense,' he declared. 'We don't carry daggers.'

Francois threw out his hands appealingly. 'But, milord, the police find onions under the window by which the a.s.sa.s.sin entered. I tel you the police are turning the princ.i.p.ality inside out in their search for him. And, what is more, there is a rumour going round that these onions are not Spanish, but English onions.'

Bertie tried to get the thing in line. 'How did you hear of this?'

''Cre Dieu! Everyone knows. First there was the shooting.'

'Yes, I heard that,' admitted Bertie.

'That was the police shooting at the a.s.sa.s.sin as he ran. Afterwards I stand in a doorway and listen to some police talking. They say that there was no reason for a Spaniard to kil Zabani, but plenty of reason why an Englishman should. Zabani, when he saw death coming, knocked over the telephone, and with his last breath cal ed the police. They came at once, while the a.s.sa.s.sin was stil there. He ran. They fired- bang-bang bang-bang! They wounded him.'

Bertie felt his muscles contract. 'Wounded him?'

he echoed, aghast.

'Yes. He fel , but ran on, leaving a trail of blood.

Voila! The blood leads down an The blood leads down an escalier escalier, but stops suddenly in the Place d'Armes. There the police lost track of him, but they think he is stil in La Condamine. There was much blood. He could not get far, they say.'

'By Jove! This is awful,' muttered Bertie. His brain was whirling.

'Zabani was one of the richest men in the princ.i.p.ality,' offered Francois.

Bertie did not answer. He wanted to think. He realized that it was quite on the boards that Ginger might have gone to the house of the man who had betrayed the princess. Could he have kil ed Zabani in self-defence?

Francois' next words swept the suspicion aside. 'It was a crime of revenge,' said he.

'How do you know that?'

Francois pul ed Bertie's head forward and breathed in his ear. 'It was the knife of a Camorrista.

The dagger carried the usual sign, a letter C, on a piece of paper.'

'My G.o.d!' whispered Bertie, suddenly seeing daylight. In the shock of Francois' information he had forgotten Mario.

'Was your friend of the Camorra?' asked Francois nervously.

'No,' snapped Bertie.

'Pardon, milord.'

'Francois,' said Bertie in a hard voice, 'did you tel me that Mario Rossi was a Camorrista?'

'But yes-so they say.'

'He kil ed Zabani.'

'How could you know this, milord, when you did not even know there had been a kil ing?'

'Listen! A few minutes ago Mario came running back to the restaurant, to the side entrance.

Watching through the window, I saw him wash blood from his hands. His handkerchief, also bloodstained, he threw in the fire.'

Francois whistled softly through his teeth. ' Tiens Tiens!

The affair becomes fantastique fantastique.'

'No,' denied Bertie. 'I begin to see the way of it.

Attendez*1! My friend, the one whom you cal the British spy, must have known something of this man Mario, which is why he wrote the name of the restaurant on the wal of the Quai de Plaisance.

There is another link between my friend and this man Zabani. My other friend, the onion sel er, is also concerned.' Bertie broke off. The fact was, he felt that he held the pieces of a jigsaw which, could he but fit them together, would present a complete picture and so solve his problem. 'I must find the onion sel er,' he decided.

Francois threw up his hands. ' Comment Comment?*2 If the police cannot find him, how can you hope to do so?

He has gone into hiding, no doubt-but where?'

Bertie saw the sense of Francois' argument. It was not much use walking about the streets of Monaco without a clue of any sort, trying to find Ginger.

'There is one thing I can do,' he predicted.

'What is that?'

'See Mario Rossi.'

'Name of a dog! Are you mad, milord? If he has done one murder he wil do another. These Camorrista, they use a dagger like we use a toothpick.'

'Nevertheless, I wil go,' a.s.serted Bertie. 'Time presses, and I am no use at guessing. Perhaps I can make Mario talk.'

'It is more likely, I think, that he wil cut your throat.'

'Listen, mon ami mon ami*3,' went on Bertie. 'For the time being you go your own way. Gather what news you can of this affair. If al goes wel with me you wil see me to-morrow on the Quai de Plaisance.'

'Very wel , milord. It was always said that you were mad. Now I believe it, too. Adieu Adieu*4.'

' Au revoir Au revoir, and thanks for your help. One day, when the world becomes sane again, we wil laugh over this affair.'

<script>