Part 9 (1/2)
_They_ don't sell out a pal. Say, Hal, there's only one fella I don't want to meet.”
”Who's that, Mike?”
”Lemme tell you,” continued Clinch, resting more heavily on the shelf while Smith, looking out through the pantry shutter at the dancing, listened intently.
”When I was in France in a Forestry Rig'ment,” went on Clinch, lowering his always pleasant voice, ”I was to Paris on leave a few days before they sent us home.
”I was in the washroom of a caffy--a-cleanin' up for supper, when dod-bang! into the place comes a-tumblin' a man with two cops pus.h.i.+ng and kickin' him.
”They didn't see me in there for they locked the door on the man. He was a swell gent, too, in full dress and silk hat and all like that, and a opry cloak and white kid gloves, and mustache and French beard.
”When they locked him up he stood stock still and lit a cigarette, as cool as ice. Then he begun walkin' around looking for a way to get out; but there wasn't no way.
”Then he seen me and over he comes and talks English right away: 'Want to make a thousand francs, soldier?' sez he in a quick whisper. 'You're on,' sez I; 'show your dough.' 'Them Flics has went to get the Commissaire for to frisk me,' sez he. 'If they find this parcel on me I do twenty years in Noumea. Five years kills anybody out there.' 'What do you want I should do?' sez I, havin' no love for no cops, French or other. 'Take this packet and stick it in your overcoat,' sez he. 'Go to 13 roo Quinze Octobre and give it to the concierge for Jose Quintana.'
And he shoves the packet on me and a thousand-franc note.
”Then he grabs me sudden and pulls open my collar. G.o.d, he was strong.
”'What's the matter with you?' says I. 'Lemme go or I'll mash your mug flat.' 'Lemme see your identification disc,' he barks.
”Bein' in Paris for a bat, I had exchanged with my bunkie, Bill Hanson.
'Let him look,' thinks I; and he reads Bill's check.
”'If you fool me,' says he, 'I'll folly ye and I'll do you in if it takes the rest of my life. You understand?' 'Sure,' says I, me tongue in me cheek. 'Bong! Allez vous en!' says he.
”'How the h.e.l.l,' sez I, 'do I get out of here?' 'You're a Yankee soldier. The Flics don't know you were in here. You go and kick on that door and make a holler.'
”So I done it good; and a cop opens and swears at me, but when he sees a Yankee soldier was locked in the wash-room by mistake, he lets me out, you bet.”
Clinch smiled a thin smile, poured out three fingers of hooch.
”What else?” asked Smith quietly.
”Nothing much. I didn't go to no roo Quinze Octobre. But I don't never want to see that fella Quintana. I've been waiting till it's safe to sell--what was in that packet.”
”Sell what?”
”What was in that packet,” replied Clinch thickly.
”What was in it?”
”Sparklers--since you're so nosey.”
”Diamonds?”
”And then some. I dunno what they're called. All I know is I'll croak Quintana if he even turns up askin' for 'em. He frisked somebody. I frisked him. I'll kill anybody who tries to frisk me.”
”Where do you keep them?” enquired Smith navely.