Remember Paris

Chapter 4

Agent’s report - R. Krause

I have interviewed Herr Mutterlich and the hotel manager. Subsequently I surveyed the members of the Paris criminal fringe. Evidence points to long-time burglar, Raymond Duclos. I will interview this gentleman and send a report in the next day’s diplomatic mail. There is no indication that the document we seek has been circulated; it is likely that it has been destroyed. It appears that Duclos had confederates; the only items of the stolen goods to have surfaced in Paris were sold by a woman. I recommend that an agent be dispatched to Brussels and Amsterdam; rumours in the Paris underworld suggest that the stolen gems have made their way to one of these two cities to be fenced. I will proceed there after my business here is concluded. Please advise what action to take in the matter of Duclos.

R.K.

She didn’t follow through with her end of the bargain. He sent people for her.

Duclos sat with three of the Russians at Fosse Usée. Everyone was in a festive mood. He had told the others that he had ordered the first shipment of arms from Von Bergenheim. Gaspard Grosman had stocked the bar with some vodka for his new customers and the Bolsheviks had nearly finished the bottle. Duclos sat back with a brandy, watching the happy Russians and indulging once more in a dream about the Tsar’s beautiful treasures that might someday be his. One of the waiters interrupted his reverie.

“The gentleman over there,” he nodded his head at a man at a table in the back, “asked that you join him.”

Duclos looked toward the man, tried to place him and came up empty. He didn’t know the fellow and couldn’t even guess his profession – an unusual situation for one with his shrewd observational skills. He rose and approached the man sitting in the shadows. The other man stood and bowed.

“M. Duclos? I’m sorry to interrupt your celebration. I’m Ralf Krause. I wonder if we might have a few words.” He gestured toward a seat. With a shrug, Duclos sat down.

“M. Duclos I have had heard your skill praised by many people these last few days. You are obviously a talented man,– if I may be blunt - a talented thief.”

With a dismissive snort, Duclos rose to leave. Krause’ hand snaked out to grab his wrist. “Please M. Duclos, sit down. I think you should listen to what I have to say. I really do. You see, sometimes a thing that is easy to take is not wise to keep.

“There was a theft at the Meurice last week. Among the valuables that were stolen were some papers, papers vital to the victim’s business. I can understand that a thief might have a need for jewels, cash even but I can’t imagine why he would want to take confidential documents. They can be of no value to him. I can only hope that a smart thief would have destroyed those papers.” His gaze drilled into Duclos.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Duclos blustered. A simple hand signal would bring in his band of young thugs who would eagerly give someone a beating on his order. But something made him hold his hand.

“M. Duclos, you have no idea in what dangerous waters you are swimming. Your life is forfeit if you do not co-operate. Please don’t doubt it. You have stolen something very valuable.” Krause shifted expression, shedding the guise of a harmless gentleman to let Duclos see a glimpse of the cold-blooded mercenary he actually was.

Duclos gulped. “I never saw any papers.”

“They were in a metal tube,” Krause added.

“Oh,” Duclos hesitated, “If there was a tube I don’t have it. Maybe the police took it.”

“No, no.”

“Maybe someone else picked it up.” Duclos offered, perspiring now.

“Really?” Krause’s tone was sardonic.

“I have some associates. I’ll have them ask around –see if they can find something out for you.” Duclos was desperate to have this cold customer leave him alone.

“Thank you, monsieur.” Krause rose from the table. Before he left he hesitated then added, “Two pearls from a necklace stolen that night were pawned by a young woman at a jewellery shop on Quai Voltaire.”

Duclos nodded making sure he didn’t give himself away when he heard this latest piece of upsetting news. He willed himself to stay calm as Krause made his exit.

Merde , thought Duclos. He’d been double-crossed – it must have been that little bitch, Adrienne. She and Louis had picked up the loot he’d tossed out the window. To think he been considering making her his mistress! Now the question was whether Louis was in on it with her. He’d soon find out. No one cheated Raymond Duclos and got away with it. Whoever was involved would pay the price – after they told him where those stupid papers were. He wanted Krause off his back. Damn that woman!

***

Krause

This note is sent to you in confidence and separate from the rest of the diplomatic mail. I trust your judgement in the matter you inquired about. Do not hesitate to eliminate anyone who has come in contact with the document. However be careful that your actions cannot be connected to this office.

J

I didn’t sleep for weeks because of you. I still have nightmares.

Adrienne entered the apartment to be immediately confronted by the icy words of her roommate.

“Where is it?” Marguerite demanded.

“What?” Adrienne’s heart sank; somehow Madge had figured it out.

“The necklace. You never put it back, did you?” the brunette continued her inquisition. She knew Adrienne would have kept the jewellery but her friend hadn’t realized how dangerous the papers in the metal tube were. What had she done with them?

Adrienne sighed and sat down. “No, I didn’t”

It was a long story and Adrienne told Marguerite all of it – burying the metal tube in the mud of the riverbank, breaking up the necklace, disguising herself and pawning the pearls. She even showed her friend the secret hiding place in her old boot, the remaining pearls and roll of cash wrapped in a piece of lace.

“I don’t know why you are so upset, Madge. I got away with it. The story isn’t in the newspaper anymore and Le Larron doesn’t suspect a thing. We’ll use the money to go to the Riviera. We can fence the rest of the pearls there.”

Marguerite was standing, arms folded across her chest, taut with nervous energy. Abruptly she sat down.

“We have to leave right away. Now that you’ve fenced the pearls it’s not safe here, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, Madge, don’t be silly.” Adrienne frowned, frustrated with her friend’s pessimism.

How could Marguerite explain that by fencing the pearls they were now vulnerable to dangerous people who wanted the secret papers? That their lives were now threatened by the shadowy figures who assassinated kings and blew up train stations. Her friend would never understand and there was no point in trying to explain.

Set on the same course despite their conflicting motives, the roommates plotted their flight. They would leave their jobs, their lodging and all the rest of their lives in Paris. If Marguerite had her way they would be gone within the week.

***

“So, Louis, have the cops been nosing around lately?” Duclos broached the subject gently. He and his lieutenant were sitting in a dim back corner of the Moulin Rouge, as far as they could get from the chanteuse on stage.

“I dunno, boss, I heard someone was snooping around but it wasn’t any detective the boys had ever seen before,” Louis shrugged. “Not much the flics can do about it. The jewellery is long-gone and we’ve got the cash.”

Duclos nodded and there was a little pause before he began again. “I heard a rumour, Louis, that someone sold something that was taken in that first heist – the one at the Meurice. You know anything about that?” The cold glitter in Duclos’ eyes caught Depard’s attention; he felt a twist of fear at the sight.

“What! Something was fenced?”

“A couple of pearls – black pearls – from a necklace.”

“I didn’t see no necklace like that, boss” Depard knew his life depended on convincing Duclos of the truth of his statement.

Duclos paused a minute to let Depard squirm. He saw the man’s fear in the sweat beading on his forehead. But he couldn’t detect any signs of guilt. He relaxed. So his old friend hadn’t betrayed him.

“If it wasn’t you …”

“Who could it be, boss?”

“Why, that two-faced slut Adrienne, of course.”

Depard looked puzzled. “She couldn’t have taken anything. I was with her the whole time. We left together.”

“Maybe she went back after.”

“I guess she could have. She didn’t get on the Métro with me; said she’d just go back to the Fat Man’s,” Louis’ face darkened with anger as he considered the possibility, “That greedy little bitch!”

“I guess I’d better have a talk with Mlle. Montclair.” Duclos muttered as he rose.

Louis looked at the departing figure of his boss, shoulders rigid with anger. He was pretty sure Adrienne Montclair wasn’t going to enjoy that conversation.

***

Percy Boyd sat on the opposite side of the club wishing that he was a better lip-reader. The gestures of the two men indicated that it was a serious discussion. He could pick up enough to tell that Duclos was grilling Depard about something missing – the stolen jewellery, he bet. It seemed at the end of the conversation that they had decided to talk to some woman- someone named Adrienne, maybe. He felt a quiver of anticipation. This was starting to come together. He just wasn’t sure where it was leading.

He had tailed Krause for two days as the agent visited the police station and half the criminals in Paris. A couple of times he had gotten close enough to overhear a little of the conversation, including the word ‘bijoux’. Jewellery! It had to be the stolen loot from Mutterlich’s hotel room! At that moment it all came together. Boyd understood what must be going on. Something had been taken along with the jewellery, something the German government didn’t want to leak out.

It had to be the information that Savarkar had given Mutterlich - something that would tie Germany to the radical Indian nationalists. If Percy could recover that incriminating evidence for the British government, it could be a coup for him and for Scotland Yard – not to mention a leg up on their rivals – the British Secret Service. But what was more important it might help throw cold water on the inflammatory situation in India. That would be a good day’s work.

His old pal Bertie Stopford was working with him now. The long-time embassy worker had performed a number of secret diplomatic missions in the past. When he arrived in Paris they took turns shadowing Krause. Boyd knew immediately when Krause met with the middle-aged Frenchman that this chap was a key character. It didn’t take him long to identify the notorious cat burglar, Le Larron. A brief discussion with his fellow-agent and he had followed the thief, leaving Stopford to shadow Krause.

As Duclos rose, Boyd stood and threw some money on the table. He slipped out of the club a few moments after the burglar. He caught sight of his prey moving purposefully down the street. A few minutes walk landed him at a nightclub named the Fosse Usée. Percy waited a minute and entered the club. He scanned the crowd until he saw Duclos then sat at a table where he had a good view of his target.

Boyd ordered a cognac and sat back to watch the performers. A good-looking brunette, was singing. It must be La Pinsonne; he’d heard about her. She really did have the voice of a songbird – pure and clear. He turned back to Duclos eager to see who he’d make contact with.

***

Duclos debated with himself as to how he should handle the situation. Part of him wanted to beat Adrienne Montclair until she confessed. But he prided himself on being a reasonable man. He would talk to her. He was too old for that kind of violence anyway. He would leave that for his young apaches.

Duclos smiled at Adrienne as she danced and gestured her over after the show. As she stood there in her low-cut costume, breathing heavily after her big stage finale, he gazed at the sheen of perspiration on her lovely breasts so charmingly displayed by her low-cut outfit. Pity, she had double-crossed him. He would rather have bedded her.

“Can you join me after you’ve changed? I need a beautiful woman to accompany me to a private late-night party – over at the Lapin Agile. Of course I thought of you. It will only be for an hour or so.” Adrienne was flattered by his charming smile.

“I’m not sure. I’m awfully tired,” she hedged.

“It will just be for a short time. I can introduce you to some of the artists I know. Picasso will be there…” His sentence tailed off, the bait set before his prey. That did it, Duclos thought smugly as he watched her eyes light up. He’d paid attention the other day to how her gaze had followed the avant-garde celebrities she’d seen in the trendy nightclub.

Deep-down Adrienne didn’t want to go with Duclos, but she realized that showing reluctance might make the thief suspicious.

“That sounds lovely. I can’t stay long, though.”

“Hurry then, chérie, or we’ll be late,” he urged. The rabbit was in his trap and she didn’t even know it.

Duclos watched her as she ran toward the dressing room, her skirts hiked up in her hands so they wouldn’t slow her. He caught a glimpse of her slim legs. What a waste, he sighed.

***

“You shouldn’t be alone with him.” Marguerite warned.

“Madge, he doesn’t suspect anything. You should see him – his eyes almost fell out of his head as he ogled my bosom in that costume.” Adrienne retorted scornfully, “Don’t worry, silly. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” Adrienne pulled her friend into a brief hug then left her alone in the dressing room.

Marguerite sat for a moment debating what to do. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to turn her back on her friend and go home, but Adrienne was the first friend she ever had in her whole life. She thought too much of her to leave her to her fate no matter what she said. Her mind made up she set out after Adrienne and Duclos.

She was a few hundred metres down the street when a pair of Duclos’ apaches came out of the alley and barred her way. She gave them the old gang sign and kept walking expecting them to give way. Instead the leader straightened from where he was leaning against a streetlight and spat on the cobblestones in front of her.

“No go, lady. The boss told us nobody else was welcome. You know – three’s a crowd.” The other boys guffawed at his rough wit. His bold eye raked her up and down. Usually it was his job to warn off angry husbands and boyfriends. He was going to enjoy giving this good-looking broad a real scare.

“My friend forgot something – I’ve got to catch up with her,” she said.

“Is that so? Well give it to me and I’ll deliver it.” He wasn’t going to fall for any tricks; the boss would have his head if he let her get by.

“Give it to you, you little weasel! That’s the last I’ll see of it,” she said with a sneer. The teenager shrugged and kept his silence.

“You sure I can’t convince you to take me with you.” Marguerite’s voice turned coy.

“Nope, I wouldn’t dare cross the boss, no sir-ee.” He stood casually, hands thrust into his pockets.

Marguerite shrugged as she turned to go and saw with a start that the rest of the gang of youths had gathered behind her.

“Well then, I’ll leave you boys. I’ll be sure to mention to M. Duclos when I see him how well you took care of him.”

“Ah, get out of here lady – before we give you a little ‘hurry-up’.”

Marguerite had to push her way past the young men, their hands shoving and grabbing rudely at her as she passed. She broke through and tried to gather her poise as she walked away, shaken by their insolent behaviour. She felt a rush of air by her ear as a piece of brick smacked against the wall ahead of her. She felt a painful thud as something hit her shoulder.

One of the youths shouted after her, “Détalez! Get lost. And don’t come back. We won’t be so gentle next time.” As she ran she could hear the catcalls and raucous laughter behind her.

As Marguerite drew nearer to her apartment and further from her friend, she was eaten up by conflicting fears. She felt like her life depended on emerging from the treacherous waters she was swimming in, but fear for her best – her only - friend made her wretched with fear and guilt. What kind of a friend was she to leave Adrienne in the hands of Le Larron?

Think, Marguerite , she upbraided herself. You’ve been in worse spots than this. Maybe she was panicking unnecessarily. Maybe Duclos just wanted to make sure he’d have a little privacy to propose a liaison amoreuse. She’d better go back and pack her belongings and Adrienne’s too, just in case. She would be prepared to go underground immediately, as soon as her roommate returned.

She tiptoed up the stairs to the apartment keeping a sharp look-out for figures in the shadows. Once inside she packed feverishly until she had filled a valise for each of them. She hesitated as she took Adrienne’s boot out of the closet and reached in to grab hold of the package jammed into the toe. She unfolded the lace and stared at the pearls and the cash in her hand. She hastily rewrapped it and stuffed the awkward bundle into her chemise. Then, unsure of what to do next, she sat on the edge of the bed, baggage at her feet to wait for Adrienne to return.

***

Adrienne and Duclos walked swiftly through the quiet night-time streets toward Le Lapin Agile. Suddenly her companion tightened his grip on her arm and dragged her into a dark alley.

“Forgive me for the deception, my dear, but I needed an opportunity for a private conversation with you.” The thief maintained his vice-like grip on her arm and deliberately allowed his anger to show.

Adrienne looked into Duclos’ face and realized that she was talking to Le Larron, the ruthless criminal, not an eager suitor. She willed her panic not to show and adopted the guise of innocent alarm.

“Raymond, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Reports have reached my ears that some of the items that we took that evening at the Meurice were sold to a jeweller in the Quai Voltaire the next day. The man gave us a description. It sounded a lot like you.”

“No! It wasn’t me. Ask Louis! We were together the whole time. He’ll tell you, I handed everything to him. He had it all.” Adrienne barely heard her own shrill words for the thudding of her heart.

Duclos nodded. “You saw something, didn’t you? So you dumped Louis and came back for it.” His voice was a bitter growl now, spit through clenched teeth. “You picked up a necklace and a metal canister – and you took them both. You greedy stupid cow.”

“No, Raymond.” All she could think to do was to deny his accusations. “I swear to you…”

“And now because of your double-crossing, I’ve got a man who wants to kill me,” His voice ended in bitter disgust. Adrienne stood speechless, wide frightened eyes on the thief.

“I need it back, all of it. You understand, Adrienne? Both our lives depend on it.” He was barely aware that he was squeezing both her arms as he faced her, fingers imbedded in the firm flesh he had earlier wanted to caress.

“Raymond. I wouldn’t do that to you. Maybe the jeweller made a mistake. Maybe Louis got his girlfriend to fence the jewels. Did you think about that?” She was almost belligerent, eyes flashing with what seemed like righteous indignation. Duclos hesitated. She looked so pretty, so innocent. Maybe…

“If you’ve got the stuff, give it to me. Maybe there’s a chance to get out of this.” Duclos was almost pleading. He let loose of her arms and stood with his fists clenched at his side.

Adrienne felt the advantage pass to her. She was going to get away with it!

“If I had it, I’d tell you. You know that, Raymond.” She raised her hand to caress his cheek and leaned forward on tiptoe to kiss him. She stepped out of the alley then turned with a final goodbye.

“I’m going home now. Check out Louis; he’s the one who cheated you.”

Adrienne practically flew down the streets to her home. Behind her Duclos leaned back against the building and looked grimly up at the narrow slice of sky above him.

“Hey boss, what’s going on?”

It was Daniel, the leader of his little gang of apaches. Duclos collected himself.

“Follow her, Daniel. Take a couple of the boys and send back a report.”

The teen nodded and with a hail to a couple of his grubby pals he ran down the street in the direction he’d seen the dancer go.

September 20 1909

Daily report: H. Bint to A. Krassilnikov

Lenin, Kamenev & Zinoviev are still in residence at the Hôtel Champs du Mars. There are indications that they intend to leave Paris within the week. Trotsky has already returned to Vienna. Lenin and the others met with a noted Parisian cat burglar, Raymond Duclos, two days ago. They appeared to be in a celebratory mood and drank a great deal of vodka together.

I have received my first report from a new agent, Marguerite Smith? (last name not verified), a singer who goes by the professional name of La Pinsonne. Her report on the activities of the Bolshevist cell in St Petersburg was concise; its accuracy was verified by other sources. She has the potential to be a first-rate infiltration agent. Attached is a voucher for a cash payment of 50₣ to Miss Smith. Please refer also to my request to have Miss Smith(?) put on full-time salary at 40₣ per month.

HB

(One of several pages of documents missing from Okhranka Paris central files – at first assumed misplaced or destroyed, later discovered to have been stolen by Bolshevik agents)

No, I told you not to. Those jewels – they belonged to us.

Boyd stood shivering outside the apartment building into which the singer from the Fosse Usée had disappeared a few hours earlier. He swore under his breath as he debated whether to give up his observation of the building and call it a night. His plans had been stymied when that damn Duclos had set up his rabble of cutthroats to guard against anyone following the thief. As Boyd had hesitated in the shadows debating what to do next, he had overseen the singer intercepted by the young hooligans and sent on her way. He cursed again that he had no clue where Duclos and that dancer had gone. Since he now had nothing better to do, he followed the brunette as she hurried away after her rude treatment by the apaches.

As the young woman went inside the apartment he stood across the street, waiting to see if a light came on, hoping he was lucky enough that her room was in the front of the building. Right on cue, a lamp flared in a room on the third floor of the five-storey building. He walked close to the front door and looked through the panel of glass, straining for a glimpse of the letter boxes. There were four apartments on the third floor and he copied out all the names in a small notebook. He then returned to his post across the street and leaned against a shade tree prepared to wait for another few hours.

Not long after, the other young woman from the bar walked up the steps and let herself into the building. He wondered if the showgirls might be roommates. He took out his notebook and drew a star beside the two names that shared apartment 309. Montclair and Smith. After another hour of chilly surveillance, the lights in the apartment went out and Boyd returned to his hotel room for a few hours sleep. He didn’t see the pair of young street arabs lounging in the shadows nor, intent on keeping an eye on the apartment above, did they notice him as he left.

***

Adrienne turned her key in the lock and entered the main room of the apartment. It was empty except for two carpetbags in the middle of the floor. She took a couple of steps into the room then whirled in alarm as she sensed movement behind her.

“Thank god, you’re back.” Adrienne turned to find herself gripped in a fierce hug by her friend, Madge’s voice muffled as she had her head pressed against her friend’s shoulder. “I was so worried. They stopped me from following you. I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

“I told you, silly, he’s infatuated with me. He would never hurt me.” Adrienne, still giddy with relief at her escape, gave Madge a little hug before drawing back.

“What happened?” Curiosity warred with fear in Marguerite’s mind.

“Duclos has discovered that someone fenced the pearls.” She hurried her next words as she heard Marguerite’s shocked intake of air.

“Don’t worry, Madge. At first he thought it was me, but I convinced him it wasn’t. I told him it was Louis.”

“His chief lieutenant - how did you manage that? Louis is completely loyal to Duclos.” Marguerite was incredulous.

“I dropped a few hints, spread a few red herrings.”

“So then what?”

“He let me go - told me to return the stuff if I had it and things would be okay.”

“That’s what we should do then, give it back. Maybe he’ll let you off if he’s so hot for you.”

“No, Madge, those jewels belong to us.”

“Adrienne, we should leave right now. We’ve got the money.”

“Tomorrow, Madge. It’s payday so one of us has to pick up our wages from Grosman at the ‘Pit’. Then we’ll get tickets for the train to Nice. I checked – it leaves at noon. And we’ll pack properly, a trunk, not some carpetbag which can’t possibly hold my new shoes or my hats. I paid good money for those. We may have a few francs now but I am not going to abandon things I’ve paid good money for.”

Marguerite tried one more time, unsure now in the force of Adrienne’s confidence. “We can’t cross someone like him. His claws stretch out a long way – probably all the way to the Riviera.”

“We’ll disappear. We’ll just take new names, start over. Come on, Madge, you should know what I’m talking about - your name isn’t really Smith, is it?”

“Of course it is.” Marguerite answered cagily. “Don’t be silly.”

“I figured it out Madge. You never get any letters; never talk about your family. You ran away from them and don’t want anyone to know, right?”

Marguerite flushed as her friend’s guess hit close to home. She was finding it was dangerous in more than one way to let Adrienne get too close. Not only was a friend able to put two and two together, but friendship was also affecting her decisions. She knew in her gut that staying in the apartment for the night was a mistake, but when she listened to Adrienne she felt so confused – like she had lost control.

“Okay, okay, we’ll do it your way. But first thing tomorrow morning I’m leaving here with a bag I can carry in case I have to move fast. If you want to pack a trunk, that’s up to you. I’ll collect our pay envelopes from the Fosse and meet you at the Gare de Lyons half an hour before the train leaves.” Marguerite rose to go to bed, then she reached inside her chemise to pull out the pearls. She held them out to Adrienne.

“Here, I took these out of their hiding place.”

“No, you hold on to them, just in case someone decides to snoop through my things. If worst comes to worst, we can use them to trade with Duclos for a ticket out of here.”

***

Henri Bint swore as he looked through the files one more time. Gone! More than twenty reports from the last month – along with that good-looking secretary he’d hired six months ago. There was little doubt about who was behind the theft. It had to be his counterpart in the Bolshevik camp - Vladimir Burtzev. As the Okhranka spied on the Bolshevists, Burtzev and his counteragents worked against the Okhranka. Now what was in those reports – who had been compromised? What was more important – how could he make sure that his superior Krassilnikov didn’t find out? He could lose more than his job for this.

***

Vladimir Lenin cursed as he dropped the stolen report on the desk. Burtzev had told him he wouldn’t like it. La Pinsonne – an agent for Henry Bint and the accursed Okhranka. Damn her and all her kind. Working for the secret police, spying on Russian freedom fighters. He’d remember that beautiful voice and that beautiful face as long as he lived.

***

Percy Boyd groaned as he heard a tap on his door. It was 7:00 am and the bellhop was delivering his breakfast and the newspaper. He wasn’t looking forward to telling his fellow agent that he’d lost his target last night. He wondered how Bertie was doing with Krause.

***

Marguerite was up as early as Adrienne the next morning. She took her bag and stood at the door. Adrienne paused in her packing and came close. A little hug and a kiss on each cheek in the French fashion, and Marguerite was ready to leave. As Marguerite went to pick up her bag, Adrienne handed her a bundle of papers.

“Since you’ve got the pearls, I thought I might as well leave this with you too.”

“What is this?”

“Oh just some papers I don’t want Duclos and his gang getting their hands on. You know - if something happens to me.”

“You’d better not let anything happen to you. We’ve got plans – the Riviera, millionaires. How could I go without you?” Marguerite sniffed back a sob.

The two women shared a tearful smile.

“I’ll see you at the station. I’ll give it back to you then.” Marguerite promised as she slipped the envelope into her bag. She hoisted the heavy valise and turned to leave.

“Madge,” Marguerite paused and looked back at Adrienne’s call. Her friend’s face broadened into a forced smile. “Take care of our money.”

“I will. Be – be careful, mon amie.” Marguerite finally said. Adrienne nodded, the smile fading from her face as she returned to her packing.

***

Marguerite walked down the stairs and struggled with her heavy bag to the Métro station. She got on board a subway car and, eventually exited at Gare de Lyons. She left her belongings at the baggage claims office and purchased a pair of tickets for the noon train. A glance at her watch told her that she would be in good time to find Gaspard Grosman at his office in the Fosse Usée. She wasn’t looking forward to telling him she would be leaving his employ. Better idea to collect her week’s wages before she gave him the bad news. She never noticed the grubby youngster who had followed her to the Métro station and who now ducked aboard the same subway car she was in. Only when she reached the Fat Man’s bar did he run off to tell his boss where she had been.

***

Adrienne packed her new shoes carefully into the trunk. She looked around at the apartment empty now of their possessions. Time to go. She went downstairs to ask the landlady if she could use the telephone to call for a taxi. A sunny smile convinced the landlord to help her bring the trunk downstairs. When she paid the month’s rent and told them they were free to rent the room, they wore smiles to match her own. She saw the taxi pull up in front of the building. With help from the landlord she dragged the trunk to the pavement outside. The driver opened the door and put down the platform at the back of the vehicle to load the trunk. Suddenly she felt a strong hand grip her arm. A voice spoke.

“Chérie, what are you doing? I know we quarrelled, but it’s over now. Come back with me.” She didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Louis Depard who held her tight. Behind him were a half dozen of the scruffy gamins des rues - urchins that worked for Duclos.

“You can go, monsieur,” Louis said to the taxi-driver. “My wife and I had a little argument. She tells me she is going home to her mother. But I am her husband and I say she stays with me where she belongs.” He grinned and winked at the driver who returned the smile. When Depard paid the fare and added a generous tip, the man’s smile broadened and he paid little notice to Adrienne’s shrill protestations.

Adrienne started to scream and struggle, but she was pinned against Louis’ chest by one strong arm.

“Women!” he grunted and the driver chuckled as he returned to his taxi and drove away.

“You kids, take the trunk,” he ordered as he dragged Adrienne off the main street. They hesitated a few minutes while one of the teens drove up in an automobile that they had stolen an hour earlier. They wedged the trunk into the boot and piled in the rear of the vehicle. They drove to a seedy neighbourhood along the Seine. Louis dragged Adrienne with him as he walked through a bar empty of customers at this early hour. The bartender nodded as they left through the rear and went down a set of stone stairs. As they reached the bottom, Adrienne found herself in a dimly lit passage with a high vaulted ceiling. The aroma clearly identified the conduit as a Paris sewer, one of the smaller ones. Built in the middle ages, the vast network of sewers attracted tourists who gawked at the miles of underground passages, hauled through the largest in locomotive-pulled wagons. Despite the easy public access to the sewers Adrienne knew they were unlikely to be interrupted by anyone in this isolated offshoot.

The street arabs struggled down the stairs after them, the trunk thumping on every step.

“Open it and search it completely. You’re looking for jewellery and maybe some business papers.” His voice echoed strangely in the empty corridors. He turned to his captive.

“You tried to set me up, you bitch,” he growled then suddenly backhanded Adrienne across the face. She stumbled backward a few steps, her hand to her stinging cheek.

“No, Louis, you’re wrong. I knew it wasn’t me. I figured it had to be you,” she answered.

“You’re a liar. Shame Duclos can’t see that,” he muttered, reaching out to finger a tress of hair that had fallen out of its pins. “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone? He would have taken good care of you.”

“It wasn’t me. Honest, Louis. You’re right. I’d have to be a fool to sell out Le Larron.”

A youthful voice cut through the gloom. “There’s nothing here, Louis. Just clothes and women’s things.”

“Go through all those creams and lotions. She could hide the pearls in one of those. And see if there are any false compartments in the trunk.”

“Okay.”

The boys willingly set to the search. Adrienne watched in growing resentment as her best clothes and new hat were strewn about on the filthy stone floor. The expensive lotions and creams that she had scrimped for were dumped out as the hoodlums looked for the pearls. Thank God she had given Marguerite the stolen merchandise to hold on to. Maybe she could talk her way out of this yet.

Minutes went by with Adrienne trying to convince a silent Louis of her innocence. When the boys assured him there was no evidence of the pearls or the papers he swore in fury.

His angry stare made Adrienne cold from her core to the tips of her fingers. His next words were ominous with threat.

“Well, I guess there ain’t much use in carrying on here. If you won’t talk, I guess we’re done here. I’ll just have to ask your friend; maybe she likes to talk more than you do.”

The hulking crook pulled out a knife. Adrienne’s gazed fixed on it, the blade glittering dim gold in the lamplight. Before she could react he’d pulled her into a cold embrace, her back pressed against his chest. She pawed helplessly at his arm hoping to stay his attack. Adrienne had run out of luck.

“Wait, wait,” she screamed, “I’ll tell you where the loot is.”

“Finally,” he growled. “Spill it.”

“Not here. I want to be somewhere safe.”

“Take me to it; then I’ll let you go.”

Completely devoid of any other options, Adrienne nodded in acquiescence. As he dragged her up the stairs and back into the vehicle, she thought furiously. It was already past noon. The train to the south would have left and with it, Madge and the pearls. She hoped her friend would meet a millionaire like they had always talked about. It looked like she was going to have to be lucky just to get out of this with her life.

“Take me to Duclos,” she demanded, “I want to tell him.”

“Tell you what – you get me the pearls or the papers for proof and then we’ll both go to Le Larron.”

“The papers then,” she offered. Depard nodded in agreement. He masked his face to hide his excitement. He knew that it was the secret papers that they needed to retrieve. The man that wanted them had given the boss a real fright. The pearls meant nothing to Duclos – except that they couldn’t let this little backstabber get away with her dodge.

Breathing a little easier she gave directions to an intersection by the Seine close to where she had buried the metal canister.

“We’d better dump this motorcar, Louis,” one of the boys addressed Depard, “The flics may be looking for it and there aren’t any like it in this part of town.”

They got out, Louis dismissing the apaches to filter through the streets and make their way to a meeting place near the Seine.

“Wait until dark,” he ordered, “We don’t want the flics to catch us out there. They see us and it’ll be trouble.”

Adrienne and Louis sat silently at a café table. The dancer began to feel a little more confident. If only she could talk to Raymond. He would forgive her. She’d tell him she would get the gems; there’d be a chance for escape. She still had a chance. Since she was the only one who knew where the jewels were, they’d have to keep her alive to get them.

***

The sun had just set on the western horizon when Louis, Adrienne and a half-dozen of the urchins walked down to the bank of the river Seine.

“I buried it around here somewhere,” she explained as she poked tentatively at the muck with a delicately shod foot.

“Spread out, boys. You’re looking for a metal canister,” Louis directed his scruffy crew. Fifteen minutes of searching ended with a youngster’s loud whisper.

“Ici, monsieur!” The boy groped in the mire and pulled out a mud-covered item. “It’s a canister – like you said.”

Louis slipped over to the boy and grabbed the tube from him. He cleaned the container by wiping it on his coat. The screw top resisted his efforts for a while then gave with a grating sound. He pulled out a soggy mess of papers; moisture had leaked into the canister. He chuckled mirthlessly when he saw that the writing had spread into a whorl of grey – the words were totally illegible. Their fears had been for nothing. No one would ever be able to use these papers for anything. He chuckled at the absurdity of it as he crushed the sodden heap into a ball, water oozing through his fingers. He thrust the remnants into his pocket and turned to Adrienne. She smiled tremulously.

“See, there they are - right where I told you they were. You tell Raymond that.” She tried to brazen it out.

His hand shot out to grasp her by her hair.

“If it were up to me, I’d kill you here and now. But Duclos, he can be such a fool for a woman, sometimes. He said not to kill you. But he didn’t argue when I told him I’d teach you a little lesson.”

He delivered a hard punch into her midsection. Adrienne crumpled to her knees gasping as she tried to catch her breath. He yanked on her hair to pull her back to her feet.

“You ready to give me the damn pearls? No one cheats Le Larron.” His fist bunched to hit her again. He heard a distant voice rise in alarm. “Over there! Look!” and closer the urgent whisper from one of his young henchmen.

“Louis, someone’s seen us.”

“Merde,” cursed the crook, furious at the interruption. He pulled Adrienne’s face close to his own. “Get the pearls and bring them to the boss. If he gets them right away he may not kill you. Don’t think you can escape, girl.”

Louis and the street arabs took to their heels as a small crowd of concerned citizens approached. Adrienne attempted to collect herself as a tall man with a shopkeeper’s apron wrapped around his middle reached a hand out to support her.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said shakily, “just a disagreement.” She was desperate that they not attract the police, but she felt too wobbly to make her escape.

A nondescript man joined the group as they approached the dishevelled woman. He told them all he was an orderly in a hospital. He even offered to take her there in his automobile. The shopkeeper and the other good Samaritans were relieved. When she assured the people she’d be fine, the crowd broke up, satisfied they had prevented a violent crime. The orderly carefully supported her and led her away.

***

Ralf Krause was pleased with his deception. Proclaiming himself to be an orderly gave him an unimpeachable reason to take charge of the situation. It would give him the opportunity to take care of this loose end in private. The German spy had been shadowing Louis and his gang all day. He had hired an auto and had idled along following them to the young dancer’s apartment building, then to their hideaway behind the bar. He had grown restless waiting and gone inside to locate his quarry only to find the bar empty. He was furious, convinced they had given him the slip, when suddenly they re-emerged.

Krause had stuck with Louis and the girl when the gang had split up and had stood in the shadows as the search for the canister had taken place. It was with great satisfaction he had watched the container emptied and the pulpy illegible mess that came out of it. The Fatherland was safe from embarrassment and censure. The master plans for the triumph of Germany as a world power would carry on unblemished by the telltale document. There were only a few loose ends to tidy up.

When the good citizens had come to the woman’s rescue he had joined the crowd. Now he had the girl in his grasp. He supported an unsuspecting Adrienne as they made their way to his vehicle parked on the next street. “Just a short walk,” he said.

“Thank you, monsieur, I am all right, really. I don’t need a doctor.” Adrienne assured him.

“Perhaps somewhere else then,” He made his voice sound kind.

“Yes.” Adrienne’s mind was flying through her options. “Can you give me a lift to the train station?”

Since Adrienne had no pearls to return to Le Larron, flight was her only recourse. She had been granted a reprieve. Her life had been saved. She was starting to think she was meant to have those pearls – that fate had set them in front of her just so that she could take them and make the life she and Madge had dreamed of. Maybe this was her destiny - to see it through. That meant she had to follow Madge to Nice. She could still meet her millionaire.

Adrienne walked a little faster in anticipation, not noticing that her companion had fallen behind fractionally. When she saw Madge again she would tell her about her escape. How they would laugh about it – just like they used to laugh before things got so complicated and dangerous.

She was smiling at the thought of it when Krause pulled out his deadly knife. In a single instant he stepped in behind her, pulled her forehead tight to his chest and slashed the long sharp blade across her throat.

He backed away so his victim’s blood wouldn’t stain his clothing. Adrienne fell to her hands and knees then slowly slumped onto her back, clasping her hands around her torn throat. She struggled to speak, confused, not quite realizing what had happened. Her hands slid back down to her breast as her life’s blood poured over the cobblestones, her wide eyes fixed on the stars overhead. She was dead in minutes; her pretty face a pale oval in a sea of crimson, her red-gold hair a corona.

Krause wiped the knife on her skirts and pocketed it. He continued on through the alley and opened the trunk of his auto. He hauled out a canvas tarpaulin. With almost indifferent efficiency, he went back, wrapped the girl’s still warm body and carried it to his trunk. Slamming the lid, he slid into the driver’s seat. He hoped the other loose ends would be as easy to clean up.

***

<To be continued>

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