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Updated: May 15, 2025
If he had been an Italian he would probably have believed that someone had looked on him that day with the evil eye. He feared that he had been almost maladroit. His social self-confidence was severely shaken. And yet he had only meant well; he had only been trying to do what he considered his duty. It had all begun with Miss Cronin's preposterous mistake.
She had a strange feeling just then that her will had abandoned her. Fanny Cronin's message must have had an imperious effect upon her. Yet she still felt no real sorrow at her father's death. She seemed to be enveloped in something which made mental activity difficult, indeed almost impossible. When the cab stopped, she said: "I can only stay five minutes." "Certainly!
Perhaps he would tell her then, or perhaps he had only asked her to dinner that she might tell him about Arabian. And in the midst of all this had come Craven with his changed manner and his news about Lady Sellingworth. Decidedly things were taking a turn for the better. To Miss Cronin's increasingly plaintive inquiries as to when they would return to Paris Miss Van Tuyn gave evasive replies.
Even his iron composure was stirred by this weird complication. "I wonder!" he murmured. He had ample reason to wonder. "Well, Mr. Shirley, your coming here was a Godsend! I don't know what to do now. The newspapers will get this surely. I depended on Cronin: he must have been drinking." Shirley shook his head, as he explained, "I know Cronin's reputation, for I was a police reporter.
But here comes Van Cleft, who will tell you I am all right." The millionaire entered the hallway before any serious altercation could arise. He greeted Shirley warmly and introduced him to Pat Cleary. The man was mollified. "Well, I'm Captain Cronin's right bower, and I thinks as how this guy is the joker of the deck trying to make a dirty deuce out of me.
So his name can be kept out of it entirely. And the fact that you helped to save him from paying fifty thousand dollars in blackmail, will not injure the size of Captain Cronin's bill. Get me?" "It's got!" laughed Cleary. Two patrolmen were dumfounded when they reached the spot to find four men in handcuffs in charge of six armed guardians.
The stranger bowed, and then pressed Miss Cronin's freckled right hand gently, but strongly too. "I have been hoping to meet you," he said, in a strong but gentle voice which had, Miss Cronin thought, almost caressing inflexions. "Very glad to meet you, indeed!" said the companion. "Yes. Miss Van Tuyn has told me what you are to her." "Forgive me for a minute!" said Miss Van Tuyn.
Yet the passersby did not realize the grim drama enacted inside the waiting machine. Hours seemed to pass before Cronin's men returned with the driver, as much surprised by the three strange faces within the machine, as he had been. "You take these men upstairs and keep them locked up," bluntly commanded the criminologist.
It was here that having paid my dues by singing a hymn and listening to a short sermon I was given a cup of tea and a bun while I watched the film The Citadel based on Cronin's novel of the same name.
At Cronin's agency, late that night, there came a cablegram from the greatest detective bureau of France. "The Montfleury case" was the most daring robbery and sale of state war secrets ever perpetrated in Paris. It had been successful, despite the capture, and conviction of the criminal, Laschlas Rozi, a Hungarian adventurer who had killed three men to carry his point.
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