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Updated: June 23, 2025
Then Madame la Comtesse de Lorgnes whoever she is must get her feet wet, an excellent excuse for asking to be introduced to your boudoir, so she may change her shoes and stockings and incidentally spy out the precise location of your safe. And when their ear is hauled into the garage, Mr.
We formed a joint-stock company on the spot." "And made your first coup at the Château de Montalais!" "Not the first, but the biggest. De Lorgnes' mouth had been watering for the Montalais stuff for a long time, it seems. My boss had private business of a nature we won't enter into, in London, and gave me a week off and the use of his car.
Lanyard had diligently scanned all the stories that told of the identification of the murdered man of the Lyons rapide as the Comte de Lorgnes; and inasmuch as these were of one voice in praising the Préfecture for that famous feat of detective work, and not one line suggested that it did not deserve undivided credit, Lanyard had nothing to complain of there.
Each of us contributes valuable and essential services, mademoiselle, the skipper, my kid-brother, even I and I pull a strong oar with the New York Police Department into the bargain. But there's a vacancy in our ranks, the opening left by the death of de Lorgnes, an opening that nobody could hope to fill so well as you.
"Monsieur of the garotte, Liane; recently the assassin of de Lorgnes; before that the ex-chauffeur of the Château de Montalais." "Albert Dupont?" "As you say, it is not a name." "The same?" Her old terror revived. "My God! what have I ever done to that one that he should seek my life?" "What had de Lorgnes?"
Nobody would ever have believed her a day older than twenty-five, no one, that is to say, who had not watched youth ebb from her face and leave it grey and waste with premature winter, as Lanyard had that morning when he told her of the death of de Lorgnes in the restaurant of the Buttes Montmartre. Liane herself had long since put quite out of mind that mauvais quart d'heure.
"When had you known him?" "First when I fought with him at Montpellier-le-Vieux, later when he sought to do me in on the outskirts of Nant. He was the fugitive chauffeur of the Château de Montalais." "But name of a sacred name! what had that one to do with de Lorgnes?" "If you will tell me that, there will be no more mystery in this sad affair." The woman brooded heavily for a moment.
I know my ship, I know my men, I know what I'm talking about." "Presently," Liane prophesied darkly, "you may be talking about nothing." At a loss, Monk muttered: "Don't get you...." "When you find yourself, some fine morning, with your throat cut in your sleep, like poor de Lorgnes or garroted, as I might have been." "I'm not going to lose any sleep....." Monk began.
He had learned all that he could reasonably have hoped to learn from Liane Delorme in one night. He knew that she and de Lorgnes had been mutually interested in the business that took the latter to Lyons. He had the testimony of his own perceptions to prove that news of the murder had come as a great shock to her.
Germain, is the man who I believe murdered Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes on the Lyons rapide, and who I know tried last night to murder Mademoiselle Delorme." "And I suppose that, in his big-hearted, wholesaler's way, he wouldn't mind making a bag of the lot of us tonight." "I'm afraid you have reason..."
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