A Knife for the Juggler

Manning Coles

Description

Enjoy Manning Coles in top form with this spy tale of murder and intrigue taking place in the glamorous settings of the City of Paris and of the Canary Islands!

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Thriller
• Fiction
• Espionage
• Thrillers

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781774643396
• Langue: English

Extrait

A Knife for the Juggler
by Manning Coles

First published in 1953
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
A Knife for the Juggler

by Manning Coles





To TEX NOORDEWIER " Can your friend speak English? "





CHAPTER I TO VIEW THE BODY
He who wishes to ascend the heights of Montmartrehas two ways open to him; he can either go bycircuitous roads which wind transversely across the faceof the extremely steep hill or he can go straight up the faceby any of the several flights of steps which, connectingthe roads, lead directly to the summit where the greatBasilica of the Sacré Coeur dominates the city of Paris.These flights of steps are comfortably wide with doublehand-rails down the middle; on either side there isa broad margin of concrete down which the children ofthe quarter slither upon the portion of their anatomyappointed by Providence for the purpose. The slope isfar too steep to walk up or run down and the long flightsof steps are warranted to fatigue the legs of any but themost practised athlete. There are tall houses on bothsides of these stairs; by day they aspire to the heightsand by night they are shadowy chasms plunging intoimpenetrable depths.
This neighbourhood is not particularly well lighted;this is not the fault of the City of Paris Authorities but isdue to the nature of the terrain. Even the roads whichterrace the hillsides are steep, winding and narrow betweenthe tall houses; darkness seems to crowd in upon thestreet lights, containing their beams, and accumulates likefog in every corner.
Three men were walking up one of these roads onenight. It was late, nearly midnight, and there were fewpeople about. The three men were not together but oneafter another; the two first within ten yards of eachother and the third some distance behind. The first wasa tall fair young man without a hat, whenever he passedunder a street lamp his blond hair shone in the light.The second was smaller and walked like a cat; one feltthat at any moment he could either spring or slink. Hewore a dark suit and a hat pulled down over his dark eyes.The third was a British Intelligence agent and his namewas Thomas Hambledon.
The first man came to the point where one of the flightsof steps turned up to the right; he did not hesitate butwent straight up them. The second followed in his turnand the house at the corner immediately concealed themfrom Hambledon's sight.
"If Blondie doesn't know he's being followed," saidHambledon, who did not know their names, "I'll betBrunette does. I don't quite fancy walking up those stepswith him waiting for me. If there were a taxi I'd goround to the top and await their arrival." He came to thecorner of the house by the steps and paused to listen beforeputting his head round it.
He heard something at once and it was not a soundwhich he had expected. It was not voices or footstepsnor even blows or curses, it was a sliding noise accompaniedby dull bumps. It came down the steps towards him andceased abruptly.
Hambledon put his head round the corner of the house.The stairs do not rise up directly from the street, there isa small level square at their foot forming as it were aforecourt very dimly lighted, but there was certainly somethinglying at the foot of the steps. Hambledon looked abouthim; there was no one in sight, not even upon the stairs,though the second man must have run fairly fast up therest of the flight to be out of sight already. Perhaps hewas merely sheltering in a doorway.
Hambledon went forward to bend over the man on theground. He had evidently rolled down, the bumpingnoise was probably caused by his head hitting the stepsin passing. He lay face downwards with one arm flungout and his legs asprawl and there was a knife in his back.It was the blond young man and he was quite dead.
Hambledon glanced round once more, turned the manover and went through his pockets, transferring whateverthey held to his own. He was in the act of taking off thedead man's wrist watch—watches are often a help inestablishing identity—when a quiet voice behind himmade him spin round.
"If monsieur has quite finished," said the policeman.
"Ah," said Hambledon, and straightened up.
Three men came past in the road, stopped and thencame towards them. Two women arrived from nowherein particular and another man came running lightly downthe steps. It was not the dark man who walked like a cat.A ring formed round Hambledon, the policeman, and thedead man on the ground.
"Stand there," said the policeman, still addressingHambledon. "You will not attempt an escape."
"We'll see to that," said the men and closed in onTommy while the women called him an assassin and arobber. The policeman bent over the body, rolled it overand disclosed the knife still sticking in its back. Thehandle had been pressed flat against the back in the transitdown the steps but the change of posture released it andit rose slowly as though deliberately displaying itself. Thewomen recoiled with shrieks and the men pinionedTommy's arms and told him what they would like to doto him.
"That will do," said the policeman sharply, "we willsee to all that is necessary, we, the police." The crowdgrew larger and was joined by a second policeman.Tommy was marched away to the police-station ofMontmartre escorted by a section of the crowd, morecitizens added themselves to the cortège on the way andevery new-comer had naturally to be told what the troublewas about. Loud talking in the street caused upperwindows to be thrown up and shrill voices joined in theclamour of abuse. Hambledon's police escort took firmhold of his arm above the elbow and hurried him along,angrily checking any who pressed too close upon him andhis captive. They turned at last into the Place Dancourtand Hambledon was not the only one who breathed morefreely when the doors of the police-station closed betweenthem and the mob shouting outside.
The desk Sergeant looked up and said: "What is allthis?"
"Murder and robbery," said the policeman, anddescribed the circumstances.
"Your name?" said the desk Sergeant, opening hisrecord book.
Hambledon gave it and added: "I wish to speak toDetective-Superintendent Letord of the Sûreté at once.It is urgent——"
"To-morrow will do," said the desk Sergeant. He roseleisurely to his feet, opened a flat cupboard screwed tothe wall and took a numbered key off a hook.
"At once," insisted Hambledon. "Have the goodnessto ring him up and tell him that——"
"To-morrow. He will, no doubt, be equally eager tosee you to-morrow. You do not suppose that I am goingto bring a Detective-Superintendent of the Sûreté from hisbed at the bidding of an assassin? You are not sufficientlyserious."
Hambledon gave it up and was conducted to his cell.This was nothing like the picture which rises naturally inthe mind of a British miscreant when anyone mentionsthe word "cell", it was much more like a lion's cage ina pre-Mappin-terraced Zoo, for it had bars in front fromfloor to ceiling and from side to side. In fact, the wholerange of cells was basically a large room with a passagedown the middle between a double line of narrow stallsas for cows, except that one does not shut cows inbehind close iron bars as thick as a man's thumb. Thisarrangement does, of course, save the trouble of tetheringthe prisoners.
The result was that Hambledon, if he chose to press hisface against the bars, could see almost the whole range ofcells opposite but nothing whatever of those upon his ownside. There were four prisoners already there when hewas brought in; he could see and hear two of them andonly hear the other two.
There was only one piece of furniture in his celland that was the bed, so he sat on it. The policemanwent out, speeded on his way by acid witticismsfrom a humorist near the door, and attention turned toHambledon.
"Hey, you in number four!"
"Good evening, the company," said Tommy politely.
"What are you in for, or is that a rude question?"
"A mistake in identity," said Hambledon, "a meremisunderstanding. It will be put right in the morning."
"That's what we all say, but you sound as if youbelieved it."
"I do."
"Oh well, good luck to you. I 'ope the Chief of theParis Police comes 'ere in person to apologise."
"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" said Hambledon witha laugh. The cell directly opposite to him was empty, theman who had spoken to him was two cells further down.A certain degree of privacy could therefore be managedby retiring to the back of one's cell and Hambledon didthis; it looked like being a thoroughly unpleasant nightbut as the time was already past midnight there werenot many hours to get through. One small item wasthoroughly satisfactory; when the police had emptied hispockets they had put all their contents into a sealedenvelope and locked it up. There would be something toshow Letord in the morning and probably the identityof the blond young man, now occupying a trestle-table inan outhouse before being removed to a morgue elsewhere,could be established. Once that was known it might leadon to other information, even a slight leading would becheap at the price of a night in the cells. He wished thathe could smoke but his cigarettes and matches had,naturally, been taken from him; it would be wise to tryto go to sleep. "'That the time may pass more quickly,'"murmured Hambledon, "'and our guests be morecontented.'" The other guests, if not contented, seemed tobe settling down for the night apart from a low-tonedconversation about horse-racing. Hambledon removedhis shoes, lay down upon the plank bed and composedhimself to sleep by