French for Murder by Brian Moore (Bernard Mara)

Author:Brian Moore (Bernard Mara) [Brian Moore (Bernard Mara)]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fawcett
Published: 2015-06-16T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Sarto was waiting for me at the Palace, his grizzled face set in a frown of displeasure.

"All the damn day I have been sitting here," he said. "I did not even go out to eat, waiting for your telephone call. But you did not bother to call. You damn fool. Do you want a drink?"

"No," I said. "I want an Air France timetable. I've got to go to Marseilles." And I sat down and told him what had happened. When I got to the bit about Mellan and Parsons, he was so hopping mad he couldn't sit in his seat.

"Why didn't you bring me with you?" he shouted. "Why did you try everything alone? I could have helped you."

I calmed him down when I told him that Parsons and Mellan would likely spend most of the night in a hospital emergency ward. Then we made some coffee and he got an Air France timetable. He promised to call me early and I went up to my room to get some rest. Within seconds of putting my head down, I was fast asleep.

I was having a drink with Slessor, only he couldn't drink because he had a knife in his chest. Stella Webster, wearing only an ermine muff and high-heeled shoes, was mixing Martinis. I was asking the dead man what he had done to double-cross Mellan. Then a sudden shaking made me open my eyes in the darkness.

"Wake up, Noah," Sarto said quietly. "Get dressed. The flics are here."

I shook my head and pains stabbed over my eyes. I got out of bed and groped for my clothes in the dark.

"Briffault himself is downstairs," Sarto said. "Could be he got a tip from the taxi driver on the day you came here. Foresta, my night clerk, is waking up the guests for them." He chuckled. "Some very amusing things are coming to light."

"How do I get out?" I said, tying my tie.

"I have a back staircase and a cellar door. Two cellar doors. A flic is guarding one of them. They will not find the other. Hurry! They're on the second floor by now."

We went out in the darkened hall. Below, I heard angry shouts as cops barged into bedrooms.

"Par ici," Sarto hissed. We went down the narrowest service stairs I had ever seen. Then we went through the furnace room and came to a heap of coke. At the top of the heap was a small door.

"Climb up, open it, and jump," Sarto whispered. "It's a six-foot drop to the alley. Turn right and be careful when you reach the street. Remember, Briffault is a smart cop. He may have put an extra lookout there."

I took his hand. He smiled at me in the darkness. There was nothing to say. I tried anyhow.

"Thanks."

He chuckled and pounded me on the back. "Up with you," he whispered. "Merde!"

Merde means good luck in certain circles. I was going to need it.

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