The Pink Panther by Max Allan Collins

Author:Max Allan Collins
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780061749346
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

So diligent was he in his efforts not to tarry, Clouseau—as he passed through the casino—made a small oversight: he failed to notice that masked men in catsuits were robbing it.

He stopped to ask one of these men, who was dressed in skintight black and about to put on a gas mask, directions to the restaurant.

“It is up there,” the bandit casually replied in Italian, and pointed to a windowed wall overlooking the casino.

Master of languages that he was, Clouseau automatically understood, replied, “Merci,” and headed for the restaurant.

Despite the view onto the casino, the restaurant was dark, the mood intimate, cocktail piano music tinkling. Small private dining areas were spotted here and there, separated off by lush plants and/or half-walls. Barely had Clouseau stepped inside when Nigel Boswell emerged from the shadows of one such intimate corner to take him by the arm to the wall of windows.

“Take a look, Inspector,” the secret agent said, “and you will see why I need your assistance…”

Out the window Clouseau could see the men in tight black suits wearing gas masks, pulling the pins on gas canisters, plumes of smoke spreading throughout the vast room, the beautiful people turning ugly as they choked.

Boswell pointed and said, “It’s as precise as a first-rate military operation.”

Indeed, thieves were scooping up money from the tables into laundry bags, while other contingents of masked bandits were at the cashier’s booths, helping themselves.

“I would say,” Clouseau said shrewdly, “that what we have here is a robbery.”

Boswell’s eyes flared. “Not just any robbery, Inspector—these are the so-called Gas-Mask Bandits…all of Europe is after them!”

“Perhaps…but it is we who are here to catch them!” Clouseau struck a martial arts pose. “I am ready and at your secret service.”

Boswell held out a hand. “All I need is your coat, really.”

“I would give you the shirt off my back!”

“The coat will do nicely.”

Clouseau complied. “And how will you deploy me, my friend? What is your plan?”

“My plan is to be you, Inspector.” Boswell was already getting into the trenchcoat. “I am not supposed to be here—your presence, on the premises, however, is by now well-known.”

Clouseau nodded. “It is true—everywhere I go, they know when I have been there.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Eyes tight, Boswell lifted a forefinger. “Now it’s critical that I not blow my cover…but at the same time, how can we allow the Gas-Mask Bandits to escape?”

“We cannot.”

Buttoned up inside Clouseau’s characteristic trenchcoat, Boswell pointed to the floor nearby. “Get my briefcase, would you? There’s a good fellow. And put it on the table?”

Clouseau did so, then watched as the agent swiftly unlocked, then snapped open, the briefcase; in holes cut from a black-cushioned bed were an array of the tools of the secret agent trade, among them a gas mask and a laser-beam glass cutter attached to a suction cup. The former Boswell fitted over his face; the latter he used to cut a large square from the window, the suction cup allowing him to merely lift the square out and set it to one side, like a large shield of glass.

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