Zemba by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9780515042856
Google: ZqxnAAAACAAJ
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1935-12-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIII. THE THREE MEET

WHILE taxicabs were rolling from the Hotel Princesse toward the heights of the Montmartre, a pedestrian was entering the lobby of the Hotel Talleyrand. This man was Eric Delka. He was on his way to visit a guest named Perquigray, whom Delka, however, knew better by the name of Etienne Robeq.

Unannounced, Delka went up to the fourth floor and rapped upon the door of a corner room. He heard a guarded query; he responded in a low tone. The door opened; Delka stepped into a room that was illuminated by a single table lamp. He smiled as he saw the square-jawed face of Robeq, topped by its black hair. He shook hands and received a firm, viselike grip.

"You have arrived in time, Delka," greeted Robeq. "I hoped that you received the message that I sent to Sergeant Rusanne. Sit down a few minutes. We cannot start until I hear from Rusanne."

"He told me that we might be going somewhere," nodded Delka. "What is it? A trail to Gaspard Zemba?"

"It may be," returned Robeq, grimly. "Last night, two sergents de ville thought they saw him near the Cafe Poisson. This evening, there is a report of suspicious characters close to the Cabaret du Diable, in the Montmartre."

"Zemba again?"

"We cannot tell. Any one may be Zemba to a sergent de ville. The order, however, is to keep only the regular patrol in the Montmartre."

"So that Zemba will suspect nothing, if he is there?"

"Exactly. I intend to go there and look for him. I need some one else who is not known, particularly in case we have to summon aid. That is why I wanted you with me."

Delka smiled. The choice suited him. Before Robeq could speak further, the telephone bell buzzed. The Frenchman answered it. Delka heard him speak in concise phrases.

"Rusanne," informed Robeq, after completing the call. "All orders are understood. Come. Let us be on our way."

They entered a station of the Metropolitan Railway, near the hotel. Robeq squandered two francs and thirty centimes buying first-class tickets. They entered the first-class coach in the middle of the train, and as they settled into the cushions, Robeq spoke in English, tinged with French.

"Ah, le Metropolitain," he chuckled. "It takes one anywhere. Provided one understands its many devious ways. Which reminds me"–he studied the ticket stubs–"we must consult this hachette and learn the proper correspondance. Junction, you understand."

"We have to change to reach the Montmartre," recalled Delka, who was somewhat familiar with the Metro. "I don't know where, though."

"Here it is," decided Robeq. "The junction that I thought. I have to be careful when riding on the Metro, because new lines have been added since the days when I lived in Paris. Quite a contrast, this noisy underground, to the soundless wastes of the Sahara Desert."

THEY changed cars at the proper correspondance and while they were riding alone in another first-class compartment, Robeq produced a new theme.

"The Cabaret du Diable," he mused, "is close to the Allee des Bijoux.

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