The Broken Napoleans by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781932806588
Google: NEvbPAAACAAJ
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1936-07-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW'S SIGN

“ANOTHER drink?”

Count Louis Surronne put the suave request. He had finished his glass; his words were intended to open conversation with Lownden. The big mine owner swung about.

“Leigh!” he bassoed. “Hi, steward!”

Leigh was gone. He had left shortly after Craylon and Diana. Lownden boomed a louder summons. A man appeared in the doorway. It was Trenge.

“Isn't Leigh here, sir?” queried Trenge. “He's not in the galley.”

“You'll do,” returned Lownden. “The count wants another drink. Bring me one while you're about it. How about you, Sturley?”

Curt shook his head. Lownden waved Trenge to a departure. Curt eyed the doorway. He wondered what had become of Leigh. At that moment, the butler appeared; he came from the direction of the corridor that led to the cabins.

Leigh's face was as changeless as ever. Nevertheless, Curt gained a suspicion. Leigh had been here when Diana had given her jewels to her father. Craylon was to have placed them in his cabin safe. It was possible that Leigh had gone below to spy on that procedure.

Perhaps Leigh was Levautour!

The thought brought Curt to a new consideration of Lownden and Surronne. He decided to let this pair prove themselves. If both passed suspicion, Leigh would be the next bet.

Count Louis had placed his glass on the table. He caught it as the ship rolled. Liquid splattered from the glass and poured upon loose playing cards that were at a corner of the table.

“Bah!” ejaculated Surronne. “The cards are spoiled. Look, three of them are soaked. The pack is useless. Throw it away, Leigh.”

Lownden intervened as the butler stepped forward. The big man picked up the cards himself, neglecting the few that had been sopped. He finished his drink; then, in rumbling tone remarked:

“Here's how we get rid of cards where I come from.”

CLAMPING the bulk of the deck between his heavy fists, Lownden delivered a slow, rotary twist. The action tore the pack of cards. With the pasteboards completely torn in half, Lownden laughed and threw the portions on the table. Leigh gathered them solemnly.

“Finished with them, sir?”

“Not yet,” returned Lownden. “Here–watch this.”

He clamped the halves together, making a pack of a hundred half cards. Gripping them heavily, he repeated his twisting motion. Lownden's effort was apparent. His face purpled with his muscular strain. The cards yielded. Triumphantly, Lownden threw the quarters to the table.

“Take them away, Leigh.”

Lownden's rumble was a satisfied one. Surronne followed with a compliment.

“Bravo!” exclaimed the count. “I have seen one pack torn; but never a double one.”

“You've seen it now,” laughed Lownden. “You can talk about it, count, when you get back to Paris.”

“I shall do so. Yet there are men there also, who boast of their strength.”

“You won't see a better trick than mine.”

“Ah, no. I suppose not. But I have seen a different one. Look.”

Surronne drew a silver coin from his pocket. It was about the size of a half dollar. He tossed it on the table.

“What's this?” queried Lownden. “Some of that funny-looking money

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