The Mysterious Mickey Finn by Elliot Paul Page A

that time strolling up and down in front of the cells. He nodded to M. Julliard, who smiled courteously; laughed heartily when he saw Hjalmar; raised his eyebrows appreciatively at the sight of Rosa Stier and the piper; sighed in front of Gwendolyn and the fiddler; gasped at Simon and Cirage, the former of whom had crawled under the blanket of the latter, exposing a generous portion of the latter in so doing. The Swedish actress evoked an exclamation of true appreciation. It was evident that the statesman in question preferred blondes.
    â€˜Got all their names and addresses?’ the ambassador inquired.
    The prefect all but wrung his hands. ‘M. l’Ambassadeur,’ he said. ‘They were unconscious when we found them, they have remained so ever since. . . .’
    â€˜Between eleven and three,’ muttered Dr Toudoux.
    â€˜Quite all rïght. Now what about Hugo Weiss? Any trace of him?’
    â€˜These are the witnesses and suspects,’ the prefect said.
    â€˜Nonsense. Hugo’s probably on a bat. One time we crossed on the old Dresden. . . .’
    â€˜He says that M. Weiss is probably blotto....’
    â€˜Blotto?’
    â€˜Pifflicated. Oorieyed. Mulled. Boiled. Stinko.’
    â€˜Then perhaps we’ll hear from him between midnight and four o’clock,’ said the prefect, catching on.
    â€˜I shouldn’t worry. Well, I’ll toddle along,’ the ambassador said. ‘By the way, send me those names and addresses as soon as you get them.’
    â€˜A certified copy,’ the prefect said.
    â€˜And by the way,’ said the ambassador, brushing off the brim of his hat, ‘out front I met a chap who seemed to be in trouble. Said he’d asked you to find his girl and a duffer named Ivan, and that you’d made a mistake and thrown him out. Just thought I’d mention it. He’s still waiting outside, no doubt.’
    â€˜I let him go, but he’s to be shadowed every minute of the night and day,’ the prefect said. ‘He will lead us to his confederates in time.’
    â€˜Just thought I’d mention him. Well. Good day and thanks. So long, Jackson....’
    â€˜Could you ask the prefect to let me stick around? He has a way of kicking out his clients....’
    â€˜Sure. I understand, my boy. Scoop. Headlines. In at the finish, and all that. Tell him I said you could stay as long as you liked. And ring me up from time to time. If old Hugo’s really in trouble we’ll have to get action. Better let me know what these people say after they’ve slept off their jag. That party, Jackson, must have been a whopper. Were you in on it, boy?’
    â€˜No, worse luck. They pinched me at the Plaza Athénée.’
    â€˜As good a place as any,’ said the ambassador. ‘Well. Keep me posted, boy. So long.’
    While these events were taking place Homer Evans had by no means been idle. Henri, the barber, had been secretly summoned to the Hôtel des Hirondelles, and he had brought with him false hair, grease paint, and glue as well as his barber’s tools. Miriam’s hair had been cut in boyish fashion, both she and Evans had darkened their faces, hands, and arms and put on fezzes and burnooses furnished by Ben Sidi and Ben Abou. Also, Ben Sidi had reached into a drawer where he kept an assortment of Arab passports and given Homer one with a saturnine photograph under which was written the name, Ibn Hassan, while for Miriam a youthful one was found. On the ranch as a child she had often wished she were a boy, and here she was, a handsome Arab boy by the side of the man she loved.
    It surprised Miriam when Homer led the way, not toward Montparnasse but to the rue de la Boëtie where the art galleries abound. As they strode along he explained what he wished her to do. She was to be an Arab prince anxious to buy expensive paintings. He was her uncle and interpreter. When and if she saw the pair of mysterious