Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 36, No. 4, October 20, 1928

On my way to my boarding house for dinner, I noticed the old hag, sitting as usual at the table in the window of the Café Martin on rue St. Roch. And, as usual, I stepped in, bade her good evening, and bought her the customary aperitif.

Seated at the table, sipping our drinks, I casually remarked that I had purchased a diamond ring during the afternoon at what I considered a bargain for such a beauty. Her old eyes lit up with curiosity and greed as I produced the gem for her inspection.

“And,” questioned she, “how much did monsieur pay for it?”

“Twelve thousand francs,” I answered indifferently, “and I intend to buy some more—”

“What?” she fairly screeched, “twelve thousand francs? Robbers! Canaille! And you are about to allow them to fleece you again?” She gestured with her hands imploringly.

“Mon Dieu! This is too much. To see a fine gentleman like yourself robbed before my eyes. Monsieur, I pray you to buy no more jewels until I see you again. The fact is, I have a friend—”

She put a finger to her lips and looked cautiously around at the various patrons of the bar who were paying no attention to us.

“The fact is,” she repeated, “I have a friend — and I will see her — see him, this very night, and meet you here tomorrow evening with some good news.”

I appeared not to be particularly interested. In fact, I assumed a little temper for the occasion.

“Huh!” said I, with a shrug of the shoulders. “You were going to fix it for me to meet your mademoiselle, whoever she is, and nothing came of it. Now you say you have a friend, some mysterious friend whom you will see before I buy any more jewels.

Greeting the Mistress

“Very well, I shall trust you once more, and that will be the finish unless you produce something, some one out of all this mystery.” At this juncture I laughed as though to put her in a good humor.

“Another thing,” I continued, “it draws close to Noël. There is barely time now to get presents to America. So if you know of any snaps in the jewelry line, get busy.”

“I’m sorry,” returned the old hag, “monsieur will understand later, it is not my fault, these delays.”

After dinner, I strolled across the Place de la Concorde to the commencement of the Champs Élysées, with young Pierre Carnot following me in case I needed him. Operative Hobbs had already got word to me that Mlle. Jeanne and the old woman were walking along the Champs in the direction of Place de l’Étoile.

I soon spotted the pair and walked directly toward them. The old woman began bowing when she saw me and was evidently telling her mistress who I was. As I came closer to them I stopped and there was nothing the old crone could do but introduce me to mademoiselle, who smiled and shook hands agreeably enough.

She was not only pretty but beautiful, probably five feet six in height and of the Norman French type, with light brown hair and dark blue eyes.

Her charming smile displayed rows of small, white, even teeth and in spite of her beauty it was easy enough to perceive she apparently lacked vanity.

A Close Tongue

Mademoiselle accepted my invitation to go to some café in the neighborhood and have some refreshments. At a signal from her mistress, the aged crone hobbled away, and we soon found a place that appeared satisfactory, on rue St. Honoré close by Avenue de Marigny. I noticed my companion rather insisted on a certain table and preferred to sit facing the entrance.

“A pet idiosyncrasy of mine, monsieur,” she smiled. “I do not like to sit with my back to the door of a café. I... don’t know exactly why.”

I had the feeling her eyes were sizing me up from top to bottom. From what followed it was apparent she had decided I was all right and to be trusted, with certain reservations.

“The old woman, Margot, was telling me you wanted to buy some jewels,” she began, smiling good-naturedly, “and I thought perhaps if you desired it so, I might help you.”

“I would be delighted if you did,” I responded, taking the ring I had shown Margot from my pocket and handing it to her. As the waiter served us, she looked it over with considerable care.

“Very good,” said my companion, “only the price of twelve thousand francs was entirely too much. I am afraid you Americans often get the worst of it here in Paris. Let me tell you a little something about myself, for it has to do with what may follow.

“I am an orphan and enjoy a small income, but it is not enough for a girl of my rather expensive tastes. So, instead of going into business, running a lingerie shop or some such nonsense, I add to my income quite a little by dealing in jewelry of various sorts — principally in precious stones.

“Of course, this is a secret from my friends of the St. Germain crowd and others. They might approve and they also might not.