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

A curtain was drawn over the single window which looked out into the garden. A single greasy oil lamp stood in the center of the oilcloth-covered table.

On either side of mademoiselle, in strange contrast to her almost spirituelle beauty, were two of the vilest-looking Apaches I, in all my experiences with criminals, had ever seen. Standing back of the trio was another male member of the gang.

Spread before us on the table was an array of necklaces, bracelets, rings, tiaras and brooches that truly represented a king’s ransom and no mistake. M. Payon was busy with a “loupe” in one eye, and a heavy lensed hand-glass microscope by his right hand.

The girl was strangely silent. Perhaps she had some kind of premonition a “pinch” was in the wind, perhaps her intuitive cunning only gave her a sense of doubt that all was not well.

The loot before her represented her accumulated wealth as well as the stuff her three confederates had brought along with them, to sell, if possible, to myself, the rich American.

I left Payon alone with the quartet a moment, while I stepped out and into the bar to survey the vantage of the ground. A look passed between Francois and myself, which meant the fun was about to begin. And as far as he and his ill-visaged woman companion, who stood beside him, were concerned, the silent message of our eyes meant it must be a case of hands off.

Francois knew at least some of the several strange men who moved about the place must be there to protect and assist me, if necessary. None of the other forty-odd Apaches, men and women, in the dive were wise to this.

A Raging Female

Back in the little room again, I closed the door and again took my seat beside M. Payon. I pressed my knee against his, which was the signal for action. Simultaneously we whipped out a pistol each and, rising quickly from our chairs, leveled them at the four crooks before us.

“Up with your hands!” I commanded.

A noise resembling a low cry came from the throat of the girl, and as the hands of the four started upward there came a smash as the Apache on her left managed to sweep the lamp from the table, leaving the room in total darkness.

M. Payon and I were prepared for some such move as this, and were determined to spare the life of the girl. If her confederates were lulled it made no difference.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four shots rang out, thundering in the close confines of the narrow space. Two belched from the guns of the enemy and two from the pistol of M. Payon. I sprang to the door and grabbed the girl as Payon ducked downward behind the table.

The smashing of the window followed, and as two of the men attempted a get-away in that direction they were caught by Hobbs, Pierre and Weems.

The girl raved; cursed and bit at me to no avail; excepting for a slight cut across the back of one of my hands, from a knife she carried, I was not scratched. Finally she ceased struggling and confined herself to reviling me unmercifully.

As my operative Kuplung and two of M. Payon’s men opened the door, a flash light revealed the body of one of the Apaches lying on the floor, bleeding from a gun wound in the neck.

Outside, in the main room, Payon’s reserves had herded the entire crowd of Apaches, men and women, into the corner of the pool room. François and his woman stood behind the bar shackled together with an officer on guard.

The girl and the three Apaches who had been in with her on the swag were the only ones we wanted. François and his companion were liberated immediately, and after we had safely departed with our prisoners, including the wounded man, the crowd in the pool room were allowed to go free.

M. Payon took charge of the loot.

It was prearranged between Payon and myself that I should accompany mademoiselle in her limousine, Operative Hobbs driving, as we made out-way toward the Palais de Justice, where we arrived shortly after daylight. For a wonder she was quiet. Finally she spoke.

“I am a fool!” said she. “I suppose this means twenty years in Saint Lazare for me — or does it? After all, I cannot help but feel you are a gentleman. I was a good girl, and I fell — that’s all. I intended to pay it all back. What can I do, monsieur?”

“Confess all to M. Payon and myself, and give us the names of the conspirators who are smuggling the jewels.

“You may think this is dishonorable, but you are not by nature a thief.

“These Apaches are. They are habitual, born, dyed-in-the-blood criminals, and never will be anything else. They will be punished anyway. But it will simply make it easier to convict them if you help us.”

After some days of thought in prison, she consented to follow my advice.

The result of this was that her three Apache accomplices, including the wounded one, who recovered, were tried, convicted and sentenced to serve fifteen years each.