You are simple,
Monsieur. I had always heard that England was a country of
arcadian innocence, so unlike my own black, wicked country, and
now--" he shrugged his shoulders blandly, '_j'en suis convaincu_."
"You may jeer, Hamdi Effendi," said I in a white passion of
anger. "But the English police you will not find so arcadian."
"Ah, so you have been to the police?" said the suave villain.
"You have gone to Scotland--Scotland Place Scotland--n'importe.
They are investigating the affair? I thank you for the friendly
warning."
"Warning!" I cried, choked with indignation. He held up a soft,
fat palm.
"Ah--it is not a warning? Then, Monsieur, I am afraid you have
committed an indiscretion which your friends in Scotland Place
will not pardon you. You would not make a good police agent. I
am of the profession, so I know."
I advanced a step. He recoiled, casting a quick look backward at
the lift just then standing idle with open doors.
"Hamdi Effendi," I cried, "by the living God, if you do not
restore me my wife--"
But then I stopped short.
Pages:
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319