Paris (France) -- History -- Commune, 1871 -- Fiction
"I want some information, my friend," he said, laying a five-franc piece
on the table. "You have a foreigner lodging here?"
The man nodded.
"Monsieur Jackson is a good tenant," he said. "He pays well for any
little services."
"How long has he been here?"
"He came just after war was declared."
"Has he taken his apartments for a long period?"
"He has taken them for a year, monsieur. I think he will take them
permanently. I hope so, for he gives no trouble, and has never been out
late once since he came here."
"I want to see him," Cuthbert said, "I believe he is an old acquaintance
of mine."
"If you ring his bell he will open himself. He keeps an old woman as
servant, but she has just gone out to do his shopping. He always take
his meals at home. He is on the second floor--the door to the left."
Cuthbert went up and rang the bell. Cumming himself opened the door. He
looked at his visitor inquiringly.
"You do not remember me, Mr. Cumming?" Cuthbert said, cheerfully. "I am
not surprised, for I have but just recovered from a very serious wound.
I will come in and sit down, if you don't mind; I want to have a chat
with you. My name is Cuthbert Hartington!"
The man had given a violent start when his name was mentioned, and his
face turned to an ashy pallor. He hesitated for a moment, and then, as
Cuthbert entered, he closed the door behind him, and silently led the
way into the sitting-room.
"I happened to see you in the street," Cuthbert went on, pleasantly, as
he seated himself. "Of course, your beard has altered you a bit, and I
could not at first recall your face, but it soon came back to me. It was
a happy idea of yours shutting yourself up here when there was no chance
of an extradition warrant being applied for. However, to-morrow or next
day that little difficulty will be at an end. I thought I would come
and have a conversation with you, and naturally the course that I shall
take will depend a good deal on the results. I may mention," he went on,
taking a revolver from his pocket and laying it on the table before him,
"that I thought it as well to bring this with me, for just at present I
don't feel quite up to a personal tussle."
"What do you want to talk about?" the man asked, doggedly. "I may tell
you at once that I placed what little money I got where it will never be
found, and beyond sending me up for some years, there will be nothing to
be gained by denouncing me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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