E. Phillips Oppenheim

“ My companion smiled.
“I had a little affair of the same nature,” he confided, “with the subchief of the police here. François Dumesnil, his name was.”
“And where is he now?” I asked.
“He disappeared,” was the considered reply. “A great many people disappear in Paris. It was a battle of wits between us and I was almost sorry when the end came. Self-preservation, however, makes strenuous demands upon one sometimes.”
“Concerning Norman Greyes?” I persisted.
“Forgive me—I wandered a little from the point. I mentioned Norman Greyes' name because he is in Paris.”
“In Paris!” I exclaimed. ”

“ It is, I fear, true that the chief of the police is of the pro-German party, and there is, without doubt, a plot brewing at the present moment against Lutarde. It has been suggested to us that a thoroughly capable secret-service man from this side might be of assistance in unraveling it. You follow me, I hope, Sir Norman?”
“I think so,” I admitted. “But what is the nature of the plot?”
“One can only surmise,” Lord Hampden replied. “We do not believe, however, that it is assassination. That would only make a martyr of Lutarde and sanctify his cause. ”

“ With his hands upon the carved top of his malacca cane, he gazed benignly around.
“It is indeed a spring morning,” he declared. “There is a perfume of lilac in the air. Even the hard faces of the flower-sellers are softened by the sunshine. And you observe the little nurse-girl over there, my friend, how wistfully she looks around, and how coquettish the little ribbon at her throat? Even we elders——”
“I should be glad to know,” I interrupted, “why you addressed me as Michael Sayers?”
“It was a risk, I imagine,” my companion admitted. ”

“ Lutarde replied.
“It is a lie!” Stanfield shouted. “I am her husband. and I know nothing of you. It is years since my wife was in London. These are subterfuges. Tell the truth, woman?”
Janet threw herself on the couch and hid her face.
“He is your lover?” Stanfield insisted.
“I could not help it,” Janet sobbed. “You have been so cruel lately. Why did you come back?”
There was a little murmur amongst the curious crowd in the background. A thin, dark man with eyeglasses, obviously a journalist, was on the point of stealing away. The time had come for action. ”

“ Every variety of the human race was in evidence, riding in every description of carriage: the sublimely insolent Parisian beauty with her cavalier of the moment, she the last word in elegance and perfumes, he almost apish in his sartorial vanity; the shopkeeper and his family; the prosperous merchant with his richly dressed wife; the man of serious affairs, generally with a comely companion. ”

“ The opposing party is all for compromises, encouragement of German trade, and even for a rapprochement with Germany. You know, of course, who is the leader of the patriotic party?”
“Lutarde, I should imagine.”
“Philippe Lutarde,” my visitor assented. “He is hated by the pro-German party, as I will call them, first because of his bitter enmity toward Germany, secondly because of his devotion to England, and thirdly because of his unfaltering rectitude. An attempt was made upon his life not long ago, and the French police have been instructed to watch him night and day. ”

“ He was a delightful companion, and I easily understood the enthusiastic adherence of his friends. Towards the close of luncheon Ennison spoke to him quite seriously of the existence of some conspiracy against either his life or his honor. Lutarde only smiled.
“My friend,” he said, “I much appreciate all your efforts on my behalf; but behold, I am seventy years old! A few years more or less of life now are little As to my honor, that no enemy can besmirch. If I were to surround myself by guards, you suggest, place myself in a glass house, I should live an artificial life. ”

“ I heard Ennison's returning footsteps upon the stairs. I turned away and closed the door behind me.
“Everything O. K.,” Ennison declared triumphantly. “Our friends have made quite a coup.”
“Any further news of the outraged husband?” I asked.
“I'm afraid he's got clean away,” Ennison confessed. “Our people declare that he was helped by the police. Come on, old fellow; my car's waiting and we're going to have an absinthe at the Café de la Paix.” ”

“ I answered shortly. “There has been a plot to compromise the personal honor of Monsieur Lutarde here, which you have seen frustrated. The injured husband is an English criminal. His wife”—I hesitated—“is his accomplice. Monsieur Lutarde has never seen either of them before in his life. You journalists were invited here to witness something different. If I may be allowed to say so, you will do well to give what pledges may be required of you. The hotel at the present moment is in the hands of agents of the French Government.” ”

“ At the same time, he is full of sentiment. He likes to dally with the finer emotions. He would inhale the perfume of the roses from his neighbor's garden, but he would never seek to pluck the blossoms.”
“Can I meet him?” I suggested.
“Today at the British Embassy,” Guy Ennison replied. “We have arranged a little luncheon. He does not know your errand, and he scarcely even realizes our anxiety.”
OUR conference broke up soon afterward. At luncheon I found Philippe Lutarde gracious, charming and brilliant. He had the clear skin and bright eyes of a younger man ”

“ He asked me to hasten to you, and to beg that under the circumstances you would do him the honor to come to the hotel. He is ashamed to have to ask you, but the doctor who is with him now absolutely forbids him to stand up. I have here his certificate.”
“I will come without delay, madame,” Lutarde promised, waving away the half-sheet of notepaper which she had tendered.
“I came in a taxicab—it is waiting,” she continued. “You doubtless would prefer your own car?”
“It is no matter,” he answered. “At which hotel do you stay?” ”

“ Madame leaned over the counter.
“But what ails Monsieur?” she demanded.
“What ails me?” he replied at the top of his voice, speaking now in broken French, now in English with an American accent. “I tell you that not three minutes ago I saw my wife enter this hotel with a man—she who saw me off, as she thought, at the Gare du Nord not an hour ago! A curse upon your lift, madame! This is a plot!”
“But monsieur—” Madame faltered
“Hell!” the outraged husband interrupted angrily. ”

“ Near us a very precise and elderly man, with a red ribbon in his buttonhole, raised his hat to Ennison as he passed us. My companion returned his salute, and I watched his dignified wandering among the chairs until he found one to his liking. ”

“ It was the particular desire of the person on whose behalf he has come, that his presence in Paris should not be known, and husband deliberately chose this hotel, where he sometimes stayed when engaged on secret-service work during the war. ”

“ The Honor
of M. Lutarde
By E. Phillips Oppenheim
VENDETTA began between Michael Sayers, man of many crimes and aliases, and Sir Norman Greyes, once of Scotland Yard, when Sayers' beautiful housemaid Janet saved him from Sir Norman in the Brixton affair by shooting dead the officer sent to arrest him. Janet became Sayers' wife and accomplice. He barely escaped Sir Norman (who knows him as “Stanfield”) after the Leeds hank robbery, and had to flee the country. Sayers himself here begins the story of his next exciting encounter with Greyes.... ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1946, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 77 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”