Drury Lane’s Last Case Read Online Free PDF Page B

afternoon?”
    â€œThat’s right, sir. Yes, indeed!”
    â€œYou all went along?”
    â€œOh, yes!”
    â€œYou all came back?”
    The obese gentleman sank into his chair, as if overwhelmed by the suddenness with which tragedy had struck. “I—I think so,” he whispered piteously. “Mr. F-Frick, didn’t we all come back?” Thus appealed to, a thin little man with a high starched collar and watery brown eyes gripped the cloth with a start, looked all about as if for consolation, and mumbled: “Yes. Yes, Mr. Onderdonk. We did indeed.”
    â€œNow, now,” said the Inspector. “Come, boys, you’re shieldin’ somebody. Who’s missing?”
    â€œIt’s barely possible,” murmured Patience in the appalled and palpitating silence which instantly fell, “that these good people are telling the truth, father.”
    Thumm winked in ferocious prohibition at his daughter, but she smiled sweetly and continued: “You see, father, I’ve been counting them.”
    â€œWell?” he snapped, and ran his eye swiftly down the table.
    â€œThere are seventeen .”
    â€œWhat the devil have we run into?” muttered the Inspector, forgetting momentarily his role of ogre as he verified this startling intelligence. “Fisher said nineteen.… Here, you,” he bellowed in the spokesman’s ear, “were you always seventeen?”
    Mr. Onderdonk could only nod, although he swallowed bravely.
    â€œHey, waiter!” roared Thumm across the dining-room to the maître d’hôtel . The maître d’hôtel looked up, startled, from a menu he was studying. “Come here, you!”
    The maître d’hôtel stiffened. He eyed the Inspector with disfavour. Then he stalked over like an annoyed grenadier.
    â€œYes?” he said with a musical hiss.
    â€œLook this bunch over.” The maître d’hôtel complied with a bored inclination of his elegant head. “Is this the whole party?”
    â€œ Mais, oui, m’sieu .”
    â€œTalk United States,” said the Inspector disagreeably. “Seventeen right?”
    â€œSeventeen is the precise number, m’sieu’ .”
    â€œThey’ve been seventeen since they checked in?”
    â€œHa,” said the maître d’hôtel , lifting a sleek eyebrow. “ Un gendarme . I think I shall summon here the manager.”
    â€œAnswer my question, you idiot!”
    â€œSeventeen,” said the maître d’hôtel firmly. He turned to the quaking ladies and gentlemen about the no longer festive board. “Compose yourselves, mesdames . I assure you this is a trifle, a nothing; something of a surety mistaken.” Mesdames and messieurs uttered little cautious sighs of relief. He faced Inspector Thumm with the brave dignity of a weary shepherd feeling the responsibility of his duty. “Please to be very brief, m’sieu’ . This is most indecorous. We cannot permit our guests——”
    â€œListen, Lafayette!” howled Thumm, beside himself with rage, as he gripped the impeccable lapel of the maître d’hôtel . “How long have these people been stoppin’ here?”
    The maître d’hôtel’s body gave an outraged little wriggle, and then froze with horror. The ladies of the party paled, and the gentlemen rose nervously and whispered to one another. Patience’s pert little face went through a series of contortions.
    â€œS—since Friday,” said the maître d’hôtel with a gulp.
    â€œThat’s better,” grunted the Inspector, releasing the crushed lapel. “Beat it, you.”
    The maître d’hôtel fled.
    â€œNow let’s talk this over,” continued the ogre, dropping into the spokesman’s vacated chair. “Take a seat, Patty; this looks like an all-day job. God, what slugs! Here, you, did you count your people when