Free The Mysterious Mickey Finn by Elliot Paul

too strong a word. They dragged the half-fainting Ambrose about six yards, opened an iron door with bars and then shoved. Then, accompanied by two detectives from the prefecture, practically the entire staff of the Montparnasse commissariat started looking for the missing witnesses, Gonso or Gonsi, Ivan Jaume, L. Kvek, and Mademoiselle Montana. It was not more than an hour before Sergeant Frémont, an officer whose record at the prefecture had rapidly been attracting favourable attention, found a concierge who had an artist-tenant whom she described as very big and violent, although gentil . The painter, she said, had conducted some sort of reception that afternoon at which a very well-dressed and rich-looking man, unquestionably distinguished, had been a guest. The rich distinguished American had arrived in a taxi, had asked the concierge on which floor the painter lived and had mounted the four flights of stairs, only pausing twice for breath and not very long at that.
    â€˜He was very spry for a large man,’ the concierge said.
    â€˜And did this distinguished phenomenon reappear?’
    â€˜About half-past seven. Maybe a little later,’ the concierge said. She insisted, however, that her tenant was not called Iallmaire or Gonzo, but was named Johnson, like so many North Americans.
    Sergeant Frémont beckoned an officer to accompany him and started up the stairs. He paused for breath only once, not wishing to be outdone by a visiting millionaire. The door of the studio on the fourth floor was ajar and without hesitation Sergeant Frémont walked in, expecting to catch this Gonso or Johnson in some incriminating activity. Instead he saw a huge, empty room, with paintings stacked along the walls, a double cot bed imperfectly screened in one corner, a gas stove in another. An easel stood empty and there was broken glass on the floor, but no bottles or glasses, the same having been removed by the waiter from the Dôme. Quietly and efficiently the sergeant examined the studio and glanced at one of the paintings. It chanced to be Maggie, so he replaced it quickly. The cop stood in the doorway, waiting for instructions. The concierge , whose curiosity was too strong to permit her to remain downstairs, appeared.
    â€˜Where does this Gonso spend his time? He’s not here,’ the sergeant said.
    â€˜He’s never here at this hour. He’ll come rolling in about four in the morning, probably with a new woman since his girl’s away,’ said the concierge.
    â€˜Is his girl called Mademoiselle Montana?’ the sergeant asked sharply.
    â€˜God knows. I never asked her,’ said the concierge. ‘I should have, I know, but the girls come and go so fast I thought she’d be gone before the report could reach the commissariat. This one has stayed longer than the others. Anyway she’s certainly not a beauty.’
    â€˜When did she go away, and where?’
    â€˜She left two days ago, in the evening. Was going to America or England, I think she said. She didn’t seem happy, and she assured me she was coming back.’
    â€˜I can’t produce her to-night, that’s certain.’ He reached for his note-book and scratched off Mademoiselle Montana. ‘And we can’t wait until dawn for this blasted painter,’ he said. ‘Where would we be likely to find him?’
    â€˜In one of the big cafés. He drinks practically all the time he’s not sleeping or painting.’
    â€˜Who else was here to-day?’
    â€˜Some other painters, one of them a short, stocky woman who looks like a chair, another a French girl who paints trees and garages. I saw some of her paintings when I helped her carry them upstairs.’
    â€˜Then the paintings here are not necessarily those of this Gonsohn or Iallemaire?’
    â€˜They’ve all been bringing paintings lately,’ the concierge said. ‘The chair woman brought in some oysters and lobsters that