Free The Adventures of Hiram Holliday by Paul Gallico

upstairs and inquired for Professor Demoisson.
    When the professor, a portly gentleman with a bald skull, appeared, Holliday wasted no time. He said: 'Perhaps you will be able to help me. I came upon some curious papers by accident. They seem to be mostly in Russian. Is there anyone here who could translate them for me ?'
    Professor Demoisson adjusted a pair of spectacles. 'It will be a pleasure to assist monsieur. I myself am quite fluent in Russian.'
    Hiram handed him one of the sheets and watched him as he read; watched him turn first pale, and then crimson, and saw the globules of perspiration rise at the top of his bald skull, and his hand begin to shake, and hear him murmur: e Mon Dieu ! Mais non ! C'est pas possible. ... Bon Dieu !'
    When he turned to Hiram again he was completely shaken and unstrung. 'M'sieu!' he said, hardly able to speak. 'Is it possible that you do not know what you have here ? I ... but we must inform the police at once. At once. 'H e hardly noticed that Hiram had gently removed the sheet from his
    trembling fingers'It is i ncredible. I will telephone the prefecture at once. But at once. They must have this immediately. I go to telephone.'
    He rushed from the front office. When he was gone, Hiram sighed, refolded the sheets, put them into his pocket and quietly went out, down the stairs, got into his taxi and drove off. If the stuff was that good, he wanted to be in on it before the police. Nor was he sure how the French authorities would accept his explanation of how they had come into his possession.
    And then he did a rash thing, a thing he later very much regretted. It was an intensely simple and practical thing and the idea seemed a good one to him at the time. He dismissed the taxi and walked until he came to a post office where he secured a stamped envelope. At the desk he wrote a short note on a telegraph blank, and placed it in the envelope along with all of the thin sheets of paper removed from the umbrella. Then he sealed it, and wrote the address: 'J. R. Beauheld, Esq., Managing Editor the New York Sentinel, New York City, N.Y., U.S.A. Personal’ He consulted a sailing list on the wall, marked the envelope 'Via s.s. Normandie,’ purchased the requisite number of stamps, added them to the envelope and dropped it through the posting chute. He was no more than a block from the post office when he found himself wishing he hadn't done it.
    It was nearly seven o'clo ck when he returned to his room on the fourth floor of the modest little Hotel Vol taire in the rue Jean Goujon. His he art was banging, somehow, as he turned the key in the lock. The place had been hit by a cyclone.
It had been ransacked, and by an expert. Nothing had been overlooked, furni ture, bedding, bureaux, luggage.
    The telephone bell tinkled and the porter said: 'A gentleman is on his way up to see you. He has been here several times already.'
    The knock on the door coincided with the click of the replaced receiver. Hiram opened it. It was the pleasant, fatherly gentleman of the Dunhill shop, with his umbrella.
    'Ah, m'sieu!'
    'Come in, come in,' said Hiram. 'Excuse the mess. Somebody evidently thought I was rich enough to rob. How did you know where I ... But, of course, I left my name and address at the shop. I'm sorry you've been put to all this trouble, but I'm damn glad you found me, because I value that old umbrella of mine a hell of a lot.'
    He was watching the pleasant gentleman as he babbled on, and it struck him that he was pale and his eyes kept staring behind Hiram.
    'So stupid,' said the gentleman. 'And all my fault. It was I who made the exchange. Well, now here is yours. There is mine, and the little comedy is happily ended, eh ?'
    Hiram said to himself: 'But is it? What a damned fool I was.' And then aloud: 'Sure, and much obliged. Wouldn't like to have a drink on it, would you ?'
    The man with the spade beard made his excuses. He was already late. Again he was obliged. M'sieu would, of course, report