He doubted the sanity of this well-dressed American.
The instructions were repeated. They came in a firm, determined voice. The taxi driver shrugged his shoulders
He would take this fellow to the Poisson d'Or, since he was determined to go; but he resolved that he would notify the nearest gendarme as soon as he had left his passenger.
The taxi reached a squalid, unlighted street. One could not have picked out a more undesirable district than this. No tourists came here. It was the most dangerous portion of the underworld of Paris. The passenger had alighted from the cab. He was standing close by, and the driver could see only his hand as it extended the fare. The taximan noted that the hand wore a black glove. He looked around the moment that he had received the money. No one was in sight!
Had the American become faint-hearted? Had he stepped back into the cab?
The driver looked into the back seat. All that he saw was the wrapping of a package — a crumpled sheet of heavy paper that his fare had left.
The man had undoubtedly gone into the Poisson d'Or. The driver drove away to find a gendarme. The interior of the Poisson d'Or contained a series of small rooms, separated by rough partitions. In one of these, two roughly clad men were conversing in the dialect of Parisian ruffians. Their uncouth words, intermingled with oaths, related to the payment of blood money, which one of the men had received.
"Hubert is dead," said one. "I have his share. They will never find me. Bah! I would kill a dozen Americans for ten thousand francs. Now I have twenty thousand for killing one!" He drew a wad of bills from his pocket and divided the money into two portions.
"Here is half for you, Andre," he said. "I am going where these cursed police can never find me. I cannot understand how they caught Hubert. There is someone who knows more than the police." Andre grinned as he took the ten thousand francs. It was a payment in advance, for work that he was to perform while his crony was absent.
"Bah!" he exclaimed. "You can count on me, Louis. You stay away until this affair of the dead American has blown over. Then — "