The Toff and the Deep Blue Sea Read Online Free

find out if—”
    â€œWait a minute,” interrupted the Toff urgently, and the clown stopped; and outside there sounded the clear sound of a big bell. “Isn’t that twelve o’clock striking?” He listened, and the notes of a nearby clock became unmistakable. “Go and hide in the bathroom, will you? I’m expecting a visitor. Don’t let her know you’re there.”
    Very slowly, Simon uncoiled himself. Standing at his full height, he looked down upon the Toff from great, wide open eyes. Slowly, he closed one of them, and the resultant wink was the best-known wink in the whole of France. From the stage of the Folies Bergère to the most exclusive night-clubs of the Champs Elysées, it had made thousands upon thousands roar with laughter, for it was a wink which conveyed the meaning of all the winks in the world, and passed all language barriers.
    â€œI begin to understand,” he said hollowly. “I go. I shall return.”
    He stalked off, disappeared into the bathroom, and left the door ajar. There was no sound from him, no sound in the hotel. But the strains of a lilting tune travelled up from the orchestra, more vigorous now because it was after midday, and the slothful could be disturbed.
    Someone was to come at twelve o’clock.
    It was now three minutes past.
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Chapter Three
Tale Of A Missing Girl
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    It was fifteen minutes past twelve. The orchestra below on the terrace was playing an air from Guys and Dolls, and it did not sound incongruous. Occasionally other sounds floated upwards: the scrape of chairs on the mosaic of the terrace, the chink of glasses, the hoot of horns, the clip-clop-clip-clop of the horses drawing the fiacres. The room was still deep in shadow, but through one chink in the awning Rollison could see the vivid light of the sky; outside it was really hot.
    It was plenty warm enough in the room.
    A woman approached the room, hurrying. Rollison sat up against his big, square pillow, the bedspread over his legs, a half-smoked cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. But the woman passed, and only the sounds from the orchestra floated into the room.
    The bathroom door opened, and Simon’s red nose and red hair and bald patch appeared, rather as if he were peering into the room from the ceiling.
    â€œStood up,” he declared.
    â€œLet down,” said the Toff mournfully.
    â€œMay I come out of here now?”
    â€œI think you’d better,” said the Toff. As Leclair came into the room, he took the letter from the bedside table and held it out. “Man or woman, boy or girl?” he mused. “Whoever it was might have telephoned, unless prevented by forces beyond his or her control. Sit down, Simon, and be patient.”
    â€œFriend,” said Simon, lowering himself into the chair, “you must have been very badly hurt. You are upset. The detective does not detect, no?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat,” asked Simon earnestly, “does the detective look for?”
    Rollison regarded him, long and lingeringly, and then said with great precision: “A beautiful blonde.”
    â€œFor beautiful blondes, you have only to crook your finger,” Simon remarked. “If you do not believe me, there is Fifi as evidence. She may not be beautiful, but she is certainly a blonde, and whenever she sees you—”
    â€œThis one is English.”
    â€œYou know her?”
    â€œI’ve never seen her. It is not an affair of the heart,” asserted the Toff. He was still cocking an ear in the hope that a sound would come from the passage, heralding the caller. “This is important but secret business,” he went on. “I’m looking for a poor little rich girl who disappeared from her home three months ago. Her parents are frantic, not knowing where she is. She was known to have come to Nice, and to be with a man whose description is very vague. A wealthy man was swindled of a