The Toff and the Deep Blue Sea Read Online Free Page A

big sum of money, and there was plenty of evidence that this beautiful English blonde helped to make a fool of him. Her parents don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. That’s the last that was heard of her. The police were asked to find her, and traced her to the Baccarat, where she sang for a few nights. Then—vanish.”
    â€œMy friend,” said Simon Leclair, with great earnestness, “you and I, we are grown men. We look the facts in the face. There are many pretty girls, blonde girls, dumb girls, who come to the Riviera for the gay life.” Without a moment’s warning, he flung up his hands, shrugged his shoulders to a swift, contagious rhythm, and emitted a saxophone solo from his rounded lips.
    He stopped.
    â€œThey get into the hands of the rascals, and they ruin themselves,” he went on. “What then? They are ashamed to go home to poppa and mama, so they stick around. Sad, but true. My Fifi could tell you a thing or two about girls who thought they would win fame or fortune here, and lost everything. When pretty bodies are taken out of the sea on the Cote d’Azur, my friend, the police do not embalm them and place them on the promenade for all to see. It is hush, hush, hush, and a very quiet funeral. Hush, hush, hush,” repeated Simon sombrely, and moved the fingers of his right hand in a slow rhythm; as men in a cortège would move. “It is sad, it is life, it is death. And the father of this girl asks you to look where the police succeeded not?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI can understand that,” remarked Simon. “In the desperation they want the amateur, and in these parlous days it is necessary for you to earn the odd penny, eh? Three-figure fee and all expenses paid, that’s it?”
    â€œSimon,” murmured the Toff.
    â€œToff,” murmured Simon.
    â€œYou’re quite right. But I’ve met the mother and father of this pretty little blonde, and don’t like to think of them unhappy as they are.” Rollison could be impressively sincere. “She’s their only child, and came late in their life. One of the tragedies. They spoiled, petted and fussed her, were more like grandparents than real parents. Then they woke up one day to find, to their horror, that she had gone. They believed she would come back. They prayed she would. They were ready to forgive anything. She didn’t return. They tried every means to find her, and as a last resort, asked me to help. I’d like to.”
    He sounded as if he meant it; and he did.
    â€œI also would like to,” said Simon politely. “How are you trying, and what happened when you were nearly run down by the imbecile in that car?” Simon winced as he finished, and snapped his fingers with a noise like the pulling of a champagne cork. “Sapristi! Not an imbécile, a murderer!”
    â€œThe girl was known to be fascinated by the stage,” said Rollison. “She once did a song-and-dance piece in a small dive in London. They guessed that she would be looking for a job like that here; that’s how it was they traced her to the Baccarat. Have you ever heard of the great Rambeau, King of the Night Clubs?”
    â€œHave I ever heard—” began Simon, and drew his legs up so that his knees almost met his chin; he looked as if he were praying. “The famous impressario, whose boîtes de nuit is all the rage of London and New York. Who comes soon to the Riviera? Who is going to stage the biggest cabaret show in the whole of France? My friend, who has not heard of the great Rambeau? Why do you think that Leon, of the Baccarat, sends for the one and only Simon Leclair and his Fifi, hein? I tell you. Only the best is good enough to compete with the great Rambeau, so, we come. Why do you ask me if I have heard of Rambeau?”
    â€œFor the time being,” said Rollison, “I am posing as Rambeau’s agent. I am engaging the