Read Mignon for Free Online Page B

in the middle, then said: “But sit down, me boy, and let’s hear your news.”
    I sat, in a room like mine at the St. Charles, except that he’d made it his home, a little. It had the usual sofa, chairs, and footstools, but the big desk was extra, as was a big table with piles of newspapers on it—the New Orleans Times , and others in Spanish and French. The place smelled of tobacco, and he opened a drawer in the desk to take out a green pasteboard box of cigarillos , as he called them, and offered them. I said I didn’t smoke, but noted the drawer was unlocked and full of all sorts of papers. He sat down, lit up, and blew smoke rings, tapping his cheeks. He said: “They’re Cuban, these things, and not bad—I ran into them in Mexico. The wrappers are sweet to the taste—I think they’re steeped in molasses. And the filler’s perique—do you mark the thick, heavy white smoke, so tempting to pop into rings? Ah well, what’s the good word, me boy?”
    “ Not so good, I’m afraid.”
    “But you saw Adolphe?”
    “I did, and broached the subject of a plea. He rejected it point-blank. In fact he hit the ceiling.”
    “But ’twas to be expected. What then?”
    “I reasoned with him, and he agreed to consider it.”
    “He’ll open his mind to’t?”
    “That’s as far as I could get with him.”
    “But he’ll give in, I’m sure. With one of his kind, there must be face-saving preliminaries of a grand, dignified kind. The rest is but a question of time. Did he get the brazier I arranged for’m?”
    “He practically glued himself to it.”
    “It’ll warm’m. And remind’m the thing can go on.”
    “That’s not all, Mr. Burke. I saw Major Jenkins.”
    He looked startled, and I said: “To get the thing lined up, what a plea is going to get us. I’m afraid I did badly up there. They’re talking parole violation, and Major Jenkins seemed to resent me.”
    “He’s a bit iv a churl, that lad.”
    “I left in the middle of it. Actually, I ran.”
    “I saw’m meself, earlier.”
    “So he said. He spoke most highly of you.”
    “He may have had reason, me boy.”
    He winked, then told how he’d called on Jenkins, and how Jenkins had scaled the charge down, “from the treason case he was dreaming of” to parole violation—all corresponding to what Jenkins had said and to the hundred-dollar bill in my pocket. I complimented him and, as I’d made a full “report,” got up to go. So far, since I’d given up my original idea of searching this place for evidence, it was strictly shadow-chewing, chatter meaning nothing, except to go through the motions, keeping his suspicions lulled so I could go ahead with the small, exact case that I had. But then as I stood by his desk and he stared out the window, still talking, my eye fell on something that stood me right on my head, so I had to reverse my intention and get in this place somehow, no matter how I did it. Beside the desk, between it and the window, was a wicker wastebasket, and in its bottom a scatter of scraps, torn pieces of paper of the selfsame kind the informer had used for his note, each of them showing pencil marks. They had to be a trial draft or rough draft or spoiled draft or some kind of draft of the new informer note, the one she had talked about, that she was sure would be sent. They would nail my case down tight, and there could be no doubt at all that I had to get them.
    He kept on talking and I edged to the door, out of sight of the basket, so my eyes wouldn’t betray me. Then he got up, and we fixed it up I’d repeat tomorrow my visit to Mr. Landry, and then report to him here, “without further talks with Jenkins.” I backed out, pretty respectful. He put his head out the door, asked if I’d changed my mind about payment. I said no, I wasn’t in need of money, and better I put it off until I really had something to show.
    I went downstairs, arguing with myself that I should forget this whole idea of burgling a suite in