French mischief

Ronald Payne

I was idling through the morning papers when a small item leapt towards my atten tion. 'French police,' it said, always a promising opening, 'say that an abandoned car contained top secret dossiers relating to Carlos, the famous international terrorist.'

As a devoted follower of the doings of international terrorists I decided at once on Maigret-style action to track down this information in France by logical use of the telephone. I rang Paris at once to the Surete and asked for the Chief Commissaire, 'Where are you calling from?' said the girl who answered. `Je vous parte de Londres,' I said casually. 'The line's so clear you might be in the next room,' she said. 'Your telephone is better than those of Paris,' and just

to finish off she asked if it was foggy in London and said that the Commissaire was en vacances.

That was the end of the first positive lead, SO it was necessary to call a newspaper

friend in France. 'It is very grave the affaire of the Carlos dossiers but it was not Paris but in the South West of France. In Bordeaux they know all.' ,

But there — 'England begins in Bordeaux', it is said in Toulouse — all they in fact knew was that the affair was serious and that it concerned Interpol, which was nice to hear, since Interpol is one of those emo

tionally soothing names for a troubled investigator and there is actually a senior Officer there called Commissaire Nepot. But he too appeared to be en vacances, Perhaps with his uncle.

After deeper thought and lunch, I began to follow the next lead for the news paperman in Bordeaux had suggested a call to his stringer, a Monsieur Clapier, in a remote part of the Lot et Garonne, another Man widely reputed to know everything about the grave affair.

A girl answered his telephone. 'Monsieur Clapier is very busy,' was her surprising statement, 'he will re-telephone you. What is Your nuMber?'

'London, is it possible? The line is so distinct, it is as if you were in the room itself. I will pass you him,' At said, pausing only to

enquire about the well known London fog and to marvel again at the clearness of the line. The stringer said that the abandoned car was a very grave affaire related to Carlos, and that Interpol was very anxious but — apart from that — he knew nothing.

'You should talk to the Inspecteur Flick,' he advised. 'The dame with whom you have

been talking is his wife and will tell you the telephone coordinate but do not tell him who gave you the coordinate.'

'Hein,' I thought while dialling the Inspector.

'How did you telephone me?,' asked the Inspector sharp and obviously not impressed either by London, fog or the quality of telephony.

'Your work is well known in London,' said I in my best Quai des Orfevres gruff. 'I wish to know all about the abandoned car and the Carlos dossier.'

After thought he pronounced, 'It was several months since that we found the German car of which the owner had disappeared. It concerns a student-Inspector of the Federal German police and he had instruction papers in his car including a photo copy of a wanted notice for Carlos'.

'What of the dossiers?'

'There were no dossiers, and I think he will have much explaining to his superiors'.

'Why did he abandon his car?' I asked crisply.

'I have good reason to think that there was an accident and it was a question of a woman, so he left'.

'Made an excuse and left?'

'He made no excuse. It is clear I hope'.

I hope too. Another case cracked Maigret-style by clever use of the telephone — I think.