Mignon by James M. Cain Read Free Book Online Page B

you’re not a madam, what are you?”
    “I am joueuse , of course.”
    To me it sounded like Jewess, and I snapped back, pretty quick: “Well, I’m Episcopalian myself, but know only good of the Jews, especially Jewish women—”
    “ Joueuse! ” she yelped. “I play! I operate gambling house! This is not such house as you think!”
    “This? Is a gambling house? And you—?”
    “Am joueuse , I have said! I am not madam!”
    “Good God.”
    I dumped her off my lap, jumped up, and dived for my things, all at one jerk. I said: “I’m sorry—I apologize—I’ve been making a sap of myself and I-don’t-know-what out of you, and I’m on my way, quick.”
    But she was right beside me, her hand on the armoire door, so I couldn’t open it. She said: “Have I acted désagréablement? Have I expressed anger, perhaps? Have I desired that you go?” She yanked me away from the armoire, pushed me back into the chair, and camped in my lap again. She said: “Is joueuse , for example, contaminée? Might she not wish to help? Might she not have girls, aussi? Who deal stud, vingt-et-un , et faro? Cannot this matter be discussed?”
    “Miss Tremaine, my ears are too hot for talk.”
    “They are red, very droll, mais oui . But the offense is not too extreme. After all, you hear of my place—”
    “In a goddam bar is where.”
    “And you make some small mistake.”
    “Can I hide my face just a minute?”
    She took a handkerchief from her sleeve, held it in front of my eyes, then wiped my nose and said: “Now! Enough! Even the girl may be possible, if I satisfy me she shall not be endangered, surtout with the law. This is of great importance, so please let us talk. You care for champagne, M’sieu Crandall?”
    “If you do, I do.”
    By the door was a white china knob which she yanked, and a bell tinkled below. When the maid came, she ordered champagne in French. Having had a few seconds to think, I determined to spill what I was up to, at least enough to convince her I wasn’t a thief. I gave no names, but spoke of a friend about to be railroaded by a rat turned informer “who lives at the City Hotel.” I told of seeing the scraps, and showed her my skeleton key. I wound up: “I know he’s going out tonight, but the trouble is his valet, who’ll be on deck as a guard. If he can be lured out, I can slip in there quick, get those scraps, put other scraps in their place, and be out in five minutes—even the valet won’t know I was there.”
    “Now I am convinced.”
    “But the girl should speak French—”
    “She will. All my girls do.”
    The maid came, carrying the wine in a bucket of ice, followed by a child carrying a tray with two glasses and a silver dish with a slip of paper on it. When bucket, tray, and glasses had been set on a low table, the maid picked up the dish and offered me the slip. “ Non! ” screeched Miss Tremaine, and rattled off some French. The maid backed off, but I stepped over and took the slip. It was a billhead that said: “Champagne ... $8.” I fished up a ten-dollar bill, but Miss Tremaine snatched it from me and tucked it in my pocket. Then she tore up the billhead, blasted maid and child from the room with a volley of French, and stood there, her face twisting in fury. She turned and twirled the bottle around in the ice. Then she twisted off the wire, worked the cork out, and let it pop. She poured a mouthful and tasted. Then she filled both glasses, handed me mine, raised hers, and said “ Santé .”
    “To your very good health, Miss Tremaine.”
    “ Et succès , M ’ sieu Crandall-Quichotte .”
    She pushed me back into my chair, but didn’t sit in my lap this time. Instead, she half-knelt on the floor, her elbows on my knees, her glass held under her nose. She said: “If I screamed, I ask pardon, please. The bill is indeed usual; the girl committed no fault. And I love gold, as you said. But you, petit , make me feel as grande dame , which I love too, and which does