Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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“‘I have brought you terrible news, doctor. I cannot mince matters, nor break the blow in any way. Your son is dead!’

“‘Go on,’ I answer. I stagger, but I don’t fall; ‘go on, hurry, tell me everything.’

“‘Your son was murdered at a café in Paris,’ continues Moore. ‘The cause of the murder is an absolute mystery. A stranger had a quarrel with him; there were hurried words, followed by blows and pistol shots—the boy was shot clean through the heart. My address was found in his pocket; someone rushed to my flat, not far away, and I was on the scene in less than half an hour. Anthony was lying dead on a table in an inner room of the café. The man who had quarrelled with him and who had murdered him was known by the name of Hubert Lefroy. As I was entering the café, I saw a tall man rushing by in considerable agitation; he wore no hat, and he flew quickly past me. I observed his strange face, and a mark—the mark of a death’s head and cross-bones tattooed on the upper lip. Knowing nothing definitely at the moment, I did not stop to arrest his flight. My firm belief is that he is the murderer. Every possible search has been made since, but not a trace of him has been heard of. The man was tall, dark and strong. By the mark on his lip we ought to know him again—I should recognise his face were I to see him.’