Crowded Out! and Other Sketches | Page 8

say I told you!" It went on, louder than ever,
over and over again.
"Damn the bird!" exclaimed De Kock. "Policeman excuse me, but I am
rather at home here. Let me go up, will you?"
"It looks bad, sir. I'd better keep behind."
"Oh. It isn't murder or anything of that sort. I know them, pretty couple,
they are!"
The next moment we were in a kind of sitting room over the restaurant
proper. Madame Martinetti lay as if exhausted on a sofa while the
highly excited parrot sang and screamed and tore at its cage as if for
life. Giuseppe was nowhere visible. "Now then where's the other?"
demanded the policeman who had just entered behind us, "There's
always two at this business. Show him up, now." But Madame at first
would deign no explanation. Presently on the entry of policeman No. 2
she admitted there had been a quarrel. Yes, she had quarrelled with her
dear Giuseppe, (the officers grinned) and had driven him away. Yes, he
had gone--gone forever, he had said so, never to come back, never,
never!
"And leave this fine business to you, eh? No fear of that. I guess Mr.
Martinetti'll turn up all right in the morning, however, let us make a
search, Joe." But Giuseppe was not found; there were no traces of a
struggle, and the policemen having done all they could retired. My
friend and I, by what right I know not were the last to leave the room.
De Kock stood for some moments looking out of the window. I
approached the parrot who was still screaming.
"If throwing a cloth over your head would stop you, I'd do it, my dear,"

said I. To my surprise, it ceased its noise directly, and became perfectly
quiet. Madame Martinetti looked around with a contemptuous smile.
"You have the secret as well," said she. The bird turned to her and then
returned to me. I became quite interested in it. "Pretty Poll, pretty bird;
would you like a cracker?"
De Kock laughed softly at the window. "A cracker to such a bird as that!
Ask it another." I actually, though with a timid air, opened the door of
the cage and invited Polly to perch on my finger. She came, looking at
me intensely all the while. I petted her little, which she took resignedly
and with a faint show of wonder, then in answer to De Kock's summons
put her back in the cage.
"I have the honour to wish madame a bonsoir," said he, but the lady
was still sulky and vouchsafed no answer.
We were soon out in the street.
"Do you know," said De Kock slowly, lighting a cigar and looking up
at the house, "Do you know, I thought something had happened."
"And don't you now."
"I am not sure," answered my friend.



CHAPTER II.
We were pardonably curious to see the papers next morning. The affair
was dismissed in three lines, and although as De Kock swore, the case
was one for Gaboriau, it certainly was not our business to look into it
and in fact in a week's time I was back in Canada, and he up to his eyes
in commercial pursuits. The main point remained clear, however, that

Martinetti did not come back, nor was he found, or traced or ever heard
of again. Somebody took the business out of hand, as they say, and De
Kock would occasionally write a P. S. to his letters like this--"Dined at
poor Martinetti's, Chiante as usual. Ever yours." Or it would
be--"Drank to the production of your last new comedy at Martinetti's."
Once he stated that shortly after that memorable night Madame
disappeared also, taking the parrot along. "I begin to think they are a
pair of deep ones and up to some big game" he wrote. For myself, I
never entirely forgot the circumstance, although it was but once vividly
recalled to my mind and that was in a theatre in Montreal. An
American company from one of the New York theatres was performing
some farcical comedy or other in which occurred the comic song,
admirably sung and acted by Miss Kate Castleton, "For goodness sake
don't say I told you!" The reminiscences forced upon me quite spoiled
my enjoyment; I could see that pale, nervous woman, hear her screams,
and hear too the fearful voice of the poor parrot. Where is it now,
thought I? That same winter I was much occupied in making studies of
the different classes of people among the French-Canadians. The latter
turn up everywhere in Montreal, and have a distinct "local color" about
them which I was curious to get and hope to preserve for use some
future day. I went everywhere and talked