“But surely,” I said, “there is nothing necessarily criminal about keeping money in such places. My understanding is that the purpose may be perfectly legitimate tax avoidance.”
“In some cases avoidance. In most, in my opinion, downright evasion — why else the secrecy? Even if the money itself is honestly come by — and that is by no means always the case — I do not consider that a crime to be treated lightly. In my view a man who enjoys the privileges of living in a country, and yet is not willing to make his just contribution to that country’s exchequer, is no more an upright or honourable man than one who spends a week at a first-class hotel and leaves without paying his bill. Still, you must not allow me to bore you on the subject — some of my colleagues would say that it is a hobbyhorse of mine. Suffice it to say that I am sorry Gabrielle has chosen to use her talents in assisting such people, and should not be surprised if there are those among them with whom it is dangerous to have dealings.”
Rachel Alexandre had done more than confide in him. She had asked him to go to Jersey at the time of the next meeting and to try to discover if her daughter’s fears had any foundation in reality. Gabrielle herself was to know nothing of his presence or its purpose. I remarked that it sounded like a difficult task.
“Difficult? It was a hopeless task, Professor Tamar, an impossible task. But what could I do? Rachel Alexandre had saved my life, and it was the only favour she had ever asked of me. Moreover, I still feel a sense of responsibility for Gabrielle. I told her that I would do my best, and so I did. I have been following Gabrielle since she left her mother’s house in Brittany eight days ago. That part wasn’t so difficult — I knew in broad terms about her travel arrangements, and some tomfoolery of dressing up as an old countrywoman when she crossed the French frontier. I don’t mean that she was constantly in my view — that would indeed have been impossible, but I always knew, at the very least, what building she was in, and I would have been, I think, within earshot if she had needed help. But as to knowing whether anyone else was following her — it was hopeless. Any one of a thousand holidaymakers could have been watching her, and I would have been none the wiser.”
And then, within hours of being obliged to report to Rachel Alexandre the abject failure of his assignment, he had seen Cantrip — behaving in a way he had found unquestionably suspicious. He had of course observed that, in the Channel Islands, Cantrip and Gabrielle had been much in each other’s company. Why then, in the Place Chateaubriand in St. Malo, had Cantrip been at such evident pains to conceal his presence from her? The judge could imagine no reason that was not sinister. When he saw Cantrip again at Dourdan, suspicion had come near to certainty, and when on the following day it became clear that Cantrip was still following Gabrielle southwards, he had no doubt that he had found the man he was looking for.
“And it began to look as if luck was on my side. There’s an old friend of Rachel’s and mine who has a restaurant and vineyard just south of Beaune — I was reasonably sure that Gabrielle would lunch there, if only for the sake of politeness. I telephoned him from Beaune and asked him to arrange a little reception party.” The judge’s eyes, I regret to say, brightened at the thought of this, and he seemed untroubled by any interesting questions of his jurisdiction to behave in the manner he had described. “The plan was to leave your young friend to cool his heels in the cellar for a few hours, until I was sure that Gabrielle was safely back to Monte Carlo, and to question him on my return. But yesterday morning I learnt that he had escaped, and I did not feel, in those circumstances, that I could consider my task as being at an end.”
I attempted to explain, as tactfully as I could, the reasons for Cantrip’s conduct in St. Malo and Dourdan, but I saw with some dismay that the judge was not wholly convinced. His suspicion, it seemed, had taken too firm a hold to be easily dispelled, even by the knowledge that Cantrip was a member of Lincoln’s Inn.
“But apart from your suspicions of Cantrip,” I said, “you have seen nothing to confirm the Contessa’s fears? On Sark, for example, where a stranger might perhaps have been more conspicuous than in Jersey — you observed nothing unusual?”
“Thinking it a piece of exceptional good fortune that so reliable and conscientious a witness should have been in Little Sark on the night of Edward Malvoisin’s death, I was anxious to draw from him an account of what he had seen and heard there. When at last I succeeded in doing so, however, it was something of a disappointment — he had been asleep. He had resisted the temptation to reveal his presence to Philip Alexandre, who would certainly have offered him a comfortable bed, and had instead spent the night in a barn a little distance from the main building; but fresh air and unaccustomed exertion had had their way with him, and he had slept as soundly as in the most luxurious four-poster. He had remained awake long enough to see Gabrielle, with Cantrip and Clementine, return after dinner to the Witch’s Cottage. Of any event occurring after that he would evidently have been oblivious. Not even the commotion of Albert’s homecoming, it seemed, had roused him from his slumbers.
“I did notice something in the morning that struck me as a trifle odd. I woke early, as one does after a sound night’s sleep, and took the chance of looking round before there was anyone about. There’s a porch at the side of the farmhouse — the hotel as it is now — which we used to use as a kind of lookout post. It provides a certain amount of cover, and it’s a good place to watch out for anyone coining along the road from the Coupee, or indeed from the cottage. It seemed to me that someone might have been using it quite recently for that purpose. It looked as if it was cleaned and dusted fairly regularly, but there were traces of damp mud on the floor and half a dozen cigarette butts.”
His heavy eyebrows gathered again in a frown.
“But there are any number of possible explanations — I don’t think it’s of any significance. No, Professor Tamar, I’m afraid I still think that if Gabrielle is in danger from anyone, it’s your young friend Mr. Cantrip. I don’t doubt your own belief in the explanation you’ve given me of his motives, but I have to say that I find it less than convincing. Nor does the fact that he has evidently gained the trust of Gabrielle herself serve to reassure me — quite the reverse. In academic life, Professor Tamar, you do not have the opportunities which I have unfortunately had of learning how easily a personable appearance and an engaging manner may conceal a plausible scoundrel. I do not pretend to know precisely what young Mr. Cantrip is up to — I would be only too happy to believe that it was nothing sinister. But I should feel that I was failing in the responsibility I have undertaken if I were to leave Monte Carlo while he is still here.”
Glancing across the street, I saw that Cantrip and Gabrielle, having consumed enormous quantities of pancakes and champagne, were now drinking coffee. I began to think the situation a trifle desperate.
“But I rather fear,” I said, “that Cantrip may adopt a similar position — that is to say, he will refuse to leave Monte Carlo while you are still here. Sir Arthur, the legal term has already begun and you cannot, I imagine, absent yourself indefinitely from your judicial duties. Cantrip also has responsibilities, albeit of a far humbler nature, which require his presence in London. Surely you will agree that something must be done to resolve this impasse? If I can persuade him to be at Nice airport tomorrow in time to take the first plane to London, will you undertake to be there and to take the same flight?”
It was with some difficulty that I convinced him of the sense and practicality of my proposal; but his conscience, I fancy, was troubled by the thought of his neglected judicial duties, and he could think of no other means to reconcile his conflicting obligations. By the time Gabrielle and Cantrip rose from their table, the arrangement was agreed on.
I saw that nonetheless he was once more preparing to follow them, having evidently no intention of abandoning as yet his watch over Gabrielle. It occurred to me that after all, quite apart from any concern he might feel for her safety, it was natural enough for him to be interested in her.
“It must be,” I remarked, “a matter of great regret to you, Sir Arthur, that you have never been able to meet your daughter. She is a delightful woman.”
He stared at me with every sign of astonishment, and then gave the harsh snort of laughter which I had found to be characteristic of him.
“My daughter? Oh, my dear Professor Tamar, is that what you thought? I confess I had thought your researches to have been more thorough. My daughter? Oh no, Professor Tamar, that isn’t why Rachel wouldn’t let me meet her — Gabrielle is not my daughter.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, considerably discomfited. “I was under the impression—”
“She’s the daughter of the man I killed. I told you, Professor Tamar, that Rachel Alexandre was a remarkable woman.”
