“And you think he stole from my room?”
Monsieur Duclos smiled knowingly and held up a protesting hand. “Ah, no, Monsieur, I do not say that. I merely suggest.” He had the air of negotiating a very tricky legal subtlety. “I point out merely that this man has no occupation, that he needs money, that he is desperate. No man who was not desperate would offer five per cent per month. He said something to me of expecting money that had failed to arrive. I do not accuse this Major. I merely suggest to you.”
I saw that the Americans had come out of the water. I stood up.
“Thank you, Monsieur. I will bear the suggestion in mind. Meanwhile, of course, we must be discreet. Perhaps we could discuss the matter further later in the day.”
“When,” he agreed, “we have heard the results of the preliminary interrogations.”
“Precisely.” I bowed.
By the time I had got across the beach to the Skeltons he was deep in conversation with the French couple and the Vogels. I did not have to guess at the subject of the conversation. Monsieur Duclos could be relied upon to carry out Beghin’s instructions to the letter.
In defiance of the printed notice in the bedrooms, Skelton was drying himself on one of the hotel towels.
“Ah!” was his greeting. “The man with the news!”
His sister made room for me under the sunshade. “Come and sit down, Mr. Vadassy. No more snooping off with Monsieur Koche. We want the truth-all of it.”
I sat down. “I’m sorry I had to run off like that, but something rather nasty has happened.”
“What, again?”
“I’m afraid so. This morning, while I was down in the village, my suitcase was broken open and several things taken from it.”
Skelton sat down beside me as though his legs had given way. “Phew! That is nasty. Anything valuable?”
I repeated the list.
“When did you say it happened?” It was the girl who spoke.
“While I was down in the village. Between about nine and ten thirty.”
“But it was about nine thirty when we saw you talking to the Major.”
“Yes, but I left my room at nine.”
Skelton leaned forward confidentially. “Say, you don’t suppose the Major was engaging you in conversation while his wife did the job, do you?”
“Shut up, Warren. This is serious. It was probably one of the servants.”
Skelton snorted impatiently. “Why should it be? It makes me tired. Whenever anything’s stolen everybody always looks around for a servant or messenger-boy or somebody else who can’t hit back to blame it on. If we’re going to be serious, what was Papa Switzer doing gumshoeing about the corridor this morning?”
“That wasn’t on Mr. Vadassy’s side of the house. What’s the number of your room, Mr. Vadassy?”
“Six.”
She began to rub oil into her arms. “There you are! It was the other side of the house, the room next but one to mine. That friend of Monsieur Koche’s has it.”
I grasped a handful of sand and let it trickle through my fingers. “What number is that?” I said idly.
“Fourteen, I think. But the Switzer wasn’t gumshoeing. He’d dropped a five-franc piece in the corridor.”
“What does Koche say about it, Mr. Vadassy?”
“I’m afraid he suspects the servants.”
“Naturally,” said the girl vigorously. “Warren’s too darn fond of taking up the appropriate attitude. We all know that it ought to be a rich old meany with a touch of kleptomania. The fact of the matter probably is that it’s some poor little underpaid chambermaid with a boy friend in the village she wants to give a cigarette-case to.”
“And a gold watch-chain, and a diamond pin, and a couple of spools of film?” queried her brother sarcastically.
“Maybe it’s a waiter.”
“Or maybe it’s old Duclos or the Major. Incidentally, what about the Major, Mr. Vadassy?”
I decided not to regale them with the Major’s life story. “He merely wanted to offer a general apology for the disturbance down here yesterday. The man from the yacht was his brother-in-law. He had had a quarrel with him over some money matter. The brother-in-law brought the question up again and the Major lost his temper. He explained that his wife was distraught and that she did not really mean that he was mad.”
“Is that all? Why did he tell you about it?”
“I think he was very embarrassed by the whole affair. As I was not here, he picked on me.” I was not going to tell them that Monsieur Duclos had received an abridged apology but the same request for money. “The Major and his wife are, in any case, leaving, and…”
“In other words, Warren,” put in the girl, “we’re to mind our own business and not behave like a couple of nosy kids. Is that right, Mr. Vadassy?”
It was, but I blushed and began to protest. Warren Skelton interrupted me. “I smell drink! Come on. You can’t go swimming now; it’s nearly lunchtime.”
While he had gone to fetch the drinks the girl and I walked up to the tables on the lower terrace.
“You mustn’t take any notice of anything Warren says,” she said, smiling. “This is his first trip abroad.”
“You’ve been before?”
For a moment she did not reply, and I thought she had not heard me. She seemed to hesitate as though she were about to say something important. Then I saw her shrug her shoulders slightly. “Yes, I’ve been before.” As we sat down she smiled at me. “Warren says there’s something mysterious about you.”
“Does he?”
“He says that you look like a man with something to hide. He says, too, that it’s not natural that a man should speak more than one language perfectly. I think he rather hopes you’ll turn out to be a spy or something exciting like that.”
I felt myself reddening again. “A spy?”
“I told you you mustn’t take any notice of what he says.” She smiled again at me. Her eyes, intelligent and amused, met mine across the table. Suddenly I wanted to confide in her, to tell her that I was indeed a man with something to hide, to gain her sympathy, her help. I leaned forward across the table.
“I should like…” I began. But I never told her what I should like, and I have forgotten now what I was going to say, for at that moment her brother reappeared carrying a tray of drinks. It was, no doubt, as well that he did so.
“The waiters were busy on the terrace,” he said, “so I brought them myself.” He raised his glass. “Well, Mr. Vadassy, here’s hoping that the chambermaid’s boy friend doesn’t like your cigarette-case!”
“Or,” the girl added gravely, “the two spools of film. We mustn’t forget them.”
12
I did not eat much lunch.
For one thing, my head had begun to ache again; for another, I received with my soup a message from Koche. The manager would be grateful if Monsieur Vadassy could spare the time to call in at the office after luncheon. Yes, Monsieur Vadassy could and would spare the time. But the prospect disturbed me. Supposing Koche had decided that some “poor little underpaid chambermaid” was the culprit. What was I supposed to do? The idiotic Beghin had made no allowances for that contingency. The wretched girl would naturally deny the charge. What could I say? Was I to stand by and see some perfectly innocent person browbeaten by a zealous Koche and accused of a theft that had not taken place? It was an abominable state of affairs.
But I need not, as it happened, have worried about that. The chambermaid was perfectly safe.
Monsieur Duclos pounced on me as I left the terrace.
“Have you decided to call in the police, Monsieur?”
“Not yet. I am going to see Koche.”
