Mrs Rice said bitterly: 'Yes, if they believe me. But you know what these people out here are like!'
Harold agreed gloomily. To the Continental mind, there would undoubtedly be a guilty connection between himself and Elsie, and all Mrs Rice's denials would be taken as a mother lying herself black in the face for her daughter.
Harold said gloomily: 'Yes, we're not in England, worse luck.'
'Ah!' Mrs Rice lifted her head. 'That's true… It's not England. I wonder now if something could be done -'
'Yes?' Harold looked at her eagerly.
Mrs Rice said abruptly: 'How much money have you got?'
'Not much with me.' He added: 'I could wire for money, of course.'
Mrs Rice said grimly: 'We may need a good deal. But I think it's worth trying.'
Harold felt a faint lifting of despair.
He said: 'What is your idea?'
Mrs Rice spoke decisively. 'We haven't a chance of concealing the death ourselves, but I do think there's just a chance of hushing it up officially!'
'You really think so?' Harold was hopeful but slightly incredulous.
'Yes, for one thing the manager of the hotel will be on our side. He'd much rather have the thing hushed up. It's my opinion that in these out of the way curious little Balkan countries you can bribe anyone and everyone – and the police are probably more corrupt than anyone else!'
Harold said slowly: 'Do you know, I believe you're right.'
Mrs Rice went on: 'Fortunately, I don't think anyone in the hotel heard anything.'
'Who has the room next to Elsie's on the other side from yours?'
'The two Polish ladies. They didn't hear anything. They'd have come out into the passage if they had. Philip arrived late, nobody saw him but the night porter. Do you know, Harold, I believe it will be possible to hush the whole thing up – and get Philip's death certified as due to natural causes! It's just a question of bribing high enough – and finding the right man – probably the Chief of Police!'
Harold smiled faintly. He said: 'It's rather Comic Opera, isn't it? Well, after all, we can but try.'
VI
Mrs Rice was energy personified. First the manager was summoned. Harold remained in his room, keeping out of it. He and Mrs Rice had agreed that the story told had better be that of a quarrel between husband and wife. Elsie's youth and prettiness would command more sympathy.
On the following morning various police officials arrived and were shown up to Mrs Rice's bedroom. They left at midday. Harold had wired for money but otherwise had taken no part in the proceedings – indeed he would have been unable to do so since none of these official personages spoke English.
At twelve o'clock Mrs Rice came to his room. She looked white and tired, but the relief on her face told its own story.
She said simply: 'It's worked!'
'Thank heaven! You've really been marvellous! It seems incredible!'
Mrs Rice said thoughtfully: 'By the ease with which it went, you might almost think it was quite normal. They practically held out their hands right away. It's – it's rather disgusting, really!'
Harold said dryly: 'This isn't the moment to quarrel with the corruption of the public services. How much?'
'The tariff's rather high.'
She read out a list of figures.
The Chief of Police.
The Commissaire.
The Agent.
The Doctor.
The Hotel Manager.
The Night Porter.
Harold's comment was merely: 'The night porter doesn't get much, does he? I suppose it's mostly a question of gold lace.'
Mrs Rice explained: 'The manager stipulated that the death should not have taken place in his hotel at all. The official story will be that Philip had a heart attack in the train. He went along the corridor for air – you know how they always leave those doors open – and he fell out on the line. It's wonderful what the police can do when they try!'
'Well,' said Harold. 'Thank God our police force isn't like that.'
And in a British and superior mood he went down to lunch.
VII
After lunch Harold usually joined Mrs Rice and her daughter for coffee. He decided to make no change in his usual behaviour.
This was the first time he had seen Elsie since the night before. She was very pale and was obviously still suffering from shock, but she made a gallant endeavour to behave as usual, uttering small commonplaces about the weather and the scenery.
They commented on a new guest who had just arrived, trying to guess his nationality. Harold thought a moustache like that must be French – Elsie said German – and Mrs Rice thought he might be Spanish.
There was no one else but themselves on the terrace with the exception of the two Polish ladies who were sitting at the extreme end, both doing fancywork.
As always when he saw them, Harold felt a queer shiver of apprehension pass over him. Those still faces, those curved beaks of noses, those long claw-like hands…
A page boy approached and told Mrs Rice she was wanted. She rose and followed him. At the entrance to the hotel they saw her encounter a police official in full uniform.
Elsie caught her breath.
'You don't think – anything's gone wrong?'
Harold reassured her quickly. 'Oh no, no, nothing of that kind.'
But he himself knew a sudden pang of fear.
He said: 'Your mother's been wonderful!'
'I know. Mother is a great fighter. She'll never sit down under defeat.' Elsie shivered. 'But it is all horrible, isn't it?'
'Now, don't dwell on it. It's all over and done with.'
Elsie said in a low voice: 'I can't forget that – that it was I who killed him.'
Harold said urgently: 'Don't think of it that way. It was an accident. You know that really.'
Her face grew a little happier.
Harold added: 'And anyway it's past. The past is the past. Try never to think of it again.'
Mrs Rice came back. By the expression on her face they saw that all was well.
'It gave me quite a fright,' she said almost gaily. 'But it was only a formality about some papers. Everything's all right, my children. We're out of the shadow. I think we might order ourselves a liqueur on the strength of it.'
The liqueur was ordered and came. They raised their glasses.
