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The holiday season was, to all intents and purposes, over, and the holiday camp, of which Coles had declared he had no knowledge, was closed. As Dame Beatrice had realised that this might be so, she was neither distressed nor disheartened, but, penetrating the main gates, made her way to the office, which was attached to the permanent living-quarters of the full-time staff.
She was received by a bearded man of youthful appearance who announced that the camp was closed until the following Easter.
‘Used to be Whitsun,’ he announced, ‘so you’re luckier than you used to be. I can take a reservation.’
‘It is good of you to say so.’
‘Think nothing of it. When would you wish us to book you in?’
‘I cannot say, at the moment. I am in quest of information.’
‘Sure. I’ll get you a brochure. Next year’s isn’t ready until December, but last season’s will give you all the gen you need.’
‘Thank you. I should like all the information I can get. Would it be possible for me to be shown over the camp?’
‘I don’t see why not. You don’t look the sort to plant a bomb. I’ll take you round myself.’
‘That is extremely good of you.’
‘Think nothing of it. Service, not self, is our motto. Half a sec. while I get you the book of words.’ He retired to an inner room and returned immediately with a shining, well-produced prospectus, copiously illustrated in black and white and in colour. ‘There we are,’ he said. ‘We have accommodation, as you’ll see by that, for singles, doubles or family parties. If you’re on your own you’ll soon make friends here, and we don’t blow bugles or stampede you about in herds. That sort of thing’s old-fashioned and we’re nothing if not up to date.’
The camp was extremely extensive. The accommodation, to which reference had been made by her guide, consisted of dozens of chalets and a large, three-storey hostel on the ground floor of which was a bar. A restaurant opened out of it.
‘Bedrooms upstairs,’ said the bearded man. ‘You’ll see in the brochure they cost more than the chalets. That’s because in the hostel you’ve got running hot and cold and proper bathrooms. The chalets only get a cold tap and a bathhouse with showers, one bathhouse to every twenty chalets. Mind you, there’s the swimming-pool—we’ll see it in a few minutes —with sea-water and the latest filter-system—so there’s plenty of chance to freshen up.’
Another enormous, detached building, situated in a large garden, proved to provide a ballroom and concert hall. These had their own cocktail and snack bar. Yet a third structure proved to be a covered roller-skating rink complete with soda-fountain and coffee bar.
Dame Beatrice duly admired everything she was shown. Her alert black eyes took in every detail, but she asked no questions, content to allow the guide to act as showman without interruption.
‘Well,’ he said, when once again the office and the staff quarters came in sight, ‘that’s the lot. Anything more you’d like to know?’
‘Nothing, thank you. Do you have many foreign visitors?’
‘Plenty. Not Americans, though. A camp doesn’t seem to meet their requirements. A pity, really, because most of them are very good mixers. We did have a posse of American Service chaps apply last year, but we didn’t take them. We got the impression they were only after girls. That kind of thing, if it’s blatant, can soon give a place a bad name. Not that I don’t sympathise with the fellows. They’re a long way from home.’
‘I should not wish to come alone,’ said Dame Beatrice, reaching the true object of her visit. ‘Some friends of mine stayed here last summer or early autumn, and spoke very well of the accommodation they were given. I should require the same kind of thing for myself and friend, or for two young friends if, in the end, I am not able to take up my option. I suppose it would not be possible for me to see the visitors’ book, so that I may ascertain where they were housed?’
‘I don’t see why not. There’s nothing private about it,’ agreed the young man. ‘If you’d care to take a seat, I’ll go and dig it out.’
Dame Beatrice was highly gratified, and said so. She had not expected such complete co-operation, accustomed though she was to getting her own way; but she had made a marked impression on the young man, whose dealings with elderly ladies had acquainted him mostly with their capacity for producing pointless conversation and unreasonable demands and complaints. He left her to go and find the book, and, returning with it, asked when her friends had stayed at the camp.
‘I do not remember the exact dates,’ she said. He found the page which marked the beginning of August and put the open book on a small table.
‘Help yourself,’ he said genially. ‘Knowing their names and possibly their writing, you may find them quicker than I shall.’
Dame Beatrice had three names in mind—Coles, Palliser and Biancini, although why she was alert for the last she could scarcely have said. Two names appeared under Palliser and were on one line, which ran:
‘Here they are,’ she said, ‘but the number of their room or chalet, or whatever they had, is not filled in.’
‘Oh, now I’ve got the name, I’m bound to have a record of their accommodation,’ said the young man. ‘Shan’t be a jiffy. Let’s see the date again. August 18th they booked in? Right.’ He came back in a remarkably short time with a large plan of the camp, and spread it out for her to see. ‘We keep the accommodation charted,’ he said. ‘Look, they had chalet one nine six. Our system is quite simple. It has to be, with the number of campers we get every week of the season. Their number on the camp register’—he pointed to it—‘was seventy-eight, which means they must have clocked in very early and certainly didn’t come on the special train, and here is the seventy-eight
