by Eric Ambler
The Vogels had now joined the French couple on the beach. The Americans were in the water. I went over to Monsieur Duclos, drew a deck-chair alongside his and sat down. For a minute or two we exchanged commonplaces. Then I began work.
“You, Monsieur, are a man of the world. I should be grateful for your advice in a delicate matter.”
A look of pure pleasure suffused his face. He stroked his beard gravely. “My experience, such as it is, is at your disposal, Monsieur.” He rolled his eyes archly. “It is, perhaps, concerning the American miss that you wish my advice?”
“I beg your pardon.”
He chuckled roguishly. “You need not be embarrassed, my friend. If I may say so, your glances in her direction have been remarked by all. But the brother and sister are inseparable, eh? Believe me, Monsieur, I have some judgment in these affairs.” He lowered his voice and brought his head nearer mine. “I have noticed that the miss also looks at you.” He dropped his voice still further and sprayed the next sentence right into my ear. “She is especially interested when you are dressed as you are now.” He giggled into his beard.
I stared at him coldly. “What I had to say was nothing to do with Miss Skelton.”
“No?” He looked disappointed.
“I am more concerned at the moment with the fact that several objects of value have been stolen from my room.”
His pince-nez quivered so much that they fell off. He caught them neatly and replaced them on his nose.
“A robbery?”
“Precisely. While I was in the village this morning my locked suitcase was forced open and a cigarette-case, a gold watch-chain, a diamond pin, and two rolls of film were stolen. The value of the property is over two thousand francs.”
“Formidable!”
“I am desolated by the loss. The pin was of great sentimental value.”
“C’est affreux!”
“Indeed it is! I have complained to Koche, and he is questioning the servants. But-and this, Monsieur, is the matter in which I should welcome your guidance-I am not satisfied with the way in which Monsieur Koche is conducting the affair. He does not seem to realize the gravity of the loss. Should I be justified in putting the matter before the police?”
“The police?” Monsieur Duclos wriggled with excitement. “Why, yes! It is without a doubt an affair for the police. I will, if you wish, come with you now myself to the Poste.”
“And yet,” I said hurriedly, “Koche was of the opinion that the police would be well left out of the affair. He is to question the servants. Perhaps it would be better to wait and hear the result of this questioning.”
“Ah, yes. Perhaps that would be better.” He was clearly reluctant to abandon the police so soon. “But…”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” I put in smoothly; “I am grateful for your advice. It has confirmed my own inclinations in the matter.” I saw his eyes straying towards the Vogels and the French people. “Naturally, you will appreciate that I speak in confidence. We must be discreet at this stage.”
He nodded portentously. “Naturally, Monsieur. Please consider my experience as a businessman at your disposal. You may trust me.” He paused, then tweaked the sleeve of my wrap. “Have you any suspicions?”
“None. Suspicions are dangerous things.”
“That is so, but-” He dropped his voice and began to spray into my ear again: “Have you considered this English major? A violent man, that! And what does he do for a living? Nothing. He has been there three months. I will tell you something more. This morning after breakfast he came to me on the lower terrace and requested a loan of two thousand francs. He needs money badly, that one. He offered five per cent interest per month.”
“You refused?”
“Naturally. I was very angry. He said that he required the money to go to Algiers. Why should I pay for him to go to Algiers? Let him work like other men. There was also something about his wife, but I could not understand. His French is incomprehensible. He is certainly a little mad.”
“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 the
m 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.”
He stroked his beard gloomily. “I have been thinking, Monsieur. Every hour we delay is in the thief’s favor.”
“Quite so. But…”
“Speaking as a businessman, I counsel immediate action. You must be firm with Koche, Monsieur.” He thrust his beard forward ferociously.
“I shall be very firm, Monsieur, I…”
But before I could get away the Vogels came up, shook hands with me and expressed their sorrow at my loss. Monsieur Duclos was not in the least put out by this evidence of his treachery.
“We have agreed, Monsieur Vogel and I,” he stated, “that the Commissaire of Police should be called in.”
“Five thousand francs,” nodded Herr Vogel weightily, “is a serious loss. A matter for the police, without a doubt. Monsieur Roux is of the same opinion. There is the safety of the other guests’ property to be considered. Mademoiselle Martin, a young lady of nervous disposition, is already frightened for her jewels. Monsieur Roux calmed her, but he informed me that unless the thief is discovered he will be forced to leave. Koche will be well advised to treat the matter more seriously. Five thousand francs!”-he requoted Monsieur Duclos’s version of my loss-“It is a serious thing.”
“Yes, indeed!” said Frau Vogel.
“You see!” put in Monsieur Duclos triumphantly, “the police must be called in.”
“With regard,” pursued Herr Vogel in a whisper, “to the question of your suspicions, Herr Vadassy, we feel that at the moment the police should not be told of them.”
“My suspicions?” I glanced at Monsieur Duclos. He had the grace to avoid my eye and fumble a little ostentatiously with his pince-nez.
Herr Vogel smiled indulgently. “I understand perfectly. It would be better to say nothing that might be construed as referring to”-he looked round swiftly and lowered his voice-“a certain person of English nationality, eh?” He winked. “These affairs must be handled with discretion, eh?”
“Yes, yes!” echoed Frau Vogel cheerfully.
I mumbled something about having no suspicious at all and made my escape. Monsieur Duclos was proving a rather compromising publicity agent.
Koche was waiting for me in the office.
“Ah, yes, Monsieur Vadassy, please come in.” He shut the door behind me. “A chair? Good. Now to business.”
I played my part. “I hope, Monsieur, that you have satisfactory news for me. This suspense is most distressing.”
He looked very grave.
“I am very much afraid, Monsieur, that my inquiries have yielded no result whatever.”
I frowned. “That is bad.”
“Very bad. Very bad, indeed!” He glanced at a paper before him, tapped it once or twice with his forefinger and looked up at me. “I have examined every member of the staff, including the waiters and the gardener, hoping that one of them might, at any rate, be able to throw some light on the affair.” He paused. “Frankly, Monsieur,” he went on quietly, “I feel that they are all telling me the truth when they say that they have no knowledge of the theft.”
“You mean that it must have been one of the guests?”
He did not reply for a moment. I began, for no reason that I could identify, to feel even more uneasy. Then he shook his head slowly. “No, Monsieur, I do not mean that it was one of the guests.”
“Then someone from outside?”
“Nor that either.”
“Then…?”
He leaned forward. “I have decided, Monsieur, that this is a case for the police.”
This was difficult. Beghin had made it clear that the police were not to be called in.
“But surely,” I protested, “that is the last thing you would wish to do. Think of the scandal.”
His lips tightened. This was a new Koche, no longer easygoing and good natured, a very businesslike Koche. There was, quite suddenly, an ugly tension in the atmosphere.
“Unfortunately,” he said bitingly, “the damage is already done. Not only are my guests aware of and discussing the affair, but one of them is actually being regarded by the others as a possible culprit.”
“I am sorry to hear that, I-”
But he ignored my interruption. “I asked you, Monsieur, to remain silent until I could investigate this matter. I find that, far from remai
ning silent, you have discussed the affair with your fellow guests in the most unfortunate manner.”
“I asked the advice in confidence of Monsieur Duclos relating to the question of informing the police. If Monsieur Duclos has been indiscreet, I am sorry.”
There was something very much like a sneer in his voice as he answered. “And what, pray, was Monsieur Duclos’s advice?”
“He advised me to call in the police, but out of deference to your-”
“Then, Monsieur, we are in perfect agreement. You have your opportunity.” He reached for the telephone. “I will communicate with the police at once.”
“One moment, Monsieur Koche!” His hand paused on the instrument. “I merely repeated Duclos’s advice. For my part I see no necessity for calling in the police.”
To my intense relief he took his hand from the telephone. Then he turned slowly and looked me in the eyes.
“I thought you wouldn’t,” he said deliberately.
“I feel sure,” I said, with all the amiability I could muster, “that you will handle this affair far more efficiently than the police. I do not wish to make a nuisance of myself. If the stolen articles are returned, well and good. If not-well-it cannot be helped. In any case, the police will be more of a hindrance than a help.”
“I believe you, Monsieur.” This time there was no doubt about the sneer. “I can quite believe that you would find the police a very grave hindrance.”
“I don’t think I understand you.”
“No?” He smiled grimly. “I have been in the hotel profession for a number of years, Monsieur. You will not, I feel sure, think me impolite if I tell you that I have encountered gentlemen of your persuasion before. I have learned to be careful. When you reported this alleged theft you told me that you had lost a cigarette-case. Later, when I suggested to you that you had described it as a gold case, you hesitated and got out of your difficulties by saying that it was both gold and silver. A little too ingenious, my friend. When I went into your room I noticed the blade of a pair of scissors lying on the floor by the suitcase. On the bed was the rest of the scissors. You looked at them twice, but did not comment on them. Why? They had obviously been used to force the case. They were important evidence. But you ignored them. You saw nothing significant in them because you knew how the case had been forced. You had forced it yourself.”
