“I’m sorry,” I stammered, and then again: “I’m sorry.”
He stood up. “Quite all right,” he said, with ghastly unconcern; “not really important. Just wondered if you could manage it, that’s all. Sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Damned inconsiderate of me. Forget about the money. Just wondered, that’s all. Enjoyed having a jaw, though. Not often I have a chance of speaking English.” He drew himself up. “Well, I’ll be getting along to do a little packing. Expect we shall be leaving early tomorrow. And I shall have to get that wire off. See you before we go.”
Too late I found tongue.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Major, that I can’t help you. It’s not a question of not wanting to cash a cheque for you. I haven’t got two thousand francs. I’ve only just got enough to pay my bill here. If I had any money I should be only too delighted to lend it to you. I’m terribly sorry. I-” Now that I had started I wanted to go on apologizing, to embarrass myself to restore his self-esteem. But I had no chance to do so for, even as I was speaking, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
When, some ten minutes later, I telephoned to the Commissariat and asked to speak to the Commissaire, Beghin’s irritable voice answered.
“Hello, Vadassy!”
“I have something to report.”
“Well?”
“Major and Mrs. Clandon-Hartley may be leaving tomorrow. He has tried to borrow money from me to pay his and his wife’s fare to Algiers.”
“Well? Did you lend him the money?”
“My employers have not yet paid me for the Toulon photographs,” I retorted recklessly.
To my surprise this impertinence was greeted with a squeaky chuckle from the other end.
“Anything else?”
Rashly, I gave way to the impulse to deliver a further gibe.
“I don’t suppose you’ll think it important, but last night I was knocked down by somebody in the garden and searched.” Even as I said it I knew that I had been very foolish. This time there was no answering chuckle but a sharp order to repeat myself. I did so.
There was a significant silence. Then:
“Why didn’t you say so at first instead of wasting time? Did you identify the man? Explain yourself.”
I explained myself. Then came the question that I had been dreading.
“Has your room been searched?”
“I think so.”
“What do you mean by ‘think so’?”
“Two rolls of film were taken from my suitcase.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Was anything else taken?” The question was very deliberate.
“No.” The camera, after all, had been taken from the chair in the hall.
There was another silence. Now he was going to ask me if the camera was safe. But he did not do so. I thought we had been cut off, and said: “Hello!” I was told to wait a minute.
My head throbbing painfully, I waited two minutes. I could hear a murmur of voices, Beghin’s squeak and the Commissaire’s growl, but I could not catch what they were saying. At last Beghin returned to the telephone.
“Vadassy!”
“Yes?”
“Listen carefully. You are to go straight back to the Reserve, see Koche, and inform him that your suitcase has been forced open and that several things have been stolen-a silver cigarette-case, and a box containing a diamond pin, a gold watch-chain and two rolls of film. Make a fuss about it. Tell the other guests. Complain. I want everyone at the Reserve to know about it. But don’t ask for the police.”
“But-”
“Don’t argue. Do as you are told. Was your suitcase forced?”
“No, but-”
“Then force it yourself before you tell Koche. Now understand this. You are to bring in the question of the films as an afterthought. You are annoyed principally about the valuables. Is that clear?”
“Yes, but I have no cigarette-case or diamond pin or gold watch-chain.”
“Of course you haven’t. They have been stolen. Now get on with it.”
“This is impossible, absurd. You cannot force me to do this-” But he had already hung up.
I walked back to the hotel with murder in my heart. If there was a bigger fool than myself in this business, it was Beghin. But he had nothing to lose except a spy.
11
I went about the business of concocting the evidence with bitter thoroughness.
I got out my suitcase and locked it. Then I looked round for something with which to force the latches open. I made the first attempt with a pair of nail scissors. The locks were flimsy enough, but it was difficult to get any leverage on the scissors. After five minutes’ unsuccessful labor, I snapped one of the blades. I wasted several more minutes searching idly for a stronger tool. In desperation I took the key from the bedroom door and used the flat steel loop on it as a jimmy. The locks eventually yielded to this treatment, but I bent the key and had to spend more time straightening it. Then I opened the lid, stirred up the contents and, contorting my features into an expression of outraged innocence, hurried downstairs to find Koche.
He was not in his office. By the time I had traced him to the beach where he was lounging about in a bathing suit, my outraged innocence had relaxed into a sort of cringing anxiety. The Skeltons, the French couple, and Monsieur Duclos were down there with him. I played with the idea of awaiting a more opportune moment; but rejected it. I must remember that a robbery had been committed. Objects of value had been stolen from my room. I must behave as any normal person would behave under such circumstances; I must report to the manager even if he was clad only in a pair of bathing trunks. A sleek, black-coated manager would have been more appropriate to the occasion, but I must do the best I could with Koche.
I ran down the steps to the beach and started across the sand towards him. At this point, however, there was a disconcerting interruption. Skelton, hearing my footsteps on the stairs, had looked round the edge of his sunshade and seen me.
“Hey!” he called over. “Haven’t seen you all morning. Are you coming in the water before lunch?”
I hesitated; then, realizing that there was nothing else for it, I went over. Mary Skelton, who was lying face downwards on the sand, turned her head and cocked an eye at me.
“We thought you’d deserted us, Mr. Vadassy. You’ve no right to trifle with the kiddies’ affections like that. Get into your bathing suit and come and give us the dirt on the affair Clandon-Hartley. We saw you talking to him through the writing-room window after breakfast.”
“No finesse!” complained her brother. “I was going to introduce the subject gradually. What about it, Mr. Vadassy?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said hurriedly, “I must have a word with Koche. See you later.”
“That’s a deal!” he called over to me.
Koche was talking to Roux and Duclos. Evidently the quarrel of the previous night had been forgotten. I interrupted him in the middle of a disquisition on the virtues of Grenoble. I was tight-lipped and grave.
“Excuse me, Monsieur, but I should like to speak with you privately. It is rather urgent.”
He raised his eyebrows and excused himself to the others. We moved a little away.
“What can I do for you, Monsieur?”
“I regret to disturb you, but I am afraid I must ask you to step up to my room. While I was in the village just now, my suitcase has been broken open and several valuable objects stolen from it.”
The eyebrows went up again. He whistled softly between his teeth and glanced at me quickly. Then with a muttered “excuse me” he walked across the sand, picked up his bathing wrap and sandals, put them on, and rejoined me.
“I will come with you immediately.”