Under the curious eyes of the others we left the beach.
On the way up to my room he asked me what was missing. I gave him Beghin’s grotesque selection and added the tidbit about the films. He nodded and was silent. I began to feel apprehensive. True, there was no possible way of his discovering the whole business was a put-up job; yet, now that I had started the thing moving, I was uneasy. For all his lazy, indolent manner, Koche was no fool and I could not quite forget the fact that it was not impossible for Koche himself to have taken the films and also stunned me in the garden the night before. In that case he would know that I was lying. The consequences might be distinctly unpleasant for me. I cursed Beghin with renewed fervor.
Koche inspected my work on the suitcase locks with gloomy interest. Then he straightened his back and his eyes met mine.
“You say that you left your room at about nine o’clock?”
“Yes.”
“Was the suitcase all right, then?”
“Yes. The last thing I did before I went down was to lock the case and push it under the bed.”
He looked at his watch. “It is now eleven twenty. How long ago did you return?”
“About fifteen minutes ago. But I did not go to the suitcase straight away. As soon as I saw what had happened, I came straight to you. It is disgraceful,” I added lamely.
He nodded and eyed me speculatively. “Do you mind coming down to my office, Monsieur? I should like a detailed description of the missing objects.”
“Certainly. But I must warn you, Monsieur,” I mumbled, “that I shall hold you responsible and that I shall expect the immediate return of the valuables and the punishment of the thief.”
“Naturally,” he said politely. “I have no doubt that I shall be able to return your property to you within a very short time. There is no cause for you to worry.”
Feeling rather like an amateur actor who has forgotten his lines, I followed Koche down to his office. He closed the door carefully, drew up a chair for me and picked up a pen.
“Now, Monsieur. The cigarette-case first, if you please. It is, I think you said, a gold one.”
I looked at him quickly. He was writing something on the paper. I panicked. Had I said that it was a gold one when we were coming up from the beach? For the life of me I could not remember. Or was he trying to trap me? But I had an inspiration.
“No, a silver case, gold lined. It has,” I said, warming to my work, “my initials, ‘J. V.’, engraved in one corner and is machined on the outside. It holds ten cigarettes and the elastic is missing.”
“Thank you, and the chain?”
I remembered a second-hand chain I had seen displayed in a jeweler’s window near the Gare Montparnasse.
“Eighteen-carat gold, thick, old-fashioned links, heavy. It has a small gold medallion on it commemorating the Brussels Exhibition of 1901.”
He wrote it all down carefully.
“And now the pin, Monsieur.”
This was not so easy. “Just a pin, Monsieur. A tie-pin about six centimeters long with a small diamond about three millimeters in diameter in the head.” I gave way to a weak impulse. “The diamond,” I said, with a self-conscious laugh, “is paste.”
“But the pin itself is gold?”
“Rolled gold.”
“And the box in which these objects were left?”
“A tin box. A cigarette box. A German cigarette box. I cannot remember the brand. There was also in it two rolls of film, Contax film. They had been exposed.”
“You have a Contax camera?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me again. “I assume that you made sure that the camera was safe, Monsieur. A thief would get a good price for a camera.”
My heart missed about two beats. I had blundered badly.
“The camera?” I said stupidly. “I did not look. I left it in the drawer.”
He stood up. “Then I suggest, Monsieur, that we go and look immediately.”
“Yes, of course.” I was, I felt, very red in the face.
We went upstairs again and along to my room. I prepared myself carefully for the emission of the suitable cries of dismay and anger that would be necessary.
I rushed anxiously to the chest of drawers, pulled open the top drawer and rummaged feverishly inside it. Then I turned round slowly and dramatically.
“Gone!” I said grimly. “This is too much. That camera is worth nearly five thousand francs. The thief must be found without delay. I demand, Monsieur, that something is done immediately.”
To my surprise and confusion a faint smile appeared on his lips.
“Something will certainly be done, Monsieur,” he said calmly, “but in the case of the camera, nothing will be necessary. Look!”
I followed the direction of his nod. There, on the chair beside the bed, was a Contax camera complete with case.
“I must,” I said stupidly, as we went downstairs again, “have forgotten that I had left it on the chair.”
He nodded. “Or the thief removed it from the drawer and then forgot to take it after all.” I thought it was my guilty conscience that detected a faint note of irony in his voice.
“Anyway,” I said, with unaffected gaiety, “I have the camera.”
“We must hope,” he said gravely, “that the other things will reappear as quickly.”
I agreed as enthusiastically as I could. We returned to the office.
“What,” he asked, “is the value of the cigarette-case and the watch-chain?”
I thought carefully. “It is hard to say. About eight hundred francs for the case and about five hundred for the chain, I should think. Both were presents. The pin, though intrinsically worthless, possesses great sentimental value for me. As for the films: well, I should be sorry to lose them, naturally, but-” I shrugged.
“I understand. They were insured, the case and the chain?”
“No.”
He put down his pen. “You will appreciate, Monsieur, that in these affairs suspicion is bound to fall on the servants. I shall question them first. I should prefer to do it alone. I hope you will not think it necessary to call in the police at this stage and will trust me to handle the matter discreetly.”
“Of course.”
“Also, Monsieur, I would personally appreciate it if you would say nothing of this unfortunate affair to the other guests.”
“Naturally not.”
“Thank you. You will realize that considerable damage is done to the reputation of a small hotel such as this by such unpleasant affairs. I will report to you the moment I have completed my inquiries.”
I went, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Koche had asked that the other guests should not be told; and for my part I would have been only too pleased to comply with the request. The less said about the business the better I should have been pleased. But Beghin had insisted on the news being broadcast to the other guests; he had been quite clear on the point. I must make a fuss. And there were the wretched servants to be considered. It was altogether a most unhappy situation; and, as far as I could see, utterly pointless as welclass="underline" unless there was something going on about which I knew nothing. What cigarette-cases and watch-chains had to do with spies was beyond my comprehension. Did Beghin propose to use the alleged robbery as a pretext on which to arrest the spy? Absurd! Where was the evidence to come from? My two rolls of film were, no doubt, developed and thrown away by now; and the cigarette-case and watch-chain did not exist. There was only one sensible way of tackling the problems. Identify the spy first, then catch him with my camera in his possession. My camera!
I took the last few stairs at a run and dashed for my room. It did not take me more than a few seconds to confirm my fears. This was my camera. The incriminating evidence had been politely returned.
I changed into my swimming trunks miserably. I could, of course, lie to Beghin. I could say that the cameras had been re-exchanged without my knowledge. I could plead ignorance. I could suggest that it had been done when my room had been searched. After all, I couldn’t be expected to examine the number on the camera at hourly intervals throughout the day. If I was careful there was no reason why Beghin should know that for about eighteen hours I had had neither of the cameras. That was unless he caught the spy. Then the fat would be in the fire. Beghin might even have to release the man again. Not that there was the remotest chance of catching him with stories of forced suitcases and stolen watch-chains. Still, that was Beghin’s affair. I was only a pawn in the game, a fly caught in the cog-wheels. A sickly, sticky stream of self-pity welled up into my mind. I stood in my shirt and looked at myself in the mirror. Poor fool! What skinny legs! I finished changing. As I went down the stairs I saw Schimler follow Koche into the office and shut the door. Schimler! I experienced an empty feeling inside my chest. That was another thing. Today I was to search Schimler’s room.