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.”