But this was St. Gatien, not Paris; the Reserve, not the Luxembourg Gardens; and I was an actor, not an onlooker. What was more, I should shortly become, unless I were very clever or very lucky, no more than a “noise off.” I came back to business.
The Skeltons, the Vogels, Roux and Martin, the Clandon-Hartleys, and Duclos-I stared at the list miserably. The Skeltons, now! What did I know about them? Nothing, except that their parents were due to arrive the following week on the Conte di Savoia. That and the fact that this was their first trip abroad. They could be eliminated straight away, of course. Then I paused. Why “of course”? Was this the calm, dispassionate examination of all the available facts? No, it wasn’t. I knew nothing of the Skeltons except what they had told me. Perhaps, for that matter, I had eliminated Schimler and Koche a little too readily. But then there were his passports and the conversation I had overheard between him and Koche to confirm what he had said. The Skeltons, however, had nothing to confirm their story. They must be investigated.
The Vogels? The temptation was to eliminate them also. No spy could be so grotesquely unlike a spy as Vogel. But they, too, must be questioned discreetly.
Roux and Martin? Except that Roux talked rather ugly French and that the woman was excessively affectionate there was nothing to single them out for special attention. To be investigated, nevertheless.
The Clandon-Hartleys looked more interesting. I knew a good deal about them. All of it was unconfirmed, of course, but it was interesting. And there was one very suggestive point. The Major was short of money. He had twice tried to borrow. Moreover, according to Duclos, he had been expecting money that had not arrived. Payment for the photographs? It was a distinct possibility. The Major, Duclos had insisted, was desperate. Well, that was possible, too. And Mrs. Clandon-Hartley was an Italian. It all fitted together very nicely.
Old Duclos, however, was by no means a reliable witness. His imagination was, as I knew only too well, extremely fertile. He himself could scarcely be classed as a suspect. He was too unlikely. But then they were all unlikely. What did I know about Duclos? Simply that he was, or appeared to be, a petty industrialist with a penchant for gossiping and cheating at friendly games. Where did that get me? Nowhere.
And then I made what I conceived to be a great discovery. Anyone but a hopeless nincompoop would have made it before. I decided that it was no use studying these persons’ normal behavior-nothing was easier than to play a part while everyone accepted you at your face value-the thing to do was to proceed on the assumption that every one of them was a liar and force them all into the open. I should not be friendly with them. I should quarrel. I should not calmly accept their own estimates of themselves, but question and analyze. I had been begging the whole question. It was time I adopted an aggressive policy.
But how did one carry out an aggressive policy in such circumstances? Was I to roam the grounds of the Reserve like a hungry mastiff snapping viciously at all who crossed my path? No, the thing to do was to question, to be inquisitive; and then, when the bounds of common politeness was reached, I must overstep them. I must blunder amiably but inexorably over people’s feelings until they betrayed themselves. Then, I promised myself, I would swoop like a hawk on the guilty wretch.
At twenty-five past five I wrote the nine names down on my piece of paper, shut my eyes, moved my pencil in a circle and-stabbed. Then I opened my eyes and saw that the Vogels were to be my first victims. I combed my hair and descended in search of them.
They were, as usual, on the beach together with Duclos, the Skeltons, and the French pair. As I appeared Monsieur Duclos sprang from his deck-chair and hurried to meet me. Too late, I remembered that I had neglected to provide myself with a reasonable explanation for the recovery of the “stolen” property.
I almost turned and ran. Then, as I was hesitating, I saw that it was too late for flight. Duclos was bearing down on me. I attempted to pass him with a genial nod, but he executed a swift outflanking movement and I found myself walking side by side with him towards the others.
“We expected to hear before,” he said breathlessly. “The police have been called in?”
I shook my head. “No. Fortunately they were not necessary.”
“The valuables have been found?”
“Yes.”
He ran on ahead to announce the fact. “The thief,” I heard him saying, “has been found. The missing valuables have been returned.”
As I came up they clustered round me excitedly, asking questions.
“Was it one of the servants?”
“The English major, without a doubt…”
“The gardener?”
“The headwaiter?”
“Please!” I held up a repressive hand. “There is no question of a guilty person. The valuables were not stolen.”
There was a gasp.
“The whole thing,” I said with uneasy gaiety, “was a mistake… a rather stupid mistake. It appears”-I racked my brain desperately for a way out of the difficulty-“it appears that the box was pushed out of sight under the bed when the room was cleaned.” It sounded inexpressibly feeble.
Roux pushed his way between the Vogels. “Then how,” he demanded triumphantly, “does it come about that the locks on the suitcase were broken open?”
“Ah, yes,” said Herr Vogel.
“Yes, indeed!” echoed his wife.
“What does he say?” said Skelton.
To gain time I translated. “I don’t,” I added, “know what he’s talking about.”
He looked puzzled. “Weren’t the locks of your case burst open? I thought you said they were.”
I shook my head slowly. I had an idea.
Roux had been listening to this exchange with puzzled impatience. I turned to him.
“I was explaining, Monsieur, that you were under a misapprehension. I don’t know where you gained your information, but there was certainly no question of the locks of my case being forced. I did discuss the matter, in confidence, with Monsieur Duclos here, but nothing was said of locks. “If,” I went on severely, “false rumors have been circulated by some person unaware of the true facts, a most unfortunate situation will have been created. Was it your impression, Herr Vogel, that the locks had been forced?”
Vogel shook his head hastily.
“No, indeed!” added Frau Vogel.
“Monsieur Roux,” I pursued heavily, “I take it that you…” But he interrupted me.
“What is this nonsense?” he demanded irritably. “It was the old one there”-he pointed to Duclos-“who told us all.”
Eyes turned on Monsieur Duclos. He drew himself up. “I, Messieurs,” he said, sternly, “am a businessman of long experience. I am not in the habit of betraying confidences.”
Roux laughed loudly and unpleasantly. “Do you deny that you told Vogel and myself of the theft and that you stated that the locks were forced?”
“In confidence, Monsieur, in confidence!”
“Bah!” Roux turned to Mademoiselle Martin. “In confidence! You heard him, ma petite? ”
“Oui, cheri.”
“He admits it. In confidence, of course!” He jeered. “But he admitted to having invented the affair of the locks.”
Monsieur Duclos bristled. “That, Monsieur, is unjust!”
Roux laughed and put his tongue out very rudely. I began to feel sorry for Monsieur Duclos. After all, I had told him that the locks had been forced. But he was already rallying to his own defense. He stuck his beard forward ferociously.
“If I were a young man, Monsieur, I should strike you!”
“Perhaps,” put in Vogel anxiously, “we should discuss the matter calmly.” He hitched up his braces a further centimeter and laid a hand on Roux’s shoulder.
It was shaken off impatiently. “There is no point,” declared Roux loudly, “in discussing anything with this old imbecile.”
Monsieur Duclos drew a deep breath. “You are, Monsieur,” he said deliberately, “a liar! It was you who stole the valuables from Monsieur Vadassy. Otherwise, how do you know that the locks of the suitcase were forced? I, Duclos, denounce you. Thief and liar!”