"Yes, of course. That does seem to be the answer."
"Well, you can be sure it'll be looked into. The culprit may even come forward when he hears that no damage was done- but personally I don't think he will." The long fingers toyed with the glass. He said, kindly (it could surely not be amusement that so faintly warmed his voice?): "My poor child, you've had a strenuous couple of days, haven't you? We're very grateful to you, my wife and I, for your care of Philippe. I'm sorry it's been such a frightening burden today."
"It's not a burden. And I'm very happy here."
"Are you? I'm glad. And don't worry any more about this business. After all, whether we find the man or not, it's not likely to happen again. Has Philippe got over his fright?"
"I think so."
"There's no need to call a doctor, or take any measures of that kind?"
"Oh no. He's perfectly all right now. I doubt if he really knows how-how near it was. He seemed quite happy when I left him, but I did have to promise to go back and play a game before bed-time."
"Then I won't keep you. But finish your sherry first, won't you?"
I obeyed him, then set the glass down and said carefully: "Monsieur de Valmy, before I go, I have a confession to make."
An eyebrow lifted. I was right. It was amusement.
I said: "No, I'm serious. I-I've been deceiving you and Madame de Valmy, and I can't do it any longer. I’ve got to tell you."
The glint was still there. He said gravely: "I’m listening. How have you deceived us?"
I said, in French: "This is how I’ve deceived you, monsieur-ever since I came into the house, and I think it’s high time I came clean."
There was a short silence.
"I see," he said. "Not just good French, either; the French of France, Miss Martin. Well, let's have it. Come clean."
The murder was out. It was over. My useless deception was confessed, and nothing had happened except that Léon de Valmy had laughed rather a lot-not only at the shifts I had been put to, but at the idea that my job should be contingent on an ignorance of French. Shamefacedly, I laughed with him, only too ready, in my relief, to admit my own folly. But…
Somewhere, deep inside me, something was protesting faintly. But…
But now the Demon King laughed good-temperedly, and, thankfully, I laughed with him.
It was into this scene of hilarity that Raoul de Valmy came a few moments later. I didn't hear him come in until he said from the door: "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were engaged."
"It's all right," said his father. "Come in." With a click, the lights sprang to life. Raoul came round the bookcase into the bay where we sat. "I've just got in-" he began, then saw me sitting there, and paused.
"Good evening, mademoiselle." He glanced from me to his father. "I believe you wanted to see me, sir?" I got quickly to my feet.
"I was just going," I said. I spoke in French, and I saw Raoul's brows lift, but he made no comment. Then I paused, glancing back diffidently at my employer. "Perhaps Monsieur Raoul has found something about the shooting? Has he been out to look for this man?"
"No," said Monsieur de Valmy. He nodded a pleasant dismissal. "Well, Miss Martin, thank you for coming. Goodnight."
"Shooting?" said Raoul sharply.
He was speaking to me. I hesitated and looked uncertainly at Monsieur de Valmy. Raoul said again: "What's this about shooting? Who should I have been looking for?"
"Oh," I said awkwardly-I had, after all, been already dismissed the library-“I thought perhaps… then you don't know what happened this afternoon?"
Raoul had moved between his father's chair and the fireplace and was reaching for the sherry decanter.
"No. What did happen?"
Léon said coldly: "Some fool out with a rifle in the woods has narrowly missed killing your cousin."
Raoul’s head jerked up at that. Some sherry splashed." What? Philippe? Someone shot at Philippe?"
"That's what I said."
"Was he hurt?"
"He wasn't touched."
Raoul straightened, glass in hand, his shoulders back against the mantel. He looked from one to the other of us. "What did the chap think he was doing?"
"That," said his father, "is what we would like to know." He tilted his head back to look at his son. "You've been out, you say. Did you see anyone?"
"No."
"What way did you go?"
"East. I told you I was going up through the new plantations. I went up from the kitchen gardens. I never saw a soul. Where did it happen?"
"On the track through the beechwood, half a mile north of the bridge."
"I know the place." He looked at me. "This is-shocking. He really wasn't hurt at all?"
"Not at all," I said. "He fell down, and the bullet missed him."
"And you? I take it you were there?"
"I was with him. It didn't go near me."
He stood looking down at the glass between his fingers, then set it carefully on the mantelpiece beside him. "Don't go yet, please. Sit down again. D'you mind telling me just what happened?"
Once more I told the story. He listened without moving, and his father leaned back in his chair, one hand playing with the stem of his empty glass, watching us both When I had finished Raoul said, without turning his head: "I assume you have the matter in hand?"
For a moment I thought he was speaking to me, and looked up, surprised, but Léon de Valmy answered: "I have," and proceeded to outline the various instructions he had given by telephone. Raoul listened, his head bent now, staring into the fire, and I sat back in my chair and watched the two of them, wondering afresh at the queer twisted relationship that was theirs. Today all seemed quite normal between them; last night's perverted cut-and-thrust might never have been. The two voices so alike; the two faces, so alike and yet so tragically different…my eyes lifted to the devil-may-care young face above the mantelpiece, with the pictured smile and the careless hand on the pony's bridle. No, it wasn't Raoul; it could never have been Raoul. There was something in his face, something dark and difficult that could never have belonged to the laughing careless boy in the picture. I had the feeling, watching Raoul as he talked to his father, that the young man of the picture would have been easier to know…
I came back to reality with a jerk. Léon de Valmy was saying: "We seem to treat our employees a little roughly. I would have liked to persuade Miss Martin to take the evening off, but she feels it her duty to entertain Philippe."
"I must," I said. "I promised."
"Then go out afterwards. Not"-that flash of charm again -"for a walk, as we seem so determined at Valmy to dog you with malice, but why not shake our dangerous dust from your feet, Miss Martin, and go down to Thonon? It's not late. A café, a cinema-"
"By the time she has put Philippe to sleep there'll be no buses to Thonon," said Raoul.
"It doesn't matter," I said quickly, surprised at the desire to escape that had swept over me. An evening outside Valmy- supper in a crowd, lights, voices, music, the common comings- and-goings of café and street-suddenly I longed desperately for these. I had had enough of drama this last two days. I got to my feet, this time decisively.
"It's very kind of you, but I did promise Philippe, and he's been upset… I mustn't disappoint him. I’ll rest after dinner."
"Tea alone in your room again and an early bed?" Raoul straightened his shoulders. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go out?"
"Well, I-" I hesitated, laughing. "I can't, can I?"
"There are two cars at Valmy, and the requisite number of people to drive them." He glanced down at Léon. "I think we owe Miss Martin her escape, don't you?"
"Assuredly. But I'm afraid Jeannot has the big car in Geneva on my business, and the shooting-brake isn't back yet from the sawmill."