He had to see Delaney before the police got at him. If Delaney refused to part with the money, then he would go to the police and tell them what he had seen. If Delaney gave him the money, then he would have to risk lying to the police: to have that amount of money would be worth any risk.
He had hoped to have handled this thing himself. He knew that, once Madame Brossette knew about it, she would take charge. She would control the money he got from Delaney. She would buy the villa for him and heaven help him if he invited any other woman to the villa and she got to hear about it.
But he knew enough of her background to be satisfied that she was much more capable of handling this thing than he was, and, weakly, he decided to shift the responsibility onto her fat, massive shoulders.
“There’s nothing wrong,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “but... ”
Then the whole story poured out of him.
Her big red hands in her lap, her emerald-green eyes fixed in a stare of concentration, Madame Brossette listened.
The story told to her made her breathe quickly and when she breathed quickly her enormous bosom was agitated.
She said nothing until he had finished, then she held out her hand and said briefly: “Let’s have a look.”
He gave her the wet prints and watched her examine them. She handed them back, then, scratching the side of her neck, she said: “Give me a cigarette, Joe.”
He gave her one and lit it and one for himself.
“What do you think?” he asked anxiously.
“What do I think?” she repeated and her small, red mouth moved into a smile. “I think we have a gold mine here, Joe. What were you going to ask for the negatives? Five million francs?”
“Something like that,” Joe said. “He can afford it.”
“So you were going to Delaney?”
“Of course. Who else has the money? Of course he’s the one to go to.”
“You’re wrong, Joe. I’ve seen him. A man with a face like his doesn’t pay blackmail. He’d hand you over to the police before you knew where you were. The one way go to is the woman. I know something about her. Do you know where she was born?”
Joe stared at her.
“Born? What does it matter where she was born?”
Madame Brossette showed her even white teeth in a humourless smile.
“A lot, Joe. She was dragged up in the back streets of Naples. She’s not going to lose what she’s gained. She’s the one we’ll deal with. Maybe she hasn’t much cash, but she’s got plenty of jewels. Her diamonds alone are worth fifty million francs I took a look at them when she wore them at the opening night. We’ve got a steady income for life here, Joe. We’ll let her down gently at first. I’ll get her to part with some small stuff around twenty million first, then gradually we’ll put on the pressure. This could be a gold mine if we handle it right.”
Joe moved uneasily.
“I’d rather settle for an outright payment. I don t like this steady income idea. It’s too much like blackmail.”
Madame Brossette patted his knee.
“You leave this to me, Joe. I’ll handle it. You’re going to keep out of it. You’ll have to stay in your room, out of sight until I’ve come to terms with her, then you’ll be able to show yourself. I’ll arrange for you to have a room at a hotel of a friend of mine in Antibes. That way you can explain to the police why they didn’t find you in Cannes. As soon as we know she’s going to part, you’ll have to go to the police and tell them a story. We’ll work that out together later.”
“It’ll make me an accessory,” Joe said feebly.
Madame Brossette continued to smile.
“Just relax, Joe. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. If they find out you’ve told them a lie or two, they’ll also find out I’ve made some money out of her.” Her smile widened. “I don’t look worried, do I? For the money we’re going to collect, the risk is worth it. At least they can’t kill us and that’s more than young Delaney can say.” She stood up. “I’ll go down and telephone her. You get back to your room.”
Ten minutes later, Joe heard her coming slowly up the steep stairs and went to his door, expectant and uneasy.
Madame Brossette smiled reassuringly at him.
“It’s all right. She’s coming to see me. She’ll be round here in half an hour.”
“Coming here?” Joe said, his voice shooting up. “That’s not a good idea, is it?”
“You don’t imagine I want to talk to her at the Plaza, do you, Joe? Here I can get a little rough with her if it is necessary. She’s not a weak one, Joe, I can tell you. She’ll need handling.”
Joe fingered his chin uneasily. He suddenly wished he hadn’t brought her into this and he felt an urgent need for a drink.
“Well, all right. I’ll leave it to you.” He began to back into his tiny bedroom. “You let me know.”
“Don’t worry about anything. Just give me the photographs and I’ll do the rest.”
Joe got the damp prints and handed them to her. He watched her walk heavily down the stairs, then he turned quickly, shut the door of his room and reached for the whisky bottle.
II
Inspector Devereaux waved Jay to a chair and then sat down behind the desk.
He looked searchingly at Jay.
A good-looking young fellow, he thought. He seems nervous. Well, that’s understandable. Everyone is nervous when I talk to them. Possibly he has something on his conscience. Most people have and they usually discover it when they meet me. I don’t want to frighten him.
“I’m sorry to be taking up your time, monsieur,” he said, leaning forward and resting his hands on the blotter, “but I believe you may be able to help me. Let me explain. This morning, a young woman’s body was discovered in an elevator here. She had been murdered. I have reason to believe you are one of the last people to see her alive.”
Jay sank lower in his chair. He was thankful for his dark glasses. They gave him a feeling of protection. He was slightly relieved that Devereaux’s voice and manner seemed suddenly friendly, but he warned himself to be on his guard. This man might be laying a trap for him.
“Murdered?” he said. “Who is she?”
“Lucille Balu,” Devereaux said and picking up his pencil he began to make patterns on the blotter. “I believe you talked to her about half-past three yesterday afternoon?”
“Lucille Balu?” Somehow Jay managed to instill shocked surprise into his voice. “She has been murdered? Who did it?”
Devereaux smiled patiently.
“That is what I am trying to discover, monsieur. You talked to her yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, that’s right. She had been posing for photographers. I was on the beach. My father was interested in her and I made casual conversation.” He was wondering who had told the police that they had been seen talking together. They certainly found that out fast enough. “I can’t really remember what we talked about. We only talked for a few minutes.”
“She didn’t say where she was going when she left the beach?”
“No. I think I said I hoped my father would give her a contract and I believe I asked her if she wanted to live in Hollywood. It was that kind of conversation,” Jay said, gaining confidence.
It was only because he had been rash enough to come down to the hotel lobby that he had been caught up in this interrogation, he told himself. But he must still be on his guard, although now he was sure this police officer was merely making routine inquiries.
Devereaux tapped with his pencil on the desk as he asked, “You returned to the hotel about four o’clock?”
“Yes. I had been on the beach for some time and I decided to have a swim. I returned to the hotel for my swimming trunks.”
“Mademoiselle Balu wasn’t visiting your father, by any chance?” Devereaux asked.