Devereaux grunted.
“If it’s Kerr’s print,” he said softly, “then I think we have him.”
He waved impatiently to Guidet to get off, nodded to the other detective, then, pulling his massive notes towards him, he began to go through them again.
Chapter IX
I
It was a little after five o’clock when Jay left the beach. He had driven over to Antibes because he was anxious not to run into Sophia until he had done what he had to do, and, in Cannes, it was impossible to avoid meeting anyone you didn’t want to meet.
Now, driving slowly back to Cannes, caught up in a long stream of traffic, he decided he would go to La Boule d’Or for a drink and he felt an anticipation of pleasure at the thought of seeing Ginette again.
Both his father and Sophia would be at the Nice Studios until late and then they would be going to the cinema. So long as he got back to the Plaza before eight o’clock and away again, he wouldn’t run into them.
Leaving his car by the Casino, he crossed the street and walked slowly into the busy shopping centre. He moved towards Rue Foch, spinning out the time by pausing to stare into the shop windows, and, as he wandered along, he became aware that there were several plain-clothes detectives in the long, busy street and immediately his sense of caution was alerted.
These unmistakable men were going in pairs from shop to shop, spending only a few minutes in each shop, then coming out and entering another shop.
Coming towards Jay were two of these men, and, anticipating that they would be entering a bookshop close by, he went into the shop ahead of them.
The shop was empty and the assistant came over to him. Jay said he just wanted to look around and he stepped behind a counter piled high with books that screened him from anyone entering the shop. He had to wait five minutes before the two detectives entered.
He heard one of them say: “Police. We’re looking for a man who lives around here.” The detective went on to give an accurate description of Joe Kerr. “Have you seen him?”
Obviously flustered, the assistant said he was sorry but he hadn’t.
The detective grunted and the two of them left the shop.
Jay’s mouth tightened. So they were still hunting for Joe and they were getting warmer.
He told the assistant that he couldn’t find anything to interest him and he went out into the evening sunshine.
Ahead of him, the detectives were going steadily down the street, entering one shop after the other.
Jay quickened his steps and reached La Boule d’Or. There was an elderly couple sitting at one of the tables, drinking wine. They looked hot and tired. Beyond, in the dim bar, Jay saw Ginette sitting behind the bar, her elbows on the polished counter, her fingers in her hair while she read a newspaper spread out before her. There was no sign of her father.
He walked softly into the bar and paused before her. She glanced up and again he felt excited pleasure to see the blood mount to her face at the sight of him.
“Hello,” he said. “I was passing so I thought I would come in. Isn’t your father here?”
“No. He’s out. He likes to sit by the harbour in the evening.” It amused him to see the effort she was making to fight down the blush that stained her face. “You startled me. Look, you’ve made me go hot.”
He laughed. His eyes behind their dark screens examined her face and he thought this face was something he wouldn’t grow tired of. It would be nice to look at even when it was old.
“It’s quiet here.” He climbed up on a stool. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I was reading about this horrible murder. Have you seen about it?”
“Yes.” He was sorry that she had read about it. This was a personal thing. He didn’t want to discuss it with her. “Could I have a dry Vermouth with ice?”
“Of course.”
She was wearing a white singlet and dark blue jeans and as she reached up to get the bottle of Vermouth from the shelf he could see her full young breasts tighten under the thin stuff of the singlet and he felt a little stab of love for her dart into him.
“I saw her once in a movie,” she said as she put the bottle on the counter before him. “She was pretty. I liked her.”
Jay hunched his shoulders.
“The police are looking for a man,” he said, watching her as she put a piece of ice into the glass. “They are going into all the shops along Rue d’Antibes.”
“Then they know who did it?”
“I don’t know, but they are looking for someone.”
She poured the Vermouth into the glass.
“I hope they find him quickly. It isn’t nice to think there is a madman loose in the town.”
Jay stiffened. He hated to hear her talk like this.
“Mad? I don’t think he is mad.” He sipped his drink, frowning. “I think he is a man who had to test his courage.”
She bent her head to stare down at the newspaper and her hair fell forward, half screening her face.
“Of course he is mad,” she said. “Look, it says so here.”
“You didn’t hear what I said.” He was terribly anxious for her to understand. It was impossible to let her think that he was mad. “I said he must be a man who needed to test his courage.”
She lifted her head and stared at him.
“What an odd thing to say!” she said and he could see the blank, puzzled expression in her eyes.
Jay felt a wave of irritation run through him.
“It’s not odd at all,” he said sharply. “After all, the man has put his own life in danger by killing the girl. You can see that, can’t you? He may have had to do it — an inner compulsion — an urge that had been in him for a long time to find out what his personal and secret reactions to danger would be. To some people that is vitally important. Unless you put your courage, your wits and your intelligence to a test, how can you possibly know their quality?”
The note of urgency and tenseness in his voice made her stare at him.
“But surely not,” she said. “I can’t believe that. If you had to find out the quality of your courage, wits and intelligence, surely you don’t have to make someone else suffer? That is a horrible idea. There are many other ways of testing your courage without murdering someone.”
He shifted impatiently on the stool and leaning forward, his fists clenched, he said fiercely. “You are wrong! To make an honest test, you must put yourself in a position where there is absolutely no escape. You might think mountain climbing tests your courage, but it doesn’t. Of course it is dangerous and people risk their lives, but if their nerve fails, if they feel it is too dangerous to go on, they can turn back, but if you kill someone there is no turning back; there is no bringing the body to life again.” He began to pound gently on the top of the bar. “Imagine a situation like this one. Imagine having a dead girl on your hands in a crowded hotel, knowing you have killed her and that one little slip will endanger your life. What a test that must be! It is the perfect test for one’s courage! Can’t you see that? If you commit murder, there is no possible escape except by your own nerve, cleverness and courage.”
“But you don’t really believe that anyone in his right mind would kill someone just as a test of courage?” Ginette asked. “I can’t believe that! What about the victim? This girl who was killed — she was only just beginning her life. No one but a madman would have done such a thing.”
Jay started to protest, then his caution warned him to be careful. This girl was intelligent. He must be careful not to talk too much. She must never become suspicious of him. It would spoil everything.
He smiled at her and shrugged.
“Well, it’s nothing really to do with us, is it? If the killer is ever found, I’m willing to bet that he is as sane as I am.”