Madame Brossette turned to her daughter.
“You’d better run up and get the boys and girls out of here. These gentlemen will want to look at the other rooms. We don’t want to embarrass anyone.”
The detective looked over to where his companion was standing.
“Stay here and check them as they come out,” he said, then as Maria hurried up the stairs, he turned to Madame Brossette, “This is a serious matter, Jeanne. Kerr is wanted for murder. He killed this Balu girl.”
Madame Brossette’s face remained impassive, but inwardly she was badly shocked.
“He wouldn’t hurt a fly. What makes you think he did such a thing?”
“We have enough evidence to put his neck under the knife,” the detective said. “Come on: show me his room.”
Twenty minutes later, the detective came down the stairs, his face showing his disappointment. He had examined Joe’s belongings and had gone through all the rooms in the hotel and had found nothing. He was satisfied that Joe wasn’t in the hotel and now he walked over to the telephone and called Inspector Devereaux.
Devereaux listened to his report, then he said: “Leave Evrard to watch the hotel and come back here. I’ll send another man down right away. Is there a back exit?”
“No, Inspector.”
“You’re sure he isn’t in the hotel?”
“Yes, Inspector.”
“All right. Tell Evrard that, if Kerr enters the hotel, he is to bring him to me at once. You come back here,” and Devereaux hung up.
Madame Brossette watched the two detectives leave the hotel. She saw the shorter of the two stroll over to La Boule d’Or café and sit down at one of the tables that gave him a clear view of her hotel and her thick lips tightened.
She went into her private office and sat down. The situation was becoming complicated. She now regretted giving the Delaney woman so much time to hand over the necklace. She decided, she had better hurry up the transaction. What possible evidence could the police have against Joe? She reached for the telephone and called the Plaza hotel.
“Connect me with Madame Delaney,” she said.
There was a pause, then the girl on the switchboard said, “Madame Delaney is out. She is not expected back until after the film showing.”
Madame Brossette grunted and hung up. She stroked the side of her fat face, frowning, then she got to her feet, went into the bar, took up a bottle of whisky and plodded up the stairs.
She found Joe sitting on the edge of the bed, his face glistening with sweat and she could almost hear the thudding of his heart.
“What’s going on?” he demanded anxiously. “Look, I don’t like this! I’m going to the police right away. The whole thing was a mistake.”
Madame Brossette sat down on the chair, which creaked under her weight. She poured two inches of whisky into the glass and gave the glass to Joe.
“Don’t get excited,” she said. “It’s going to be all right.”
Joe drank the whisky greedily, blew out his raddled cheeks and set the glass down. He needed the drink. It restored his shaken nerves.
“What do you mean — all right?” he demanded. “The police are looking for me, aren’t they? If I’m not damn careful they may think I killed the girl. What do they want? What did they say?”
“They think you might have seen the boy,” Madame Brossette lied smoothly. “They know you were in the hotel from the time the girl was killed until pretty late. They are looking for information. That’s all. There’s nothing to get excited about.”
“I’m not excited,” Joe said, sweat running down his face. “They don’t think I killed her, do they?”
“Don’t talk like a fool! Why should they?” Madame Brossette said. “All the same I think it would be better if we changed our plans.” She tipped some more whisky into the glass. “I think we should ask for more money and settle for one payment. I think you’ll have to tell them the truth, Joe and show them the photographs, but before you do that, we’ll get as much as we can out of the Delaney woman.”
His hand shaking, Joe drank the whisky.
“I don’t like it. I’m going to give the photographs to the police right away.”
Madame Brossette moved impatiently. Although she was fond of Joe, she wasn’t going to lose the chance of picking up an easy ten million francs.
“I told them you had gone to Marseille, Joe,” she said, “but that you would be back to-morrow. Don’t let’s spoil this thing. By to-morrow I’ll get the Delaney woman to part with her diamonds. As soon as we’ve got them, then you can go to the police. The diamonds are worth at least ten million.”
The whisky was beginning to have an effect on Joe. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to think clearly.
“What am I supposed to be doing in Marseille?” he demanded. “They’re certain to check up.”
“Relax, Joe,” Madame Brossette said soothingly. “I know a fellow who’ll swear you spent the day with him. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
“But she won’t part with the diamonds unless we give her the photographs and the negatives.”
“She’ll get them.” Madame Brossette winked. “But the police will also get them. We won’t give the police her photograph and I’ll tell her I’ve kept one back. She’ll keep her mouth shut if she knows we’ve still got her photograph.”
Joe reached out and took the whisky bottle from her and sloshed a huge drink into the glass.
“You think she’ll part with the diamonds?” he asked. “Phew! What one could do with ten million francs.”
“Yes, Joe.” Madame Brossette decided he was now over his scare and she could leave him. She didn’t like leaving Maria on her own in the lobby. “Now relax. Take a nap. You can leave it all to me.”
Joe lay back on the bed. He drank some of the whisky, then put the glass on the table beside him.
“Well, if you think you can handle it... I don’t want any trouble. Still if we get ten million francs it’ll put me on easy street for the rest of my life.”
“And me too,” Madame Brossette said gently. “We go shares on this, Joe.”
“Sure,” Joe said, but his face fell. Five million francs sounded much less attractive than ten.
Madame Brossette got to her feet.
“I’ll be back again in a little while. You stay here for to-night. I’ll call this fellow in Marseille and fix things for you.”
His hand now much more steady, Joe finished his drink, then he closed his eyes.
As Madame Brossette left the room, he began to snore.
II
Jay sat at a table of a café near the Casino, reading the late edition of Nice-Matin.
The time was ten minutes to ten. It was dark, not starlit and there was a new moon.
Jay was wearing a dark blue light-weight suit and a dark blue open neck shirt. He made a drab figure in comparison to the other people at the tables around him in their bright holiday clothes.
He was reading the description of Joe Kerr that was printed on the front page of the paper with the statement that the police believed this man could help them in their inquiries.
Jay was a little worried.
Was Kerr still in the hotel or had he been smuggled away? He had satisfied himself that the two detectives hadn’t found him, for he had walked past the hotel several times during the past two hours and he had seen the two detectives sitting outside La Boule d’Or, obviously watching the Beau Rivage hotel.
The watching detectives made Jay’s plan much more difficult. They would see him enter the hotel and that could be fatal.
As the waiter passed with a loaded tray, Jay ordered another café espresso. He lit a cigarette, and, as he returned the lighter to his pocket, his fingers touched the coiled curtain cord he had brought with him.
He felt in his other pocket for the loose beads of the neck-lace he had bought and then his fingers moved to the inside of his jacket and touched the leather case containing the razor.