A detective moved over to him and touched his arm.
“Pardon, monsieur, the Inspector would like to speak to you.”
Devereaux sat behind his borrowed desk, his notes in a neat pile in front of him and he waved Thiry to a chair, half rising, his face grave and his brow wrinkled.
“We have found a blue bead in one of the suites on the second floor,” he said, taking the bead from a plastic envelope with a pair of stamp tongs. “We have reason to believe it is a bead from the necklace Mademoiselle Balu wore.”
He placed the bead on the white blotter and pushed the blotter forward so Thiry could examine the bead.
“It is possible,” Thiry said after looking at it. “She had so many necklaces. It could be one of hers. I don’t know.”
Devereaux moved impatiently.
“Surely, monsieur, you will remember this bead. You told me you were with her on the beach before she was killed. She was wearing the necklace at the time. Please try to think of the necklace which she was wearing on the beach.”
Thiry frowned.
“She wasn’t wearing a necklace,” he said in a flat, definite tone.
Again Devereaux made an impatient movement.
“But I have evidence that assures me that she was monsieur.”
Thiry shrugged.
“She wasn’t wearing a necklace. I can assure you of that.”
Impressed by his manner, Devereaux scratched the tip of his nose while he stared at Thiry.
“Yet it was you who told me of her habit of wearing necklaces, monsieur.”
“Yes, yes, but I didn’t say she wore a necklace when she was on the beach. She didn’t. As soon as she got out of her swim-suit she always put on a necklace, but she never wore one when in a swim-suit. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve known the girl for some years. She was not wearing a neck-lace when she was on the beach. That is final. If you don’t believe me, we can get the photographs of her that were taken when she was posing on the beach and you can see for yourself.”
Devereaux suddenly felt vaguely excited.
“I would be glad to see the photographs, monsieur.”
“That’s easily done. If you will wait, I’ll get them.”
“Thank you, monsieur.”
When Thiry left the office Devereaux again went through his notes and took, from the collection of the neatly written evidence, the interview he had had with Jay Delaney.
He read:
Q. You didn’t see her when you went up to your suite?
A. No, I didn’t. I would have told you if I had.
Q. And at no time after you had spoken to the girl on the beach did you see her in the hotel?
A. That is right.
He turned another page.
Q. I wonder if you could describe the bead necklace the girl was wearing?
A. Why yes. They were big sapphire blue beads...
Devereaux laid down the notes and lit a cigarette. He sat staring up at the ceiling, his expression blank until Thiry returned with the photographs.
“Here they are, Inspector,” he said and laid on the desk half a dozen pictures of Lucille Balu posing on the beach. “You see? She wasn’t wearing a necklace.”
Devereaux studied the photographs, then he swept them into a neat pile and laid them on top of his notes.
“Thank you, monsieur. You have been most helpful.”
When Thiry had gone, Devereaux sat for some minutes thinking, then, getting to his feet, he went to the office door and beckoned to Guidet, who was waiting outside.
“I would like to speak to young Delaney. Is he in the hotel?”
Guidet inquired from the hall porter.
Returning to Devereaux, he said: “No, he’s out somewhere. Do you want me to look for him?”
“Please tell the hall porter to let me know immediately he returns,” Devereaux said. “We won’t look for him. After all, he is the son of a very important man. We must be careful.” He smiled, lifting his shoulders in resignation. “It will be enough when he returns.”
It was fortunate for Jay that, when he did return to the hotel, the hall porter was having trouble with an irate American film actress who wanted to know why there was no berth for her on the Blue Train to Paris.
So Jay was able to go up to the suite and a little later leave the hotel without Devereaux being aware that he had done so.
It wasn’t until after ten o’clock that Devereaux regretfully telephoned headquarters and gave instructions for Jay to be found and brought immediately to the Plaza.
II
In the meantime...
All the afternoon Sophia had been wrestling with her conscience. She kept wondering what Jay was doing.
Between now and nine o’clock I will have arranged something he had said. I don’t think you will have to give her the necklace.
What could he arrange? she kept wondering. The photographs were damning. Knowing the kind of woman she had met with, Sophia was sure Madame Brossette had either to be paid or she would carry out her threat and send the photographs to the police.
Several times during the afternoon and the evening, Sophia had been tempted to tell her husband, but she flinched from the inevitable explosion she knew would follow. She blamed herself for not giving Jay away at once. By not doing so, she had made herself an accessory to murder and thinking about this as she sat at her husband s side, watching a French movie, she imagined herself in prison and the thought sent cold chills up her spine.
Jay must do something! she told herself. He had got her into this mess and he must get her out of it!
Then she came back to the thought that had nagged her ever since he had left her. How? How was he to do it?
It was while she was in the cinema, her nerves tense, her mind far away from the lighted screen, that Madame Brossette told her daughter to take over the reception desk and then plodded up the steep stairs to see how Joe was getting on.
She was uneasy about Joe. The detective had said they had enough evidence to convict him for the girl’s murder.
What possible evidence could they have except that he had been seen on the second floor of the hotel at the time of the murder? And now Nice Matin had printed a description of him. If the two detectives continued to watch outside, how was she going to get Joe out of the hotel without his being seen?
She walked heavily down the passage to the broom cupboard. There she paused to listen and to look up and down the passage.
From a door close by she heard a girl protesting shrilly and a man cursing her. Shrugging, she opened the cupboard door and stepped inside.
Moving like a ghost, Jay stole out of his room and down the passage. He had taken off his shoes and he made no sound as he reached the cupboard door. It was shut now and he put his ear against the panel and listened. He heard a sharp clicking sound of a released spring, then a sliding noise. He waited, his heart beating fast, his ears straining.
“Anything I can get you, Joe?” he heard the woman ask. “Do you want something to eat?”
Jay’s lips moved into his meaningless smile.
So Kerr was in there!
He moved away from the door and walked silently back to his room, pushing the door nearly shut. Then, leaning against the wall, he waited.
Joe Kerr moved uneasily as he frowned up at Madame Brossette.
“I’m all right,” he mumbled. “What’s the idea? You woke me up.”
“I thought I’d see how you were getting on.” She patted his arm. “Are you hungry?”
“No. I’m all right.” He closed his eyes. She could see he was very drunk. “Just leave me alone, will you?”
“I’ll be up again,” she said and she remained at his side until he began to snore, then leaving him, she walked down the passage, down the stairs and back into the lobby.