“We could get married.”
She smiled at him and put her hand on his.
“My father is helpless. He has no other means of earning a living. We French are loyal to our parents. It is a tradition. It’s something in our blood. I can’t marry so long as he is alive.”
“You’re wasting your life,” Jay said impatiently. “When he dies what will happen to you?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Don’t let’s talk about it. What are you going to do this morning? I won’t be free until half past two; then we can go for a swim. The café reopens at six.”
“I’ll stay here,” Jay said. “Do you mind? I’m tired.”
“Of course you can stay here, but wouldn’t it be better for you to go out in the sun?”
He finished his coffee and then lay back on the bed.
“I’ve had enough of the sun. I like it here.” He smiled at her. “We have a few days together, Ginette. We are going to be very happy.”
She touched his face gently.
“I must go now. I have a lot to do.”
“Is the café open yet?”
“We don’t open until ten.”
She bent over him and kissed him, her fingers smoothing back his hair, then, smiling at him, she picked up the tray and went out of the room.
He put his hand to the place where she had kissed him and he had to struggle against the desire to weep. For some time he lay in an emotional vacuum, then he forced himself to think how he could get out of this trap he had dug for himself. If he could get to Paris, he felt he might be safe.
As he lay thinking, he heard a murmur of voices downstairs. Immediately, he stiffened and sat up.
The police?
He went over to the window and looked out. The gendarme still guarded the entrance to the Beau Rivage hotel, but the police van had gone.
Leaving the window, he crossed the room and eased open the door, his hand closing over the butt of the gun in his hip pocket.
He heard a man’s voice say something and Ginette reply, although he couldn’t hear what was said. He moved silently into the passage and peered over the banister rail.
He could see Ginette’s slim legs and small feet as she stood by the bar. The man she was talking to was out of sight.
“It was murder,” Jay heard the man say. “There’s no doubt about it. I was talking to the gendarme just now. He says it was a clumsy attempt to make it look like suicide.”
Jay’s fingers gripped the banister rail as he leaned forward to catch what the man was saying.
“He told me the killer is insane. They know who he is. You’d better be careful who comes in here to-day.”
Ginette laughed.
“I’m not worrying. He isn’t likely to return to this district,” she said.
“That’s where you are wrong. Killers often come back. They can’t keep away from the scene of their crime. Still, you don’t have anything to worry about. The gendarme are across the way. He’ll keep an eye on you.”
“Well, I must get on. I have work to do.”
“You’ll be busy to-day. People will come to look at the hotel. I’ll see you to-morrow.”
Ginette moved out of Jay’s sight. He heard the café door open, then close and the key turn in the lock.
How had the police found out that Kerr hadn’t killed himself? Jay wondered. If they were as clever as this, how was he to get away?
Moving like a ghost, he started down the stairs until he could see into the bar.
Ginette was bending over a table on which was spread a newspaper, her back turned to him. He watched her and, after a few moments, she became aware of him and she turned.
“The police have found the man they were asking about yesterday — Joe Kerr,” she said, a little breathlessly. “They found him dead in the Beau Rivage hotel across the way. They say he was murdered and they think the man who killed Lucille Balu did it. They say he is insane.”
“He isn’t insane,” Jay said, suddenly angry. “I explained that to you before. Of course he isn’t insane.”
“But he must be,” Ginette said, turning back to the newspaper. “Inspector Devereaux is in charge of the case. He is very clever. He comes here quite often to talk to father. The paper says the Inspector knows who did it and he says that this man killed Kerr to make the police think it was Kerr who killed the girl.”
“How do they know Kerr didn’t kill himself?” Jay asked, his lips stiff.
“They don’t say.” Ginette paused while she studied the account in the newspaper, then she began to read the account aloud: “A quantity of human skin was found under the dead girl’s fingernails. It is believed she put up a desperate struggle while the killer was strangling her and she inflicted deep scratches on his arms and hands. The police ask anyone who has noticed a man with recent scratches on his arms to notify them at once.” She straightened and turned. “It’s strange isn’t it, how it is the little things that give murderers away? The scratches on his arm... ” She stopped short, staring at Jay, who had begun to back away, his face white, his eyes glittering, his left hand trying to cover the inflamed scratches that ran from his wrist to his elbow.
They stood staring at each other, then Ginette’s eyes opened very wide and she put her hand to her mouth as if to stop a scream.
Chapter XIV
I
Soon after eight o’clock, as Floyd Delaney was finishing his morning coffee, the night nurse came into the lounge.
“Madame Delaney is asking for you, monsieur,” she said. “You’ll be careful not to excite her?”
“Sure, sure,” Delaney said, getting hastily to his feet. “How is she?”
“She has a bad headache, but otherwise she is doing very well.”
Delaney went into Sophia’s bedroom.
Sophia, her head in bandages, lay flat on her back. She looked very small and fragile and beautiful and Delaney felt a tug at his heart as he sat by her side and took her hand.
“Hello, honey doll,” he said. “Gee! You certainly gave me a fright. I thought I was going to lose my lovely.”
Her fingers tightened on his.
“Where’s Jay, Floyd?”
This was unexpected and Delaney’s face stiffened. Ever since Devereaux had explained why he suspected Jay of killing Lucille Balu and Joe Kerr, Delaney had been in a fever of apprehension. He had told the Inspector that he didn’t believe his son was guilty, but, after the Inspector had gone and he had had time to recover from the shock and to think over what the Inspector had told him, he was forced to accept the fact that the insane fool of a boy had done this thing.
He didn’t intend to tell Sophia while she was in this condition, so he said casually: “I guess he’s out taking a swim or something. Look, baby... ”
“He tried to kill me,” Sophia said huskily. “I’m so frightened.”
Delaney stared at her.
“Jay? He tried to kill you? Why, the boy rescued you. If it hadn’t been for him... ”
“He hit me with the paperweight. He intended to silence me. Oh, Floyd darling, I’ve been so stupid. I knew he had killed the girl. I didn’t tell anyone, as I wanted to protect us from the awful publicity.”
Delaney drew in a sharp breath.
“Now take it easy, Sophia. The nurse says you’re not to get worked up.”
“Oh, damn the nurse!” Sophia exclaimed. “Where’s Jay? I must know! I’m frightened he’ll come back here and finish me. He’s mad, Floyd! He’s not safe to be free.”
“It’s all right, kid,” Delaney said soothingly. “The police are hunting for him now and you have nothing to worry about. Do you think you feel like telling me about it? How did you know he killed the girl?”
Speaking rapidly, Sophia poured out the whole story right from the moment she had walked into the suite and had suspected the girl was in Jay’s bedroom to the moment when she had realized the safety-catch was still on the gun and she had seen the paperweight flashing down on her head.