He would have to search the room very carefully after Sophia had gone to make sure there were no other beads lying around. It was unfortunate she had seen it. If she thought about it she might realize it was a bead from a string of beads and that, together with the scratches on his arm she had seen, might make her think there had been a struggle.
Sophia came out of the bedroom carrying her swim-suit and her peignoir.
Jay opened the door for her.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” she said and looked pointedly at his bedroom door; then she went quickly down the corridor as if she were anxious to get away from him.
Jay stood in the doorway looking after her, then he turned and shut and locked the door.
He glanced at his wrist-watch. The time was exactly half-past four.
Moving quickly, he began to search the room for any more of the blue beads. He found yet another under the settee and then, after a further search, he was satisfied there were no more to be found.
He replaced the curtain cord and then stood back and surveyed the room.
There were no signs of the struggle that had taken place. The room looked exactly as he had found it when he had entered forty minutes ago.
He lit a cigarette, and, moving over to the window, he examined the three ugly red scratches on his arm.
The girl had tried desperately to save her life. The cord had choked back her screams, but she had managed to reach behind her and had clawed his arm just before she lost consciousness. He had been surprised and alarmed that such a frail-looking girl could have had such desperate strength. There had been a moment when he had begun to doubt if he could subdue her.
He went into his bedroom, crossed the room without looking towards the bed and entered the bathroom. He bathed his arm and put on some disinfectant ointment. Then he washed his hands and, while he was drying them, he considered his next move.
It wouldn’t be safe to get rid of the body until the early hours of the morning. The Plaza hotel went to bed around half-past three a.m. He had twelve hours to make up his mind what to do with the body. But during those twelve hours, unless he did something about it, the girl would be missed.
He remembered overhearing the conversation between the girl and the man with the wiry black hair who, he guessed, would be her agent. They had made a date to meet in the bar downstairs at six. If she didn’t turn up, this man might make inquiries about her and this, Jay decided, he would have to prevent.
He went back into the lounge, again not looking towards the bed as he crossed the room. He went over to the row of reference books his father always had by him and, after a quick search, he found, in a copy of Who’s Who in the Film World, a scrappy entry covering Lucille Balu’s brief career as a movie star. He learned that she was twenty-one, had appeared in five movies, that she had an apartment in Paris and her agent’s name was Jean Thiry.
Jay closed the book and replaced it on the shelf, then he picked up the telephone receiver and asked the girl on the switchboard to connect him with Information and Messages.
He had no fear that his call could be traced. The two men dealing with messages were coping with a steady stream of callers throughout the day. They would not be likely to remember one isolated call.
“Will you please deliver the following message to Monsieur Jean Thiry, who will be in the bar at six o’clock?” Jay said. “The message is: I am spending the evening in Monte Carlo. Will see you in the morning. Lucille Balu.”
The man repeated the message, said it would be delivered to Monsieur Thiry and then hung up.
At about six o’clock, Jay knew the maid came to prepare his bed for the night.
He went into his bedroom, shutting and locking the door.
He looked at the dead girl lying on the bed. She lay on her side in a slightly curled up position, her back turned to him. She looked as if she were sleeping.
He glanced around the room for a place in which to hide her. There was a big cupboard against one wall and he went over to it and opened it, noting there was a lock on the door. He decided to put her in there.
For a brief moment his nerve faltered at the thought of touching her, but only for a moment. He opened both doors of the cupboard, then went over to the bed and took hold of her.
Again her dead-weight surprised him and he was breathing heavily by the time he had got her into the cupboard.
He was glad when he had shut and locked the cupboard doors. He took the key from the lock and put it in his pocket. Then he went to the chest of drawers, took from it a pair of swimming trunks and, unlocking the bedroom door, he went into the lounge. He paused to fill his cigarette case from the box on the table; then he left the suite, locking the door after him.
He crossed the passage to the elevator and pressed the buzzer.
Joe Kerr watched him.
Joe was puzzled and disappointed. What had seemed to be the situation of a life-time had mysteriously fizzled out to nothing. Instead of a first-class row and scandal and a chance for him to have walked into the suite with his camera, nothing had happened at all.
Sophia Delaney had left, taking with her a swim-suit and now young Delaney had also left with a swim-suit.
But where was the girl? Why hadn’t she left?
Joe had seen the boy lock the door: that meant the girl couldn’t leave even if she wanted to. What was the idea?
Joe wiped his red-raw sweating face with a grubby hand-kerchief and tried to puzzle out what it all meant.
The girl had gone in there and she hadn’t come out, so she must still be in there. Then why had young Delaney locked her in?
This was now developing into an intriguing situation.
Joe peered up and down the long, deserted corridor, then he left his hiding-place and crossed over to the door of suite 27.
He listened intently, his ear against the door panel, but he could hear nothing. He hesitated for a moment, then, lifting his hand, he rapped sharply on the door. He knocked several times, but he heard no movement nor sound from within the suite and he stepped back puzzled.
He was certain she was still in there. Had young Delaney warned her not to answer a knock?
Then he suddenly became aware that he was being watched and he moved casually away from the door and glanced down the corridor.
At the far end, leading to the stairs, he saw the short, bulky figure of the hotel detective.
With the resourcefulness of years of experience as a newspaperman, Joe started down the corridor towards the detective, who eyed him suspiciously as he came.
“Mr. Delaney doesn’t seem to be in,” Joe said as soon as he was within a few paces of the hotel detective.
“No, he isn’t,” the detective snapped. “Didn’t you inquire at the desk?”
“Why, sure,” Joe said blandly. “I was told he was in his suite.”
“That was the young Mr. Delaney, but he’s out now. You don’t want him, do you?”
Joe sneered.
“What should I want him for? Never mind. I’ll come back.” He moved around the hotel detective and started down the stairs, whistling softly, aware the detective was staring after him.
That was bad luck, Joe thought, as he edged his way through the crowd in the lobby. I wonder how long he’s going to remain up there? Anyway, the girl can’t get out until young Delaney returns.
He crossed over to the hall-porter’s desk.
“When any of the Delaneys go up to their suite, let me know, will you?” he said to the hall porter. “I’ll be in the bar.” Reluctantly he parted with a thousand franc note. “Don’t forget: it’s important.”
The hall porter said he’d let him know, took the note and then moved away.
Joe crossed over to a telephone booth and asked the girl on the switchboard to connect him with the Delaneys’ suite. There was a long pause, then the girl said, “I’m sorry, monsieur, no one answers.”