Joe replaced the receiver and edged his way through the crowd into the bar. As he pushed open the swing door, he saw the hands of the clock above the bar stood at five minutes to five.
At that hour the bar was almost empty. Joe shocked the barman by asking for a plate of ham, a roll and butter and a double whisky.
He was sure the girl was still in the suite. No point in going hungry, he told himself as he began to butter his roll. The wait could be a long one, but he was determined to see the girl leave, even if he had to wait outside the door of the suite all night.
Chapter III
I
Jean Thiry walked out of the cinema a few paces behind Floyd Delaney.
Delaney was talking to his business manager, Harry Stone, a big, heavily built man who wore rimless glasses and a fawn light-weight suit. Sweat beads made his bald head glisten.
Thiry wondered if this might be the opportunity he had been waiting for to approach Delaney. If only he could get Delaney interested in Lucille, his financial troubles would be over. There were now only three more days of the Festival and then his chances of getting Delaney to sign Lucille up would be gone.
Lucille was Thiry’s one great hope. His agency had been going down-hill now for the past two years and Lucille was the only promising star on his shrinking list of clients. The others were has-beens: good, efficient actors and actresses who at one time had been names, but now were too old for anything but bit parts and the commission he got from them wasn’t enough to take care of the office overheads.
Thiry glanced at his wrist-watch. It was just on six. He had told Lucille to meet him in the Plaza bar at six. If he hurried on ahead of Delaney, he could fix it that he and Lucille were in the lobby when Delaney entered the hotel.
As he was about to move towards the cinema exit, Delaney walked directly past him.
Grabbing at the opportunity, Thiry said, “Good afternoon Mr. Delaney.”
Floyd Delaney gave him a quick, sharp stare and then paused.
Delaney was tall and broad with blonde, wavy hair, turning white at the temples. His deeply tanned face was arresting rather than handsome. He had grey eyes, a cleft chin and a sensitive mouth. He looked a lot younger than his fifty-five years.
He frowned, trying to recall where he had seen Thiry before.
“Let’s see... you are... ?”
Harry Stone moved up.
“This is Jean Thiry, Mr. Delaney. Lucille Balu’s agent.”
Delaney’s face showed sudden interest.
“Yeah, that’s right. I remember.” He offered his hand to Thiry. “You have a nice little property in that kid, Thiry. I’ve been thinking I might do something about her. How’s she fixed?”
Thiry took Delaney’s hand as if it were made of eggshells.
“She’s just finished a picture, Mr. Delaney. She’s free right now.”
“Suppose we all have a drink together?” Delaney said. “I’m not free until nine. Bring her along then. Nine in the bar, eh?”
“Yes, Mr. Delaney,” Thiry said, scarcely believing his good fortune. “We’ll be there and thanks.”
Delaney nodded and, taking Stone’s arm, hurried with him across the foyer and down to where his big Bentley was standing in the sunshine.
His heart thumping with excitement, Thiry ran down the cinema steps and started along the Croisette towards the Plaza hotel.
What a break! he was thinking. Delaney wouldn’t be wasting his time buying us drinks if he wasn’t really interested. This could be a thirty million franc contract! A ten per cent cut on that figure would be a life saver!
He had difficulty in stopping himself from breaking into a run. What a bit of luck for Lucille too! he thought. Well, she deserved it. She had worked hard, hadn’t given herself airs, hadn’t been hard to handle, had done just what he had told her to do and now this looked as if both of them were going to reap their reward.
He pushed his way through the crowd in the Plaza lobby and entered the bar.
The clock above the bar told him it was now five past six. The bar was pretty crowded. He looked around but he couldn’t see Lucille.
Not like her to be late, he thought, elbowing his way to the bar. Feeling it was a moment to celebrate, he ordered a whisky and soda, and, while he was drinking it, he leaned against the bar and watched the entrance.
Joe Kerr, sipping his third whisky, watched him.
A page put his head around the bar door and called, “Monsieur Jean Thiry, please.”
Thiry signalled to the boy, who came over and gave him a slip of paper.
Frowning and watched by Joe Kerr, Thiry read the message.
Telephone message for Mr. Jean Thiry. Received 16.45. I am spending the evening in Monte Carlo. Will see you in the morning. Lucille Balu.
Thiry stared at the message, then, as the page began to fidget, he tipped him and then moved over to one of the big windows that overlooked the Croisette.
Why in the world had Lucille gone to Monte Carlo? he wondered. Who had she gone with? She wouldn’t have gone all that way alone.
He again looked at the clock over the bar. The time was now twenty minutes past six. He had two hours and forty minutes to find her and get her back to the Plaza hotel. Well, it wasn’t impossible. Monte Carlo was a small place. She was certain to be in the Casino.
He crumpled the message slip and tossed it from him, then he hurried from the bar, through the lobby and out of the hotel to where he had parked his shabby, overworked Simca Verdette.
Before Thiry had reached the bar door, Joe Kerr had slid off his stool and had picked up the crumpled message slip. He carried it back to the bar and carefully smoothed out the paper. He read the message and his red-raw face puckered into an expression of blank bewilderment.
Had the girl left the suite after all? Had he missed her somehow?
He put the message slip into his wallet, finished his whisky and leaving the bar, he went to the hall-porter’s desk.
“Have you seen Mademoiselle Balu leave?” he asked.
“She hasn’t left the hotel, monsieur,” the hall porter returned, and, knowing the man’s efficiency, Kerr didn’t doubt him for a moment.
“None of the Delaneys been in yet?”
“No, monsieur.”
There was a side exit near the entrance to the Television Studios that was housed in the Plaza and Joe decided it would be worthwhile to check there. He hurried down the long corridor to where a couple of pressmen were sitting outside the studio, patiently nursing their cameras.
“Seen Lucille Balu go out?” Joe asked.
They shook their heads.
“She didn’t come this way.”
She must still be in Delaney’s suite, Joe told himself as he returned to the lobby. Then why the message? Had she sent it? Maybe she was planning to spend the night in the boy’s bedroom. Was that it? It seemed odd to Joe that the girl should get herself locked in the suite as early as this.
He saw Floyd Delaney and Harry Stone come into the hotel.
Stone went over to the desk and got Delaney’s key while Delaney paused for a moment to have a word with Edward G. Robinson, who was passing through the lobby.
Joe heard Delaney say to Stone as Robinson moved on: “I’ll go on up. See you in the bar at nine, Harry. If we can come to terms I’d like to get this Balu girl under contract.”
Moving quickly, foe crossed the lobby and ran up the stairs to the second floor. He paused at the head of the stairs to make sure the hotel detective wasn’t still prowling around then he hurried to the alcove window and had just got out of sight as the elevator door opened and Delaney came out and crossed to the door of suite 27.
Delaney unlocked the door and entered, shutting the door behind him. He went over to the telephone and called his secretary Miss Kobbe, who had a room on the third floor.