“Monsieur le Directeur? Le service de transport avise qu’il est incapable d’expédier la marchandise.”
“Qu’est ce qu’il se passe?”
“Rue barrée!”
“Bien. Prenez garde. Remettez la marchandise à sa place. ”
“Bien. Monsieur,” said the voice. The box clicked and the outside world was shut off.
“My, oh my,” sighed M. Callard, “the troubles I have!” He opened a ledger on his desk and ran his flattened forefinger down the page.
Troy thought distractedly that perhaps he was right about Raoul and then, catching herself up, remembered that Raoul had in fact never seen the car drive in at the factory gates with Ricky and a man and woman in it, that they were bluffing and that perhaps all Alleyn’s and Dupont’s theories were awry.
Perhaps this inhuman building had never contained her little son. Perhaps it was idle to torture herself by thinking of him: near at hand yet hopelessly withheld.
M. Callard looked at a platinum mounted wristwatch and then at Troy, and sighed again. “He’s trying to shame me out of his office,” she thought and she said boldly: “Please don’t let me interrupt your work.” He glanced at her with a smile from which he seemed to make no effort to exclude the venom.
“My work requires the closest concentration, Madame,” said M. Callard.
“Sickening for you,” said Troy.
Alleyn came back with Raoul at his heels. Through the door Troy caught a glimpse of the blue-haired secretary, half-risen from her desk, expostulation frozen on her face. Raoul shut the door.
“This is Milano, M. Callard,” Alleyn said. “He will tell you what he saw. If I have misunderstood him you will be able to correct me. He doesn’t speak English.”
Raoul stood before the desk and looked about him with the same air of interest and ease that had irritated Dr. Baradi. His gaze fell for a moment on the sound system apparatus and then moved to M. Callard’s face.
“Well, my friend,” said M. Callard in rapid French. “What’s the tarradiddle Monsieur thinks you’ve told him?”
“I think Monsieur understood what I told him,” Raoul said cheerfully and even more rapidly. “I spoke slowly and what I said, with all respect, was no tarradiddle. With Monsieur’s permission I will repeat it. Early this afternoon, I do not know the exact time, I drove my young lady along the road to the factory. I parked my car and we climbed a little way up the hillside opposite the gates. From here we observed a car come up from the main road. In it were a man and a woman and the small son of Madame and Monsieur who is called Riki. This little Monsieur Riki was removed from the car and taken into the factory. That is all, Monsieur le Directeur.”
M. Callard’s eyelids were half-closed. His cigar rolled to and fro between his fingers and thumb.
“So. You see a little boy and a man and a woman. Let me tell you that early this afternoon a friend of my works-superintendent visited the factory with his wife and boy and that undoubtedly it was this boy whom you saw.”
“With respect, what is the make of the car of the friend of Monsieur’s works-superintendent?”
“I do not concern myself with the cars of my employees’ acquaintances.”
“Or with the age and appearance of their children, Monsieur?”
“Precisely.”
“This was a light blue Citroën, 1946, Monsieur, and the boy was Riki, the son of Monsieur and Madame, a young gentleman whom I know well. He was not two hundred yards away and was speaking his bizarre French, the French of an English child. His face was as unmistakable,” said Raoul, looking full into M. Callard’s face, “as Monsieur’s own. It was Riki.”
M. Callard turned to Alleyn: “How much of all that did you get?” he asked.
Alleyn said: “Not a great deal. When he talks to us he talks slowly. But I’m sure—”
“Pardon me,” M. Callard said, and turned smilingly to Raoul.
“My friend,” he said, “You are undoubtedly a conscientious man. But I assure you that you are making a mistake. Mistakes can cost a lot of money. On the other hand, they sometimes yield a profit. As much, for the sake of argument, as five thousand francs. Do you follow me?”
“No, Monsieur.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps—” suggested M. Callard thrusting his unoccupied hand casually into his breast pocket —“when we are alone I may have an opportunity to make my meaning plainer and more acceptable.”
“I regret. I shall still be unable to follow it,” Raoul said.
M. Callard drew a large handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his lips with it. “Sacré nigaud,” he said pleasantly and shot a venomous glance at Raoul before turning to Troy and Alleyn.
“My dear good people,” he said expansively, “I’m afraid this boy has kidded you along quite a bit. He admits that he did not get a good look at the child. He was up on the hillside with a dame and his attention was — well, now,” said M. Callard smirking at Troy, “shall we say, kind of semi-detached. It’s what I thought. He’s told you what he figures you’d like to be told and if you ask him again he’ll roll out the same tale all over.”
“I’m afraid I don’t believe that,” said Alleyn.
“I’m afraid you don’t have an alternative,” said M. Callard. He turned on Raoul. “Fichez-moi le camp,” he said toughly,
“What’s that?” Alleyn demanded.
“I’ve told him to get out.”
“Vous permettez, Madame, Monsieur?” Raoul asked and placed himself between the two men with his back to M. Callard.
“What?” Alleyn said. He winked at Raoul. Raoul responded with an ineffable grimace. “What? Oh, all right. All right. Oui. Allez.”
With a bow to Troy and another that was rather less respectful than a nod to M. Callard, Raoul went out. Alleyn walked up to the desk and took up his former position.
“I’m not satisfied,” he said.
“That’s too bad.”
“I must ask you to let me search this building.”
“You!” said M. Callard and laughed. “Pardon my mirth but I guess there’d be two of you gone missing if you tried that one. This is quite a building, Mr. — ” he glanced again at Alleyn’s note —“Mr. Alleyn.”
“If it’s as big as all that your secretary’s enquiries were too brief to be effective. I don’t believe any enquiries have been made.”
“Look!” M. Callard said, and smacked the top of his desk with a flat palm. “This sound system operates throughout these works. I can speak to every department or all departments together. We don’t have to go round on a hiking trip when we make general enquiries. Now!”
“Thank you,” Alleyn said and his hand darted over the switchboard. There was a click. “Ricky!” he shouted, and Troy cried out: “Ricky! Are you there? Ricky!”
And as if they had conjured it from the outer reaches of space a small voice said excitedly: “They’ve come! Mummy!”
A protesting outcry was cut off as M. Callard struck at Alleyn’s hand with a heavy paper knife. At the same moment M. Dupont walked into the room.
Chapter VIII
Ricky Regained
i