Troy could scarcely endure the scene that followed and very nearly lost control of herself. She couldn’t understand a word of what was said. Alleyn held her by the arm and kept saying: “In a minute, darling. He’ll be here in a minute. He’s all right. Hold on. He’s all right.”
Dupont and Callard were behaving like Frenchmen in English farces. Callard, especially, kept giving shrugs that began in his middle and surged up to his ears. His synthetic Americanisms fell away and when he threw a sentence in English at Troy or at Alleyn he spoke it like a Frenchman. He shouted to Alleyn: “If I lose my temper it is natural. I apologize. I knew nothing. It was the fault of my staff. There will be extensive dismissals. I am the victim of circumstances. I regret that I struck you.”
He pounded his desk bell and shouted orders into the sound system. Voices from the other places said in mid-air: “Immédiatement, M. le Directeur.” “Tout de suite. Monsieur.” “Parfaitement, M. le Directeur.” The secretary ran in at a high-heeled double and set up a gabble of protest which was cut short by Dupont. She teetered out again and could be heard yelping down her own sound system.
With one part of her mind Troy thought of the door and how it must soon open for Ricky and with another part she thought it was unlucky to anticipate this event and that the door would open for the secretary or a stranger and, so complicated were her thoughts, she also wondered if, when she saw Ricky, he would have a blank look of panic in his eyes, or if he would cry or be casually pleased, or if these speculations too were unlucky and he wouldn’t come at all.
Stifled and terrified, she turned on Dupont and Callard and cried out: “Please speak English. You both can. Where is he? Why doesn’t he come?”
“Madame,” said Dupont gently, “he is here.”
He had come in as she turned away from the door.
The secretary was behind him. She gave his shoulder a little push and he made a fastidious movement away from her and into the room. Troy knew that if she spoke her voice would shake. She held out her hand.
“Hallo, Rick,” Alleyn said. “Sorry we’ve muddled you about.”
“You have, rather,” Ricky said. He saw Dupont and Callard. “How do you do,” he said. He looked at Troy and his lip trembled. He ran savagely into her arms and fastened himself upon her. His fierce hard little body was rammed against hers, his arms gripped her neck and his face burrowed into it. His heart thumped piston-like at her breast.
“We’ll take him out to the car,” Alleyn said.
Troy rose, holding Ricky with his legs locked about her waist. Alleyn steadied her and they went out through the secretary’s room and the lobby and the entrance hall to where Raoul waited in the sunshine.
ii
When they approached the car Ricky released his hold on his mother as abruptly as he had imposed it. She put him down and he walked a little distance from her. He acknowledged Raoul’s greeting with an uncertain nod and stood with his back turned to them, apparently looking at M. Dupont’s car which was occupied by three policemen.
Alleyn murmured: “He’ll get over it all right. Don’t worry.”
“He thinks we’ve let him down. He’s lost his sense of security.”
“We can do something about that. He’s puzzled. Give him a moment and then I’ll try.”
He went over to the police car.
“I suppose,” Ricky said to nobody in particular, “Daddy’s not going away again.”
Troy moved close to him. “No, darling, I don’t think so. Not far anyway. He’s on a job, though, helping the French police.”
“Are those French policemen?”
“Yes. And the man you saw in that place is a French detective.”
“As good as Daddy?”
“I don’t expect quite as good but good all the same. He helped us find you.”
Ricky said: “Why did you let me be got lost?”
“Because,” Troy explained with a dryness in her throat, “Daddy didn’t know about it. As soon as he knew, it was all right, and you weren’t lost any more. We came straight up here and got you.”
The three policemen were out of the car and listening ceremoniously to Alleyn. Ricky watched them. Raoul, standing by his own car, whistled a lively air and rolled a cigarette.
“Let’s go and sit with Raoul, shall we,” Troy suggested, “until Daddy’s ready to come home with us?”
Ricky looked miserably at Raoul and away again. “He might be cross of me,” he muttered.
“Raoul cross with you, darling? No. Why?”
“Because — because — I—lost — I lost—”
“No, you didn’t!” Troy cried. “We found it. Wait a moment.” She rooted in her bag. “Look.”
She held out the little silver goat. Ricky’s face was transfused with a flush of relief. He took the goat carefully into his square hands. “He’s the nicest thing I’ve ever had,” he said. “He shines in the night. Il s’illume. Raoul and the lady said he does.”
“Has he got a name?”
“His name’s Goat,” Ricky said.
He walked over to the car. Raoul opened the door and Ricky got into the front seat casually displaying the goat.
“C’est ça,” Raoul said comfortably. He glanced down at Ricky, nodded three times with an air of sagacity, and lit his cigarette. Ricky shoved one hand in the pocket of his shorts and leaned back. “Coming, Mum?” he asked.
Troy got in beside him. Alleyn called Raoul, who swept off his chauffeur’s cap to Troy and excused himself.
“What’s going to happen?” Ricky asked.
“I think Daddy’s got a job for them. He’ll come and tell us in a minute.”
“Could we keep Raoul?”
“While we are here I think we can.”
“I daresay he wouldn’t like to live with us always.”
“Well, his family lives here. I expect he likes being with them.”
“I do think he’s nice, however. Do you?”
“Very,” Troy said warmly. “Look, there he goes with the policemen.”
M. Dupont had appeared in the factory entrance. He made a crisp signal. Raoul and the three policemen walked across and followed him into the factory. Alleyn came to the car and leaned over the door. He pulled Ricky’s forelock and said: “How’s the new policeman?” Ricky blinked at him.
“Why?” he asked.
“I think you’ve helped us to catch up with some bad lots.”
“Why?”
“Well, because they thought we’d be so busy looking for you we wouldn’t have time for them. But, sucks to them, we didn’t lose you and do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you waved from the balcony and dropped your silver goat and that was a clue and because you called out to us and we knew you were there. Pretty good.”
Ricky was silent.
Troy said: “Jolly good, helping Daddy like that.”
Ricky was turned away from her. She could see the charming back of his neck and the curve of his cheek. He hunched his shoulders and tucked in his chin.
“Was the fat, black smelly lady a bad lot?” he asked in a casual tone.
“Not much good,” Alleyn said.
“Where is she?”
“Oh, I shut her up. She’s a silly old thing, really. Better, shut up.”
“Was the other one a bad lot?”
“Which one?”
“The Nanny.”
Alleyn and Troy looked at each other over his head.
“The one who fetched you from the hotel?” Alleyn asked.
“Yes, the new Nanny.”
“Oh, that one. Hadn’t she got a red hat or something?”
“She hadn’t got a hat. She’d got a moustache.”
“Really? Was her dress red perhaps?”