“Poor old Truebody,” said Annabella Wells.
“The name is, by the way, to be Halebory. Pronounced Harber. So English.”
“They’ll want to see the passport,” Glande said instantly.
“They shall see it. It has received expert attention.”
“Sati,” said Mr. Oberon gently, “you have been smoking, I think.”
“Dearest Ra, only the least puff.”
“Yet, there is our rule. Not until tonight.”
“I was upset. It’s so difficult. Please forgive me. Please.”
Mr. Oberon looked blankly at her. “You will go to your room and make an exercise. The exercise of the Name. You will light your candle and looking at the flame without blinking you will repeat one hundred times: ‘I am Sati who am Grizel Locke!’ Then you will remain without moving until it is time for the Rites. So.”
She touched her forehead and lips and chest with a jerky movement of her hand and went at once.
“Where is Ginny?” Mr. Oberon asked.
“She was nervous,” said Baradi. “The storm upset her. She went down to the shop where one buys those rather vulgar figurines.”
“And Robin?”
“He went with her,” said Annabella loudly.
Mr. Oberon’s mouth parted to show his teeth. “She must rest,” he said. “You are, of course, all very careful to say nothing of an agitating nature in front of her. She knows the lady has died as the result of a perforated appendix. Unfortunately it was unavoidable that she should be told so much. There must be no further disturbance. When she returns send her to her room. It is the time of meditation. She is to remain in her room until it is time for the Rites. There she will find the gift of enlightenment.”
He moved to the tower door. The rain drummed on the awning above their heads but they heard him repeat: “She must rest,” before he went indoors.
iii
Old Marie’s shop was a cave sunk in the face of the hill and protected at its open end by the Chèvre d’Argent, which at this point straddled the passage. Ginny and Robin were thus hidden from the lightning and even the thunder sounded less formidable in there. The walls of the cave had been hewn out in shelves and on these stood Marie’s figurines. She herself sat at a table over an oil lamp and wheezed out praises of her wares.
“She’s got lots of goats,” Ginny pointed out, speaking English.
“Cunning old cup-of-tea,” Robin said. “Thought you needed gingering up, I suppose. By the way,” he added, “Miss Troy or Mrs. Allen or whatever she should be called, wanted a set of nativity figures — don’t you call it a crib? — for the little boy. Marie wasn’t here when they left yesterday. I promised I’d get one and take it down this afternoon. How awful! I entirely forgot.”
“Robin! How could you! And they’ll want it more than ever after losing him like that.”
“She thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind choosing one.”
“Of course I will,” Ginny said, and began to inspect the groups of naïve little figures.
Old Marie shouted: “Look, Mademoiselle, the Holy Child illuminates himself. And the beasts! One would say the she-ass almost burst herself with good milk. And the lamb is infinitely touching. And the ridiculous price! I cannot bring myself to charge more. It is an act of piety on my part.”
Robin bought a large silver goat and Ginny bought the grandest of the cribs. “Let’s take it down now,” he said. “The storm’s nearly over, I’m sure, and the car’s out. It’d save my conscience. Do come, Ginny.”
She raised her troubled face and looked at him. “I don’t know,” she said, “I suppose — I don’t know.”
“We shan’t be half-an-hour. Come on.”
He took her by the arm and hurried her into the passage-way. They ran into a world of rain, Ginny protesting and Robin shouting encouragement. With the help of his stick he broke into quite a lively sort of canter. “Do be careful!” Ginny cried. “Your dot-and-go-one leg!”
“Dot-and-go-run, you mean. Come on.”
Their faces streamed with cool water and they laughed without cause.
“It’s better out here,” Robin said. “Isn’t it, Ginny?”
The car stood out on the platform like a rock in a waterfall. He bundled her into it. “You look like — you look as you’re meant to look,” he said. “It’s better outside. Say it’s better, Ginny.”
“I don’t know what’s come over you,” Ginny said, pressing her hands to her rain-blinded face.
“I’ve got out. We’ve both got out.” He scrambled in beside her and peered into the trough behind the driver’s seat. “What are you doing?” Ginny asked hysterically. “What’s happened? We’ve gone mad. What are you looking for?”
“Nothing. A parcel for my tailor. It’s gone. Who cares! Away we go.”
He started up his engine. Water splashed up like wings on either side and cascaded across the windscreen. They roared down the steep incline and turned left above the tunnel and over the high headland, on the road to Roqueville.
High up in the hills on their vantage point in the factory road, Alleyn and Raoul waited in Raoul’s car.
“In five minutes,” Alleyn said, “it will be dark.”
“I shall still know the car, Monsieur.”
“And I. The rain’s lifting a little.”
“It will stop before the light goes, I think.”
“How tall are you, Raoul?”
“One mètre, sixty, Monsieur.”
“About five foot eight,” Alleyn muttered, “and the girl’s tall. It ought to be all right. Where was the car exactly?”
“Standing out on the platform, Monsieur. The parcel was in the trough behind the driver’s seat.”
“He’s stuck to his word so far, at least. Where did you put the note?”
“On the driver’s seat, Monsieur. He could not fail to see it.”
But Robin, driving in a state of strange exhilaration towards Roqueville, sat on the disregarded note and wondered if it was by accident or intention that Ginny leaned a little towards him.
“It will be fine on the other side of the hill,” he shouted. “What do you bet?”
“It couldn’t be.”
“You’ll see. You’ll see. You’ll jolly well see.”
“Robin, what has come over you?”
“I’ll tell you when we get to Roqueville. There you are! What did I say?”
They drove down the mountain-side into a translucent dusk, rain-washed and fragrant.
“There they go,” Alleyn said and turned his field glasses on the tiny car. “She’s with him. He’s brought it off. So far.”
“And now, Monsieur?”
Alleyn watched the car diminish. Just before it turned the point of a distant headland, Robin switched on his lamps. Alleyn lowered the glasses. “It is almost lighting-up time, Raoul. We wait a little longer. They turned as if by a shared consent and looked to the west where, above and beyond the tunnelled hill, the turrets of the Chèvre d’Argent stood black against a darkling sky.
Presently, out on Cap St. Gilles pricks of yellow began to appear. The window of a cottage in the valley showed red. Behind them the factory presented a dark front to the dusk, but higher up in its folded hills the monastery of Our Lady of Paysdoux was alive with glowing lights.
“They are late with their lamps at the Chèvre d’Argent,” said Raoul.
“Which is not surprising,” Alleyn rejoined. “Seeing that Monsieur le Commissaire has arranged that their electrical service is disconnected. The thunderstorm will have lent a happy note of credibility to the occurrence. The telephone also is still disconnected.” He used his field glasses. “Yes,” he said, “they are lighting candles. Start up your engine, Raoul. It is time to be off.”
iv