Ten minutes later, he was speeding towards Zurich, Carroll’s vanity box on the passenger’s seat by his side.
La Suisse, brilliantly lit, steamed towards the Montreux boat station. From it exuded the wailing of a violin and an accordion.
Pierre Duvine watched it approach. He had been waiting for the past hour, and by now, he had recovered to some extent the crushing blow Bradey had dealt him. He still felt utterly depressed. Not only would there be no millions, but no money from Bradey. He was in a fever of anxiety. He realized he had no further future in antique swindles. He knew Haddon would pass the word, and no one would touch him. His shop in Deauville without new, stolen goods would have to close. The red light had gone up when he had lost at the roulette table. His luck had run out! He had gambled on getting at least three million dollars and he had lost. He had just enough Swiss francs to buy gas for the journey back to Paris, and back there, he knew the rent demand would be waiting and other bills. Well, he told himself, back to picking pockets. The Paris season was about to begin. The city would be full of rich tourists, flashing their wallets. He hated the risk, but he had to face up to the fact it was the only way to keep off the bread line. He thought of Claudette. She was his only consolation. She would accept, without complaining, the inevitable. She would understand he couldn’t have done anything when faced with a gun. He felt a surge of love for her run through him. How blessed he was to have Claudette!
La Suisse came alongside the jetty and people began coming down the gangplank. Duvine could see Claudette and the Lepskis, and he waved.
Lepski was thankful to get off the steamer. To him the night trip had been the biggest drag he had experienced. The sounds made by the violin and the accordion had set his nerves jangling. The fat, elderly couples who danced happily made him make noises like a flat car battery trying to start an engine. The pork chop dinner had made his jaws ache. Carroll, seeing how Claudette was apparently thrilled with everything, controlled Lepski as best she could, but she too was thankful to get off the steamer.
Claudette, her face set in a smile, had wondered how Pierre had been succeeding. She felt a complete wreck after forcing gaiety for so long, trying to make the Lepskis happy and praying such an experience would never happen to her again.
One look at Duvine’s white, strained face told her there had been a disaster.
“Pierre?” She ran to him.
“We must leave at once!” Duvine said. “She’s dying.” He turned to the Lepskis. “I’m sorry. I know you will understand. We must drive to Paris. Geneva airport is closed through fog. We mustn’t waste a moment.” He caught hold of Lepski’s hand and wrung it. “Dear friend, please don’t delay us and please excuse us. We should have been on the road an hour ago, I have arranged your room at the Palace, Gstaad. The Hall porter will fix you with a car and tell you how to get there.” He turned to Carroll. “We’ll write as soon as we get to Paris. So sorry about this. It’s been wonderful meeting you both.”
As Lepski and Carroll tried to convey their sympathy, Duvine signalled to Claudette to get in the car. She gave them a mournful wave of her hand as Duvine slid under the steering wheel.
Dazed by the suddenness of this, the Lepskis could only wave as the car shot away. As Duvine headed for the autoroute, he told Claudette what had happened.
“I don’t know what we’ll do!” he said in despair. “We are nearly out of money. To think that devil Bradey should have a gun!”
Claudette patted his hand.
“Nothing matters, my treasure, so long as we have each other,” she said.
They were the most comforting words Duvine had ever heard.
Lepski stared after the tail lights of the departing car, then turned to look at Carroll.
“Well, for God’s sake! That was quick, wasn’t it?”
“The poor dear is losing his mother, Tom,” Carroll said a little tearfully. “What do you expect?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s right. We’ll miss them.” Lepski started across the road to the hotel entrance. “What an evening! That music! That meal! I thought I would blow my lid!”
“You’re always grumbling!” Carroll snapped. “This is the Swiss way of life. You should be grateful to see how other people enjoy themselves.”
Lepski made a noise like a tractor backfiring. An elderly couple passing, stopped and stared at him.
“Lepski!” Carroll snapped. “You’re making an exhibition of yourself!”
Lepski glared at the elderly couple and then stamped into the hotel lobby.
“You had better arrange about a car for tomorrow,” Carroll said.
Lepski grunted and walked over to the Hall porter’s desk.
“I want to rent a car for tomorrow morning,” he said. “My friends have had an emergency and have gone off in the car we were sharing. Bad about the airport shutdown.”
The Hall porter lifted his eyebrows.
“Geneva airport is open, sir. There’s no fog.”
Lepski’s cop mind became alert.
“That a fact?”
“Certainly, sir. What kind of car would you want to rent?”
“Wait a minute,” Lepski said. “We are planning to drive to Gstaad. We are booked in at the Palace hotel.”
“The Palace hotel isn’t open yet, sir. The Gstaad season only begins on December 1st.”
Lepski loosened his tie: always a sign that he was getting heated.
“Tell me, friend,” he said. “I understand Gstaad is noted for their Kobe steaks. Right?”
“Well, no, sir. You mean the Japanese steaks featured so much in Hong Kong? They are not imported to Switzerland.”
Lepski dragged at his tie.
“I understand there are strip tease shows with lots of gorgeous girls.”
“Perhaps in the season. Around Christmas, sir.”
Carroll joined Lepski.
“I don’t think we will be going to Gstaad,” Lepski said through his teeth.
“What do you mean?” Carroll demanded impatiently.
“Quiet!” Lepski snapped. “I smell trouble!” He went over to the reception desk. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said. “Have my check ready please.”
“Mr Lepski? Room 245?”
“Yeah.”
The clerk produced a detailed statement.
“That, of course, sir,” he said with a bright smile, “includes Mr and Mrs Duvine’s check. Mr Duvine was in a hurry. He told me his mother was dying. He said you would take care of the check.” He looked inquiringly at Lepski whose face had turned wooden.
“Yeah,” Lepski said. “I’ll take a look at this,” then taking the statement, he walked back to Carroll, “I want a drink.”
“Can’t you think...?”
“Quiet!” Lepski snapped, and Carroll, seeing the danger signs, followed him into the bar that was almost deserted. Lepski sat down and began to study the items on the statement. He looked at the final amount and released a low, long whistle.
The barman came over.
“A treble Scotch on the rocks,” Lepski said. “You want something?” This to Carroll.
“No! You drink too much! What’s the matter? Must you look like someone out of a horror movie?”
Lepski said nothing. He waited for the drink, swallowed half of it, then looked at Carroll.
“The old rum-dum Bessinger was right. She warned us about dangerous people. I said all along that Duvine was a con-man, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“Don’t start that all over again! What are you talking about?”
“We’ve been taken,” Lepski said. “I’m ready to bet my last dollar that that sonofabitch hasn’t ever had a mother!”
“Lepski! What are you saying?”
“It’s the oldest con trick in the world! We’ve fallen for it! We’re landed with their hotel check, his drinks, food and a couple of items he bought in the hotel for his charming bitch of a wife,” Lepski snarled. “And what is more...” He went on to explain that the season at Gstaad hadn’t begun: no hotel, no Kobe steaks, no gorgeous girls, no nothing.