Go on," I said. "I'm not arguing with you."
"This man was supposed to be arriving at Sorrento from Naples at three-thirty. La signorina told her she was going to meet the train, and she was to come in at nine in the evening to dear up the dinner things. The woman left the villa at eleven in the morning. Between that time and the rime it was necessary for la signorina to leave to meet the train something happened either to prevent her from meeting the train or that made her change her mind about meeting it."
"What kind of thing?"
He lifted his shoulders.
"She may have received a message. There is no record of her receiving a telephone call. I don't know. I think it is very possible she learned somehow or other that her lover wasn't coming."
"You're guessing," I said. "You'll have to watch out not to guess with Chalmers."
"By then we may have some facts. I am trying theories." He moved restlessly. I could see he was perplexed and unhappy with tile situation. "I am seeing if Grandi's theory fits that in a fit of
depression she killed herself."
"Does it matter?" I said. "She's dead. Can't this be put through as an accident? There's no need to broadcast the fact that she was pregnant, is there?"
"The coroner will have the autopsy report. There is no way of keeping it quiet."
Grandi said impatiently, "Well, I have things to do. I have got to find this man Sherrard."
I felt as if someone had touched the back of my neck with a splinter of ice.
"I am going to call il Signor Chalmers," I said, trying to make my voice casual. "He will want to know what is happening. What shall I tell him?"
The two men exchanged glances.
"It would be wise to tell him as little as possible at this stage of the investigation," Carlotti said. "It would be unwise to mention this man Sherrard, I think. Couldn't you say that she fell off the cliff while using her cine camera, that there will be an inquest and a full investigation and until then ..."
The telephone interrupted him. Grandi lifted the receiver, listened for a moment, then looked across at me. "It is for you."
I took the receiver from him.
"Hello?"
Gina said, "Mr. Chalmers phoned through ten minutes ago. He said he was flying out right away, and you are to meet him at 18.00 hours at the Naples airport to-morrow."
I drew in a long, slow breath. This was something I wasn't prepared for.
"How did he sound?"
"He was very curt and sharp," Gina said. "He didn't sound like anything except that."
"Did he ask any questions?"
"No. He just told me the time he would be arriving and asked for you to meet him."
"Okay, I'll be there."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No. Go home, Gina. I won't be needing you now."
"If you do, I'll be at my apartment all the evening."
"Okay, but I won't worry you. So long for now," and I hung up.
Carlotti was watching me, his eyes frowning.
"Chalmers will arrive at Naples at 18.00 hours to-morrow," I said. "Between now and then, you'd better get some facts. There'll be no question of telling him as little as possible. He'll have to be told everything, and in detail."
Carlotti grimaced as he got to his feet
"We should be able to find this man Sherrard by to-morrow evening," he said, and looked over at Grandi. "Leave your man here. He is to remain here until he is relieved. You can drive us down to Sorrento. Don't forget the jewels, Signor Dawson."
I picked up the leather box and slipped it into my pocket.
As we went down the steps and down the drive to the police car, Carlotti said to Grandi, "I'll leave you in Sorrento. Try to find out if anyone knows Sherrard and if he was seen in Sorrento. Check up on all American visitors who arrived yesterday especially on any American travelling alone."
In spite of the heat, I realized that the sweat on my face felt cold.
III
I got to the Naples airport at a few minutes to six o'clock. They told me the New York plane was on time, and was due in at any moment.
I went to the barrier, lit a cigarette and waited. There were four people waiting; two of them elderly women, the third a fat Frenchman and the fourth was a platinum blonde with a bust on her you only see in the pages of Esquire. She was wearing a white sharkskin costume and a small black hat with a diamond cluster ornament that must have cost someone a pile of money.
I looked at her and she turned. Our eyes met
"Excuse me: are you Mr. Dawson?" she asked.
"That's right," I said, surprised. I took off my hat.
"I am Mrs. Sherwin Chalmers."
I stared at her.
"You are? Mr. Chalmers hasn't already arrived, has he?"
"Oh. no. I've been shopping in Paris for the past week," she said, her deep violet eyes searching my face. She had the hard beauty of a New York show-girl. She couldn't have been more than twenty-three or four, but there was a worldliness about her that made her look older. "My husband cabled me to meet him. This is dreadful news."
"Yes."
I fidgeted with my hat
"It's a terrible thing . . . she was so young."
"It's bad," I said.
There was something in the way she kept looking at me that made me uncomfortable.
"Did you know her well, Mr. Dawson?"
"Hardly at all."
"I can't understand how she could have fallen like that."
"The police think she was taking photographs and didn't look where she was going."
The sound of an approaching aircraft cut this uncomfortable conversation short.
"I think the plane's coming in now," I said.
We stood side by side, watching the aircraft land. After a few minutes, the passengers began
to alight. Chalmers was the first off the plane. He came quickly through the barrier. I drew back and let him greet his wife. They stood talking together for a few moments, then he came over to me and shook hands. He stared at me, then said they wanted to get to the hotel as quickly as possible, that he didn't want to discuss Helen at this moment and for me to arrange a meeting with the police at his hotel at seven.
He and his wife got in the back seat of the Rolls I had hired for them and, as I didn't get any encouragement, I got in front with the chauffeur.
At the hotel, Chalmers dismissed me with a curt, "See you at seven, Dawson," and they were whisked away in the elevator up to the fourth floor, leaving me feeling a little breathless.
I had seen photographs of Chalmers, but in the flesh he was more than life size. Although he was short, fat and built like a barrel there was an atmosphere about him that reduced me and the people around him to the size of pigmies. The best description I can give of him is that he reminded me of Mussolini in his heyday. He had the same ruthless, jutting jaw, the same dark complexion and the same ice-pick eyes. It didn't seem possible that he could have been the sire of a girl like Helen whose brittle, uncoarse beauty had been so fatally attractive to me.