NGAIO MARSH


SPINSTERS
IN JEOPARDY


HzrperCo\\insPitHisbers


For

Anita and Val Muling
with my thanks


HarperColliDsPublishers

77-85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.flreandwater.com


This paperback edition published 2001
135798642


First published in Great Britain by
Collins 1954

Copyright Ngaio Marsh 1954

ISBN 000 651240 2

Set in Times


Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Omnia Books Limited, Glasgow


AH rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the publishers.


This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or
otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent
in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it
is published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.


FOREWORD


One rainy Sunday in London, Ngaio Marsh took out a detective
novel from a local lending library, and after reading it had
what seemed to her an original idea. The Murder Game, in
which cards were drawn for murderer and detective, the lights
were turned out and a mock murder committed and investigated,
was popular in these years of the early 'thirties. 'Suppose,
instead of a pretence corpse, a real one was found,' she
thought. The idea, as she ruefully notes in her autobiography,
was not a new one, but still it provided a firm basis for her first
detective story, A Man Lay Dead, published in 1934. A detective
seemed obligatory, her father had been to Alleyn's School
at Duhvich, the school had been founded by a great
Elizabethan actor, and Ngaio Marsh was and has remained
deeply interested in the theatre; so Roderick Alleyn was
named. He has remained at the*centre of Ngaio Marsh's detective
stories, and has developed in style and suavity over the
years, acquiring also his wife Troy, who is a famous portrait
painter, and a son named Ricky.

Ngaio Marsh's discreet, urbane autobiography, Blade Beech
and Honeydew, records her love for her native New Zealand and
her devotion to the theatre as actress and producer. Half the
year, she says, is given to work in the theatre and half to
writing detective fiction, but there can be no doubt which has
been more important in her life. If she had not directed ten
Shakespeare plays, 'I would have written ten more detective
stories and been, I dare say, ten times better off.' She adds:
'How right I was,' and for her the theatre has been a passion,
the detective story an entertainment. When she was made a
Dame of the British Empire in 1966, it was, perhaps, chiefly for
her services to the drama.

In person Ngaio Marsh is elegant, charming, and highly

observant. That she has the capacities of a novelist is apparent
from many of her books. She is able to convey the undercurrents
moving beneath ordinary polite hsocial relationships with
beautifully casual skill, and sometimes one can't help feeling
that the detective problem is getting in the way of the characters'
development. She has replied to this criticism - in fact, to
criticism made by me - with her usual candour and generosity,
and what she has to say is of interest about the whole form of
crime fiction, as well as about her own work. There are, she
says, two main streams in crime fiction, one concerned almost
entirely with a puzzle and its solution. She goes on:

The second stream, to which I think I belong ... treats, or
attempts to treat, of persons in the round and is obliged,
constantly, to come to terms with the limitations of the
genre ... I invariably start with two or three or more people
about whom I feel I would like to write. Because I am a
maker of detective fiction I must involve one of them in a
crime of violence. So I have to ask myself which of these
persons is capable of such a crime, what form it would take
and under what circumstances would he or she commit
it ...

The basic predicament that confronts every 'novelistic'
crime writer is this: the more deeply and honestly /fie)
examines his characters, the more disquieting becomes the
skulduggery that he is obliged to practise in respect of the
guilty party.

This criticism presents as clearly as anything I know the
problems facing the writer who wants to create characters, yet
knows the need to present and organize a puzzle. But Ngaio
Marsh has sometimes escaped from these problems by writing
another kind of book, the simple, purely enjoyable thriller in
which the puzzle is a secondary element. Spinsters in Jeopardy is such a story. Alleyn, Troy and their delightful small son Ricky
are more closely involved than Alleyn ever intended with the
sinister goings-on at the Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent,
because of the unexpected problems posed by Miss True
body's appendix. There are some minor surprises, but we are

never in doubt about the identities of the villains nor about
what they are trying to do. The lively taxi-driver Raoul, who
plays a considerable part in the plot, is a felicitous invention,
and the story is really a high-spirited romp which we are not
meant to take very seriously, not even when Ricky is kidnapped.

Yet the quality of the writing does not fall below Ngaio
Marsh's own high standard. Miss Truebody being taken into
the station waiting-room, 'laid out, horribly corpse-like, on a
bench', Troy suddenly remembering to retrieve the sick
woman's false teeth, the arrival at the Chateau, and the
curious readiness of the unsavoury Dr Baradi to perform the
operation - all this sends just the right kind of shiver up our
spines. A comparison with the earlier Death in Ecstasy, which
also deals with a semi-mystical erotic cult, shows how much
Ngaio Marsh had developed as a writer over the years. Spinsters
in Jeopardy gives us an author having fun, and when the
author is as skilled as Ngaio Marsh that is a guarantee of our
having fun too.


Julian Symons


	CONTENTS


	Prologue	9

I	Journey to the South	15

II	Operation Truebody	36

III	Morning with Mr Oberon	SO

IV	The Elusiveness of Mr Garbel 65

V	Ricky in Roqueville	87

VI	Consultation	105

VII	Sound of Ricky	125

VIII	Ricky Regained	146

IX	Dinner in Roqueville	166

X	Thunder in the Air	185

XI	P. E. Garbel	203

XII	Eclipse of the Sun	227

•«f

?!r
PROLOGUE


Without moving his head, Ricky slewed his eyes round
until he was able to look slantways at the back of his
mother's easel.

'I'm getting pretty bored, however,' he announced.

'Stick it a bit longer, darling, I implore you, and look
at Daddy.'

'Well, because it's just about as boring a thing as a person
can have to do. Isn't it Daddy?'

'When I did it,' said his father, 'I was allowed to look
at your mama, so I wasn't bored. But as there are degrees
of boredom,' he continued, 'so there are different kinds
of bores. You might almost say there are recongisable
schools.'

'To which school,' said his wife, stepping back from her
easel, 'would you say Mr Garbel belonged? Ricky, look
at Daddy for five minutes more and then I promise we'll
stop.'

Ricky sighed ostentatiously and contemplated his father.

'Well, as far as we know him,' Alleyn said, 'to the
epistolatory school. There, he's a classic. In person he's
undoubtedly the sort of bore that shows you things you
don't want to see. Snapshots in envelopes. Barren
conservatories. Newspaper cuttings. He's relentless in this.
I think he carries things on his person and puts them in
front of you without giving you the smallest clue about
what you're meant to say. You're moving, Ricky.'

'Isn't it five minutes yet?'

'No, and it never will be if you fidget. How long is it,
Troy, since you first heard from Mr Garbel?'

'About-eighteen months. He wrote for Christmas. All
toW I've had six letters and five postcards from Mr Garbel.

This last arrived this morning. That's what put him into
my head.'

'Daddy, who is Mr Garbel?'

'One of Mummy's admirers. He lives in the Maritime
Alps and writes love letters to her.'

'Why?'

'He says it's because he's her third cousin once removed,
but I know better.'

'What do you know better?'

With a spare paint-brush clenched between her teeth,
Troy said indistinctly: 'Keep like that, Ricky darling, I implore you.'

'O.K. Tell me properly, Daddy, about Mr Garbel.'

'Well, he suddenly wrote to Mummy and said Mummy's
great-aunt's daughter was his second cousin, and that he
thought Mummy would like to know that he lived at a
place called Roqueville in the Maritime Alps. He sent a
map of Roqueville, marking the place where the road he
lived in ought to be shown, but wasn't, and he told Mummy
how he didn't go out much or meet many people.'

'Pretty dull, however.'

'He told her about all the food you can buy there that
you can't buy here and he sent her copies of newspapers
with bus timetables marked and messages at the side saying:
'I find this bus convenient and often take it. It leaves the
corner by the principal hotel every half-hour.' Do you still
want to hear about Mr Garbel?'

'Unless it's time to stop, I might as well.'

'Mummy wrote to Mr Garbel and said how interesting
she found his letter.'

'Did you, Mummy?'

'One has to be polite,' Troy muttered and laid a thin
stroke of rose on the mouth of Ricky's portrait.

'And he wrote back sending her three used bus tickets
and a used train ticket.'

'Does she collect them?'

'Mr Garbel thought she would like to know that they
were his tickets punched by guards and conductors all for


10


,-^p'.

;*:

' 'SSif.;-'

him. He also sends her beautifully coloured postcards of
the Maritime Alps.'

'What's that? May I have them?'

' ... with arrows pointing to where his house would
be if you could see it and to where the road goes to a
house he sometimes visits, only the house is off the
postcard.'

'Like a picture puzzle, sort of?'

'Sort of. And he tells Mummy how, when he was young
and doing chemistry at Cambridge, he almost met her great
aunt who was his second cousin, once removed.'

'Did he have a shop?'

'No, he's a special kind of chemist without a shop. When
he sends Mummy presents of used tickets and old
newspapers he writes on them: 'Sent by P.E. Garbel, 16
Rue des Violettes, Roqueville, to Mrs Agatha Alleyn (nee
Troy) daughter of Stephen and Harriet Troy (nee
Baynton.)"

'That's you, isn't it, Mummy? What else?'

'Is it possible, Ricky,' asked his wondering father, 'that
you find this interesting?'	'

'Yes,' said Ricky. 'I like it. Does he mention me?'

'I don't think so.'

'Or you?'

'He suggests that Mummy might care to read parts of
his letter to me.'

'May we go and see him?'

'Yes,* said Alleyn. 'As a matter of fact I think we may.'

Troy turned from her work and gaped at her husband.
'What can you mean?' she exclaimed.

'Is it time, Mummy? Because it must be, so may I get
down?'

'Yes, thank you, my sweet. You have been terribly good
and I must think of some exciting reward. *

'Going to see Mr Garbel, frinstance?'

'I'm afraid,' Troy said, 'that Daddy, poor thing, was
being rather silly.'


11


This last arrived this morning. That's what put him into
my head.'

'Daddy, who is Mr Garbel?'

'One of Mummy's admirers. He lives in the Maritime
Alps and writes love letters to her.'

'Why?'

'He says it's because he's her third cousin once removed,
but I know better.'

'What do you know better?'

With a spare paint-brush clenched between her teeth,
Troy said indistinctly: 'Keep like that, Ricky darling, I implore you.'

'O.K. Tell me properly, Daddy, about Mr Garbel.'

'Well, he suddenly wrote to Mummy and said Mummy's
great-aunt's daughter was his second cousin, and that he
thought Mummy would like to know that he lived at a
place called Roqueville in the Maritime Alps. He sent a
map of Roqueville, marking the place where the road he
lived in ought to be shown, but wasn't, and he told Mummy
how he didn't go out much or meet many people.'

'Pretty dull, however.'

'He told her about all the food you can buy there that
you can't buy here and he sent her copies of newspapers
with bus timetables marked and messages at the side saying:
'I find this bus convenient and often take it. It leaves the
corner by the principal hotel every half-hour.' Do you still
want to hear about Mr Garbel?'

'Unless it's time to stop, I might as well.'

'Mummy wrote to Mr Garbel and said how interesting
she found his letter.'

'Did you, Mummy?'

'One has to be polite,' Troy muttered and laid a thin
stroke of rose on the mouth of Ricky's portrait.

'And he wrote back sending her three used bus tickets
and a used train ticket.'

'Does she collect them?'

'Mr Garbel thought she would like to know that they
were his tickets punched by guards and conductors all for


10


him. He also sends her beautifully coloured postcards of
the Maritime Alps.'
E^What's that? May I have themT

' ... with arrows pointing to where his house would
be if you could see it and to where the road goes to a
house he sometimes visits, only the house is off the
i'jfAMcud.*

r$ .'Like a picture puzzle, sort of?*
| *Sort of. And he tells Mummy how, When he was young
and doing chemistry at Cambridge, he almost met her great- aust who was his second cousin, once removed/
3ir*Did he have a shop?'

I»

e ^No, he's a special kind of chemist without a shop. When
|w sends Mummy presents of used tickets and old
^ Newspapers he writes on them: 'Sent by P.E. Garbel, 16
kue des Violettes, Roqueville, to Mrs Agatha Alleyn (nee
Troy) daughter of Stephen and Harriet Troy (nee
tyttton.)"
'That's you, isn't it, Mummy? What else?' iHat it possible, Ricky,' asked his wondering father, 'that

find this interesting?'	'
Yes,' said Ricky. 'I like it. Does he mention me?'

*I don't think so.'

you?'

He suggests that Mummy might care to read parts of
"fetter to me.'
'May we go and see him?'

es,* said Alleyn. 'As a matter of fact I think we may.'
Troy turned from her work and gaped at her husband,
can you mean?' she exclaimed.

*Is it time, Mummy? Because it must be, so may I get
^ownr

fYes, thank you, my sweet. You have been terribly good
IBftd I must think of some exciting reward/
I^Goiag to see Mr Garbel, frinstance?'
fi^Em afraid,' Troy said, 'that Daddy, poor thing, was
rather silly.'


11


'Well then - ride to Babylon?' Ricky suggested and looked
out of the corners of his eyes at his father.

'All right,' Alleyn groaned, parodying despair, 'O.K. All
right. Here we go!'

He swung the excitedly squealing Ricky up to his
shoulders and grasped his ankles.

'Good old horse,' Ricky shouted and patted his father's
cheek. 'Non-stop to Babylon. Good old horse.'

Troy looked dotingly at him. 'Say to Nanny that I said
you could ask for an extra high tea.'

Top highest with strawberry jam?*

'If there is any.'

'Lavish!' said Ricky and gave a cry of primitive food
lust. 'Giddy-up horse,' he shouted. The family of Alleyn
broke into a chant:


How many miles to Babylon?

Five score and ten.

Can I get there by candlelight?


'Yes! and back again!' Ricky yelled and was carried at
a canter from the room.

Troy listened to the diminishing rumpus on the stairs
and looked at her work.

'How happy we are!' she thought and then, foolishly,
touch wood!' And she picked up a brush and dragged
a touch of colour from the hair across the brow. 'How
lucky I am,' she thought, more soberly and her mood
persisted when Alleyn came back with his hair tousled like
Ricky's and his tie under his ear.

He said:'May I look?'

'All right,' Troy agreed, wiping her brushes, 'but don't
say anything.'	>

He grinned and walked round to the front of the easel.
Troy had painted a head that seemed to have light as its
substance. Even the locks of dark hair might have been
spun from sunshine. It was a work in line rather than in
mass but the line flowed and turned with a subtlety that


12


s any further elaboration unnecessary. 'It needs another
r,* Troy muttered.

that case,' Alleyn said, 'I can at least touch wood.'
gave him a quick grateful look and said, 'What is
ftWs about Mr Garbel?'

ill saw the A.C. this morning. He was particularly nice,
generally means he's got you pricked down for a
nasty job. On the face of it this one doesn't
so bad. It seems M. 1.5 and the Surete are having
; of a party with the Narcotics Bureau, and our people
somebody with fairly fluent French to go over for
t and a bit of field-work. As it is M. 1.5 we'd better
; the usual rule of airy tact on your part and phony
ability on mine. But it turns out that the fieldwork
to coin a coy phrase, not a hundred miles from
lie.'

r!' Troy ejaculated. 'In the Garbel country?'
ely. Now it occurs to me that what with war, Ricky
[the atrocious nature of my job, we've never had a
abroad together. Nanny is due for a fortnight at
Why-shouldn't you and Ricky come with me to
He and call on Mr Garbel?'

>y looked delighted but she said: 'You can't go round
et jobs for M. I.S trailing your wife and child,
look so amateurish. Besides, we agreed never to
t business with pleasure, Rory.'
i this case the more amateurish I look, the better. And
only be based on Roqueville. The job lies outside
i we wouldn't really be mixing business with pleasure.'
looked at her for a moment. 'Do come,' he said,
know you're dying to meet Mr Garbel.'
Troy scraped her palette. 'I'm dying to come,' she
i, 'but not to meet Mr Garbel. And yet: I don't
There's a sort of itch, I confess it, to find out just
deadly dull he is. Like a suicidal tendency.'
fiSfti must yield to it. Write to him and tell him you're
5. You might enclose a'bus ticket from Putney to


13


the Fulham Road. How do you address him: 'Dear
Cousin - ' but what is his Christian name?*

Tve no idea. He's just P.E. Garbel. To his intimates,
he tells me, he is known as Peg. He adds inevitably, a
quip about being square in a round hole.'

'Roqueville being the hole?'

'Presumably.'

'Has he a job, do you think?'

'For all I know he may be writing a monograph on
bicarbonate of soda. If he is he'll probably ask us to read
the manuscript.'

'At all events we must meet him. Put down that damn'
palette and tell me you're coming.'

Troy wiped her hands on her smock. 'We're coming,'
she said.


II


In his chateau outside Roqueville Mr Oberon looked across
the nighted Mediterranean towards North Africa and then
smiled gently upon his assembled guests.

'How fortunate we are,' he said. 'Not a jarring note.
All gathered together with one pure object in mind.' He
ran over their names as if they composed a sort of celestial
roll-call. 'Our youngest disciple,' he said beaming on Ginny
Taylor. 'A wonderful field of experience awaits her. She
stands on the threshold of ecstasy. It is not too much to
say, of ecstasy. And Robin too.' Robin Herrington, who
had been watching Ginny Taylor, looked up sharply. 'Ah,
youth, youth,' sighed Mr Oberon ambiguously and turned
to the remaining guests, two men and a woman. 'Do we
envy them?' he asked and answered himself. 'No! No, for ours is the richer tilth. We are the husbandmen, are we
not?*

Dr Baradi lifted his dark, fleshy and intelligent head.
He looked at his host. 'Yes, indeed,' he said. 'We are


14


JSjv *'
**fe
,«*>


precisely that. And when Annabella arrives - I think you
said she was coming?'

'Dear Annabella!' Mr Oberon exclaimed. 'Yes. On
Tuesday. Unexpectedly.*

'Ah!' said Carbury Glande, looking at his paint-stained
finger-nails. 'On Tuesday. Then she will be rested and ready
for our Thursday rites.'

'Dear Annabella!' Dr Baradi echoed sumptuously.

The sixth guest turned her ravaged face and shortsighted
eyes towards Ginny Taylor.

'Is this your first visit?' she asked.

Ginny was looking at Mr Oberon. She wore an expression
that was unbecoming to her youth, a look of uncertainty,
excitement and perhaps fear.

'Yes,'she said.'My first.'

'A neophyte,' Baradi murmured richly.

'Soon to be so young a priestess,' Mr Oberon added.
'It is very touching.' He smiled at Ginny with parted lips.

A tinkling crash broke across the conversation. Robin
Herrington had dropped his glass on the tessellated floor.
The remains of his cocktail ran into a little pool near Mr
Oberon's feet.

Mr Oberon cut across his apologies. 'No, no,' he said.
'It is a happy symbol. Perhaps a promise. Let us call it
a libation,' he said. 'Shall we dine?'


'*£<,'

H:

15


SfifeYS.


m.

CHAPTER ONE


JOURNEY TO THE SOUTH


Alleyn lifted himself on his elbow and turned his watch
to the blue tight above his pillow. Twenty minutes past
five. In another hour they would be in Roqueville.

The abrupt fall of silence when the train stopped must
have woken him. He listened intently but, apart from the
hiss of escaping steam and the slam of a door in a distant
carriage, everything was quiet and still.

He heard the men in the double sleeper next to his own
exchange desultory remarks. One of them yawned loudly.

Alleyn thought the station must be Douceville. Sure
enough, someone walked past the window and a lonely
voice announced to the night: 'Douceville.'

The engine hissed again. The same voice, apparently
continuing a broken conversation, called out: 'Pas ce soir,
par exemple!' Someone else laughed distantly. The voices
receded to be followed by the most characteristic of all
stationary-train noises, the tap of steel on steel. The taps
tinkered away into the distance.

Alleyn manoeuvred himself to the bottom of his bunk,
dangled his long legs in space for a moment and then
slithered to the floor. The window was not completely
shuttered. He peered through the gap and was confronted
by the bottom of a poster for Dubonnet and the lower
half of a porter carrying a lamp. The lamp swung to and
fro, a bell rang and the train clanked discreetly. The lamp
and poster were replaced by the lower halves of two
discharged passengers, a pile of luggage, a stretch of empty
platform and a succession of swiftly moving pools of light.


17


Then there was only the night hurrying past with blurred
suggestions of rocks and olive trees.

The train gathered speed and settled down to its perpetual
choriambic statement: 'What a to-do. What a to-do.'

Alleyn cautiously lowered the window-blind. The train
was crossing the seaward end of a valley and the moon
in its third quarter was riding the westward heavens. Its
radiance emphasised the natural pallor of hills and trees
and dramatised the shapes of rocks and mountains. With
the immediate gesture of a shutter, a high bank obliterated
this landscape. The train passed through a village and for
two seconds Alleyn looked into a lamplit room where a
woman watched a man intent over an early breakfast. What
occupation got them up so soon? They were there, sharp
in his vision, and were gone.

He turned from the window wondering if Troy, who
shared his pleasure in train journeys, was awake in her
single berth next door. In twenty minutes he would go
and see. In the meantime he hoped that, in the almost
complete darkness, he could dress himself without making
a disturbance. He began to do so, steadying himself against
the lurch and swing of this small, noisy and unstable world.

'Hallo.' A treble voice ventured from the blackness of
the lower bunk. 'Are we getting out soon?'

'Hallo,' Alleyn rejoined. 'No, go to sleep.'

'I couldn't be wakier. Matter of fac' I've been awake
pretty well all night.'

Alleyn groped for his shirt, staggered, barked his shin
on the edge of his suitcase and swore under his breath.

'Because,' the treble voice continued, 'if we aren't getting
out why are you dressing yourself?'

'To be ready for when we are.*

'I see,' said the voice. 'Is Mummy getting ready forgetting
out too?'

'Not yet.'

'Why?'

'It's not time.'

'Is she asleep?'


18


'I don't know, old boy.'

'Then how do you know she's not getting ready?'

'I don't know, really. I just hope she's not.'

'Why?'

'I want her to rest, and if you say why again I won't I'll , answer.'	.
fp 'I see.' There was a pause. The voice chuckled, 'Why?'
jfv _ it asked. - . ...
'/ Alleyn had found his shirt. He now discovered that he
: had put it on inside out. He took it off.
t| 'If,' the voice pursued, 'I said a sensible why, would
jfe: you answer, Daddy?*
U 'It would have to be entirely sensible.'

»

P*f	'Why are you getting up in the dark?' ¥J 'I had hoped,' Alleyn said bitterly, 'that all little boys
H were fast asleep and I didn't want to wake them.'
J|if; 'Because now you know, they aren't asleep so why - ?'
f|* 'You're perfectly right,' Alleyn said. The train rounded " a curve and he ran with some violence against the door.
He switched on the light and contemplated his son.

Ricky had the newly-made look peculiar to little boys
in bed. His dark hair hung sweetly over his forehead, his
eyes shone and his cheeks and lips were brilliant. One would
have said he was so new that his colours had not yet dried.
'I like being in a train,' he said, 'more lavishly than
anything that's ever happened so far. Do you like being
in a train, Daddy?'

'Yes,' said Alleyn. He opened the door of the washing
cabinet which lit itself up. Ricky watched his father shave.
'Where are we now?' he said presently.
'By a sea. It's called the Mediterranean and it's just out
there on the other side of the train. We shall see it when
it's daytime.'

'Are we in the middle of the night?'
'Not quite. We're in the very early morning. Out there
everybody is fast asleep,' Alleyn suggested, not very
hopefully.
'Everybody?'


19


'Almost everybody. Fast asleep and snoring/

'All except us,' Ricky said with rich satisfaction, 'because
we are lavishly wide awake in the very early morning in
a train. Aren't we Daddy?'

'That's it. Soon we'll pass the house where I'm going
to-morrow. The train doesn't stop there, so I have to go
on with you to Roqueville and drive back. You and Mummy
will stay in Roqueville.'

'Where will you be most of the time?'

'Sometimes with you and sometimes at this house. It's
called the Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent. That means the
House of the Silver Goat.'

'Pretty funny name, however,' said Ricky.

A stream of sparks ran past the window. The light from
the carriage flew across the surface of a stone wall. The
train had begun to climb steeply. It gradually slowed down
until there was time to see nearby objects lamplit, in the
world outside: a giant cactus, a flight of steps, part of
an olive grove. The engine laboured almost to a standstill.
Outside their window, perhaps a hundred yards away, there
was a vast house that seemed to grow out of the cliff.
It stood full in the moonlight and shadows, black as ink,
were thrown by buttresses across its recessed face. A solitary
window, veiled by a patterned blind, glowed dully yellow.

''Somebody is awake out there,' Ricky observed. ' 'Out'
'InT he speculated. 'Daddy, what are those people? 'Out'
or InT

'Outside for us, I suppose, and inside for them.'

'Ouside the train and inside the house,* Ricky agreed.
'Suppose the train ran through the house, would they be
'in'forus?'

'I hope,' his father observed glumly, 'that you won't
grow up a metaphysician.'

'What's that? Look, there they are in their house. We've
stopped, haven't we?'

The carriage window was exactly opposite the lighted
one in the cliff-like wall of the house. A blurred shape


20


moved in the room on the other side of the blind. It swelled
and became a black body pressed against the window.

Allyen made a sharp ejaculation and a swift movement.

'Because you're standing right in front of the window,'
Ricky said politely, 'and it would be rather nice to see
out.*

The train jerked galvanically and with a compound
racketing noise, slowly entered a tunnel, emerged, and
gathering pace, began a descent to sea-level.

The door of the compartment opened and Troy stood
there in a woollen dressing-gown. Her short hair was
rumpled and hung over her forehead like her son's. Her
face was white and her eyes dark with perturbation. Alleyn
turned quickly. She looked from him to Ricky. 'Have you
seen out of the window?' she asked.

'/ have,' said Alleyn. 'And so, by the look of you, have
you.'

Troy said, 'Can you help me with my suitcase?' and
to Ricky: Til come back and get you up soon, darling.'

'Are you both going?'

'We'll be just next door. We shan't be long,' Alleyn said.

'It's only because it's in a train.'

'We know,' Troy reassured him. 'But it's all right.
Honestly. <XK.?'

'O.K.,' Ricky said in a small voice and Troy touched
his cheek.

Alleyn followed her into her own compartment. She sat
down on her bunk and stared at him. 'I can't believe that
was true,' she said.

Tm sorry you saw it.'

'Then it was true. Ought we to do anything? Rory, ought
you to do anything? Oh dear, how tiresome.'

'Well, I can't do much while moving away at sixty miles
an hour. I suppose I'd better ring up the Prefecture when
we get to Roqueville.'

He sat down beside her. 'Never mind, darling,' he said,
'there may be another explanation.'


21


'I don't see how there can be, unless - Do you mind
telling me what you saw?'

Alleyn said carefully. 'A lighted window, masked by a
spring blind. A woman falling against the blind and
releasing it. Beyond the woman, but out of sight to us,
there must have been a brilliant lamp and in its light, farther
back in the room and on our right, stood a man in a
white garment. His face,,oddly enough, was in shadow.
There was something that looked like a wheel, beyond his
right shoulder. His right arm was raised/

'And in his hand - ?'

'Yes,' Alleyn said, 'that's the tricky bit, isn't it?"

'And then the tunnel. It was like one of those sudden
breaks in an old-fashioned film, too abrupt to be really
dramatic. It was there and then it didn't exist. No,' said
Troy, 'I won't believe it was true. I won't believe something
is still going on inside that house. And what a house too!
It looked like a Gastave Dore, really bad romantic.'

Alleyn said: 'Are you all right to get dressed? I'll just
have a word with the car attendant. He may have seen
it, too. After all, we may not be the only people awake
and looking out, though I fancy mine was the only
compartment with the light on. Yours was in darkness,
by the way.'

'I had the window shutter down, though. I'd been
thinking how strange it is to see into other people's lives
through a train window.'

'I know,' Alleyn said. 'There's a touch of magic in it.'

'And then - to see that! Not so magical.'

'Never mind. I'll talk to the attendant and then I'll come
back and get Ricky up. He'll be getting train-fever. We
should reach Roqueville in about twenty minutes. All right?'

'Oh, I'm right as a bank,' said Troy.

'Nothing like the Golden South for a carefree holiday,'
Alleyn said. He grinned at her, went out into the corridor
and opened the door of his own sleeper.

Ricky was still sitting up in his bunk. His hands were


22


and his eyes wide open. 'You're being a pretty
ie, however,' he said.

Amy's coming in a minute. I'm just going to have
with the chap outside. Stick it out, old boy.'
.,' said Ricky.

f attendant, a pale man with a dimple in his chin,
ing on his stool at the forward end of the carriage,
who had already discovered that he spoke very
i, addressed him in diplomatic French that had
only slightly hesitant through disuse. Had the
it, he asked, happened to be awake when the train
f outside a tunnel a few minutes ago? The man seemed
some doubt as to whether Alleyn was about to
because he was asleep or because the train had It took a minute or two to clear up this difficulty
'discover that he had, in point of fact, been asleep

time.

Sorry to trouble you,' Alleyn said, 'but can you,
' 'Chance tell me the name of the large building near

ince to the tunnel?' , >es, yes,' the attendant said. 'Certainly, monsieur,
i a native of these parts. It is known to everybody,
on account of its great antiquity. It is the
de la Chevre d'Argent.'
*ught it might be,' said Alleyn.


m

II




linded the sleepy attendant that they were leaving
at Roqueville and tipped him generously. The
U**fcnked him with that peculiarly Gallic effusivenss
^t once too logical and too adroit to be offensive.
^Vou know,' Alleyn said, as if on an afterthought,
*es in the Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent?'
Attendant believed it was leased to an extremely
gentleman, possibly an American, possibly an


23


'I don't see how there can be, unless - Do you mind
telling me what you saw?'

Alleyn said carefully. 'A lighted window, masked by a
spring blind. A woman falling against the blind and
releasing it. Beyond the woman, but out of sight to us,
there must have been a brilliant lamp and in its light, farther
back in the room and on our right, stood a man in a
white garment. His face, oddly enough, was in shadow.
There was something that looked like a wheel, beyond his
right shoulder. His right arm was raised.'

'And in his hand-?'

'Yes,' Alleyn said, 'that's the tricky bit, isn't it?'

'And then the tunnel. It was like one of those sudden
breaks in an old-fashioned film, too abrupt to be really
dramatic. It was there and then it didn't exist. No,' said
Troy, 'I won't believe it was true. I won't believe something
is still going on inside that house. And what a house too!
It looked like a Gastave Dore, really bad romantic.'

Alleyn said: 'Are you all right to get dressed? I'll just
have a word with the car attendant. He may have seen
it, too. After all, we may not be the only people awake
and looking out, though I fancy mine was the only
compartment with the light on. Yours was in darkness,
by the way.'

'I had the window shutter down, though. I'd been
thinking how strange it is to see into other people's lives
through a train window.'

'I know,' Alleyn said. 'There's a touch of magic in it.'

'And then - to see that! Not so magical.'

'Never mind. I'll talk to the attendant and then I'll come
back and get Ricky up. He'll be getting train-fever. We
should reach Roqueville in about twenty minutes. All right?'

'Oh, I'm right as a bank,' said Troy.

'Nothing like the Golden South for a carefree holiday,'
Alleyn said. He grinned at her, went out into the corridor
and opened the door of his own sleeper.

Ricky was still sitting up in his bunk. His hands were


22


and his eyes wide open. 'You're being a pretty
time, however,' he said,
i' -Mummy's coming in a minute. I'm just going to have
IpiPord with the chap outside. Stick it out, old boy.'
|fH>.K.,f said Ricky.

|?^The attendant, a pale man with a dimple in his chin,
f^i^W dozing on his stool at the forward end of the carriage.
i, who had already discovered that he spoke very
: English, addressed him in diplomatic French that had
tune only slightly hesitant through disuse. Had the
at, he asked, happened to be awake when the train
I outside a tunnel a few minutes ago? The man seemed
in some doubt as to whether Alleyn was about to
because he was asleep or because the train had
It took a minute or two to clear up this difficulty
14o discover that he had, in point of fact, been asleep
'some time.

sorry to trouble you,' Alleyn said, 'but can you,
'any chance tell me the name of the large building near
; entrance to the tunnel?'

S*Ah, yes, yes,' the attendant said. 'Certainly, monsieur,
j I am a native of these parts. It is known to everybody,
house, on account of its great antiquity. It is the

au de la Chevre d'Argent.'
thought it might be,' said Alleyn.


$&*
ess?




II


llffleyn reminded the sleepy attendant that they were leaving
"train at Roqueville and tipped him generously. The
t thanked him with that peculiarly Gallic effusivenss
is at once too logical and too adroit to be offensive.
jpr*Do you know,' Alleyn said, as if on an afterthought,
|1Who-lives in the Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent?'
fjl-'The attendant believed it was leased to an extremely
^wealthy gentleman, possibly an American, possibly an


23


Englishman, who entertained very exclusively. He believed
the menage to be an excessively distinguished one.

Alleyn waited for a moment and then said, 'I think there
was a little trouble there to-night. One saw a scene through
a lighted window when the train halted/

The attendant's shoulders suggested that all things are
possible and that speculation is vain. His eyes were as blank
as boot buttons in his pallid face. Should he not perhaps
fetch the baggage of Monsieur and Madame and the little
one in readiness for their descent at Roqueville. He had
his hand on the door of Alleyn's compartment when from
somewhere towards the rear of the carriage, a woman
screamed twice.
They were short screams, ejaculatory in character, as
if they had been wrenched out of her, and very shrill. The
attendant wagged his head from side to side in exasperation,
begged Alleyn to excuse him, and went off down the
corridor to the rearmost compartment. He tapped. Alleyn
guessed at an agitated response. The attendant went in
and Troy put her head out of her own door.

'What now, for pity's sake?' she asked.

'Somebody having a nightmare or something. Are you
ready?'

'Yes. But what a rum journey we're having!'

The attendant came back at a jog-trot. Was Alleyn
perhaps a doctor? An English lady had been taken ill. She
was in great pain: the abdomen, the attendant elaborated,
clutching his own in pantomime. It was evidently a
formidable seizure. If Monsieur, by any chance -

Alleyn said he was not a doctor. Troy said, Til go and
see the poor thing, shall I? Perhaps there's a doctor
somewhere in the train. You get Ricky up, darling.'

She made off down the swaying corridor. The attendant
began to tap on doors and to inquire fruitlessly of his
passengers if they were doctors. 'I shall see my comrades
of the other voitures,' he said importantly. 'Evidently one
must organise.'


24


AHeyn found Ricky sketchily half-dressed and in a child's
panic.

'Where have you been, however?' he demanded. 'Because
I didn't know where everyone was. We're going to be late
for getting out. I can't find my pants. Where's Mummy?'

Alleyn calmed him, got him ready and packed their
luggage. Ricky, white-faced, sat on the lower bunk with
his gaze turned on the door. He liked, when travelling,
to have his family under his eye. Alleyn, remembering his
own childhood, knew his little son was racked with an
illogical and bottomless anxiety, an anxiety that vanished
when the door opened and Troy came in.

'Oh golly, Mum!' Ricky said and his lip trembled.

'Hallo, there,' Troy said in the especially calm voice she
kept for Ricky's panics. She sat down beside him, putting
her arm where he could lean back against it and looked
at her husband.

'I think that woman's very ill,' she said. 'She looks
frightful. She had what she thought was some kind of food
poisoning this morning and dosed herself with castor-oil.
And then, just now she had a violent pain, really awful,
she says, in the appendix place and now she hasn't any pain at all and looks ghastly. Wouldn't that be a
perforation, perhaps?'
* 'Your guess is as good as mine, my love.'

'Rory, she's about fifty and she comes from the Bermudas
and has no relations in the world and wears a string bag
on her head and she's never been abroad before and we
can't just let her be whisked on into the Italian Riviera
with a perforated appendix if that's what it is.'

'Oh, damn!'

'Well, can we? I said,' Troy went on, looking sideways
!:itt her husband, 'that you'd come and talk to her.'
'Darling, what the hell can I do?'

'You're calming in a panic, isn't he, Rick?'

'Yes,' said Ricky, again turning white. 'I don't suppose
you're both going away, are you, Mummy?'

'You can come with us. You could look through the


25


corridor window at the sea. It's shiny with moonlight and
Daddy and I will be just on the other side of the poor
thing's door. Her name's Miss Truebody and she knows
Daddy's a policeman.'

'Well, I must say .. .' Alleyn began indignantly.

'We'd better hurry, hadn't we?' Troy stood up holding
Ricky's hand. He clung to her like a limpet.

At the far end of the corridor their own car attendant
stood with two of his colleagues outside Miss Truebody's
door. They made dubious grimaces at one another and
spoke in voices that were drowned by the racket of the
train. When they saw Troy, they all took off their silver
braided caps and bowed to her. A doctor, they said, had
been discovered in the troisieme voiture and was now with
the unfortunate lady. Perhaps Madame would join him.
Their own attendant tapped on the door and with an
ineffable smirk at Troy, opened it. 'Madame!' he invited.

Troy went in and Ricky feverishly transferred his hold
to Alleyn's hand. Together, they looked out of the corridor
window.

The railway, on this part of the coast, followed an
embankment a few feet above sea level and as Troy had
said, the moon shone on the Mediterranean. A long cape
ran out over the glossy water and near its tip a few points
of yellow light showed in early-rising households. The stars
were beginning to pale.

That's Cap St. Gilles,' Alleyn said. 'Lovely, isn't it,
Rick?'

Ricky nodded. He had one ear tuned to his mother's
voice which could just be heard beyond Miss Truebody's
door.

'Yes,' he said, 'it is lovely.' Alleyn wondered if Ricky
was really as pedantically-mannered a child as some of
their friends seemed to think.

'Aren't we getting a bit near?' Ricky asked. 'Bettern't
Mummy come now?'

*It*satt right. We've ten minutes yet and the train people


26


know we're getting off. I promise it's all right. Here's
Mummy now.'

She came out followed by a small bald gentleman with
waxed moustaches, wearing striped professional trousers,
patent leather boots and a frogged dressing-gown.

'Your French is badly needed. This is the doctor,' Troy
said and haltingly introduced her husband.

The doctor was formally enchanted. He said crisply that
he had examined the patient who almost certainly suffered
from a perforated appendix and should undoubtedly be
operated upon as soon as possible. He regretted extremely
that he himself had an urgent professional appointment
in St. Celeste and could not, therefore, accept responsibility.
Perhaps the best thing to do would be to discharge Miss
. Truebody at Roqueville and send her back by the evening
train to St. Christophe where she could go to hospital.
Of course, if there was a surgeon in Roqueville the operation
might be performed there. In any case he would give Miss
Truebody an injection of morphine. His shoulders rose.
It was a position of extreme difficulty. They must hope, must they not, that there would be a medical man and
suitable accommodation available at Roqueville? He
believed he had understood Madame to say that she and
Monsieur PInspecteur-en-Chef would be good enough to
assist their compatriot.

Monsieur FInspecteur-en-Chef glared at his wife and said
they would, of course, be enchanted. Troy said in English
that it had obviously comforted Miss Truebody and
impressed the doctor to learn of her husband's rank. The
doctor bowed, delivered a few definitive compliments and
lurching in a still dignified manner down the swinging
corridor, made for his own carriage, followed by his own
attendant.

Troy said: 'Come and speak to her, Rory. It'll help.'

'Daddy?' Ricky said in a small voice.

'We won't be a minute,' Troy and Alleyn answered
together, and Alleyn added, 'We know how it feels, Rick,


27


but one has got to get used to these things.' Ricky nodded
and swallowed.

AHeyn followed Troy into Miss Truebody's compartment.
'This is my husband, Miss Truebody,' Troy said.
'He's had a word with the doctor and he'll tell you all
abouHt.'

Miss Truebody lay on her back with her knees a little
drawn up and her sick hands closed vice-like over the sheet.
She had a rather blunt face that in health probably was
rosy but now was ominously blotched and looked as if
it had shrunk away from her nose. This effect was
heightened by the circumstance of her having removed her
teeth. There were beads of sweat along the margin of her
grey hair and her upper lip and the ridges where her
eyebrows would have been if she had possessed any; the
face was singularly smooth and showed none of the minor
blemishes characteristic of her age. Over her head she wore,
as Troy had noticed, a sort of net bag made of pink string.
She looked terrified. Something in her eyes reminded AHeyn
of Ricky in one of his travel-panics.

He told her, as reassuringly as might be, of the doctor's
pronouncement. Her expression did not change and he
wondered if she had understood him. When he had finished
she gave a little gasp and whispered indistinctly: 'Too
awkward, so inconvenient. Disappointing.' And her
mottled hands clutched at the sheet.

'Don't worry,' AHeyn said, 'don't worry about anything.
We'll look after you.'

Like a sick animal, she gave him a heart-rending look
of gratitude and shut her eyes. For a moment Troy and
AHeyn watched her being slightly but inexorably jolted by
the train and then stole uneasily from the compartment.
They found their son dithering with agitation in the corridor
and the attendant bringing out the last of their luggage.

Troy said hurriedly: 'This is frightful. We can't take the
responsibility. Or must we?'

'I'm afraid we must. There's no time to do anything


28


else. I've got a card of sorts up my sleeve in Roqueville.
If it's no good we'll get her back to St. Christophe.'
'What's your card? Not,' Troy ejaculated, 'Mr Garbel?'
'No, no, it's - hi - look! We're there.'
f1 The little town of Roqueville, wan in the first thin wash
§ of dawn-light, slid past the windows and the train drew
Af into the station.

|t Fortified by a further tip from Troy and in evident relief

| at the prospect of losing Miss Truebody, the attendant

	:|" enthusiastically piled the Alleyns' luggage on the platform

H while the guard plunged into earnest conversation with

§ Alleyn and the Roqueville station-master. The doctor

|| reappeared fully clad and gave Miss Truebody a shot of

|| morphine. He and Troy, in incredible association, got her

f into a magenta dressing-gown in which she looked like

* death itself. Troy hurriedly packed Miss Truebody's

possessions, uttered a few words of encouragement, and

with Ricky and the doctor joined Alleyn on the platform.

Ricky, his parents once deposited on firm ground and

fully accessible, forgot his terrors and contemplated the

train with the hard-boiled air of an experienced traveller.

The station-master with the guard and three attendants

in support was saying to the doctor: 'One is perfectly

conscious Mosieur le Docteur, of the extraordinary

circumstances. Nevertheless, the schedule of the Chemin

de Per des Alpes Maritimes cannot be indefinitely

protracted.'

The doctor said: 'One may, however, in the few moments

that are being squandered in this unproductive

conversation, M. le Chef de Gare, consult the telephone

directory and ascertain if there is a doctor in Roqueville.'

'One may do so undoubtedly, but I can assure M. le

Docteur that such a search will be fruitless. Our only doctor

is at a conference in St. Christophe. Therefore, since the

train is already delayed one minute and forty seconds . . .'

;	He glanced superbly at the guard who began to survey

the train like a sergeant-major. A whistle was produced.

5; The attendants walked towards their several cars.

--%

*v.	29

'Rory!' Troy cried out. 'We can't

Alleyn said: 'All right,' and spoke to the stationmaster.
'Perhaps,' he said, M. le Chef de Gare, you are aware
of the presence of a surgeon - I believe his name is Dr
Baradi - among the guests of M. Oberon some twenty
kilometres back at the Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent.
He is an Egyptian gentleman. I understand he arrived two
weeks ago.'

'Alors, M. I'lnspecteur-en-Chef. . . ' the doctor began
but the station-master, after a sharp glance at Alleyn,
became alert and neatly deferential. He remembered the
arrival of the Egyptian gentleman for whom he had caused
a taxi to be produced. If the gentleman should be - he
bowed - as M. FInspecteur-en-Chef evidently was informed,
a surgeon, all their problems were solved, were they not?
He began to order the sleeping-car attendants about and
was briskly supported by the guard. Troy, to the renewed
agitation of her son, and with the assistance of their
attendant, returned to the sleeping-car and supported Miss
Truebody out of it, down to the platform and into the
waiting-room, where she was laid out, horribly corpselike,
on a bench. Her luggage followed. Troy, on an afterthought,
darted back and retrieved from a tumbler in the washing
cabinet, Miss Truebody's false teeth, dropping them with
a shudder into a tartan sponge-bag. On the platform the
doctor held a private conversation with Alleyn. He wrote
in his notebook, tore out the page and gave it to Alleyn
with his card. Alleyn, in the interests of FrancoBritish
relationships, insisted on paying the doctor's fee and the
train finally drew out of Roqueville in an atmosphere of
the liveliest cordiality. On the strangely quiet platform
Alleyn and Troy looked at each other.

'This,' Alleyn said, 'is not your holiday as I had planned

't-'

'What do we do now?'

'Ring up the Chevre d'Argent and ask for Dr Baradi,
who, I have reason to suppose, is an admirable surgeon
and an unmitigated blackguard.'


30


could hear the dawn cocks crowing in the hills
.'Roqueville.


Ill


ig-room Ricky fell fast asleep on his mother's yy was glad of this as Miss Truebody had begun
pounds quite dreadful. She too had drifted into a kind
She breathed unevenly, puffing out her
I lips, and made unearthly noises in her throat.
1 hear her husband and the station-master talking
Noffice next door and then Alleyn's voice only,
on the telephone and in French! There were
i pauses during which Alleyn said: 'Allo! AM!' and '.pas, je vous enprie, Mademoiselle,' which Troy
proud of understanding. A grey light filtered
; waiting-room; Ricky made a touching little sound, his lips, sighed, and turned his face against her
an abandonment of relaxation. Alleyn began to
length, first in French, and then in English. Troy

aents of sentences.

; If wouldn't have roused you up like this if it hadn't
urgent . . . Dr Claudel said definitely that it was
Blatter of the most extreme urgency ... He will
: from St. Celeste. I am merely a fellow passenger
yes, I have a car here . . . Good . . . Very well
I understand. Thank you.' A bell tinkled,
swas a further conversation and then Alleyn came
""waiting-room. Troy, with her chin on the top of \ silken head, gave him a nod and an intimate familiar
jMibr comment on Ricky's sleep. He said: 'It's not fair.'

'itp

talent for turning my heart over.'
aught,' Troy said, 'you meant about our holiday,
r happened?'

i says he'll operate if it's necessary.' Alleyn looked Truebody. 'Asleep?'


31


'Yes. So, what are we do do?'

'We've got a car. The Surete rang up the local
Commissioner yesterday and told him I was on the way.
He's actually one of their experts who's been sent down
here on a special job, superseding the local chap for the
time being. He's turned on an elderly Mercedes and a driver.
Damn' civil of him. I've just been talking to him. Full
of apologies for not coming down himself but he thought,
very wisely, that we'd better not be seen together. He says
our chauffeur is a reliable chap with an admirable record.
He and the car are on tap outside the station now and
our luggage will be collected by the hotel wagon. Baradi
suggests I take Miss Truebody straight to the Chevre
d'Argent. While we're on the way he will make what
preparations he can. Luckily he's got his instruments and
Claudel has given me some pipkins of anaesthetic. Baradi
asked if I could give the anaesthetic.'

'Can you?'

'I did once, in a ship. As long as nothing goes very
wrong, it's fairly simple. If Baradi thinks it is safe to wait
he'll try to get an anaesthetist from Douceville or
somewhere. But it seems there's some sort of doctors'
jamboree on to-day at St. Christophe and they've all cleared
off to it. It's only ten kilometres from here to the Chevre
d'Argent by the inland road. I'll drop you and Ricky at
the hotel here, darling, and take Miss Truebody on.'

'Are there any women in the house?'

'I don't know.' Alleyn stopped short and then said: 'Yes.
Yes I do. There are women.'

Troy watched him for a moment and then said: 'All
right. Let's get her aboard. You take Ricky.'

Alleyn lifted him from her lap and she went to Miss
Truebody. 'She's tiny,' Troy said under her breath. 'Could
she be carried?'

'I think so. Wait a moment.'

He took Ricky out and was back in a few seconds with
the station-master and a man wearing a chauffeur's cap
over a mop of glossy curls.


32


; a handsome little fellow with an air of readiness.
Troy gallantly, taking off his peaked cap and
£*i her. Then he saw Miss Truebody and made a
{sound. Troy had put a travelling rug on the bench
made a sort of stretcher of it and carried Miss
:- out to a large car in the station yard. Ricky
1 up on the front seat. They managed to fit Miss
into the back one. The driver pulled down a
I and Troy sat on that. Miss Truebody had opened
.She said in a quite clear voice: 'Too kind/ and
her hand. Alleyn, in the front, held Ricky on
fcihey started off up a steep little street through
; The thin dawnlight gave promise of a glaring
already very warm.

I Hotel Royal, Monsieur?' asked the driver.
I Troy with Miss Truebody's little claw clutching
s. 'No, please, Rory. I'll come with her. Ricky
for hours. We can wait in the car or he can
llSaiek. I might be of some use.'

Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent,' Alleyn said,


Monsieur,' said the driver. 'Always, always


was a very small town. It climbed briefly up
petered out in a string of bleached villas. The
between groves of olive trees and the air f& benison, soft and clean. The sea extended itself
I them and enriched itself with a blueness of
s intensity.

turned to look at Troy. They were quite close
^3pther and spoke over their shoulders like people
'Conversation' chair. It was clear that Miss
even if she could hear them, was not able to
or indeed to listen. 'Dr Claudel,' Alleyn said,
Sit was the least risky thing to do. I half expected
refuse but he was surprisingly cooperative,
to be a good man at his job.' He made
at of his head to indicate the driver. 'This chap


33


doesn't speak English,1 he said. 'And, by the way, darling,
no more chat about my being a policeman.'

Troy said: 'Have I been a nuisance?'

'It's all right. I asked Claudel to forget it and I don't
suppose Miss Truebody will say anything or that anybody
will pay much attention if she does. It's just that I don't
want to brandish my job at the Chevred'Argent.' He turned
and looked into her troubled face. 'Never mind, my darling.
We'll buy false beards and hammers in Roqueville and
let on we're archaeologists. Or load ourselves down with
your painting-gear.' He paused for a moment. 'That, by
the way, is not a bad idea at all. Distinguished painter
visits Cote d'Azur with obscure husband and child. We'll
keep it in reserve.'

'But honestly, Rory. How's this debacle going to affect
your job at the Chevre d'Argent?'

'In a way it's a useful entree. The Surete suggested that
I called there representing myself either to be an antiquarian
captivated by the place itself . . . it's an old Saracen
stronghold ... or else I was to be a seeker after esoteric
knowledge and offer myself as a disciple. If both failed
I could use my own judgment about being a heroin addict
in search of fuel. Thanks to Miss Truebody, however, I
shall turn up as a reluctant Good Samaritan. All the same,'
Alleyn said, rubbing his nose, 'I wish Dr Claudel could
have risked taking her on to St. Celeste or else waiting
for the evening train back to St. Christophe. I don't much
like this party, and that's a fact. This'll larn the Alleyn
family to try combining business with pleasure, won't it?'

'Ah, well' said Troy, looking compassionately at Miss
Truebody, 'we're doing our blasted best and no fool can
do more.'

They were silent for some time. The driver sang to himself
in a light tenor voice. The road climbed the Maritime Alps
into early sunlight. They traversed a tilted landscape
compounded of earth and heat, of opaque clay colours
-ochres and pinks - splashed with magenta, tempered
with olive-grey and severed horizontally at its base by the


34


ultramarine blade of the Mediterranean. They turned
inland. Villages emerged as logical growths out of rock
and earth. A monastery safely folded among protective
hills spoke of some tranquil adjustment of man's spirit
to the quiet rhythm of soil and sky.

'It's impossible,' Troy said, 'to think that anything could
go very much amiss in these hills.'

A distant valley came into view. Far up it, a strange
anachronism in that landscape, was a long modern building
with glittering roofs and a great display of plate glass.

'The factory,' the driver told them, 'of the Compagnie
Chimique des Alpes Maritimes.'

Alleyn made a little affirmative sound as if he saw
something that he had expected and for as long as it
remained in sight he looked at the glittering building.

They drove on in silence. Miss Truebody turned her head
from side to side and Troy bent over her. 'Hot,' she
whispered, 'such an oppressive climate. Oh, dear!'

'One approaches the objective,' the driver announced
and changed gears. The road tipped downwards and turned
the flank of a hill. They had crossed the headland and
were high above the sea again: Immediately below them
the railroad emerged from a tunnel. On their right was
a cliff that mounted into a stone face pierced irregularly
with windows. This in turn broke against the skyline into
fabulous turrets and parapets. Troy gave a sharp
ejaculation, 'Oh, nor she said. 'It's not that! No, it's too
much!'

'Well, darling,' Alleyn said, 'I'm afraid that's what it
is.'

'La Chevre d'Argent,' said the driver and turned up a
steep and exceedingly narrow way that ended in a walled
platform from which one looked down at the railway and
beyond it sheer down again to the sea. 'Here one stops,
Monsieur,' said the driver. 'This is the entrance.'

He pointed to a dark passage between two masses of
rock from which walls emerged as if by some process of


35


evolution. He got out and opened the doors of the car.
'It appears,' he said, 'that Mademoiselle is unable to walk.'

'Yes,* Alleyn said. 'I shall go and fetch the doctor.
Madame will remain with Mademoiselle and the little boy.'
He settled the sleeping Ricky into the front seat and got
out. 'You stay here, Troy,' he said. 'I shan't be long.'

'Rory, we shouldn't have brought her to this place.'

'There was no alternative that we could honestly take.'

'Look!' said Troy.

A man in white was coming through the passage. He
wore a Panama hat. His hands and face were so much
the colour of the shadows that he looked like a white suit
walking of its own accord towards them. He moved out
into the sunlight and they saw that he was olive-coloured
with a large nose, full lips and a black moustache. He
wore dark glasses. The white suit was made of sharkskin
and beautifully cut. His sandals were white suede. His shirt
was pink and his tie green. When he saw Troy he took
off his hat and the corrugations of his oiled hair shone
in the sunlight.

'Dr Baradi?' Alleyn said.

Dr Baradi smiled brilliantly and held out a long dark
hand. 'So you bring my patient?' he said. 'Mr Alien, is
it not?' He turned to Troy. 'My wife,' Alleyn said and
saw Troy's hand lifted to the full lips. 'Here is your patient,'
he added. 'Miss Truebody.'

'Ah, yes,' Dr Baradi went to the car and bent over Miss
Truebody. Troy, rather pink in the face, moved to the
other side. 'Miss Truebody,' she said, 'here is the doctor.'

Miss Truebody opened her eyes, looked into the dark
face and cried out: 'Oh! No. No!'

Dr Baradi smiled at her. 'You must not trouble yourself
about anything,' they heard him say. He had a padded
voice. 'We are going to make everything much more
comfortable for you, isn't it? You must not be frightened
of my dark face, I assure you I am quite a good doctor.'

Miss Truebody said: 'Please excuse me. Not at all. Thank
you.'


36


'_'f.~.

37

*fs,f

Now, without moving you, if I may just - that will
do very nicely. You must tell me if I hurt you.' A pause.
Cicadas had broken out in a chittering so high-pitched
that it shrilled almost above the limit of human hearing.
The driver moved away tactfully. Miss Truebody moaned
a little. Dr Baradi straightened up, walked to the edge
of the platform and waited there for Troy and Alleyn.
'It is a perforated appendix undoubtedly,' he said. 'She
is very ill. I should tell you that I am the guest of Mr
Oberon, who places a room at our disposal. We have an
improvised stretcher in readiness.' He turned towards the
passage-way: 'And here it comes!' he said looking at Troy
with an air of joyousness which she felt to be entirely out
of place.

Two men walked out of the shadowed way on to the
platform carrying between them a gaily striped object,
. evidently part of a garden seat. Both the men wore aprons.
'The gardener,' Dr Baradi explained, 'and one of the indoor
servants, strong fellows both and accustomed to the
exigencies of our entrance. She has been given morphine,
I think.'

'Yes.'Alleyn said. 'Dr Claude! gave it. He has sent you
an adequate amount of something called, I think, pentothal.
He was taking a supply of it to a brother-medico, an
anaesthetist, in St. Celeste and said that you would probably
need some and that the local chemist would not be likely
to have it.'

'I am obliged to him. I have already telephoned to the
pharmacist in Roqueville who can supply ether. Fortunately
he lives above his establishment. He is sending it up here
by car. It is fortunate also that I have my instruments
with me.' He beamed and glittered at Troy. 'And now,
I think

He spoke in French to the two men, directing them to
stand near the car. For the first time apparently he noticed
the sleeping Ricky and leant over the door to look at him.

'Enchanting,' he murmured and his teeth flashed at Troy.
'Our household is also still asleep,' he said, 'but I have

Mr Oberon's warmest invitation that you, Madame, and
the small one join us for petit-dejeuner. As you know, your
husband is to assist me. There will be a little delay before
we are ready and coffee is prepared.'

He stood over Troy. He was really extremely large: his
size and his padded voice and his smell, which was
compounded of hair-lotion, scent and something that
reminded her of the impure land-breeze from an eastern
port, all flowed over her.

She moved back and said quickly: 'It's very nice of you
but I think Ricky and I must find our hotel.'

Alleyn said: 'Thank you so much, Dr Baradi. It's
extremely kind of Mr Oberon and I hope I shall have a
chance to thank him for all of us. What with one thing
and another, we've had an exhausting journey and I think
my wife and Ricky are in rather desperate need of a bath
and a rest. The man will drive them down to the hotel and come back for me.'

Dr Baradi bowed, took off his hat and would have
possibly kissed Troy's hand again if Alleyn had not
somehow been in the way.

'In that case,' Dr Baradi said, 'we must not insist.'

He opened the door of the car. 'And now, dear lady,'
he said to Miss Truebody, 'we make a little journey, isn't
it? Don't move. There is no need.'

With great dexterity and no apparent expenditure of
energy he lifted her from the car and laid her on the
improvised stretcher. The sun beat down on her glistening
face. Her eyes were open, her lips drawn back a little from
her gums. She said: 'But where is ... You're not taking
me away from . . . ? I don't know her name.'

Troy went to her. 'Here I am, Miss Truebody,' she said.
Til come and see you quite soon. I promise.'

'But I don't know where I'm going. It's so unsuitable
. . . Unseemly really . . . Somehow with another lady . . .
English ... I don't know what they'll do to me ... I'm
afraid I'm nervous ... I had hoped . . . '

Her jaw trembled. She made a thin shrill sound, shocking


38


*Rr

Wr


.in its nakedness. 'No,' she stammered, 'no ... no ... no.'
Her arm shot out and her hand closed on Troy's skirt.
The two bearers staggered a little and looked agitatedly
at Dr Baradi.

'She should not be upset,' he murmured to Troy. 'It
is most undesirable. Perhaps, for a little while, you'll be
kind

'But of course,' Troy said, and in answer to a look from
her husband. 'Of course, Rory, I must.'

And she bent over Miss Truebody and told her she
wouldn't go away. She felt as though she herself was trapped
in the kind of dream that, without being a positive
nightmare, threatens to become one. Baradi released Miss
Truebody's hand and as he did so, his own brushed against
Troy's skirt.

'You're so kind,' he said. 'Perhaps Mr Alien will bring
the little boy. It is not well for such tender ones to sleep
overlong in the sun on the C6te d'Azur.'

Without a word Alleyn lifted Ricky out of the car. Ricky
made a small questioning sound, stirred and slept again.

The men walked off with the stretcher. Dr Baradi
followed them. Troy, Alleyn and Ricky brought up the
rear.

In this order the odd little procession moved out of the
glare into the shadowed passage that was the entrance to
the Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent.

The driver watched them go, his lips pursed in a soundless
whistle and an expression of concern darkening his eyes.
Then he drove the car into the shade of the hill and
composed himself for a long wait.


39


CHAPTER TWO


OPERATION TRUEBODY


At first their eyes were sun-dazzled so that they could
scarcely see their way. Dr Baradi paused to guide them.
Alleyn, encumbered with Ricky and groping up a number
of wide, shallow and irregular steps, was aware of Baradi's
hand piloting Troy by the elbow. The blotches of nonexistent
light that danced across their vision faded and
they saw that they were in a sort of hewn passageway
between walls that were incorporated in rock, separated
by outcrops of stone and pierced by stairways, windows
and occasional doors. At intervals they went through
double archways supporting buildings that straddled the
passage and darkened it. They passed an open doorway
and saw into a cave-like room where an old woman sat
among shelves filled with small gaily-painted figures. As
Troy passed, the woman smiled at her and gestured
invitingly, holding up a little clay goat.

Dr Baradi was telling them about the Chevre d'Argent.

'It is a fortress built originally by the Saracens. One
might almost say it was sculptured out of the mountain,
isn't it? The Normans stormed it on several occasions. There
are legends of atrocities and so on. The fortress is, in effect,
a village since the many caves beneath and around it have
been shaped into dwellings and house a number of peasants,
some dependent on the chateau and some, like the woman
you have noticed, upon their own industry. The chateau
itself is most interesting, indeed unique. But not
inconvenient. Mr Oberon has, with perfect tact, introduced
the amenities. We are civilised, as you shall see.

They arrived at a double gate of wrought iron let into
the wall on their left. An iron bell hung beside it. A butler


40


appeared beyond the doors and opened them. They passed
through a courtyard into a wide hall with deep-set windows
through which a cool ineffectual light was admitted.

Without, at first, taking in any details of this shadowed
interior, Troy received an impression of that particular kind
of suavity that is associated with costliness. The rug under
her feet, the texture and colour of the curtains, the shape
of cabinets and chairs and, above all, a smell which she
thought must arise from the burning of sweet-scented oils,
all united to give this immediate reaction. 'Mr Oberon,'
she thought, 'must be immensely rich.' Almost at the same
time, she saw above the great fireplace a famous Breughel
which, she remembered, had been sold privately some years
ago. It was called: 'Consultation of Sorceresses/ An open
door showed a stone stairway built inside the thickness
of the wall.

'The stairs,' Mr Baradi said, 'are a little difficult.
Therefore we have prepared rooms on this floor.'

He pulled back a leather curtain. The men carried Miss
Truebody into a heavily carpeted stone passage hung-at
intervals with rugs and lit with electric lights fitted into
ancient hanging lamps, witnesses, Troy supposed, of Mr
Oberon's tact in modernisation. She heard Miss Truebody
raise her piping cry of distress.

Dr Baradi said: 'Perhaps you would be so kind as to
assist her into bed?'

Troy hurried after the stretcher and followed it into a
small bedroom charmingly furnished and provided, she
noticed, with an adjoining bathroom. The two bearers
waited with an obliging air for further instructions. As
Baradi had not accompanied them, Troy supposed that
she herself was for the moment in command. She got Miss
Truebody off the stretcher and on to the bed. The bearers
hovered solicitously. She thanked them in her schoolgirl
French and managed to get them out of the room, but
not before they had persuaded her into the passage, opened
a further door, and exhibited with evident pride a bare
freshly-scrubbed room with a bare freshly-scrubbed table
near its window. A woman rose from her knees as the


41


door opened, a scrubbing brush in her hand and a pail
beside her. The room reeked of disinfectant. The indoor
servant said something about it being 'convenable' and the gardener said something about somebody, she thought
himself, being 'bien fatigue', 'infiniment fatigue'. It dawned
upon her that they wanted a tip. Poor Troy scuffled in
her bag, produced a 500 fr. note and gave it to the indoor
servant, indicating that they were to share it. They thanked
her and, effulgent with smiles, went back to get the luggage.
She hurried to Miss Truebody and found her crying
feverishly.

Remembering what she could of hospital routine, Troy
washed the patient, found a clean nightdress (Miss
Truebody wore white locknit nightdresses, sprigged with
posies, and got her into bed. It was difficult to make out
how much she understood of her situation. Troy wondered
if it was the injection of morphine or her condition or
her normal habit of mind or all three, that made her so
confused and vague. When she was settled in bed she began
to talk with hectic fluency about herself. It was difficult
to understand her as she had frantically waved away the
offer of her false teeth. Her father, it seemed, had been
a doctor, a widower, living in the Bermudas. She was his
only child and had spent her life with him until, a year
ago, he had died leaving her, as she put it, quite comfortably
though not well off. She had decided that she could just
afford a trip to England and the Continent. Her father,
she muttered distractedly, had 'not kept up,' had 'lost
touch.' There had been an unhappy break in the past, she
believed, and their relations were never mentioned. Of
course there were friends in the Bermudas but not, it
appeared, very many or very intimate friends. She rambled
on for a little while, continually losing the thread of her
narrative and frowning incomprehensibly at nothing. The
pupils of her eyes were contracted and her vision seemed
to be confused. Presently her voice died away and she dozed
uneasily.

Troy stole out and returned to the hall. Alleyn, Ricky
and Baradi had gone but the butler was waiting for her


42


and showed her up the steep flight of stairs in the wall.
It seemed to turn about a tower and they passed two
landings with doors leading off them. Finally the man
opened a larger and heavier door and Troy was out in
the glare of full morning on a canopied roof-garden hung,
as it seemed, in blue space where sky and sea met in a
wide crescent. Not till she had advanced some way towards
the balustrade did Cap St. Gilles appear, a sliver of earth
pointing south.

Alleyn and Baradi rose from a breakfast-table near the
balustrade. Ricky lay, fast asleep, on a suspended seat under
a gay canopy. The smell of freshly ground coffee and of
brioches and croissants reminded Troy that she was hungry.

They sat at the table. It was long, spread with a white

cloth and set for a number of places. Troy was foolishly

•reminded of the Mad Hatter's Tea-party. She looked over

the parapet and saw the railroad about eighty feet below

her and perhaps a hundred feet from the base of the Chevre

d'Argent. The walls, buttressed and pierced with windows,

, fell away beneath her in a sickening perspective. Troy had

a hatred of heights and drew back quickly. 'Last night,'

she thought, 'I looked into one of those windows.'

Dr Baradi was assiduous in his attentions and plied her
with coffee. He gazed upon her remorselessly and she sensed
Alleyn's annoyance rising with her own embarrassment.
„ For a moment she felt weakly inclined to giggle.

Alleyn said: 'See here, darling, Dr Baradi thinks that
Miss Truebody is extremely ill, dangerously so. He thinks
we should let her people know at .once.'

'She has no people. She's only got acquaintances in the
Bermudas; I asked. There seems to be nobody at all.'

Baradi said: 'In that case . ..' and moved his head from
side to side. He turned to Troy and parodied helplessness
with his hands. 'So, in that direction, we can do nothing.'

'The next thing,' AHeyn said, speaking directly to his

wife, 'is the business of giving an anaesthetic. We could

" telephone to a hospital in St. Christophe and try to get

someone but there's this medical jamboree and in any case

;' it'll mean a delay,of some hours. Or Dr Baradi can try

i'	' 43

4K'

to get his own anaesthetist to fly from Paris to the nearest
airport. More delay and considerable expense. The other
way is for me to have a shot at it. Should we take the
risk?'

'What,' Troy asked, making herself look at him, 'do
you think, Dr Baradi?'

He sat near and a little behind her on the balustrade.
His thighs bulged in their sharkskin trousers. 'I think it
will be less risky if your husband, who is not unfamiliar
with the procedure, gives the anaesthetic. Her condition
is not good.'

His voice flowed over her shoulder. It was really
extraordinary, she thought, how he could invest
information about peritonitis and ruptured abscesses with
such a gross suggestion of flattery. He might have been
paying her the most objectionable compliments imaginable.

'Very well,' Alleyn said, 'that's decided, then. But you'll
need other help, won't you?'

'If possible, two persons. And here we encounter a
difficulty.! He moved round behind Troy but spoke to
Alleyn. His manner was now authoritative. 'I doubt,' he
said, 'if there is anyone in the house-party who could assist
me. It is not every layman who enjoys a visit to an operating
theatre. Surgery is not everybody's cup of tea.' The
colloquialism came oddly from him. 'I have spoken to our
host, of course. He is not yet stirring. He offers every
possible assistance and all the amenities of the chateau
with the reservation that he himself shall not be asked
to perform an active part. He is,' said Dr Baradi, putting
on his sunglasses, 'allergic to blood.'

'Indeed,' said Alleyn politely.

'The rest of our household - we are seven - ' Dr Baradi
explained playfully to Troy, 'is not yet awake. Mr Oberon
gave a party here last night. Some friends with a yacht
in port. We were immeasurably gay and kept going till
five o'clock. Mr Oberon has a genius for parties and a
passion for charades. They were quite wonderful, our
charades.' Troy gave a little ejaculation which she
immediately checked. He beamed at her. 'I was cast for


44


one of King Solomon's concubines. And we had the Queen
of Sheba, you know. She stabbed Solomon's favourite wife.
It was all a little strenuous. I don't think any of my friends
will be in good enough form to help us. Indeed, I doubt
if any of them even at the top of his or her form, would
care to offer for the role. I don't know if you have met
any of them. Grizel Locke, perhaps? The Hon. Grizel
Locke?'

The Alleyns said they did not know Miss Locke.

'What about the servants?' Alleyn suggested. Troy was
all too easily envisaging Dr Baradi as one of King Solomon's
concubines.

'One of the men is a possibility. He is my personal
attendant and valet and is not quite unfamiliar with surgical
routine. He will not lose his head. Any of the others would
almost certainly be worse than useless. So we need one
other, you see.'

A silence fell upon them, broken at last by Troy.

'I know,' she said, 'what Dr Baradi is going to suggest.'

Alleyn looked fixedly at her and raised his left eyebrow.

'It's quite out of the question. You well know that you're
punctually sick at the sight of blood, my darling.'

Troy, who was nothing of the sort said: 'In that case
I've no suggestions. Unless you like to appeal to cousin
Garbel.'

There was a moment of silence.

'Too whom?' said Baradi softly.

'I'm afraid I was being facetious,' Troy mumbled.

Alleyn said: 'What about our driver? He seems a hardy,
intelligent sort of chap. What would he have to do?'

'Fetch and carry,' Dr Baradi said. He was looking
thoughtfully at Troy. 'Count sponges. Hand instruments.
Clean up. Possibly, in an emergency, play a minor role
as unqualified assistant.'

Til speak to him. If he seems at all possible I'll bring
him in to see you. Would you like to stroll back to the
car with me, darling?'

'Please don't disturb yourselves,' Dr Baradi begged them.
'One of the servants~will fetch your man.'


45


Troy knew that her husband was in two minds about
this suggestion and also about leaving her to cope with
Dr Baradi. She said: 'You go, Rory, will you? I'm longing
for my sun-glasses and they're locked away in my dressing
case.'

She gave him her keys and a ferocious smile. 'I think,
perhaps, I'll have a look at Miss Truebody,' she added.

He grimaced at her and walked out quickly.

Troy went to Ricky. She touched his forehead and found
it moist. His sleep was profound and when she opened
the front of his shirt he did not stir. She stayed, lightly
swinging the seat, and watched him, and she thought with
tenderness that he was her defence in a stupid situation
which fatigue and a confusion of spirit, brought about by
many untoward events, had perhaps created in her
imagination. It was ridiculous, she thought, to feel anything
but amused by her embarrassment. She knew that Baradi
watched her and she turned and faced him.

'If there is anything I can do before I go,' she said and
kept her voice down because of Ricky, 'I hope you'll tell
me.'

It was a mistake to speak softly. He at once moved
towards her and with an assumption of intimacy, lowered
his own voice. 'But how helpful!' he said, 'so we shall
have you with us for a little longer? That is good; though
it should not be to perform these unlovely tasks.'

'I hope I'm equal to them.' She moved away from Ricky
and raised her voice. 'What are they?'

'She must be prepared for the operation.'

He told her what should be done and explained that
she would find everything she needed for her purpose in
Miss Truebody's bathroom. In giving these specifically
clinical instructions, he reverted to his professional manner,
but with an air of amusement that she found distasteful.
When he had finished she said: 'Then I'll get her fixed
up now, shall I?'

'Yes,' he agreed, more to himself than to her. 'Yes,
certainly, we shouldn't delay too long.' And seeing a look
of preoccupation and responsibility on his face, she left


46


him, disliking him less in that one moment than at any
time since they had met. As she went down the stone
stairway she thought: 'Thank heaven, at least, for the Queen
of Sheba.'


II


Alleyn found their driver in his vest and trousers on the
running-board of the car. A medallion of St. Christopher
dangled from a steel chain above the mat of hair on his
chest. He was exchanging improper jokes with a young
woman and two small boys who, when he rose to salute
his employer, drifted away without embarrassment. He gave
Alleyn a look that implied a common understanding of
women, and opened the car door.

Alleyn said: 'We're not going yet. What is your name?'

'Raoul, Monsieur. Raoul Milano.'

'You've been a soldier, perhaps?'

'Yes, Monsieur. I am thirty-three and therefore I have
seen some service.'

'So your stomach is not easily outraged; then; by a show
of blood, for instance? By a formidable wound, shall we
say?'

'I was a medical orderly, Monsieur. My stomach also,
is an old campaigner.'

'Excellent! I have a job for you, Raoul. It is to assist
Dr Baradi, the gentleman you have already seen. He is
about to remove Mademoiselle's appendix and since we
cannot find a second doctor, we must provide unqualified
assistants. If you will help us there may be a little reward
and certainly there will be much grace in performing this
service. What do you say?'

Raoul looked down at his blunt hands and then up at
Alleyn:

'I say yes, M'sieur. As you suggest, it is an act of grace
and in any case one may as well do something.'

'Good. Come along then.' Alleyn had found Troy's sunglasses.
He and Raoul turned towards the passage, Raoul


47


slinging his coat across his shoulders with the grace of
a ballet-dancer.

'So you live in Roqueville?' Alleyn asked.

'In Roqueville, M'sieur. My parents have a little cafe,
not at all smart, but the food is good and I also hire myself
out in my car, as you see.'

'You've been up to the chateau before, of course?'

'Certainly. For little expeditions and also to drive guests
and sometimes tourists. As a rule Mr Oberon sends a car
for his guests.' He waved a hand at a row of garage-doors,
incongruously set in a rocky face at the back of the platform.
'His cars are magnificent.'

Alleyn said: 'The Commissaire at the Prefecture sent you
to meet us, I think?'

'That is so, M'sieur.'

'Did he give you my name?'

'Yes, M'sieur L'lnspecteur-en-Chef. It is Ahrr-lin. But
he said that M'sieur L'lnspecteur-en-Chef would prefer,
perhaps, that I did not use his rank.'

'I would greatly prefer it, Raoul.'

'It is already forgotten, M'sieur.'

'Again, good.'

They passed the cave-like room, where the woman sat
among her figurines. Raoul hailed her in a cheerful manner
and she returned his greeting. 'You must bring your
gentleman in to see my statues,' she shouted. He called
back over his shoulder: 'All in good time, Marie,' and
added, 'she is an artist, that one. Her saints are pretty
and of assistance in one's devotions; but then she
overcharges ridiculously, which is not so amusing.'

He sang a stylish little cadence and titled up his head.
They were walking beneath a part of the Chateau de la
Chevre d'Argent that straddled the passage-way. 'It goes
everywhere, this house,' he remarked. 'One would need
a map to find one's way from the kitchen to the best
bedroom. Anything might happen.'

hWhen they reached the entrance he stood aside and took
off his chauffeur's cap. They found Dr Baradi in the hall.
Alleyn told him that Raoul had been a medical orderly


48


and Baradi at once described the duties he would be
expected to perform. His manner was cold and
uncompromising. Raoul gave him his full attention. He
stood easily, his thumbs crooked in his belt. He retained
at once his courtesy, his natural grace of posture and his
air of independence.

'Well,' Baradi said sharply when he had finished: 'Are
_you capable of this work?'

'I believe so, M'sieur le Docteur.'

'If you prove to be satisfactory, you will be given 500
francs. That is extremely generous payment for unskilled
work.'

'As to payment M'sieur le Docteur,' Raoul said, 'I am
already employed by this gentleman and consider myself
entirely at his disposal. It is at his request that I engaged
myself in this task.'

Baradi raised his eyebrows and looked at Alleyn.
'Evidently an original,' he said in English. 'He seems
tolerably intelligent but one never knows. Let us hope that
he is at least not too stupid. My man will give him suitable
clothes and see that he is clean'

He went to the fireplace and pulled a tapestry bell-rope.
'Mrs Alien;' he said, 'is most kindly preparing our patient.
There is a room at your disposal and I venture to lend
you one of my gowns. It will, I'm afraid, be terribly
voluminous but perhaps some adjustment can be made.
We are involved in compromise, isn't it?'

A man wearing the dress of an Egyptian house-servant
came in. Baradi spoke to him in his own language, and
then to Raoul in French: 'Go with Mahomet and prepare
yourself in accordance with his instructions. He speaks
French.' Raoul acknowledged this direction with something
.between a bow and a nod. He said to Alleyn: 'Monsieur
will perhaps excuse me?' and followed the servant, looking
about the room with interest as he left it.

Baradi said: 'Italian blood there, I think. One comes
across these hybrids along the coast. May I show you to
my room?'

It was in the same passage as Miss Truebody's but a


49


little farther along it. In Alleyn the trick of quick
observation was a professional habit. He saw not only the
general sumptuousness of the room but the details also:
the Chinese wallpaper, a Wu Tao-tzu scroll, a Ming vase.

'This,' Dr Baradi needlessly explained, 'is known as the
Chinese room but, as you will observe, Mr Oberon does
not hesitate to introduce modulation. The bureau is by
Vernis-Martin.'

'A modulation, as you say, but an enchanting one. The
cabinet there is a bolder departure. It looks like a
Mussonier.'

'One of his pupils, I understand. You have a discerning
eye. Mr Oberon will be delighted.'

A gown was laid out on the bed. Baradi took it up.
'Will you try this? There is an unoccupied room next door
with access to a bathroom. You have time for a bath and
will, no doubt, be glad to take one. Since morphine has
been given there is no immediate urgency but I should
prefer all the same to operate as soon as possible. When
you are ready, my own preparations will be complete and
we can discuss final arrangements.'

Alleyn said: 'Dr Baradi, we haven't said anything about
your fee for the operation: indeed, it is neither my business
nor my wife's, but I do feel some concern about it. I imagine
Miss Truebody will at least be able . . .'

Baradi held up his hand. 'Let us not discuss it,' he said.
'Let us assume that it is of no great moment.'

'If you prefer to do so.' Alleyn hesitated and then added:
'This is an extraordinary situation. You will, I'm sure,
realise that we are reluctant to take such a grave
responsibility. Miss Truebody is a complete stranger to
us. You yourself must feel it would be much more
satisfactory if there was a relation or friend from whom
we could get some kind of authority. Especially as her
illness is so serious.'

'I agree. However, she would undoubtedly die if the
operation was not performed and, in my opinion, would
be in the gravest danger if it was unduly postponed. As >t is, I'm afraid there is a risk, a great risk, that she will


50


not recover. We can,' Baradi added with what Alleyn felt
was a genuine, if controlled, anxiety, 'only do our best
and hope that all may be well/

. And on this note Alleyn turned to go. As he was in
the doorway Baradi, with a complete change of manner,
said: 'Your enchanting wife is with her. Third door on
the left. Quite enchanting. Delicious, if you will permit
me.'

Alleyn looked at him and found what he saw offensive.

'Under these unfortunate circumstances,' he said politely,
'I can't do anything else.'

Evidently Dr Baradi chose to regard this observation
as a pleasantry. He laughed richly. 'Delicious!' he repeated,
but whether in reference to Alleyn's comment or as a
reiterated observation upon Troy it was impossible to
determine. Alleyn, who had every reason and no inclination
for keeping his temper, walked into the next room.


Sf	III

5-fc

'H.'

"If Troy had carried out her instructions and Miss Truebody

"; had slipped again into sleep. The sound of her breathing

|r cut the silence into irregular intervals. Her eyes were not

': quite closed. Segments of the eyeballs appeared under the

;:; pathetic insufficiency of her lashes. Troy was at once

- unwilling to leave her and anxious to return to Ricky. She

";fc, heard Alleyn and Dr Baradi in the passage. Their voices

:.. were broken off by a door slam and again there was only

pounds Miss Truebody's breathing. Troy waited, hoping that

1;; Alleyn knew where she was and would come to her. After

what seemed an interminable interval there was a tap at

the door. She opened it and he was there in a white gown

', looking tall, elegant and angry. Troy shut the door behind

_ her and they whispered together in the passage.

Ifr 'Rum go,' he said, 'isn't it?'

B 'Not'alf. When do you begin?'

Ifr 'Soon. He's trying to make himself aseptic. A losing

It battle, I should think.'

'&
'K^.;

51

'Frightful, isn't he?'

'The bottom. I'm so sorry, darling, you have to suffer
his atrocious gallantries.'

'Well, I dare say they're just elaborate oriental courtesy,
or something.'

'Elaborate bloody impertinence.'

'Never mind, Rory. I'll skip out of his way.'

'I shouldn't have brought you to this damn' place.'

'Fiddle! In any case he's going to be too busy.'

'Is she asleep?'

'Sort of. I don't like to leave her but suppose Ricky
should wake?'

'Go up to'him. I'll stay with her. Baradi's going to give
her an injection before I get going with the ether. And,
Troy - '

'Yes?'

'It's important these people don't get a line on who I
am.'

'I know.'

'I haven't told you anything about them but I think
I'll have to come moderately clean when there's a chance.
It's a rum set up. I'll get you out of it as soon as possible.'

'I'm not worrying now we know about the charades.
Funny! You said there might be an explanation but we
never thought of charades, did we?'

'No,' Alleyn said, 'we didn't, did we?' and suddenly kissed
her. 'Now, I suppose I'll have to wash again,' he added.

Raoul came down the passage with Baradi's servant. They
were carrying the improvised stretcher and were dressed
in white overalls.

Raoul said: 'Madame!' to Troy and to Alleyn, 'it appears,
Monsieur, that M. le Docteur orders Mademoiselle to be
taken to the operating room. Is that convenient for
Monsieur?'

'Of course. We are under Dr Baradi's orders.'
'Authority,' Raoul observed, 'comes to roost on strange
perches, Monsieur.'

'That,' Alleyn said, 'will do.'

Raoul grinned and opened the door. They took the


52


'HP'


J'tiftf'

V3£5';.
M;:

stretcher in and laid it on the floor by the bed. When
they lifted her down to it, Miss Truebody opened her eyes
and said distinctly: 'But I would prefer to stay in bed.'
Raoul deftly tucked blankets under her. She began to wail
dismally.

Troy said: 'It's all right, dear. You'll be all right,' and
thought: 'But I never call people dear!'

They carried Miss Truebody into the room across the
passage and put her on the table by the window. Troy
went with them, holding her hand. The window coverings
had been removed and a hard glare beat down on the
table. The room still reeked of disinfectant. There was a
second table on which a number of objects were now laid
out. Troy, after one glance, did not look at them again.
She held Miss Truebody's hand and stood between her
and the instrument table. A door in the wall facing her
opened and Baradi appeared against a background of
bathroom. He wore his gown and a white cap. Their
austerity of design emphasised the opulence of his nose
and eyes and teeth. He had a hypodermic syringe in his
left hand.

'So, after all, you are to assist me?' he murmured to
Troy. But it was obvious that he didn't entertain any such
notion.

Still holding the flaccid hand, she said: 'I thought perhaps
I should stay with her until. . . '

'But of course! Please remain a little longer.' He began
to give instructions to Alleyn and the two men. He spoke
in French presumably, Troy thought, to spare Miss
Truebody's feelings. 'I am left-handed,' he said. 'If I should
ask for anything to be handed to me you will please
remember that. Now, Mr Alien, we will show you your
equipment, isn't it? Milano!' Raoul brought a china dish
from the instrument table. It had a bottle and a hand towel
on it. Alleyn looked at it and nodded. 'Parfaitement,' he
said.

Baradi took Miss Truebody's other hand and pushed
up the long sleeve of her nightgown. She stared at him
and her mouth worked soundlessly.


53


Troy saw the needle slide in. The hand she held flickered
momentarily and relaxed.

'It is fortunate,' Baradi said as he withdrew the needle,
'that this little Dr Claudel had pentothal. A happy
coincidence.'

He raised Miss Truebody's eyelid. The pupil was out
of sight. 'Admirable,' he said. 'Now, Mr Alien, we will,
in a moment or two, induce a more profound anaesthesia
which you will continue. I shall scrub up and in a few
minutes more we begin operations.' He smiled at Troy
who was already on the way to the door. 'One of our
party will join you presently on the roof-garden. Miss
Locke; the Honourable Grizel Locke. I believe she has
a vogue in England. Quite mad but utterly charming.'

Troy's last impression of the room, a vivid one, was
of Baradi, enormous in his white gown and cap, of Alleyn
standing near the table and smiling at her, of Raoul and
the Egyptian servant waiting near the instruments and of
Miss Truebody's wide-open mouth and of the sound of
her breathing. Then the door shut off the picture as abruptly
as the tunnel had shut off her earlier glimpse into a room
in the Chevre d'Argent.

'Only that time,' Troy told herself, as she made her way
back to the roof-garden, 'it was only a charade.'


54


CHAPTER THREE


MORNING WITH MR. OBERON


The sun shone full on the roof-garden now, but Ricky
was shielded from it by the canopy of his swinging couch.
He was, as he himself might have said, lavishly asleep.
Troy knew he would stay so for a long time.

The breakfast-table had been cleared and moved to one
side and several more seats like Ricky's had been set out.
Troy took the one nearest to his. When she lifted her feet
it swayed gently. Her head sank back into a heap of
cushions. She had slept very little in the train.

It was quiet on the roof-garden. A few cicadas chittered
far below and once, somewhere a long way away, a car
hooted. The sky, as she looked into it, intensified itself
in blueness and bemused her drowsy senses. Her eyes closed
and she felt again the movement of the train. The sound
of the cicadas became a dismal chattering from Miss
Truebody and soared up into nothingness. Presently, she
too, was fast asleep.

When she awoke, it was to see a strange lady perched,
like some fantastic fowl, on the balustrade near Ricky's
seat. Her legs, clad in scarlet pedal-pushers, were drawn
up to her chin which was sunk between her knees. Her
hands, jewelled and claw-like, with vermilion talons,
clasped her shins, and her toes protruded from her sandals
like branched corals. A scarf was wound around her skull
and her eyes were hidden by sun-glasses in an enormous
frame below which a formidable nose jutted over a mouth
whose natural shape could only be conjectured. When she
saw Troy was awake and on her feet she unfolded herself,
dropped to the floor and advanced with a hand extended.


55


She was six feet tall and about forty-five to fifty years
old.

'How do you do?' she whispered. Tm Grizel Locke.
I like to be called Sati, though. The Queen of Heaven,
you will remember. Please call me Sati. Had a good nap,
I hope? I've been looking at your son and wondering if
I'd like to have one for myself.'

'How do you do?' Troy said without whispering and
greatly taken aback. 'Do you think you would?'

'Won't he wake? I've got such a voice as you can hear
when I speak up.' Her voice was indeed deep and uncertain
like an adolescent boy's. 'It's hard to say,' she went on.
'One might go all possessive and peculiar and, on the other
hand, one might get bored and off-load him on repressed
governesses. I was off-loaded as a child which, I am told,
accounts for almost everything. Do lie down again. You
must feel like a boiled owl. So do I. Would you like a
drink?'

'No, thank you,' Troy said, running her fingers through
her short hair.

'Nor would I. What a poor way to begin your holiday.
Do you know anyone here?'

'Not really. I've got a distant relation somewhere in the
offing but we've never met.'

'Perhaps we know them. What name?'

'Garbel. Something to do with a rather ratified kind
of chemistry. I don't suppose you - ?'

Tm afraid not,' she said quickly. 'Has Baradi started
on your friend?'

'She's not a friend or even an acquaintance. She's a
fellow-traveller.'

'How sickening for you,' said the lady earnestly.

'I mean, literally,' Troy explained. She was indeed feeling
like a boiled owl and longed for nothing so much as a
bath and solitude.

'Lie down,' the lady urged. 'Put your boots up. Go to
sleep again if you like. I was just going to push ahead
with my tanning, only your son distracted my attention.'


56


Troy sat down and as her companion was so insistent
she did put her feet up.

That's right,' the lady observed. 'I'll blow up my Li
lo. The servants, alas, have lost the puffer.'

She dragged forward a flat rubber mattress. Sitting on
the floor she applied her painted mouth to the valve and
began to blow. 'Uphill work,' she gasped a little later, 'still,
it's an exercise in itself and I daresay will count as such.'

When the Li-lo was inflated she lay face down upon
it and untied the painted scarf that was her sole upper
garment. It fell away from a back so thin that it presented,
Troy thought, an anatomical subject of considerable
interest. The margins of the scapulae shone like
ploughshares and the spinal vertebrae looked like those
of a flayed snake.

'I've given up oil,' the submerged voice explained, 'since
I became a Child of the Sun. Is there any particular bit
that seems underdone, do you consider?'

Troy, looking down upon a uniformly dun-coloured
expanse, could make no suggestions and said so.

Til give it ten minutes for luck and then toss over the
bod.,' said the voice. 'I must say I feel ghastly.'

'You had a late night, Dr Baradi tells us,' said Troy,
who was making a desperate effort to pull herself together.

'Did we?' the voice became more indistinct and added
something like: 'I forget.'

'Charades and everything, he said.'

'Did he? Oh. Was I in them?'

'He didn't say particularly,' Troy answered.

'I passed,' the voice muttered, 'utterly and definitely out.'
Troy had just thought how unattractive such statements
always were when she noticed with astonishment* that the
shoulder blades were quivering as if their owner was
convulsed'. 'I suppose you might call it charades,' the lady
was heard to say.

Troy was conscious of a rising sense of uneasiness.

'How do you mean?' she asked.

Her companion rolled over. She had taken off her sun57



glasses. Her eyes were green with pale irises and small
pupils. They were singularly blank in expression. Clad only
in her scarlet pedal-pushers and head-scarf, she was an
uncomfortable spectacle.

'The whole thing is,' she said rapidly, 'I wasn't at the
party. I began one of my headaches after luncheon which
was a party in itself and I passed, as I mentioned a moment
ago, out. That must have .been at about four o'clock, I
should think, which is why I am up so early, you know.'
She yawned suddenly and with gross exaggeration as if
her jaws would crack.

'Oh, God,' she said, 'here I go again!'

Troy's jaws quivered in imitation. 'I hope your headache
is better,' she said.

'Sweet of you. In point of fact it's hideous.'

'I'm so sorry.'

Til have to find Baradi if it goes on. And it will, of
course. How long will he be over your fellow-traveller's
appendix? Have you seen Ra?'

'I don't think so. I've only seen Dr Baradi.'

'Yes, yes,' she said restlessly and added, 'you wouldn't
know, of course. I mean Oberon, our Teacher, your know.
That's our name for him - Ra. Are you interested in The
Truth?'

Troy was too addled with unseasonable sleep and a surfeit
of anxiety to hear the capital letters. 'I really don't know,'
she stammered. 'In the truth - ?'

'Poor sweet, I'm muddling you.' She sat up. Troy had
a painter's attitude towards the nude but the aspect of
this lady, so wildly and so unpleasingly displayed, was
distressing, and doubly so because Troy couldn't escape
the impression that the lady herself was far from unselfconscious.
Indeed she kept making tentative clutches at
her scarf and looking at Troy as if she felt she ought to
apologise for herself. In her embarrassment Troy turned
away and looked vaguely at the tower wall which rose
above the roof-garden not far from where she sat. It was
pierced at ascending intervals by narrow slits. Troy's eyes,


58


M

glazed with fatigue, stared in aimless fixation at the third
slit from the floor level. She listened to a strange exposition
on The Truth as understood and venerated by the guests
ofMrOberon.

"' ... just a tiny group of Seekers . . . Children of the
Sun in the Outer . . . Evil exists only in the minds of the
earth-bound ... goodness is oneness . .. the great Dark
co-exists with the great Light. . . ' The phrases disjointed
and eked out by ineloquent and unco-ordinated gestures,
tripped each other up by the heels. Cliches and aphorisms
were tumbled together from the most unlikely sources. One
must live dangerously, it appeared, in order to attain merit.
Only by encompassing the gamut of earthly experience
could one return to the oneness of universal good. One
ascended through countless ages by something which the
disciple, corkscrewing an unsteady finger in illustration,
called the mystic navel spiral. It all sounded the most dreadful nonsense to poor Troy but she listened politely
and, because her companion so clearly expected them, tried
to ask one or two intelligent questions. This was a mistake.
The lady, squinting earnestly up at her, said, abruptly:
'You're fey, of course. But you know that, don't you?'

'Indeed, I don't.'

'Yes, yes,' she persisted, nodding like a mandarin.
'Unawakened perhaps, but it's there, oh! so richly. Fey
as fey can be.'

She yawned again with the same unnatural exaggeration
and twisted round to look at the door into the tower.

'He won't be long appearing,' she whispered. 'It isn't
as if he ever touched anything and he's always up for the
rites of Ushas. What's the time?'

'Just after ten,' said Troy, astonished that it was no later.
Ricky, she thought, would sleep for at least another hour,
perhaps for two hours. She tried to remember if she had
ever heard how long an appendicectomy took to perform.
She tried to console herself with the thought that there
must be a limit to this vigil, that she would not have to
listen forever to Grizel Locke's esoteric small-talk, that


59


somewhere down at the Hotel Royal in Roqueville there
was a tiled bathroom and a cool bed, that perhaps Miss
Locke would go in search of whoever it was she seemed
to await with such impatience and finally that she herself
might, if left alone, sleep away the remainder of this
muddled and distressing interlude.

It was at this juncture that something moved behind
the slit in the tower wall. Something that tweaked at her
attention. She had an impression of hair or fur and thought
at first that it was an animal, perhaps a cat. It moved
again and was gone but not before she recognised a human
head. She came to the disagreeable conclusion that someone
had stood at the slit'and listened to their conversation.
At that moment she heard steps inside the tower. The door
moved.

'Someone's coming!' she cried out in warning. Her
companion gave an ejaculation of relief but made no
attempt to resume her garment. 'Miss Locke! Do look out!'

'What? Oh! Oh, all right. Only, do call me Sati.' She
picked up the square of printed silk. Perhaps, Troy thought,
there was something in her own face that awakened in
Miss Locke a dormant regard for the conventions. She
blushed and began clumsily to knot the scarf behind her.

But Troy's gaze was upon the man who had come through
the tower door on to the roof-garden and was walking
towards them. The confusion of spirit that had irked her
throughout the morning clarified into one recognisable
emotion.

She was frightened.


II


Troy would have been unable to say at that moment why
she was afraid of Mr Oberon. There was nothing in his
appearance, one would have thought, to inspire fear.
Rather, he had, at first sight, a look of mildness.
Beards, in general, are not rare nowadays though beards


60


like his are perhaps unusual. It was blond, sparse and silky
and divided at the chin, which was almost bare. The
moustache was a mere shadow at the corners of his mouth
which was fresh in colour. The nose was straight and
delicate and the light eyes abnormally large. His hair was
parted in the middle and so long that it overhung the collar
of his gown. This, and a sort of fragility in the general
structure of his head, gave him an air of effeminacy. What
was startling and to Troy quite shocking, was the
resemblance to Roman Catholic devotional prints such as
the 'Sacred Heart.' She was to learn that this resemblance
was deliberately cultivated. He wore a white dressing-gown
to which his extraordinary appearance gave the air of a
'ceremonial robe.

It seemed incredible that such a being could make normal
conversation. Troy would not have been surprised if he
had acknowledged the introduction in Sanskrit. However,
be gave her his hand, which was small and well-formed,
and a conventional greeting. He had a singularly musical
voice, and spoke without any marked accent though Troy
fancied she heard a faint American inflection. She said
something about his kindness in offering harbourage to
Miss Truebody. He smiled gently, sank on to an Algerian
leather seat, drew his feet up under his gown and placed
them, apparently, against his thighs. His hands fell softly
to his lap.

'You have brought,' he said, 'a gift of great price. We
are grateful.'

From the time they had confronted each other he had
looked fully into Troy's eyes and he continued to do so.
It was not the half-unseeing attention of ordinary courtesy
but an unswerving fixed regard. He seemed to blink less
than most people.

His disciple said: 'Dearest Ra, I've got the most
monstrous headache.'

'It will pass,' he said, still looking at Troy. 'You know
what you should do, dear Sati.'


61


'Yes, I do, don't I! But it's so hard sometimes to feel
the light. One gropes and gropes.'

'Patience, dear Sati. It will come.'

She sat up on her Li-lo, seized her ankles and with a
grunt of discomfort adjusted the soles of her feet to the
inside surface of her thighs. 'From,' she said discontentedly.

Mr Oberon said to Troy: 'We speak of things that are
a little strange to you. Or perhaps they are not altogether
strange.'

'Just what /thought.' The lady began eagerly. 'Isn't she

feyT

He disregarded her.

'Should I explain that we - my guests here and I - follow
what we believe to be the true Way of Life? Perhaps, up
here, in this ancient house, we have created an atmosphere
that to a visitor is a little overwhelming. Do you feel it

so?'

Troy said: 'I'm afraid I'm just rather addled with a long
journey, not much sleep and an anxious time with Miss
Truebody.'

'I have been helping her. And, I hope, our friend Baradi.

'Have you?' Troy exclaimed in great surprise. 'I thought
... but how kind of you ... is ... is the operation going

well?'

He smiled, showing perfect teeth. 'Again, I do not make
myself clear. I have been with them, not in the body but
in the spirit.'

'Oh,' mumbled Troy. 'I'm sorry.'

'Particularly with your friend. This was e#sy because
when by the will, or, as with her, by the agency of an
anaesthetic, the soul is set free of the body, it may be
greatly helped. Hers is a pure soul. She should be called
Miss Truesoul instead of Miss Truebody.' He laughed, a
light breathy sound, and showed the pink interior of his
mouth. 'But we must not despise the body,' he said,
apparently as an afterthought.

His disciple whispered: 'Oh no! No, indeed! No,' and
started to breathe deeply, stopping one nostril with a finger


62


and expelling her breath with a hissing sound. Troy began
to wonder if she was, perhaps, a little mad.

Oberon had shifted his gaze from Troy. His eyes were
still very wide open and quite without expression. He had
seen the sleeping Ricky.

It was with the greatest difficulty that Troy gave her
movement towards Ricky a semblance of casualness. Her
instinct, she afterwards told Alleyn, was entirely that of
a mother-cat. She leant over her small son and made a
pretence of adjusting the cushion behind him. She heard
Oberon say: 'A beautiful child,' and thought that no matter
how odd it might look, she would stand between Ricky
and his eyes until something else diverted their gaze. But
Ricky himself stirred a little, flinging out his arm. She moved
Mm over with his face away from Oberon. He murmured:
:*Mummy?' and she answered: 'Yes,' and kept her hand Ion him until he had fallen back to sleep.

She turned and looked past the ridiculous back of the
peep-breathing disciple to the figure in the glare of the
fstm, and, being a painter, she recognised, in the midst of
alarm a remarkable object. At the same time it seemed
her that Oberon and she acknowledged each other as

lies.

-This engagement, if it was one, was broken off by the
arance of two more of Mr Oberon's guests: a tall girl
a lame young man who were introduced as Ginny lor and Robin Herrington. Both their names were
ir to Troy, the girl's as that of a regular sacrifice
the altars of the glossy weeklies and the man's as that
pine reputably wildish son of a famous brewer who was
> an indefatigable patron of the fine arts. To Troy their
itive normality was as a freshening breeze and she
ready to overlook the shadows under their eyes and
' air of unease. They greeted her politely, lowered their
when they saw Ricky and sat together on one seat,
ling him from Mr Oberon. Troy returned to her former


Oberon was talking. It seemed that he had bought
63


a book in Paris, a newly-discovered manuscript, one of
those assembled by Roger de Gaignieres. Troy knew that
he must have paid a fabulous sum for it and, in spite of
herself, listened eagerly to a description of the illuminations.
He went on to speak of other works; of the calendar of
Charles d'Angouleme, of Indian art, and finally of the
moderns - Rouault, Picasso and Andre Derain. 'But, of
course, Andre is not a modern. He derives quite blatantly
from Rubens. Ask Carbury, when he comes, if I am not
right.'

Troy's nerves jumped. Could he mean Carbury Glande,
a painter whom she knew perfectly well who would
certainly, if he appeared, greet her with feverish
effusiveness? Mr Oberon no longer looked at her or at
anyone in particular, yet she had the feeling that he talked
at her and he was talking very well. Yes, here was a
description of one of Glande's works. 'He painted it
yesterday from the Saracens' Watchtower: the favourite
interplay of lemon and lacquer-red with a single note of
magenta, and everything arranged about a central point.
The esoteric significance was eloquent and the whole thing
quite beautiful.' It was undoubtedly Carbury Glande.
Surely, surely, the operation must be over and if so, why
didn't Alleyn come and take them away? She tried to
remember if Carbury Glande knew she was married to
a policeman.

Ginny Taylor said: 'I wish I knew about Carbury. I can't
get anything from his works. I can only say awful
philistinish things such as they look as if they were too
easy to do.' She glanced in a friendly manner at Troy.
'Do you know about modern art?' she asked.

'I'm always ready to learn,' Troy hedged with a dexterity
born of fright.

'I shall never learn however much I try,' sighed Ginny
Taylor and suddenly yawned.

The jaws of everyone except Mr Oberon quivered
responsively.

'Lord, I'm sorry,' said Ginny and for some unaccountable


64


reason looked frightened. Robin Herrington touched her
hand with the tip of his fingers. 'I wonder why they're
so infectious,' he said. 'Sneezes, coughs and yawns. Yawns
worst of all. To read about them's enough to set one going.'

'Perhaps,' Mr Oberon suggested, 'it's another piece of
evidence, if a homely one, that separateness is an illusion.
Our bodies as well as our souls have reflex actions.' And
while Troy was still wondering what on earth this might
mean his Sati gave a little yelp of agreement.

'True! True!' she cried. She dived, stretched out with
her right arm and grasped her toes. At the same time she
wound her left arm behind her head and seized her right
ear. Having achieved this unlikely posture, she gazed
devotedly upon Mr Oberon. 'Is it all right, dearest Ra,'
she asked, 'for me to press quietly on with my Prana and
Pranayama?'

'It is well at all times, dear Sati, if the spirit also is
attuned.'

Troy couldn't resist stealing a glance at Ginny Taylor
and Robin Herrington. Was it possible that they found
nothing to marvel at in these antics? Ginny was looking
doubtfully at Sati and young Herrington was looking at
.Ginny as if, Troy thought with relief, he invited her to
be amused with him.

'Ginny?' Mr Oberon said quietly.

The beginning of a smile died on Ginny's lips. 'I'm sorry,'
she said quickly. 'Yes, Ra?'

'Have you formed a design for today?'

'No. At least. . . this afternoon . . . '

'I thought, if it suited general arrangements,' Robin
Herrington said, 'that I might ask Ginny to come into
Douceville this afternoon. I want her to tell me what colour
I should have for new awnings on the afterdeck.'

But Ginny had got up and walked past Troy to Mr
Oberon. She stood before him white-faced with the dark
Hmarks showing under her eyes.

'Are you going, then, to Douceville?' he asked. 'You


65


look a little pale, my child. We were so late with ourgaities
last night. Should you rest this afternoon?'

He was looking at her as he had looked at Troy.

'I think perhaps I should,' she said in a flat voice.

'I too The colour of the awnings can wait until the
colour of the cheeks is restored. Perhaps Annabella would
enjoy a drive to Douceville. Annabella Wells,' he explained
to Troy, 'is with us. Her latest picture is completed and
she is to make a film for Dwant Freres in the spring.'

Troy was not much interested in the presence of a
notoriously erratic, if brilliant actress. She had been
watching young Herrington, whose brows were drawn
together in a scowl. He got up and stood behind Ginny,
looking at Oberon over the top of her head. His hands
closed and he thrust them into his pockets.

'I thought a drive might be a good idea for Gmny,


But Ginny had sunk down on the end of the Li-lo at
Mr Oberon's feet. She settled herself there quietly, with
an air of obedience. Mr Oberon said to Troy: 'Robin has
a most wonderful yacht. You must ask him to show it
to you.' He put his hand on Ginny's head.

'I should be delighted,' said Robin and sounded funous.
He had turned aside and now added in a loud voice: 'Why
not this afternoon? I still think Ginny should come to
Douceville.'

Troy knew that something had happened that was
unusual between Mr Oberon and his guests and that Robin
Herrington was frightened as well as angry. She wanted
to give him courage. Her heart thumped against her nbs.
In the dead silence they all heard someone come quickly
up the stone stairway. When Alky11 °Pened ** do°r their
heads were already turned towards him.


Ill


He waited for.a moment to accustom his eyes to the glare


66


and during s that moment he and the five people whose
faces were r "turned towards him were motionless.

One growavs scarcely to see one's lifelong companions and
it is more difficult to call up the face of one's beloved
than that cof a mere acquaintance. Troy had never been
able to maklce a memory-drawing of her husband. Yet, at
that momeMat, it was as if a veil of familiarity was withdrawn
and she locz>kedat him with fresh perception.

She thoumght: 'I've never been gladder to see him.'

'This is mny husband,' she said.

Mr Obe^on had risen and came forward. He was five
inches shoBter than Alleyn. For the first time Troy thought
him ridiculous as well as disgusting.

He held out his hand. 'We're so glad to meet you at
last. The mews is good?'

'Dr Baradi will be able to tell you better than I,' Alleyn
said. 'Her condition was pretty bad. He says she will be
very ill.'

'We sha-11 all help her,' Mr Oberon said, indicating the .
antic Sati, "the bemused Ginny Taylor and the angry-looking
Robin Herrington. 'We can do so much.'

HJe put his hand on Alleyn's arm and led him forward.
The reek of ether accompanied them. Alleyn was introduced
to tlie guests and offered a seat but he said: 'If we may,
I think perhaps I should see my wife and Ricky on their
way back to Roqueville. Our driver is free now and can
take them. He will come back for me. We're expecting
a rather urgent telephone call at our hotel.'

Troy, who dreaded the appearance of Carbury Glande,
kne^v Alleyn had said 'my wife,' because he didn't want
Obes-on to learn her name. He had an air of authority
that -was in itself, she thought, almost a betrayal. She got
up quickly and went to Ricky.

'F*erhaps,' Alleyn said, 'I should stay a little longer in
case there's any change in her condition. Baradi is going
to telephone to St. Christophe for a nurse and, in the
meantime, two of your maids will take turns sitting in the


67


look a little pale, my child. We were so late with our gaities
last night. Should you rest this afternoon?'

He was looking at her as he had looked at Troy.

'I think perhaps I should,' she said in a flat voice.

'I, too. The colour of the awnings can wait until the
colour of the cheeks is restored. Perhaps Annabella would
enjoy a drive to Douceville. Annabella Wells,' he explained
to Troy, 'is with us. Her latest picture is completed and
she is to make a film for Durant Freres in the spring.'

Troy was not much interested in the presence of a
notoriously erratic, if brilliant actress. She had been
watching young Herrington, whose brows were drawn
together in a scowl. He got up and stood behind Ginny,
looking at Oberon over the top of her head. His hands
closed and he thrust them into his pockets.

'I thought a drive might be a good idea for Ginny,'
he said.

But Ginny had sunk down on the end of the Li-lo at
Mr Oberon's feet. She settled herself there quietly, with
an air of obedience. Mr Oberon said to Troy: 'Robin has
a most wonderful yacht. You must ask him to show it
to you.' He put his hand on Ginny's head.

'I should be delighted,' said Robin and sounded furious.
He had turned aside and now added in a loud voice: 'Why
not this afternoon? I still think Ginny should come to
Douceville.'

Troy knew that something had happened that was
unusual between Mr Oberon and his guests and that Robin
Herrington was frightened as well as angry. She wanted
to give him courage. Her heart thumped against her ribs.

In the dead silence they all heard someone come quickly
up the stone stairway. When Alleyn opened the door their
heads were already turned towards him.


Ill


He waited for a moment to accustom his eyes to the glare


66


and during that moment he and the five people whose
faces were turned towards him were motionless.

One grows scarcely to see one's lifelong companions and
it is more difficult to call up the face of one's beloved
than that of a mere acquaintance. Troy had never been
able to make a memory-drawing of her husband. Yet, at
that moment, it was as if a veil of familiarity was withdrawn
and she looked at him with fresh perception.

She thought: 'I've never been gladder to see him.'

'This is my husband,' she said.

Mr Oberon had risen and came forward. He was five
inches shorter than Alleyn. For the first time Troy thought
him ridiculous as well as disgusting.

He held out his hand. 'We're so glad to meet you at
last. The news is good?'

'Dr Baradi will be able to tell you better than I,' Alleyn
said. 'Her condition was pretty bad. He says she will be
very ill.'

'We shall all help her,' Mr Oberon said, indicating the
antic Sati, the bemused Ginny Taylor and the angry-looking
Robin Herrington. 'We can do so much.'

He put his hand on Alleyn's arm and led him forward.
The reek of ether accompanied them. Alleyn was introduced
to the guests and offered a seat but he said: 'If we may,
I think perhaps I should see my wife and Ricky on their
way back to Roqueville. Our driver is free now and can
take them. He will come back for me. We're expecting
a rather urgent telephone call at our hotel.'

Troy, who dreaded the appearance of Carbury Glande,
knew Alleyn had said 'my wife,' because he didn't want
Oberon to learn her name. He had an air of authority
that was in itself, she thought, almost a betrayal. She got
up quickly and went to Ricky.

'Perhaps,' Alleyn said, *I should stay a little longer in
case there's any change in her condition. Baradi is going
to telephone to St. Christophe for a nurse and, in the
meantime, two of your maids will take turns sitting in the


67


room. I'm sure, sir, that if she were able, Miss Truebody
would tell you how grateful she is for your hospitality.'

'There is no need. She is with us in a very special sense.
She is in safe hands. We must send a car for the nurse.
There is no train until the evening.'

'I'll go,' Robin Herrington said. Til be there in an hour.'

'Robin,' Oberon explained
lightly, 'has driven in the Monte Carlo rally. We must hope that the nurse has iron
nerves.'

Alleyn said to Robin: 'It sounds an admirable idea. Will
you suggest it to Dr Baradi?'

He went to Ricky and lifted him in his arms. Troy gave
her hand to Mr Oberon. His own wrapped itself round
hers, tightened, and was suddenly withdrawn. 'You must visit us again,' he said. 'If you are a voyager of the spirit,
and I think you are, it might interest you to come to one
of our meditations.'

'Yes, do come,' urged his Sati, who had abandoned her
exercises on Alleyn's entrance. 'It's madly wonderful. You
must. Where are you staying?'

'At the Royal.'

'Couldn't be easier. No need to hire a car. The Douceville
bus leaves from the corner. Every half-hour. You'll find
it perfectly convenient.'

Troy was reminded vividly of Mr Garbel's letters. She
murmured something non-committal, said good-bye and
went to the door.

Til see you out,' Robin Herrington offered and took
up his heavy walking-stick.

As she groped down the darkened stairway she heard
their voices rumbling above her. They came slowly; Alleyn
because of Ricky and Herrington because of his stiff leg.
The sensation of nightmare that threatened without
declaring itself, mounted in intensity. The stairs seemed
endless yet when she reached the door into the hall she
was half-scared of opening it because Carbury Olande
might be on the other side. But the hall was untenanted.
She hurried through it and out to the courtyard. The iron


68


gates had an elaborate fastening. Troy fumbled with it,
dazzled by the glare of sunlight beyond. She pulled at the
heavy latch, bruising her fingers. A voice behind her and
at her feet said: 'Do let me help you.'

Carbury Glande must have come up the stairs from
beneath the courtyard. His face, on a level with her knees,
peered through the interstices of the wrought-iron banister.
Recognition dawned on it.

'Can it be Troy?' he ejaculated hoarsely. 'But it is\ Dear
heart, how magical and how peculiar. Where have you
sprung from? And why are you scrabbling away at doors?
Has Oberon alarmed you? I may say he petrifies me. What
are you up to?'

He had arrived at her level, a short gnarled man whose
hair and beard were red and whose face, at the moment,
was a dreadful grey. He blinked up at Troy as if he couldn't
get her into focus. He was wearing a pair of floral shorts
and a magenta shirt.

Tm not up to anything,' said Troy. 'In fact, I'm scarcely
here at all. We've brought your host a middle-aged spinster
with a perforated appendix and now we're on our way.'

'Ah, yes. I heard about the spinster. All Baradi woke
me at cockcrow, full of professional zeal, and asked me
if I'd like to thread needles and count sponges. How he
dared! Are you going?'

'I must/ Troy said. 'Do open this damned door for me.'

She could hear Alleyn's and Herrington's voices in the
hall and the thump of Herrington's stick.

Glande reached for the latch. His hand, stained round
the nails with paint, was tremulous. 'I am, as you can
see, a wreck,' he said. 'A Homeric party and only four
hours' sottish insensitivity in which to recover. Imagine
it! There you are.'

He opened the doors and winced at the glare outside.
'Oberon will be thrilled you're here,' he said. 'Did you
know he bought a thing of yours at the Rond-Point show?
It's in the library. 'Boy with a Kite.* He adores it.'

'Look here,' Troy said hurriedly, 'be a good chap and


69


don't tell him I'm me. I've come here for a holiday and
I'd so much rather . . . '

*AVell, if you like. Yes, of course. Yes, I understand.
And on mature consideration I fancy this manage is not
entirely your cup of tea. You're almost pathologically
normal, aren't you? Forgive me if I bolt back to my burrow,
the glare is really more than I can endure. God, somebody's
coming!'

He stumbled away from the door. Alleyn with Ricky
in his arms, came out of the hall followed by Robin
Herrington. Glande ejaculated: 'Oh, sorry!' and bolted
down the stairs. Herrington scowled after him and said:
'That's our tame genius. I'll come to the car, if I may.'

As they walked in single file down the steps and past
the maker of figurines, Troy had the feeling that Robin
wanted to say something to them and didn't know how
to begin. They had reached the open platform where Raoul
waited by the car before he blurted out:

'I do hope you will let me drive you down, to see the
yacht. Both of you, I mean. I mean . . .' he stopped short.

Alleyn said: 'That's very nice of you. I hadn't heard
about a yacht.'

'She's quite fun.' He stood there, still with an air of
hesitancy. Alleyn shifted Ricky and looked at Troy, who
held out her hand to Robin.

'Don't come any farther,' she said. 'Good-bye and thank
you.'

'Good-bye. If we may, Ginny and I will call at the hotel.
It's the Royal, I suppose. I mean, it might amuse you to

come for a drive. I mean, if you don't know anybody here

>


'It'd be lovely,' Troy temporised, wondering if Alleyn
wanted her to accept.

'As a matter of fact,' Alleyn said, 'we have got someone
we ought to look up in Roqueville. Do you know anybody
about here with the unlikely name of Garbel?'

Robin's jaw dropped. He stared at them with an
expression of extraordinary consternation. 'I ... no. No.


70


We haven't really met any of the local people. No. Well
I mustn't keep you standing in the sun. Goodbye.'

And with a precipitancy as marked as his former
hesitation, he turned and limped off down the passageway.

'Now what,' Troy asked her husband, 'in a crazy world,
is the significance of that particular bit of lunacy?'

'I've not the beginning of a notion,' he said. 'But I suggest
that when we've got time to think, we call on Mr Garbel.'


71


CHAPTER FOUR


THE ELUSIVENESS OF MR. GARBEL


Ricky woke up before they could get him to the car and
was bewildered to find himself transported. He was hot,
hungry, thirsty and uncomfortable and he required
immediate attention.

While Troy and Alleyn looked helplessly about the open
platform Raoul advanced from the car, his face brilliant
with understanding. He squatted on his heels beside the
flushed and urgent Ricky and addressed him in very simple
French which he appeared to understand and to which
he readily responded. Marie, of the figurines, Raoul
explained to the parents, would offer suitable hospitality
and he and Ricky went off together, Ricky glancing up
at him with admiration.

'It appears,' Alleyn said, 'that a French nanny and those
bi-weekly conversational tramps with Mademoiselle to the
Round Pond have not been unproductive. Our child has
the rudiments of the language.'

'Mademoiselle,' Troy rejoined, 'says he's prodigiously
quick for his age. An amazing child, she thinks.' And she
added hotly; 'Well, all right, I don't say so to anyone else,
do I?'

'My darling, you do not and you shall never say so too
often to me. But for the moment let us take our infant
phenomenon for granted and look at the situation Chevre
d'Argent. Tell me as quickly as you can, what happened
before I cropped up among those cups-of-tea on the rooftop.'

They sat together on the running-board of the car and
Troy did her best. 'Admirable,' he said when she had


72


R

finished. 'I fell in love with you in the first instance because
you made such beautiful statements. Now, what do you
suppose goes on in that house?'

'Something quite beastly,' she said vigorously. 'I'm sure
of it. Oberon's obviously dishing out to his chums some
fantastic hodge-podge of mysticism-cum-religion-cum, I'm
very much afraid, eroticism. Grizel Locke attempted a sort
of resume. You never heard such a rigmarole . . . yoga,
' Nietzsche, black magic. Voodoo, I wouldn't be surprised.
With Lord knows what fancy touches of their own thrown
in. It ought to be merely silly but it's not, it's frightening.
Grizel Locke, I should say, is potty, but the two young
ones in any other setting would have struck me as being
pleasant children. The boy's obviously in a state about
the girl who seems to be completely in Oberon's toils. It's
so fantastic, it isn't true.'

'Have you ever heard of the case of Horus and the Swami
Vivi Ananda?'

'No.'

'They appeared before Curtis Bennett with Edward
Carson prosecuting and got swinging sentences for their
pains. There's no time to tell you about them now but
you've more or less described their set-up, and I assure
you there's nothing so very unusual about the religio-erotic
racket. Oberon's name, by the way, is Albert George
Clarkson. He's a millionaire and undoubtedly one of the
drug barons. The cult of the Children of the Sun in the
Outer is merely a useful sideline and a means, I suspect,
of gratifying a particularly nasty personal taste. They
suggested as much at the Surete though they don't know
exactly what goes on among the Sun's Babies. The Surete
is interested solely in the narcotics side of the show and
the Yard's watching it from our end.'

'And you?'

'I'm supposed to be the perishing link or something.
What about the red-headed gentleman with painty hands
and a carryover who was letting you out?'

'He might be serious, Rory. He's Carbury Glande. He


73


paints those post-surrealist things . . . witches' sabbaths
and mystic unions. You must remember. Rather pretty
colour and good design but a bit nasty in feeling. The
thing is, he knows me and although I asked him not to,
he'll probably talk.'

'Does he know about us?'

'I can't tell. He might.'

'Damn!'

'I shouldn't have come, should I? If Glande knows who
you are, he won't be able to resist telling them and bang
goes your job.'

'They didn't give me Glande's name at the Surete. He
must be a later arrival. Never mind, we'll gamble on his
not knowing you made a mesalliance with a policeman.
Now, listen, my darling, I don't know how long I'll be
up here. It may be an hour and it may be twenty-four.
Will you settle yourself and Ricky at the Royal and forget
about the Chevre d'Argent? If there's any goat on the
premises it will probably be your devoted husband. I'll
make what hay I can while the sun shines in the Outer
and I'll turn up as soon as maybe. One thing more. Will
you try, when you've come to your poor senses, to ring
up Mr Garbel? He may not be on the telephone, of course,
but if he is . . . '

'Lord, yes! Mr Garbel! Now why, for pity's sake, did
Robin Herrington run like a rabbit at the mention of
P.E.Garbel? Can cousin Garbel be a drug baron? Or an
addict, if it comes to that? It might account for his quaint
literary style.'

'Have you by any chance, brought his letters?*

'Only the last, for the sake of his address.'

'Hang on to it, I implore you. If he is on the telephone
and answers, ask him to luncheon to-morrow and I'll be
there. If, by any chance, he turns up before then, find
out if he knows any of Oberon's chums and is prepared
to talk about them. Here comes Raoul and Ricky. Forget
about this blasted business, my own true love, and enjoy
yourself if you can.'


74


'What about Miss Truebpdy?'

'Baradi is pretty worried, he says. I'm quite certain he's
doing all that can be done for her. He's a kingpin at his
job, you know, however much he may stink to high heaven
as a chap.'

'Shouldn't I wait with her?'

We. Any more of that and I'll begin to think you like
having your hand kissed by luscious Oriental gentlemen.
Hallo, Rick, ready for your drive?'

Ricky advanced with his hands behind his back and with
strides designed to match those of his companion. 'Is Raoul
driving us?' he asked.

'He is. You and Mummy.'

'Good. Daddy, look! Look, Mummy!'

He produced from behind his back a little goat, painted
silver grey, with one foot upraised and mounted on a base
that roughly traced the outlines of the Chateau de la Chevre
d'Argent. 'The old lady made it and Raoul gave it to me,'
Ricky said. 'It's a silver goat and when it's night-time it
makes itself shine. -Doesn't it Raoul? West ce pas, RaoulT

'Oui, oui. Une chevre <fargent qui s'illumine.'

'Daddy, isn't Raoul kind?'

Alleyn, a little embarrassed, told Raoul how kind he
was and Troy, haltingly, attempted to say that he shouldn't.

Raoul said: 'But it is nothing, Madame. If it pleases
this young gallant and does not offend Madame, all is
well. What are my orders, Monsieur?'

'Will you drive Madame and Ricky to their hotel? Then
go to M. le Commissaire at the Prefecture and give him
this letter. Tell him that I will call on him as soon as possible.
Tell him also about the operation and of course reply to
any questions he may ask. Then return here. There is no
immediate hurry and you will have time for dejeuner. Do
not report at the chateau but wait here for me. If I haven't
turned up by 3.30 you may ask for me at the chateau.
You will remember that?'

Raoul repeated his instructions. Alleyn looked steadily
at him. 'Should you be told that I am not there, drive


75


to the nearest telephone, ring up the Prefecture and tell
M. le Commissaire precisely what has happened.
Understood?'

'Well understood, Monsieur.'

'Good, One thing more, Raoul. Do you know anyone
in Roqueville called Garbel?'

'Garr-bel? No, Monsieur. It will be an English person
for whom Monsieur inquires?'

'Yes. The address is 16 Rue des Violettes.'

Raoul repeated the address. 'It is an apartment house,
that one. It is true one finds a few English there, for the
most part ladies no longer young and with small incomes
who do not often engage taxis.'

'Ah, well,' Alleyn said. 'No matter.'

He took off his hat and kissed his wife. 'Have a nice
holiday,' he said, 'and give my love to Mr Garbel.'

'What were you telling Raoul?'

'Wouldn't you like to know! Good-bye, Rick. Take care
of your Mama, she's a good kind creature and means well.'

Ricky grinned. He was quick, when he didn't understand
his father's remarks, to catch their intention from the colour
of his voice. 'Entendu,'he said, imitating Raoul, and climbed
into the car beside him.

'I suppose I may sit here?' he said airily.

'He is a precocious little perisher and no mistake,' Alleyn
muttered. 'Do you suppose it'll all peter out and he'll be
a dullard by the time he's eight.'

'A lot of it's purely imitative. It sounds classier than
it is. Move up, Ricky, I'm coming in front, too.'

Alleyn watched the car drive down the steep lane to
the main road. Then he turned back to the Chateau de
la Chevre d'Argent.


II


On the way back to Roqueville Raoul talked nursery French
to Ricky and his mother, pointing out the places of interest:


76


the Alpine monastery where, in 	the cloisters, one might
see many lively pictures executed by the persons of the
district whose relations had been saved from abrupt
destruction by the intervention of Our Lady of Paysdoux;
villages that looked as if they had been thrown against
the rocks and had stuck to them; distant prospects of little
towns. On a lonely stretch of road, Troy offered him a
cigarette and while he lit it he allowed Ricky to steer the
scarcely moving car. Ricky's dotage on Raoul intensified
with every kilometre they travelled together and Troy's
understanding of French improved with astonishing
rapidity. Altogether they enjoyed each other's company
immensely and the journey seemed a short one. They could
scarcely believe that the cluster of yellow and pink buildings
that presently appeared beneath them was Roqueville.

Raoul turned aside from the steeply descending road
and drove down a narrow side-street past an open market
where bunches of dyed immortelles hung shrilly above the
stalls and the smell of tuberoses was mingled with the
pungency of fruit and vegetables. All the world, Raoul
said, was abroad at this hour in the market and he flung
loud unembarrassed greetings to many persons of his
acquaintance. Troy felt her spirits rising and Ricky dropped
into the stillness that with him was a sign of extreme
pleasure. He sighed deeply and laid one hand on Raoul's
knee and one, clasping his silver goat, on Troy's.

They were in a shadowed street where the houses were
washed over with faint candy-pink, lemon and powder
blue. Strings of washing hung from one iron balcony to
another.

'Rue des Violettes,' Raoul said, pointing to the street
sign and presently halted. 'Numero seize.'

Troy gathered that he offered her an opportunity to call
on Mr Garbel or, if she was not so inclined, to note the
whereabouts of his lodgings. She could see through the
open door into a dim and undistinguished interior. A
number of raffish children clustered about the car. They


77


chattered in an incomprehensible patois and stared with
an air of hardihood at Ricky, who instantly became stony.

Troy thought Raoul was offering to accompany her into
the house, but sensing panic in the breast of her son, she
managed to say that she would go in by herself. 'I can't
leave a note,' she thought and said to Ricky: 'I won't be
a moment. You stay with Raoul, darling.'

'O.K.' he agreed, still fully occupied with disregarding
the children. He was like a dog who, when addressed by
his master, wags his tail but does not lower his hackles.
Raoul shouted at the children and made a shooing noise
driving them from the car. They retreated a little, skittishly
twitting him. He got out and opened the door for Troy,
removing his cap as if she were a minor royalty. Impressed
by this evidence of prestige, most of the children fell back,
though two of the hardier raised a beggar's plaint and
were silenced by Raoul.

The door of No. 16 was ajar. Troy pushed it open and
crossed a dingy tessellated floor to a lift-well beside which
hung a slotted board holding cards, some with printed and
some with written names on them. She had begun hunting
up and down the board when a voice behind her said:
'Madame?'

Troy turned as if she'd been struck. The door of a sort
of cubby-hole opposite the lift was held partly open by
a grimy and heavily ringed hand. Beyond the hand Troy
could see folds of a black satin dress, an iridescence of
bead-work and three-quarters of a heavy face and piled
up coiffure.

She felt as if she'd been caught doing something shady.
Her nursery French deserted her.

1Pardon,' she stammered. 'Je desire - je cherche -
Monsieur Garbel - le nom de Garbel.'

The woman said something incomprehensible to Troy
who replied, 'Je ne parle pas Franfais. Malheureusement,' Jh pounds <ldedonan afterthought. The woman made a resigned waddled out of her cubby-hole. She was
fc*» and used a walking-stick. Her eyes were

78

VOtte and

like black currants sunk in uncooked dough. She prodded
with her stick at the top of the board and, strangely familiar
in that alien place, a spidery signature in faded ink was
exhibited: 'P.E.Garbel.'

'Ah, merci,' Troy cried out but the fat woman shook
her head contemptuously and appeared to repeat her former
remark. This time Troy caught something like . . . 'Pas
chez elle . . . il y a vingt-quatre heures.'

'Not at home?' shouted Troy in English. The woman
shrugged heavily and began to walk away. 'May I leave
a note?' Troy called to her enormous back. 'Puis-je vous
dormer un billet pour Monsieur?'

The woman stared at her as if she were mad. Troy
scrabbled in her bag and produced a notebook and the
stub of a BB pencil. Sketches she had made of Ricky in
the train fell to the floor. The woman glanced at them
with some appearance of interest. Troy wrote: 'Called at
11.15. Sorry to have missed you. Hope you can lunch with
us at the Royal to-morrow.' She signed the 		note, folded
jit over and wrote: 'M. P.E.GarbeF on the flap. She gave
tit to the woman (was she a concierge?) and stooped to
aver her sketches, aware as she did so, of a dusty skirt,
iubious petticoats and broken shoes. When she
lightened up it was to find her note displayed with a
y-rimmed sunken finger-nail jabbing at the inscription.
: can't read my writing,' Troy thought and pointed first
the card and then to the note, nodding like a mandarin
1 smiling constrainedly. 'Garbel,' said Troy, 'Gar-r-bel.'
remembered about tipping and pressed a 200 franc
J into the padded hand. This had an instantaneous effect,
woman coruscated with black unlovely smiles,
emoiselle,' she said, gaily waving the note. 'Madame,' t responded. Won, non, non, non, Mademoiselle.'insisted |*Woman with an ingratiating leer,
ay supposed this to be a compliment. She tried to ^ deprecating, made an ungraphic gesture and beat a


fey and Raoul were in close conversation in the car
79


when she rejoined them. Three of the hardboiled children
were seated on the running board while the others played
leap-frog in an exhibitionist manner up and down the street.

'Darling,' Troy said as they drove away, 'you speak
French much better than I do.'

Ricky slewed his eyes round to her. They were a brilliant
blue and his lashes, like his hair, were black. 'Naturellement!' he said.

'Don't be a prig, Ricky,' said his mother crossly. 'You're
much too uppity. I think I must be bringing you up very
badly.'

'Why?'

'Now then!' Troy warned him.

'Did you see Mr Garbel, Mummy?'

'No, I left a note.'

'Is he coming to see us?'

'I hope so,' said Troy and after a moment's thought
added: 'If he's true.'

'If he writes letters to you he must be true,' Ricky pointed
out. 'Naturellement!'

Raoul drove them into a little square and pulled up in
front of the hotel.

At that moment the concierge at 16 Rue des Violettes,
after having sat for ten minutes in morose cogitation, dialled
the telephone number of the Chevre d'Argent.


Ill


Alleyn and Baradi stood on either side of the bed. The
maid, an elderly pinched-looking woman, had withdrawn
to the window. The beads of her rosary clicked discreetly
through her fingers.

Miss Truebody's face, still without its teeth, seemed to
have collapsed about her nose and forehead and to be
less than human-sized. Her mouth was a round hole with
puckered edges. She was snoring. Each expulsion of her
breath blew the margin of the hole outwards and each


80


intake sucked it in so that in a dreadful way her face was
busy. Her eyes were incompletely closed and her almost
hairless brows drawn together in a meaningless scowl.

'She will be like this for some hours,' Baradi said. He
drew Miss Truebody's wrist from under the sheet: 'I expect
no change. She is very ill, but I expect no change for some
hours.'

'Which sounds,' Alleyn said absently, 'like a rough sketch
for a villanelle.'

'You are a poet?'

Alleyn waved a hand: 'Shall we say, an undistinguished
amateur.'

'You underrate yourself, I feel sure,' Baradi said still
holding the flaccid wrist. 'You publish?'

Alleyn was suddenly tempted to say: 'The odd slim vol.,'
but he controlled himself and made a slight modest gesture
that was entirely non-committal. Dr Baradi followed this
up with his now familiar comment. 'Mr Oberon,' he said,
'will be delighted,' and added: 'He is already greatly moved
by your personality and that of your enchanting wife.'"

'For my part,' Alleyn said, 'I was enormously impressed
with his.'

He looked with an air of ardent expectancy into that
fleshy mask and could find in it no line or fold that was
either stupid or credulous. What was Baradi? Part Egyptian,
part French? Wholly Egyptian? Wholly Arab? 'Which is
the king-pin?' Alleyn speculated, 'Baradi or Oberon?'
Baradi, taking out his watch, looked impassively into
Alleyn's face. Then he snapped open his watch and a minute
went past, clicked out by the servant's beads.

'Ah, well,' Baradi muttered, putting up his watch, 'it
is as one would expect. Nothing can be done for'the time
being. This woman will report any change. She is capable
and, in the village, has had some experience of sick bed
attendance. My man will be able to relieve her. We may
have difficulty in securing a trained nurse for to-night but
we shall manage.'

He nodded at the woman who came forward and listened


81


passively to his instructions. They left her, nun-like and
watchful, seated by the bed.

'It is eleven o'clock, the hour of meditation,' Baradi said
as they walked down the passage, 'so we must not disturb.
There will be something to drink in my room. Will you
join me? Your car has not yet returned.'

He led the way into the Chinese room where his servant
waited behind a table set with Venetian goblets, dishes
of olives and sandwiches and something that looked like
Turkish delight. There was also champagne in a silver ice
bucket. Alleyn was almost impervious to irregular hours
but the last twenty-four had been exciting, the heat was
excessive, and the reek of ether had made him feel
squeamish. Lager was his normal choice but champagne
would have done very nicely indeed. It was an arid
concession to his job that obliged him to say with what
he hoped was the right degree of complacency: 'Will you
forgive me if I have water? You see, I've lately become
rather interested in a way of life that excludes alcohol.'

'But how remarkable. Mr Oberon will be most interested.
Mr Oberon,' Baradi said, signing to the servant that the
champagne was to be opened, 'is perhaps the greatest living
authority on such matters. His design for living transcends
many of the ancient cults, drawing from each its purest
essence. A remarkable synthesis. But while he himself
achieves a perfect balance between austerity and, shall we
say, selective enjoyment, he teaches that there is no merit
in abstention for the sake of abstention. His disciples are
encouraged to experience many pleasures, to choose them
with the most exquisite discrimination: 'arrange' them,
indeed, as a painter arranges his pictures or a composer
traces out the design for a fugue. Only thus, he tells us,
may the Ultimate Goal be reached. Only thus may one
experience Life to the Full. Believe me, Mr Alien, he would
smile at your rejection of this admirable vintage, thinking
it as gross an error, if you will forgive me, as over


ftl^48ence" Let me P61"811^6 y°u to change your mind.
Besides, you have had a trying experience. You are a little


82


nauseated, I think, by the fumes of ether. Let me,' as a
doctor,' he ended playfully, 'insist on a glass of champagne.'

Alleyn had taken up a ruby goblet and was looking into
it with admiration. 'I must say,' he said, 'this is all most
awfully interesting; what you've been saying about Mr
Oberon's teaching, I mean. You make my own fumbling
ideas seem pitifully naive.' He smiled. 'I should adore some
champagne from this quite lovely goblet.'

He held it out and watched the champagne mount and
cream. Baradi was looking at him across the rim of his
own glass. One could scarcely, Alleyn thought, imagine
a more opulent picture: the corrugations of hair glistened,
the eyes were lustrous; the nose overhung a bubbling field
of amber stained with ruby, one could guess at the wide
expectant lips.

'To the fullness of life,' said Dr Baradi.

'Yes, indeed.' Alleyn rejoined and they drank.

The champagne was, in fact, admirable.

Alleyn's head was as strong as the next man's but he
had had a light breakfast and therefore helped himself freely
to the sandwiches which were delicious. Baradi, always
prepared, Alleyn supposed, to experience life to the full,
gobbled up the sweetmeats, popping them one after another
into his red mouth and abominably washing them down
with champagne.

The atmosphere took on a spurious air of unbuttoning
which Alleyn was careful to encourage. So far, he felt
tolerably certain, Baradi knew nothing about him, but was
nevertheless concerned to place him accurately. The
situation was a delicate one. If Alleyn could establish
himself as an eager neophyte to the synthetic mysteries
preached by Mr Oberon, he would have taken a useful
step towards the performance of his job. At least he would
be able to give an inside report on the domestic setup
in the Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent. Officers on loan
to the Special Branch preserve a strict anonymity and it
was unlikely that his name would be known in the drug
racket as an M. 1.5 investigator. It might be recognised,


83


however, as that of a detective-officer of the C.I.D. Carbury
Glande might respect Troy's request but if he didn't, it
was more than likely that he or one of the others would
remember she had married a policeman. Alleyn himself
remembered the exuberance of the gossip columnists at
the time of their marriage and later, when Troy had held
one-man shows or when he had appeared for the police
in some much-publicised case. It looked as if he should
indeed make what hay he could while the sun shone on
the Chevre d'Argent.

'If Miss Truebody and I get through this party,' he
thought, 'blow me down if I don't take her out and we'll
break a bottle of fizz on our own account.'

Greatly cheered by this thought, be began to talk about
poetry and esoteric writing, speaking of Rabindranath
Tagore and the Indian 'Tantras,' of the 'Amanga Ranga'
and parts of the Kabbala. Baradi listened with every
appearance of delight but Alleyn felt a little as if he were
prodding at a particularly resilient mattress. There seemed
to be no vulnerable spot and, what was worse, his
companion began to exhibit signs of controlled restlessness.
It was clear that the champagne was intended for a stirrup
cup and that he waited for Alleyn to take his departure.
Yet somewhere, there must be a point of penetration. And
remembering with extreme distaste Dr Baradi's attentions
to Troy, Alleyn drivelled hopefully onward, speaking of
the secret rites of Eleusis and the cult of Osiris. Something
less impersonal at last appeared in Baradi as he listened
to these confidences. The folds of flesh running from the
corners of his nostrils to those of his mouth became more
apparent and he began to look like an Eastern and more
fleshy version of Charles II. He went to the bureau by
Vernis-Martm, unlocked it and presently laid before Alleyn
a book bound in grey silk on which a design had been
painted in violet, green and repellent pink.

'A rare and early edition,' he said. 'Carbury Glande
designed and executed the cover. Do admire it!'

Alleyn opened the book at the title page. It was copy


84


of The Memoirs of Donatien Alphonse Franfois, Marquis
de Bade.

'A present,' said Baradi, 'from Mr Oberon.'
It was unnecessary, Alleyn decided, to look any further
for the chink in Dr Baradi's armour.

From this moment, when he set down his empty goblet
on the table in Dr Baradi's room, his visit to the Chevre
d'Argent developed into a covert battle between himself
and the doctor. The matter under dispute was Alleyn's
departure. He was determined to stay for as long as the
semblance of ordinary manners could be preserved. Baradi
obviously wanted to get rid of him, but for reasons about
which Alleyn could only conjecture, avoided any suggestion
of precipitancy. Alleyn felt that his safest line was to
continue in the manner of a would-be disciple to the cult
of the Children of the Sun. Only thus, he thought, could
he avoid planting in Baradi a rising suspicion of his own
motives. He must be a bore, a persistent bore, but no more
than a bore. And he went gassing on, racking his memory
for remnants of esoteric gossip. Baradi spoke of a telephone
call. Alleyn talked of telepathic communication. Baradi
said that Troy would doubtless be anxious to hear about
Miss Truebody; Alleyn asked if Miss Truebody would not
be greatly helped by the banishment of anxiety from
everybody's mind. Baradi mentioned luncheon. Alleyn
prattled of the lotus posture. Baradi said he must not waste
any more of Alleyn's time; Alleyn took his stand on the
postulate that time, in the commonly accepted sense of
the word, did not exist. A final skirmish during which an
offer to inquire for Alleyn's car was countered by
Rosicrucianism and the fiery cross of the Gnostics, ended
with Baradi saying that he would have another look at
Miss Truebody and must then report to Mr Oberon. He
said he would be some time and begged Alleyn not to
feel he must wait for his return. At this point Baradi's
servant reappeared to say a telephone call had come through
for him. Baradi at once remarked that no doubt Alleyn's
car would arrive before he returned. He regretted that Mr


85


Oberon's meditation class would still be in progress and
must not be interrupted and he suggested that Alleyn might
care to wait for his car in the hall or in the library. Alleyn
said that he would very much like to stay where he was
and to examine the de Sade. With a flush of exasperation
mounting on his heavy cheeks, Baradi consented, and went
out, followed by his man.

They had turned to the right and gone down the passage
to the hall. The rings on an embossed leather curtain in
the entrance clashed as they went through.

Alleyn was already squatting at the Vernis-Martin
bureau.

He had the reputation in his department of uncanny
accuracy when a quick search was in question. It's doubtful
if he ever acted more swiftly than now. Baradi had left
the bottom drawer of the bureau open.

It contained half a dozen books, each less notorious if
more infamous than the de Sade and all on the proscribed
list at Scotland Yard. He lifted them one by one and
replaced them.

The next drawer was locked but yielded to the application
of a skeleton-key Alleyn had gleaned from a housebreaker
of virtuosity. It contained three office ledgers and two
notebooks. The entries in the first ledger were written in
a script that Alleyn took to be Egyptian but occasionally
there appeared proper names in English characters.
Enormous sums of money were shown in several currencies:
piastres, francs, pounds and lire, neatly flanked each other
in separate columns. He turned the pages rapidly, his
hearing fixed on the passage outside, his mind behind his
eyes.

Between the first ledger and the second lay a thin quarto
volume in violet leather, heavily embossed. The design was
tortuous, but Alleyn recognised a pentagram, a triskelion,
winged serpents, bulls and a broken cross. Superimposed
over the whole was a double-edged sword with formalised
flames rising from it in the shape of a raised hand. The


86


covers were mounted with a hasp and lock which he had
very little trouble in opening.

Between the covers was a single page of vellum,
elaborately illuminated and embellished with a further
number of symbolic ornaments. Baradi had been gone three
minutes when Alleyn began to read the text.

'Here is the names of Ra and the Sons of Ra and the
Daughters of Ra who are also, in the Mystery of the Sun,
the Sacred Spouses of Ra, I, about to enter into the Secret
Fellowship of Ra, swear before Horus and Osiris, before
Annum and Apsis, before the Good and the Evil that are
One God, who is both Good and Evil, that I will set a
seal upon my lips and eyes and keep forever secret the
mysteries of the Sacred Rites of Ra.

'I swear that all that passes in this place shall be as
if it had never been. If I break this oath in the least degree
may my lips be burnt away with the fire that is now set
before them. May my eyes be put out with the knife that
is now set before them. May my ears be stopped with molten
lead. May my entrails rot and my body perish with the
disease of the crab. May I desire death before I die and
suffer torment for evermore. If I break silence may these
things be unto me. I swear by the fire of Ra and the Blade
of Ra. So be it.'

Alleyn uttered a single violent expletive, relocked the
covers and opened the second ledger.

It was inscribed: 'Compagnie Chimique des Alpes
Maritimes.' and contained names, dates and figures in what
appeared to be a balance of expenditure and income.
Alleyn's attention sharpened. The company seemed to be
showing astronomical profits. His fingers, nervous and
delicate, leafed through the pages, moving rhythmically.

Then abruptly they were still. Near the bottom of the
page, starting out of the unintelligible script and written
in a small, rather elaborate handwriting, was a name -
P.E.Garbel.

The curtain rings clashed in the passage. He had locked


87


the drawer and with every appearance of avid attention
was hanging over the de Sade, when Baradi returned.


IV


Baradi had brought Carbury Glande with him and Alleyn
thought he knew why. Glande was introduced and after
giving Alleyn a damp runaway handshake, retired into the
darker part of the room fingering his beard, and eyed him
with an air, half curious, half defensive. Baradi said
smoothly that Alleyn had greatly admired the de Sade book
wrapper and would no doubt be delighted to meet the
distinguished artist. Alleyn responded with an enthusiasm
which he was careful to keep on an amateurish level. He
said he wished so much he knew more about the technique
of painting. This would do nicely, he thought, if Glande,
knowing he was Troy's husband was still unaware of his
job. If, on the other hand, Glande knew he was a detective,
Alleyn would have said nothing to suggest that he tried
to conceal his occupation. He thought it extremely unlikely
that Glande had respected Troy's request for anonymity.
No. Almost certainly he had reported that their visitor
was Agatha Troy, the distinguished painter of Mr Oberon's
'Boy with a Kite.' And then? Either Glande had also told
them that her husband was a C.I.D. officer in which case
they would be anxious to find out if his visit was pure
coincidence; or else Glande had been able to give little
or no information about Alleyn and they merely wondered
if he was as ready a subject for skulduggery as he had
tried to suggest. A third possibility and one that he couldn't
see at all clearly, involved the now highly debatable integrity
of P.E.Garbel.

Baradi said that Alleyn's car had not arrived and with
no hint of his former impatience suggested that they show
him the library.

It was on the far side of the courtyard. On entering
it he was confronted with Troy's 'Boy with a Kite.' Its


88


ar and cleanliness struck like a sword-thrust across
airlessness of Mr Oberon's library. For a second the
looked with Ricky's eyes at AHeyn.
A sumptuous company of books lined the walls with
emphasis, as was to be expected, upon mysticism, the
alt and orientalism. AHeyn recognised a number of
wks that a bookseller's catalogue would have described
irare, curious, and collector's items. Of far greater interest
> AHeyn, however, was a large framed drawing that hung
a dark corner of that dark room. It was, he saw, a
entation, probably medieval, of the Chateau de la
d'Argent and it was part elevation and part plan,
one desirous glance he avoided it. He professed
elf fascinated with the books and took them down
i ejaculations of interest and delight. Baradi and Glande
; watched him and listened.

'You are a collector, perhaps, Mr Alien?' Baradi
conjectured.

'Only in a humble way. I'm afraid my job doesn't provide
for the more expensive hobbies.'

There was a moment's pause. 'Indeed?' Baradi said. 'One
cannot, alas, choose one's profession. I hope yours is at
feast congenial.'

Alleyn thought: 'He's fishing. He doesn't know or he
isn't sure.' And he said absently as he turned the pages
of a superb Book of the Dead, 'I suppose everyone becomes
a little bored with his job at times. What a wonderful thing
this is, this book. Tell me, Dr Baradi, as a scientific man -'
Baradi answered his question. Glande glowered and
shuffled impatiently. Alleyn reflected that by this time it
was possible that Baradi and Robin Herrington had told
Oberon of the Alleyn's inquiries for Mr Garbel. Did this
account for the change in Baradi's attitude? Alleyn was
now unable to bore Dr Baradi.

'It would be interesting,' Carbury Glande said in his
harsh voice, 'to hear what Mr Alleyn's profession might
be. I am passionately interested in the employment of other
people.'


89


'Ah, yes! Possibly attached to the monstrous
establishment which defaces our lovely olive groves.
Monstrous,' Baradi added, 'aesthetically speaking.'

'Quite abominable!' said Glande. His voice cracked and
he wetted his lips.

'No doubt admirable from a utilitarian point of view.
I believe they produce artificial manure in great quantities.'

'The place,' Glande said, 'undoubtedly stinks,' and he
laughed unevenly.

'Aesthetically?' Alleyn asked.

'Always, aesthetically,' said Baradi.

'I noticed the factory on our way up. Perhaps we'd better
ask there for our friend.'

There was a dead silence.

'I can't think what has become of that man of mine,'
Alleyn said lightly.

Baradi was suddenly effusive. 'But how inconsiderate
we are! You, of course, are longing to rejoin your wife.
And who can blame you? No woman has the right to be
at once so talented and so beautiful. But your car? No
doubt, a puncture or perhaps merely our Mediterranean dolce far niente. You must allow us to send you down.
Robin would, I am sure, be enchanted. Or, if he is engaged
in meditation, Mr Oberon would be delighted to provide
a car. How thoughtless we have been!'

This, Alleyn realised, was final. 'I wouldn't dream of
it,' he said. 'But I do apologise for being such a pestilent
visitor. I've let my ruling passion run away with me and
kept you hovering interminably. The car will arrive any
moment now, I feel sure, and I particularly want to see
the man. If I might just wait here among these superb
books I shan't feel I'm making a nuisance of myself.'

It was a toss-up whether this would work. They wanted,
he supposed, to consult together. After a fractional
hesitation, Baradi said something about their arrangements
for the afternoon. Perhaps, if Mr Alien would excuse them,
they should have a word with Mr Oberon. There was the


92


business of the nurse - Glande, less adroit, muttered
unintelligibly and they went out together.

Alleyn was in front of the plan two seconds after the
door had shut behind them.

It was embellished with typical medieval ornaments a
coat of arms, a stylised goat and a great deal of scrollwork.
The drawing itself was in two main parts, an
elevation, treated as if the entire face of the building had
been removed and a multiple plan of great intricacy. It
would have taken an hour to follow out the plan in detail.
With a refinement of concentration that Mr Oberon himself
might have envied, Alleyn fastened his attention upon the
main outlines of the structural design. The great rooms
and principal bedrooms were all, more or less, on the library
level. Above this level the chateau rose irregularly in a
system of connected turrets to the battlements. Below it,
the main stairway led down by stages through a maze of
rooms that grew progressively smaller until, at a level which
must have been below that of the railway, they were no
bigger than prison cells and had probably served as such
for hundreds of years. A vast incoherent maze that had
followed, rather than overcome the contour of the
mountain: an architectural compromise, Alleyn murmured,
and sharpened his attention upon one room and its relation
to the rest.

It was below the library and next to a room that had
no outside windows. He marked its position and cast back
in his mind to the silhouette of the chateau as he had
seen it, moonlit, in the early hours of that morning. He
noticed that it had a window much longer than it was
high and he remembered the shape of the window they
had seen.

If it was true that Mr Oberon and his guests were now
occupied, as Baradi had represented, with some kind of
esoteric keep-fit exercises on the roof-garden, it might be
worth taking a risk. He thought of two or three plausible
excuses, took a final look at the plan, slipped out of the


93


library and ran lightly down a continuation of the winding
stair that, in its upper reaches, led to the roof garden.

He passed a landing, a closed door and three narrow
windows. The stairs corkscrewed down to a wider landing
from which a thickly carpeted passage ran off to the right.
Opposite the stairway was a door and, a few steps away,
another - the door he sought.

He went up to it and knocked.

There was no answer. He turned the handle delicately.
The door opened inwards until there was a wide enough
gap for him to look through. He found himself squinting
along a wall hung with silk rugs and garnished about
midway along, with a big prayer wheel. At the far end
there was an alcove occupied by an extremely exotic-looking
divan. He opened the door fully and walked into the room.

From inside the door his view of Mr Oberon's room
was in part blocked by the back of an enormous looking
glass screwed to the floor at an angle of about 45 degrees
to the outside wall. For the moment he didn't move beyond
this barrier, but from where he stood, looked at the left
hand end of the room. It was occupied by a sort of altar
hung with a stiffly embroidered cloth and garnished with
a number of objects: a pentacle in silver, a triskelion in
bronze and a large crystal affair resembling a sunburst.
Beside the altar was a door, leading, he decided, into the
windowless room he had noted on the plan.

He moved forward with the intention of walking round
the looking-glass into the far part of the room.

'Bring me the prayer-wheel,' said a voice beyond the
glass.

It fetched Alleyn up with the jolt of a punch over the
heart. He looked at the door. If the glass had hidden him
on his entrance it would mask his exit. He moved towards
the door.

'I am at the Third Portal of the Outer and must not
uncover my eyes. Do not speak. Bring me the Prayer Wheel.
Put it before me.'

Alleyn walked forward.


94


There, on the other side of the looking-glass facing it
and seated on the floor, was Mr Oberon, stark naked, with
the palms of his hands pressed to his eyes. Beyond him
was a long window masked by a dyed silk blind, almost
transparent, with the design of the sun upon it.

Alleyn took the prayer-wheel from the wall. It was an
elaborate affair, heavily carved, with many cylinders. He
set it before Oberon.

He turned and had reached the door when somebody
knocked peremptorily on it. Alleyn stepped back as it was
flung open. It actually struck his shoulder. He heard
someone go swiftly past and into the room.

Baradi's voice said: 'Where are you? Oh. Oh, there you
are! See here, I've got to talk to you.'

He must be behind the glass. Alleyn slipped round the
door and darted out. As he ran lightly up the stairs he
heard Baradi shut the door.

There was nobody on the top landing. He walked back
into the library, having been away from it for five and
a half minutes.

He took out his notebook and made a very rough sketch
of Mr Oberon's room, taking particular pains to mark the
position of the prayer-wheel on the wall. Then he set about
memorising as much of its detail as he had been able to
take in. He was still at this employment when the latch
turned in the door.

Alleyn pulled out from the nearest shelf a copy of Mr
Montague Summers' major work on witchcraft. He was
apparently absorbed in it when a woman came into the
library.

He looked up from the book and knew that as far as
preserving his anonymity was concerned, he was irrevocably
sunk.
'If it's not Roderick Alleyn!' said Annabella Wells.


95


CHAPTER FIVE


RICKY IN ROQUEVILLE


It was some years ago, in a transatlantic steamer, that Alleyn
had met Annabella Wells: the focal point of shipboard
gossip to which she had seemed to be perfectly indifferent.
She had watched him with undisguised concentration for
four hours and had then sent her secretary with an invitation
for drinks. She herself drank pretty heavily and, he thought,
was probably a drug addict. He had found her an
embarrassment and was glad when she suddenly dropped
him. Since then she had turned up from time to time as
an onlooker at criminal trials where he appeared for the
police. She was, she told him, passionately interested in
criminology.

In the English theatre her brilliance had been dimmed
by her outrageous eccentricities, but in Paris, particularly
in the motion picture studios, she was still one of the great
ones. She retained a ravaged sort of beauty and an
individuality, which would be arresting when the last of
her good looks had been rasped away. A formidable
woman, and an enchantress still.

She gave him her hand and the inverted and agonised
smile for which she was famous. 'They said you were a
big-game hunter,' she said. 'I couldn't wait.'

'It was nice of them to give that impression.'

'An accurate one, after all. Are you on the prowl down
here? After some master-felon?'

'I'm on holiday with my wife and small boy.'

'Ah, yes! The beautiful woman who paints famous
pictures. I am told by Baradi and Glande that she is
beautiful. There is no need to look angry, is there?'

'Did I look angry?'


96


'You looked as if you were trying not to show a certain
uxorious irritation.'

'Did I, indeed?' said Alleyn.

'Baradi is a bit lush. I will allow and admit that he's
a bit lush. Have you seen Oberon?'

'For a few moments.'

'What did you think of himT

'Isn't he your host?'

'Honestly,' she said, 'you're not true. Much more
fabulous, in your way, than Oberon.'

'I'm interested in what I have been told of his philosophy.'

'So they said. What sort of interest?'

'Personal and academic.'

'My interest is personal and unacademic.' She opened
her cigarette case. Alleyn glanced at the contents. 'I see,'
he said, 'that it would be useless to offer you a Capstan.'

'Will you have one of these? They're Egyptian. The red
won't come off-on your lips.'

'Thank you. They would be wasted on me.' He lit her
cigarette. 'I wonder,' he said, 'if I could persuade you to
say nothing about my job.'

'Darling,' she rejoined (she called everyone 'darling'),
'you could persuade me to do anything. My trouble was,
you wouldn't try. Why do you look at me like that?'

'I was wondering if any dependence could be placed on
a heroin addict. Is it heroin?'

'It is. I get it,' said Miss Wells, 'from America.'

'How very tragic.'

Tragic?'

'You weren't taking heroin when you played Hedda
Gabler at the Unicorn in '42. Could you give a performance
like that now?'

'Yes1 she said vehemently.

'But what a pity you don't!'

'My last film is the best thing I've ever done. Everyone
says so.' She looked at him with hatred. 'I can still do
it,' she said.

'On your good days, perhaps. The studio is less exacting


97


than the theatre. Will the cameras wait when the gallery
would boo? I couldn't know less about it.'

She walked up to him and struck him across the face
with the back of her hand.

'You have deteriorated,' said Alleyn.

'Are you mad? What are you up to? Why are you here?'

'I brought a woman who may be dying to your Dr Baradi.
All I want is to go away as I came in - a complete nonentity.'

'And you think that by insulting me you'll persuade me
to oblige you.'

'I think you've already talked to your friends about me
and that they've sent you here to find out if you were
right.'

'You're a very conceited man. Why should I talk about
you?'

'Because,' Alleyn said, 'you're afraid.'

'Of you?'

'Specifically. Of me.'

'You idiot,' she said. 'Coming here with a dying spinster
and an arty-crafty wife and a dreary little boy! For God's
sake, get out and get on with your holiday.'

'I should like it above all things.'

'Why don't you want them to know who you are?'

'It would quite spoil my holiday.'

'Which might mean anything.'

'It might.'

'Why do you say I'm afraid?'

'You're shaking. That may be a carry-over from alcohol
or heroin, or both, but I don't think it is. You're behaving
like a frightened woman. You were in a blue funk when
you hit me.'

'You're saying detestable, unforgivable things to me.'

'Have I said anything that is untrue?'

'My life's my own. I've a right to do what I like with
it.'

'What's happened to your intelligence? You should know
perfectly well that this sort of responsibility doesn't end
with yourself. What about those two young creatures? The
girl?'


98


'I didn't bring them here.'

'No, really,' Alleyn said, going to the door, 'you're saying
such very stupid things. I'll go down to the front and see
if my car's come. Good-bye to you.'

She followed him and put her hand on her arm. 'Look!'
she said. 'Look at me. I'm terrifying, aren't I? A wreck?
But I've still got more than my share of what it takes.
Haven't I?'

'For Baradi and his friends?'

'Baradi!' she said contemptuously.

'I really didn't want to insult you with Oberon.'

'What do you know about Oberon?'

'I've seen him.'

She left her hand on him but with an air of forgetfulness.
A tremor communicated itself to his arm. 'You don't know,'
she said. 'You don't know what he's like. It's no good
thinking about him in the way you think about other men.
There are hommes fatals, too, you know^ He's terrifying
and he's marvellous. You can't understand that, can you?'

'No. To me, if he wasn't disgusting, he'd be ludicrous.
A slug of a man.'

'Do you believe in hypnotism?'

'Certainly. If the subject is willing.'

'Oh,' she said hopelessly, 'I'm willing enough. Not that
it's as simple as hypnotism.' She hung her head, looking,
with that gesture, like the travesty of a shamed girl. He
couldn't hear all she said but caught one phrase: ' . . .
wonderful degradation . . . '

'For God's sake,' Alleyn said, 'what nonsense is this?'

She frowned and looked at him out of her disastrous
eyes. 'Could you help me?' she said.

'I have no idea. Probably not.'

'I'm in a bad way.'

'Yes.'

'If I were to keep faith? I don't know what you're up
to, but if I were to keep faith and not tell them who you
are? Even if it ruined me? Would you think you could
help me then?'

'Are you asking me if I could help you to cure yourself


99


of dragging? I couldn't. Only an expert could do that. If
you've still got enough character and sense of purpose to
keep faith, as you put it, perhaps you should have enough
guts to go through with a cure. I don't know.'

'I suppose you think I'm trying to bribe you?'

'In a sense - yes.'

'Do you know,' she said discontentedly, 'you're the only
man I've ever met - ' She stopped and seemed to hesitate.
'I can't get this right,' she said. 'With you it's not an act,
is it?'

Alleyn smiled for the first time. 'I'm not attempting the
well-known gambits of rudeness introduced with a view
to amorous occasions,' he said. 'Is that what you mean?'

'I suppose it is.'

'You should stick to classical drama. Shakespeare's
women don't fall for the insult-and-angry-seduction stuff.
Sorry. I'm forgetting Richard III.'

'Beatrice and Benedick? Petruchio and Katherine?'

'I was excluding comedy.'

'How right you are. There's nothing very funny about
my situation.'

'No, it seems appalling.'

'What can I do? Tell me, what I can do?'

'Leave the Chevre d'Argent to-day. Now, if you like.
I've got a car outside. Go to a doctor in Paris and offer
yourself for a cure. Recognise your responsibility and,
before further harm can come of this place, tell me or
the local commissary or anyone else in a position of
authority, everything you know about the people here.'

'Betray my friends?'

'A meaningless phrase. In protecting them you betray
decency itself. Can you think of that child Ginny Taylor
and still question what you should do?'

She stepped back from him as if he was a physical menace.

'You're not here by accident,' she said. 'You've planned
this visit.'

'I could hardly plan a perforated appendix in an unknown
maiden lady. The place and all of you speak for yourselves.


100


Yawning your heads off because you want your heroin.
Pin-point pupils and leathery faces.'

She caught her breath in what sounded like a sigh of
relief. 'Is that all,' she said.

'I really must go. Goodbye.'

'I can't do it. I can't do what you ask.'

'I'm sorry.'

He opened the door. She said: 'I won't tell them what
you are. But don't come back. Don't come back here. I'm
warning you. Don't come back.'

'Good-bye,' Alleyn said and without encountering
anyone walked out of the house and down the passageway
to the open platform.

Raoul was waiting there with the car.


II


When she returned to the roof-garden, Annabella Wells
found the men of the houseparty waiting for her. Dr Baradi
closed his hand softly round her arm, leading her forward.

'Don't,' she said, 'you smell of hospitals.'

Carbury Glande said: 'Annabella, who is he? I mean
we all know he's Agatha Troy's husband, but for God's
sake, who is he?'

'You know as much as I do.'

'But you said you'd crossed the Atlantic with him. You
said it was a shipboard affair and one knows they don't
leave many stones unturned, especially in your hands, my
angel.'

'He was one of my rare failures. He talked of nothing
but his wife. He spread her over the Atlantic like a overflow
from the Gulf Stream. I gave him up as a bad job. A
dull chap, I decided.'

'I rather liked him,' young Herrington said defiantly.

Mr Oberon spoke for the first time. 'A dangerous man,'
he said. 'Whoever he is and whatever he may be. Under
the circumstances, a dangerous man.'


101


Baradi said: 'I agree. The inquiry for Garbel is
inexplicable.'

'Unless they are initiates,' Glande said, 'and have been
given the name.'

'They are not initiates,' Oberon said.

'No,' Baradi agreed.

Young Herrington said explosively: 'My God, is there no other way out?'

'Ask yourself,' said Glande.

Mr Oberon rose. 'There is no other way,' he said
tranquilly. 'And they must not return. That at least is clear.
They must not return.'


Ill


As they drove back to Roqueville, Alleyn said: 'You did
your job well this morning, Raoul. You are, evidently, a
man upon whom one may depend.'

'It pleases Monsieur to say so,' said Raoul cheerfully.
'The Egyptian gentleman is also, it appears, good at his
job. In wartime a medical orderly learns to recognise talent,
Monsieur. Very often one saw the patients zipped up like
a placket-hole. Paf! and he's open. Pan! and he's shut.
But this was different.'

'Dr Baradi is afraid that she may not recover.'

'She had not the look of death upon her.'

'Can you recognise it?'

'I fancy that I can, Monsieur.'

'Did Madame and the small one get safely to their hotel?'

'Safely, Monsieur. On the way we stopped in the Rue
des Violettes. Madame inquired for Mr Garbel.'

Alleyn said sharply: 'Did she see him?'

'I understand he was not at home, Monsieur.'

'Did she leave a message?'

'I believe so, Monsieur. I saw Madame give a note to
the concierge.'

'I see.'

'She is a type, that one.' Raoul said thoughtfully.


102


'The concierge? Do you know her?'

'Yes, Monsieur. In Roqueville all the world knows all
the world. She's an original, is old Blanche.'

'In what way?'

'Un article defraichi. One imagines she has other interests
beside the door-keeping. To be fat is not always to be
idle. But the apartments,' Raoul added politely, 'are
perfectly correct.' Evidently he felt it would be in bad taste
to disparage the address of any friend of the Alleyns.

Alleyn said, choosing his French very carefully: 'I am
minded to place a great deal of confidence in you, Raoul.'

'If Monsieur pleases.'

'I think you were more impressed with Dr Baradi's skill
than with his personality.'

'That is a fact, Monsieur.'

'I also. Have you seen Mr Oberon?'

'On several occasions.'

'What do you think about him?'

'I have no absolute knowledge of his skill, Monsieur,
but I think even less of his personality than of the
Egyptian's.'

'Do you know how he entertains his guests?'

'One hears a little gossip from time to time. Not much,
Monsieur. The servants at the Chateau are for the most
part imported and extremely reticent. But there is an under
chambermaid from the Paysdoux, who is not
unapproachable. A blonde, which is unusual in the
Paysdoux.'

'What has the unusual blonde to say about it?'

Raoul did not answer at once and Alleyn turned his
head to look at him. He was scowling magnificently.

'I do not approve of what Teresa has to say. Her name,
Monsieur, is Teresa. I find what she has to say immensely
unpleasing. You see, it's like this, Monsieur. The time has
come when I should marry and for one reason or another
- one cannot rationalise about these things - my preference
is for Teresa. She has got what it takes.' Raoul said, using
a phrase - elle a du fond - which reminded Alleyn of
Annabella Well's desperate claim. 'But in a wife,' Raoul


103


continued, 'one expects certain reticences where other men
are in question. I dislike what Teresa teHs me of her
employer, Monsieur. I particularly disklike her account of
a certain incident.'

'Am I to hear it?'

'I shall be glad to recount it. It appears, Monsieur, that
Teresa's duties are confined to the sweeping of carpets and
polishing of floors and that it is not required of her to
take petit dejeuner to guests or to perform any personal
services for them. She is young and inexperienced. And
so, one morning, this Egyptian surgeon witnesses Teresa
from the rear when she is on her knees polishing. Teresa
is as good from behind as she is from in front, Monsieur.
And the doctor passes her and pauses to look. Presently
he returns with Mr Oberon and they pause and speak to
each other in a foreign language. Next, thefemme de charge sends for Teresa and she is instructed that she is to serve petit dejeuner to this animal Oberon, if Monsieur will
overlook the description, in his bedroom and that her wage
is to be raised. So Teresa performs this service. On the
first morning there is no conversation. On the second he
inquires her name. On the third this vilain coco asks her
if she is not a fine strong girl. On the fourth he talks a
lot of blague about the spirituality of the body and the
non-existence of evil and on the fifth, when Teresa enters,
he is displayed, immodestly clad, before a full-length glass
in his salon. I must tell you, Monsieur, that to reach the
bedroom, Teresa must first pass through the salon. She
is obliged to approach this unseemly animal. He looks at
her fixedly and speaks to her in a manner that is irreligious
and blasphemous and anathema. Monsieur, Teresa is a
good girl. She is frightened, not so much of this animal,
she tells me, as of herself because she feels herself to be
like a bird when it is held in terror by a snake. I have
told her she must leave but she says that the wages are
good and they are a large family with sickness and much
in debt. Monsieur, I repeat, she is a good girl and it is
true she needs the money but I cannot escape the thought
that she is in a kind of bondage from which she cannot


104


summon enough character to escape. And some mornings,
when she goes in, there is nothing to which one could
object but on others he talks and talks and stares and
stares at Teresa. So that when I last saw her we quarrelled
and I have told her that unless she leaves her job before
she is no longer respectable she may look elsewhere for
a husband. So she wept and I was discomfited. She is not
unique but, there it is, I have a preference for Teresa.'

Alleyn thought: "This is the first bit of luck I've had
since we got here.' He looked up the valley at the glittering
works of the Maritime Alps Chemical Company and said:
'I think it is well to tell you that I am interested
professionally in the menage at the Chevre d'Argent. If
it had not been for the accident of Mademoiselle's illness
I should have tried to gain admittance there. M. le
Commissaire is also interested. We are colleagues in this
affair. You and I agreed to forget my rank, Raoul, but
for the purpose of this discussion perhaps we should recall
it.'

'Good, M. I'lnspecteuren-Chef.'

'There's no reason on earth why you should put yourself
out for an English policeman in an affair which, however
much it may concern the French police, hasn't very much
to do with you. Apart from Teresa, for whom you have
a preference.'

'There is always Teresa.'

'Are you a discreet man?'

'I don't chatter like a one-eyed magpie, Monsieur.'

'I believe you. It is known to the police here and in
London that the Chevre d'Argent is used as a place of
distribution in a particularly ugly trade.'

'Women, Monsieur?'

'Drugs. Women, it seems, are a purely personal'interest.
A side-line. I believe neither Dr Baradi nor Mr Oberon
is a drug addict. They are engaged in the traffic from a
business point of view. I think that they have cultivated
the habit of drug-taking among their guests and are
probably using at least one of them as a distributor. Mr
Oberon has also established a cult.


105


'A cult, Monsieur?'

'A synthetic religion concocted from scraps of mysticism,
witchcraft, mythology, Hinduism, Egyptology, what-have
you, with, I very much suspect, a number of particularly
revolting fancy touches invented by Mr Oberon.'

'Anathema,' Raoul said, 'all this is anathema. What do
they do?' he added with undisguised interest.

'I don't know exactly but I must, I'm afraid, find out.
There have been other cases of this sort. No doubt there
are rites. No doubt the women are willing to be drugged.'

Raoul said: 'It appears that I must be firm with Teresa.7

'I should be very firm, Raoul.'

'This morning she is in Roqueville at the market, I am
to meet her at my parents' restaurant where I shall introduce
a firm note. I am disturbed for her. All this, Monsieur,
that you have related is borne out by Teresa. On Thursday
nights the local servants and some of the other permanent
staff are dismissed. It is on Thursday, therefore, that I
escort Teresa to her home up in the Paysdoux where she
sleeps the night. She has heard a little gossip, not much,
because the servants are discreet, but a little. It appears
that there is a ceremony in a room which is kept locked
at other times. And on Fridays nobody appears until late
in the afternoon and then with an air of having a formidable gueule de bois. The ladies are strangely behaved on Fridays.
It is as if they are half-asleep, Teresa says. And last Friday
a young English lady, who has recently arrived, seemed
as if she was completely bouleversee; dazed, Monsieur,'
Raoul said, making a graphic gesture with one hand. 'In
a trance. And also as if she had wept.'

'Isn't Teresa frightened by what she sees on Fridays?'

'That is what I find strange, Monsieur. Yes; she says
she is frightened but it is clear to me that she is also excited.
That is what troubles me in Teresa.'

'Did she tell you where the room is? The room that
is unlocked on Thursday nights?'

'It is in the lower part of the chateau Monsieur. Beneath
the library, Teresa thinks. Two flights beneath.'

'And to-day is Wednesday.'


106


'Well, Monsieur?'

'I am in need of an assistant.'

'Yes, Monsieur?'

'If I asked at the Prefecture they would give me the
local gendarme who is doubtless well-known. Or they would
send me a clever man from Paris who as a stranger would
be conspicuous. But a man of Roqueville who is well-known
and yet is accepted as the friend of one of the maids at
the Chevre d'Argent is not conspicuous if he calls. Do
you in fact call often to see Teresa?'

'Often, Monsieur.'

'Well, Raoul?'
'Well, Monsieur?* .

'Do you care, with M. le Commissaire's permission, to
come adventuring with me on Thursday night?'

'Enchanted,' said Raoul, gracefully.

'It may not be uneventful, you know. They are a
formidable lot, up there.'

"That is understood, Monsieur. Again, it will be an act
of grace.'

'Good. Here is Roqueville. Drive to the hotel if you
please. I shall see Madame and have some luncheon and
at three o'clock I shall call on M. le Commissaire. You
will be free-until then but leave me a telephone number
and your address.'

'My parents' restaurant is in the street above that of
the hotel. L'Escargot Bienvenue, 20 Rue des Sarrasins. Here
is a card, Monsieur, with the telephone number.'

'Right.'

'My father is a good cook. He has not a great repertoire
but his judgment is sound. Such dishes as he makes he
makes well. His filets mignons are a speciality of the house,
Monsieur, and his sauces are inspired.'

'You interest me profoundly. In the days when there
was steak in England, one used to dream of filet mignon but even then one came to France to eat it.'

'Perhaps if Monsieur and Madame find themselves a little
weary of the table d'hote at the Royal they may care to
eat cheaply but with satisfaction at the Escargot Bienvenu.'


107


'An admirable suggestion.'

'Of course, we are not at all smart. But good breeding,'
Raoul said simply, 'creates its own background and
Monsieur and Madame would not feel out of place. Here
is your hotel, Monsieur, and - ' His voice changed. 'Here
is Madame.'

Alleyn was out of the car before it stopped. Troy stood
in the hotel courtyard with her clasped hands at her lips
and a look on her face that he had never seen there before.
When he took her arms in his hands he felt her whole
body trembling. She tried to speak to him but at first was
unable to find her voice. He saw her mouth frame the
word 'Ricky.'

'What is it, darling?' he said. 'What's the matter with
him?'

'He's gone,' she said. 'They've taken him. They've taken
Ricky.'


IV


For the rest of their lives they would remember too vividly
the seconds in which they stood on the tessellated courtyard
of the hotel, plastered by the midday sun. Raoul on the
footpath watched them and the blank street glared behind
him. The air smelt of petrol. There was a smear of magenta Bougainvillaea on the opposite wall and in the centre of
the street a neat pile of horse-droppings. It was already
siesta time and so quiet that they might have been the
only people awake in Roqueville.

'I'll keep my head and be sensible,' Troy whispered.
'Won't I, Rory?'

'Of course. We'll go indoors and you'll tell me about
it.'

'I want to get into the car and look somewhere for him
but I know that won't do.'

'I'll ask Raoul to wait.'

: He did so. Raoul listened, motionless. When Alleyn had
spoken Raoul said, 'Tell Madame it will be all right,


108


Monsieur. Things will come right.' As they turned away
he called his reassurance after them and the sound of his
words followed them: 'Les affaires s'arrangeront. Tout ira
bien, Madame.'

Inside the hotel it seemed very dark. A porter sat behind
a reception desk and an elegantly dressed man stood in
the hall wringing his hands.

Troy said: 'This is my husband. This is the manager,
Rory. He speaks English. I'm sorry, Monsieur, I don't know
your name.'

'Malaquin, Madame. Mr Alleyn, I am sure there is some
simple explanation - There have been other cases - '

Til come and see you, if I may, when I've heard what
has happened.'

'But of course Garfon - '

The porter, looking ineffably compassionate, took them
up in the lift. The stifling journey was interminable.

Troy faced her husband in a large bedroom made less
impersonal by the slight but characteristic litter that accompanied her wherever she went. Beyond her was an
iron-railed balcony and beyond that the arrogant laundry
blue of the Mediterranean. He pushed a chair up and she
took it obediently. He sat on his heels before her and put
his hands on the arms of the chair.

'Now, tell me darling,'"he said. 'I can't do anything until
you've told me.'

'You were such a lifetime coming.'

'I'm here now. Tell me.'

'Yes.'

She did tell him. She made a great effort to be lucid,
frowning when she hesitated or when her voice shook and
always keeping her gaze on him. He had said she was a
good witness and now she stuck to the bare bones of her
story but every word was shadowed by a multitude of
unspoken terrors.

She said that when they arrived at the hotel Ricky was
fretful and white after his interrupted sleep and the
excitement of the drive. The manager was attentive and
suggested that Ricky could have a tray in their rooms.


109


Troy gave him a bath and put him into pyjamas and
dressing-gown and he had his luncheon, falling asleep
almost before it was finished. She put him to bed in a
dressing-room opening off her own bedroom. She darkened
the windows and seeing him comfortably asleep with his
silver goat clutched in his hand, had her bath, changed
and lunched in the dining-room of the hotel. When she
returned to their rooms Ricky had gone.

At first she thought that he must have wakened and
gone in search of a lavatory or that perhaps he had had
one of his panics and was looking for her. It was only
after a search of their bathroom and passages, stairs and
such rooms as were open that with mounting anxiety she
rang for the chambermaid and then, as the woman didn't
understand English, spoke on the telephone to the manager.
M. Malaquin was helpful and expeditious. He said that
he would at once speak to the servants on duty and report
to her. As she put down the receiver Troy looked at the
chair across which she had laid Ricky's day clothes ready
for his awakening - a yellow shirt and brown linen shorts
- and she saw that they were gone.

From that moment she had fought against a surge of
terror so imperative that it was accompanied by a physical
pain. She ran downstairs and told the manager. The porter
and two of the waiters and Troy herself had gone out into
the deserted and sweltering streets, Troy running uphill
and breathlessly calling Ricky's name. She stopped the few
people she met, asking them for a 'petit garfon, monflls.' The men shrugged,. one woman said something that
sounded sympathetic. They all shook their heads or made
negative gestures with their fingers. Troy found herself in
a maze of back streets and stone stairways. She thought
she was lost, but looking down a steep alleyway, saw one
of the waiters walk across at the lower end and she ran
down after him. When she reached the cross-alley she was
just in time to see his coat-tails disappear round a farther
corner. Finally she caught him up. They were back in the
little square, and there was the hotel. Her heart rammed
against her ribs and she suffered a disgusting sense of


110


constriction in her throat. Sweat poured between her
shoulder-blades and ran down her forehead into her eyes.
She was in a nightmare.

The waiter grimaced. He was idiotically polite and
deprecating and he couldn't understand a word that she
said. He pursed his lips, bowed and went indoors. She
remembered the Commissary of Police and was about to
ask the manager to telephone the Prefecture when she heard
Raoul's car turn into the street.

Alleyn said: 'Right. I'll talk to the Prefecture. But before
I do, my dearest dear, will you believe one thing?'

All right. I'll try.'

'Ricky isn't in danger. I'm sure of it.'

'But it's true. He's been - it's those people up there

- they've kidnapped him, haven't they?'

'It's possible that they've taken a hand. If they have
it's because they want to keep me busy. It's also possible,
isn't it, that something entered into his head and he got
himself up and trotted out.'

'He'd never do it, Rory. Never. You know he wouldn't.'

'All right. Now, I'll ring the Prefecture. Come on.'

He sat beside her on the bed and kept his arm about
her. While he waited for the number he said: 'Did you
lock the door?'

'No. I didn't like the idea of locking him in. The
manager's spoken to the servants. They didn't see anybody.
Nobody asked for our room numbers.'

The heavy trunk is still in the hall downstairs and the
room number's chalked on it. What colour are his clothes?'

'Pale yellow shirt and brown shorts.'

'Right. We may as well - A116 A116!

He began to talk into the telephone, keeping his free
hand on her shoulder. Troy turned her cheek to it for
a moment and then freed herself and went out on the
balcony.

The little square - it was called the Place de Sarrasins

- was at the top of a hilly street and the greater part of
Roqueville lay between it and the sea. The maze of alleys
where Troy hat! lost herself was out of sight behind and


111


above the hotel. As if from a high tower she looked down
into the streets and prayed incoherently that in one of them
she would see a tiny figure: Ricky, in his lemon-coloured
shirt and brown linen shorts. But all Troy could see was
a pattern of stucco and stone, a distant row of carriages
whose drivers and horses were snoozing, no doubt, in the
shadows, a system of tiled roofs and the paintlike blue
of the sea. She looked nearer at hand and there, beneath
her was Raoul Milano's car, seeming like a toy, and Raoul
himself, rolling a cigarette. The hotel porter, at that
moment, came out and she heard the sound of his voice.
Raoul got up and they disappeared beneath her, into the
hotel.

The tone of Alleyn's voice suggested that he was near
the end of his telephone call. She had turned away from
her fruitless search of the map-like town and was about
to go indoors when out of the tail of her eye she caught
a flicker of colour.

It was a flicker of lemon-yellow and brown.

The hot iron of the balcony rail scorched the palms of
her hands. She leant far out and stared at a tall building
on a higher level than herself, a building that was just
in view round the corner of the hotel. It was perhaps a
quarter of a mile away and from behind a huddle of
intervening roofs, rose up in a series of balconies. It was
on the highest of these behind a blur of iron railings, that
she saw her two specks of colour.

'Rory,' she cried. 'Rory!'

It took several seconds that seemed like many minutes
for Alleyn to find the balcony. 'It's Ricky,' she said, 'isn't
it? It must be Ricky.' And she ran back into the room,
snatched the thin cover from her bed and waved it
frantically from the balcony.

'Wait a moment,' Alleyn said.

His police case had been brought up to their room and
contained a pair of very powerful field-glasses. While he
focused them on the distant balcony he said: 'Don't be
too certain, darling, there may be other small boys in yellow
and - no - no, it's Ricky. He's all right. Look.'


112


Troy's eyes were masked with tears of relief. Her hands
shook and her fingers were too precipitant with the focusing
governors. 'I can't do it - I can't see.'

'Steady. Wipe your eyes. Here, I will. He's still there.
He may have spotted us. Try this way. Kneel down and
rest the glasses on the rail. Get each eye right in turn.
Quietly does it.'

Circles of blurred colour mingled and danced in the two
fields of vision. They swam together and clarified. The
glasses were in focus now but were trained on some strange
blue door, startling in its closeness. She moved them and
an ornate gilded steeple was before her with a cross and
a clock telling a quarter to two. 'I don't know where I
am. It's a church. I can't find him.'

'You're nearly there. Keep at that level and come round
gently.'

And suddenly Ricky looked through iron rails with
vague, not quite frightened eyes whose gaze, while it was
directed at her, yet passed beyond her.'

'Wave,' she said. 'Go on waving.'

Ricky's strangely impersonal and puzzled face moved
a little so that an iron standard partly hid it. His right
arm was raised and his hand moved to and fro above the
railing.

'He's seen!' she said. 'He's waving back.'

The glasses slipped a little. The wall of their hotel, out
of-focus and stupid, blotted out her vision. Someone was
tapping on the bedroom door behind them.

'Entrez!' Alleyn called and then sharply. 'Hallo! Who's
that?'

'What? I've lost him.'

'A woman came out and led him away. They've gone
indoors.'

'A woman?'

'Fat and dressed in black.'

'Please let's go quickly.'

Raoul had come through the bedroom and stood behind
them. Alleyn said in French, 'Do you see that tall building,
just to the left of our wall and to the right of the church?


113


t's pinkish with blue shutters and there's something red
on one of the balconies?'

'I see it, Monsieur.'

'Do you know what building it is?'

'I think so, Monsieur. It will be No. 16 the Rue des
Violettes where Madame inquired this morning.'

'Troy,' Alleyn said. 'The lord knows why, but Ricky's
gone to call on Mr Garbel.'

Troy stopped short on her way to the door. 'Do you
mean . . . ?'

'Raoul says that's the house.'

'But - No.' Troy said vigorously, 'No, I don't believe
it. He wouldn't just get up and go there. Not of his own
accord. Not like that. He wouldnH. Come on, Rory.'

They were following her when Alleyn said: 'When did
these flowers come?'

'What flowers? Oh, that. I hadn't noticed it. I don't know.
Dr Baradi, I should think. Please don't let's wait.'

An enormous florist's box garnished with a great bow
of ribbon lay on the top of a pile of suitcases.

Watched in an agony of impatience by his wife, Alleyn
slid a card from under the ribbon and looked at it.

'So sorry,' he read, 'that I shall be away during your
visit. Welcome to Roqueville. P.E.Garbel.'



114


ICHAPTER SIX


CONSULTATION


Troy wouldn't wait for the lift. She ran downstairs with
Alleyn and Raoul at her heels. Only the porter was there,
sitting at the desk in 	the hall.

Alleyn said: 'This will take thirty seconds, darling. I'm
in as much of a hurry as you. Please believe it's important.
You can get into the car. Raoul can start the engine.' And
to the porter he said: 'Please telephone this number and
give the message I have written on the paper to the person
who answers. It is the number of the Prefecture and the
message is urgent. It is expected. Were you on duty here
when flowers came for Madame?'

'I was oil duty when the flowers arrived, Monsieur. It
was about an hour ago. I did not know they were for
Madame. The woman went straight upstairs without
inquiry, as one who knows the way.'

'And returned?'

The porter lifted his shoulders. 'I did not see her return,
Monsieur. No doubt she used the service stairs.'

'No doubt,' Alleyn said and ran out to the car.

On the way to the Rue des Violettes he said: 'I'm going
to stop the car a little way from the house, Troy, and
I'm going to ask you to wait in it while I go indoors.'

'Are you? But why? Ricky's there, isn't he? We saw him.'

'Yes, we saw him. But I'm not too keen for other people
to see us. Cousin Garbel seems to be known, up at the
Chevre d'Argent.'

'But Robin Herrington said he didn't know him, and
anyway, according to the card on the flowers, Cousin


115


Cartel's gone away. That must be what the concierge was
trying to tell me. She said he was ''pas chez elle.'

''Pas chez soi,' surely?'

'All right. Yes, of course. I couldn't really understand
her. I don't understand anything.' Troy said desperately.
'I just want to get Ricky.'

'I know, darling. Not more than I do.'

'He didn't look as if he was in one of his panics. Did
he?'

'No.'

'I expect we'll have a reaction and be furiously snappish
with him for frightening us, don't you?'

'We must learn to master our ugly tempers,' he said,
smiling at her.

'Rory, he will be there still? He won't have gone?'

'It's only ten minutes ago that we saw him on the sixth
floor balcony.'

'Was she a fat shiny woman who led him in?'
. 'I hadn't got the glasses. I couldn't spot the shine with
the naked eye.'

'I didn't like the concierge. Ricky would hate her.'

'That is the street, Monsieur,' said Raoul. 'At the
intersection.'

'Good. Draw up here by the kerb. I don't want to frighten
Madame but I think all may not be well with the small
one whom we have see on -the balcony at No. 16. If anyone
were to leave by the back or side of the house, Raoul,
would they have to come this way from that narrow side
street and pass this way to get out of Roqueville?'

'This way, Monsieur, either to go east or west out of
Roqueville. For the rest there are only other alleyways with
flights of steps that lead nowhere.'

'Then if a car should emerge from behind No. 16 perhaps
it may come about that you start your car and your engine
stalls and you block the way. In apologising you would
no doubt go up to the other car and look inside. And
if the small one were in the car you would not be able
to start your own though you would make a great


116


disturbance by leaning on your horn. And by that time,
Raoul, it is possible that M. le Commissaire will have arrived
back in his car. Or that I have come out of No. 16.'

'Aren't you going, Rory?'

'At once, darling. All right, Raoul?'

'Perfectly, Monsieur.'

Alleyn got out of the car, crossed the intersection, turned
right and entered No. 16.

The hall was dark and deserted. He went at once to
the lift-well, glanced at the index of names and pressed
the call-button.

'Monsieur?' said the concierge, partly opening the door
of her cubbyhole.

Alleyn looked beyond the ringed and grimy hand at one
beady eye, the flange of a flattened nose and half a grape
coloured mouth.

'Madame,' he said politely and turned back to the lift.

'Monsieur desires?'

'The lift, Madame.'

'To ascend where, Monsieur?'

'To the sixth floor, Madame.'

'To which apartment on the sixth floor?'

'To the principal apartment. With a balcony.'

The lift was wheezing its way down.

'Unfortunately,' said the concierge, 'the tenant is absent
on vacation. Monsieur would care to leave a message?'

'It is the small boy for whom I have called. The small
boy whom Madame has been kind enough to admit to
the apartment.'

'Monsieur is mistaken. I have admitted no children. The
apartment is locked.'

'Can Nature have been so munificent as to lavish upon
us a twin sister of Madame? If so she has undoubtedly
admitted a small boy to the principal apartment on the
sixth floor.'

The lift came into sight and stopped. Alleyn opened the
door.

'One moment,' said the concierge. He paused. Her hand


117


was withdrawn from the cubby-hole door. She came out,
waddling like a duck and bringing a bunch of keys.

'It is not amusing,' she said, 'to take a fool's trip.
However, Monsieur shall see for himself.'

They went up in the lift. The concierge quivered slightly
and gave out the combined odours of uncleanliness,
frangipane, garlic and hot satin. On the sixth floor she
opened a door opposite the lift, waddled through it and
sat down panting and massively triumphant on a high chair
in the middle of a neat and ordered room whose french
windows gave on to a balcony.

Alleyn completely disregarded the concierge. He stopped
short in the entrance to the room and looked swiftly round
it; at the dressing-table, the shelf above the washbasin,
the gown hanging on the bed-rail and at the three pairs
of shoes set out against the wall. He moved to the wardrobe
and pulled open the door. Inside it were three sober dresses
and a couple of modestly trimmed straw hats. An envelope
was lying on the floor of the wardrobe. He stooped down
to look at it. It was a business envelope and bore the legent
'Compagnio Chimique des Alpes Maritimes.' He read the
superscription:


A Mile Penelope E.Garbel,
16 Rue sdes Violettes,
RoquevilledeSud,
Cote tfAzur.


He straightened up, shut the wardrobe door with extreme
deliberation and contemplated the concierge, still seated
like some obscene goddess, in the middle of the room.

'You disgusting old bag of tripe,' Alleyn said thoughtfully
in English, 'you little know what a fool I've been making
of myself.'

And he went out to the balcony.


118


II


He stood where so short a time ago he had seen Ricky
stand and looked across the intervening rooftops to one
that bore a large sign: 'Hotel Royal.' Troy had left the
bedcover hanging over the rail of their balcony.

'A few minutes ago,' Alleyn said, returning to the
immovable concierge, 'from the Hotel Royal over there
I saw my son who was her;' Madame, on this balcony.'

'It would require the eyes of a hawk to recognise a little
boy at that distance. Monsieur is mistaken.'

'It required the aid of binoculars and those I had.'

'Possibly the son of the laundress who was on the
premises and ha's now gone.'

'I saw you, Madame, take the hand of my son, who
like yourself, was clearly recognisable, and lead him
indoors.'

'Monsieur is mistaken. I have not left my office since
this morning. Monsieur will be good enough to take his
departure. I do not insist,' the concierge said magnificently
'upon an apology.'

'Perhaps,' Alleyn said, taking a mille franc note from
his pocket book, 'you will accept this instead.'

He stood well away from her, holding it out. The eyes
glistened and the painted lips moved but she did not rise.
For perhaps four seconds they confronted each other. Then
she said, 'If Monsieur will wait downstairs I shall be pleased
to join him. I have another room to visit.'

Alleyn bowed, stooped and pounced. His hand shot along
the floor and under the hem of the heavy skirt. She made
a short angry noise and tried to trample on the hand. One
of her heels caught his wrist.

'Calm yourself, Madame. My intentions are entirely
honourable.'

He stepped back neatly and extended his arm, keeping
the hand closed.

'A strange egg, Madame Blanche,' Alleyn said, 'for a
respectable hen to lay.'


119


He opened his hand. Across the palm lay a little clay
goat, painted silver.


Ill


From that moment the proceedings in No. 16 Rue des
Violettes were remarkable for their unorthodoxy.

Alleyn said: 'You have one chance. Where is the boy?'

She closed her eyes and hitched her colossal shoulders
up to her earrings.

'Very good,' Alleyn said and walked out of the room.
She had left the key in the lock. He turned it and withdrew
the bunch.

It did not take long to go through the rest of the building.
For the rooms that were unoccupied he found a master
key. As he crossed each threshold he called once: 'Ricky?'
and then made a rapid search. In the occupied rooms his
visits bore the character of a series of disconnected shots
on a cinema screen. He exposed in rapid succession persons
of different ages taking their siestas in varying degrees of deshabille. On being told that there was no small boy within,
he uttered a word of apology and under the dumfounded
gaze of spinsters, elderly gentlemen, married or romantic
couples and, in one instance, an outraged negress of
uncertain years, walked in, opened cupboards, looked
under and into beds and, with a further apology, walked
out again.

The concierge had begun to thump on the door of the
principal apartment of the sixth floor.

On the ground floor he found a crisp bright-eyed man
with a neat moustache, powerful shoulders and an
impressive uniform.

'M. l'Inspecteur-en-Chef Alleyn? Allow me to introduce
myself. Dupont of the Surete, at present acting as
Commissary at the Prefecture, Roqueville.' He spoke fluent
English with a marked accent. 'So we are already in trouble,'


120


he said as they shook hands. 'I have spoken to Madame
Alleyn and to Milano. And the boy is not yet found?'

Alleyn quickly related what had happened.

'And the woman Blanche? Where is she, my dear
Inspecteuren-Chef?'

'She is locked in the apartment of Miss.P.E.Garbel on
the sixth floor. The distant thumping which perhaps you
can hear is produced by the woman Blanche.'

The Commissary smiled all over his face. 'And we are
reminded how correct is the department of Scotland Yard.
Let us leave her to her activities and complete the search.
As we do so will you perhaps be good enough to continue
your report.'

Alleyn complied and they embarked on an exploration
of the unsavoury private apartments of Madame Blanche.
Alleyn checked a list of telephone numbers and pointed
to the third. 'The Chateau Chevre d'Argent,' he said.

'Indeed? Very suggestive,' said M. Dupont and with a
startling and incredible echo from Baker Street added, 'Pray
continue your most interesting narrative while we explore
the basement.'

But Ricky was not in any room on the ground floor
nor in the cellars under the house. 'Undoubtedly they have
removed him,' said Dupont, 'when they saw you wave from
your balcony. I shall at once warn my confreres in the
surrounding districts. There are not many roads out of
Roqueville and all cars can be checked. We then proceed
with a tactful but thorough investigation of the town. This
affair is not without precedent. Have no fear for your small
son. He will come to no harm. Excuse me. I shall telephone
from the office of the woman Blanche. Will you remain
or would you prefer to rejoin Madame?'

'Thank you. I will have a word with her if I may.'

'Implore her,' M. Dupont said briskly, 'to remain calm.
The affair will arrange itself. The small one is in no danger.'
He bowed and went into the cubby-hole. As he went out
Alleyn heard the click of a telephone dial.


121


A police-car was drawn up by the kerb outside No. 16.
Alleyn crossed the road to Raoul's car.

There was no need to calm Troy: she was very quiet
indeed, and perfectly collected. She looked ill with anxiety
but she smiled at him and said: 'Bad luck, darling. No
sign?'

'Some signs,' he said, resting his arms on the door beside
her. 'Dupont agrees with me that it's an attempt to keep
me occupied. He's sure Ricky's all right.'

'He was there, wasn't he? We did see him?'

Alleyn said: 'We did see him,' and after a moment's
hesitation he took the little silver goat from his pocket.
'He left it behind him.'

Raoul ejaculated: 'La petite chevre cF argent.'

Troy's lips quivered. She took the goat in her hands
and folded it between them. 'What do we do now?'

'Dupont is stopping all cars driving out of Roqueville
and will order a house-to-house search in the town. He's
a good man.'

'I'm sure he is,' Troy said politely. She looked terrified.
'You're not going back to the Chevre d'Argent, are you?
You're not going to call their bluff?'

'We're going to take stock.' Alleyn closed his hand over
hers. 'I know one wants to drive off madly in all directions,
yelling for Ricky, but honestly, darling, that's not the form
for this kind of thing. We've got to take stock. So far
we've scarcely had time to think, much less reason.'

'It's just - when he knows he's lost - it's his nightmare
- mislaying us.'

Two gendarmes, smart in their uniforms and sun-helmets,
rode past on bicycles, turned into the Rue des Violettes,
dismounted and went into No. 16.

'Dupont's chaps,' said Alleyn. 'Now we shan't be long.
And I have got one bit of news for you. Cousin Garbel
is a spinster.'

'What on earth do you mean?'

'His name is Penelope and he wears a straw hat trimmed
with parma violets.'


122


Troy said: 'Don't muddle me, darling. I'm so desperately
addled already.'

'I'm terribly sorry. It's true. Your correspondent is a
woman who has some connection with the chemical works
we saw this morning. For reasons I can only guess at,
she's let you address her letters as if to a man. How did you address them?'

'To M. P.E.Garbel.'

'Perhaps she thought you imagined 'M.' to be the correct
abbreviation of Mademoiselle?'

Troy shook her head: 'It doesn't seem to matter much
now, but it's quite incredible. Look: something's beginning
to happen.'

The little town was waking up. Shop doors opened and
proprietors came out in their shirt sleeves scratching their
elbows. At the far end of the Rue des Violettes there was
an eruption of children's voices and a clatter of shoes on
stone. The driver of the police-car outside No. 16 started
up his engine and the Commissary came briskly down the
steps. He made a crisp signal to the driver, who turned
his car, crossed the intersection and finally pulled up in
front of Raoul. M. Dupont walked across, saluted Troy
and addressed himself to Alleyn.

'We commence our search of houses in Roqueville, my
dear Inspecteur-en-Chef. The road patrols are installed and
a general warning is being issued to my colleagues in the
surrounding territory. Between 2.15 by the church clock
when you saw your son until the moment when you arrived
at these apartments, there was an interval of about ten
minutes. If he was removed in an auto it was during those
minutes. The patrols were instructed at five minutes to
three. Again if he was removed in an auto it has had half
an hour's advance and can in that time have gone at the
most no farther on our roads than fifty kilometres. Outside
every town beyond that radius we have posted a patrol
and if they have nothing to report we shall search
exhaustively within the radius. Madame, it is most


123


unfortunate that you saw the small one from your hotel.
Thus have you hurled a screwdriver in the factory.'

The distracted Troy puzzled over the Commissary's free
use of English idiom but Alleyn gave a sharp ejaculation. 'The factory!" he said. 'By the lord, I wonder.'

'Monsieur?'

'My dear Dupont, you have acted with the greatest
expedition and judgment. What do you suggest we do now?'

'I am entirely at your disposal, M. FInspecteuren-Chef.
May I suggest that perhaps a fuller understanding of the
situation - '

'Yes, indeed. Shall we go to our hotel?'

'Enchanted, Monsieur.'

'I think,' Alleyn said, 'that our driver here is very willing
to take an active part. He's been extremely helpful already.'

'He is a good fellow, this Milano,' said Dupont and
addressed Raoul in his own language: 'See here, my lad,
we are making inquiries for the missing boy in Roqueville.
If he is anywhere in the town it will be at the house of
some associate of the woman Blanche at No. 16. Are you
prepared to take a hand?'

Raoul, it appeared, was prepared. 'If he is in the town,
M. le Commissaire, I shall know it inside an hour.'

'Oh, la-la!' M. Dupont remarked, 'what a song our cock
sings.'

He scowled playfully at Raoul and opened the doors
of the car. Troy and Alleyn were ushered ceremoniously
into the police-car and the driver took them back to the
hotel.

In their bedroom, which had begun to take on a look
of half-real familiarity, Troy and Alleyn filled in the details
of their adventures from the time of the first incident in
the train until Ricky's disappearance. M. Dupont listened
with an air of deference tempered by professional
detachment. When they had finished he clapped his knees
lightly and made a neat gesture with his thumb and
forefinger pressed together.

'Admirable!' he said. 'So we are in possession of our


124


facts and now we act in concert, but first I must tell you
one little fact that I have in my sleeve. There has been,
four weeks ago, a case of child-stealing in the Paysdoux.
It was the familiar story. A wealthy family from Lyons.
A small one. A flightish nurse. During the afternoon
promenade a young man draws the attention of this sexy
nurse. The small one gambols in the gardens by our casino.
The nurse and the young man are tete a tete upon a seat.
Automobiles pass to and fro, sometimes stopping. In one
are the confederates of the young man. Presently the nurse
remembers her duty. The small one is vanished and remains
so. Also vanished is the young man. A message is thrown
through the hotel window. The small one is to be recovered
with five thousand mille francs at a certain time and at
a place outside. St. Celeste. There are the customary threats
in the matter of informing the police. Monsieur Papa, under
pressure from Madame Maman obeys. He is driven to
within a short distance of the place. He continues on foot.
A car appears. Stops. A man with a handkerchief over
his face and a weapon in his hand gets out. Monsieur Papa,
again following instructions, places the money under a stone
by the road and retires with his hands above his head.
The man collects and examines the money and returns to
the car. The small one gets out. The car drives away. The
small one,' said M. Dupont opening his eyes very wide
at Troy, 'is not pleased. He wishes to remain with his new
acquaintances.'

'Oh, nor Troy cried out.

'But yes. He has found them enchanting. Nevertheless
he rejoins his family. And now having facilitated the escape
of the cat Monsieur Papa attempts to close the bag. He
informs the police.' M. Dupont spread his hands in the
classic gesture and waited for his audience-reaction.

'The usual story,' Alleyn said.

'M. Dupont,' Troy said, 'do you think the same men
have taken Ricky?'

'No, Madame. I think we are intended to believe it is
the same men.'


125


'But why? Why should it not be these people?'

'Because,' M. Dupont rejoined, touching his small
moustache, 'this morning at 7.30 these people were
apprehended and are now locked up in the paste de police at St. Celeste. Monsieur Papa had the forethought to mark
the notes. It was tactfully done. A slight addition to the
decor. And the small one gave useful information. The
news of the arrest would have appeared in the evening
papers but I have forbidden it. The affair was
already greatly
publicised.'

'So our friends,' Alleyn suggested, 'unaware of the arrest,
imitate the performance and hope our reactions will be
those of Monsieur Papa and Madame Maman and that
you will turn our attention to St. Celeste.'

'But can you be so sure - ' Troy began desperately.

M. Dupont bent at the waist and gazed respectfully at
her. 'Ah, Madame,' he said, 'consider. Consider the facts.
At the Chateau de la Chevre d'Argent there is a group
of persons very highly involved in the drug 'raquette.' By
a strange accident your husband, already officially
interested in these persons, is precipitated into their midst.
One, perhaps two of the guests, know who he is. The actress
Wells, who is an addict, is sent to make sure. She returns
and tells them: 'We entertain, let me inform you, the most
distinguished and talented officer of The Scotland Yard.
If we do not take some quick steps he will return to inquire
for his invalid. It is possible he already suspects.' And it
is agreed he must not return. How can he be prevented
from doing so? By the apparent kidnapping of his son.
This is effected very adroitly. The woman with the bouquet
tells the small Ricketts that his mother awaits him at the
house she visited this morning. In the meantime a car is
on its way from the chateau to take them to St. Celeste.
He is to be kept in the apartment of Garbel until it comes.
The old Blanche takes him there. She omits to lock the
doors on to the balcony. He goes out. You see him. He
sees you. Blanche observes. He is removed and before you


126


can reach him there the car arrives and he is removed
still farther.'

'Where?'

'If, following the precedent, they go to St. Celeste, they
will be halted by our patrols, but I think perhaps they
will have thought of that and changed their plans and if
so it will not be to St. Celeste.'

'I agree,' Alleyn said.

'We shall be wiser when their message arrives as arrive
it assuredly will. There is also the matter of this
Mademoiselle Garbel whose name is in the books and who
has some communication with the Compagnie Chimique
des Alpes Maritimes which may very well be better named
the Compagnie pour f Elaboration de Diactylmorphine. She
is of the 'raquette,' no doubt, and you have inquired for
her.'

'For him. We thought: 'him'.'

'Darling,' Alleyn said, 'can you remember the letters
pretty clearly?'

'No,' said poor Troy, 'how should I? I only know they
were full of dreary information about buses and roads and
houses.'

'Have you ever checked the relationship?'

'No. He - she - talked about distant cousins who I knew
had existed but were nearly all dead.'

'Did she ever write about my job?'

'I don't think so, directly. I don't think she ever wrote
things like 'how awful' or 'how lovely' to be married to
a chief detective-inspector. She said things about my
showing her letters to my distinguished husband who would
no doubt be interested in their contents.'

'And, unmitigated clod that I am, I wasn't. My dear
Dupont,' Alleyn said, 'I've been remarkably stupid. I think
this lady has been trying to warn me about the activities
of the drug racket in the Paysdoux.'

'But I thought,' Troy said, 'I thought it was beginning
to look as if it was she who had taken Ricky. Weren't
the flowers a means of getting into our rooms while I was


127


at luncheon? Wasn't the message about being away a blind?
Doesn't it look as if she's one of the gang? She knew we
were coming here. If she wanted to tell you about the drug
racket why did she go away?'

'Why indeed? We don't know why she went away.'

'Rory, I don't want to be a horror, but - No,' said Troy,
'I won't say it.'

Til say it for you. Why in Heaven's name can't we do
something about Ricky instead of sitting here gossiping
about Miss Garbel?'

'But, dear Madame,' cried M. Dupont, 'we are doing
things about Ricketts. Only,' M. Dupont continued,
fortunately mistaking for an agonised sob the snort of
hysteria that had escaped Troy, 'only by an assemblage
of the known facts can we arrive at a rational solution.
Moreover, if the former case is to be imitated we shall
certainly receive a message and it is important that we
are here when it arrives. In the meantime all precautions
have been taken. But all!'

'I know,' Troy said, 'I'm terribly sorry. I know.'

'You brought Miss Garbel's last letter, darling. Let's have
a look at it.'

Til get it.'

Troy was not very good at keeping things tidy. She had
a complicated rummage in her travelling case and handbag
before she unearthed the final Garbel letter which she
handed with an anxious look to Alleyn. It was in a crumpled
condition and he spread it out on the arm of his chair.

'Here it is,' he said, and read aloud:


'My DEAR AGATHA TROY,

'I wrote to you on December 17th of last year and
hope that you received my letter and that I may have the
pleasure of hearing from you in the not too distant future!
I pursue my usual round of activities. Most of my jaunts
take me into the district lying west of Roqueville, a district
known as the Paysdoux (Paysdoux, literally translated, but
allowing for the reversed position of the adjective, means


128


Sweet Country) though a close acquaintance with some
of the inhabitants might suggest that Pays Dopes would
be a better title!!! (Forgive the parenthesis and the
indifferent and slangy pun. I have never been able to resist
an opportunity to play on words.)


'Hell's boots!' Alleyn said, 'under our very noses! Pays
Dopes indeed, District of Dopes and Dope Pays.' He read
on:


'As the acquaintances I visit most frequently live some
thirty kilometres (about seventeen miles) away on the
western reaches of the Route Maritime I make use of the
omnibus, No. 16, leaving the Place des Sarrasins at five
minutes past the hour. The fare at the present rate of
exchange is about Is. English, single, and ls.9d. return.
I enclose a ticket which will no doubt be of interest. It
is a pleasant drive and commands a pretty prospect of
the Mediterranean on one's left and on one's right a number
of ancient buildings as well as some evidence of progress,
if progress it can be called, in the presence of a large chemical works, in which, owing to my chosen profession, I have
come to take some interest.


'Oh lord!' Alleyn lamented, 'why didn't I read this before
we left. We have been so bloody superior over this
undoubtedly admirable spinster.'

'Please?' said M. Dupont.

'Listen to this, Dupont. Suppose this lady, who is a
qualified chemist, was in the hands of the drug racket.
Suppose she worked for them. Suppose she wanted to let
someone in authority in England know what goes on inside
the racket. Now. Do you imagine that there is any reason
why she shouldn't write what she knows to this person
and put the letter in the post?*

'There is a good reason to suppose she might fear to
do so, Mr Chief,' rejoined Dupont who no doubt considered
that the time had come for a more familiar mode of address.


129


'As an Englishwoman she is perhaps not quite trusted in
the 'raquette.' Her correspondence may be watched.
Someone who can read English at the bureau-de-postes may
be bribed. Perhaps she merely suspects that this may be
so. They are thorough, these blackguards. Their net is fine
in the mesh.'

'So she writes her boring letters and every time she writes,
she drops a veiled hint, hoping I may see the letter. The
Chevre d'Argent is about thirty kilometres west on the
Route Maritime. She tells us by means of tedious phrases,
ferocious puns, and used bus tickets that she is a visitor
there. How did she address her letters, Troy?'

'To 'Agatha Troy.' She said in her first letter that she
understood that I would prefer to be addressed by my
professional name. Like an actress, she added, though not
in other respects. With the usual row of ejaculation marks.
I don't think she ever used your name. You were always
my brilliant and distinguished husband!'

'And is my face red!' said Alleyn. M. Dupont's was
puzzled. Alleyn continued reading the letter.


'If ever you and your distinguished husband should
visit 'these parts'! you may care to take this drive which
is full of interesting topographic features that often escape
the notice of the ordinary Tourist. I fear my own humble
account of our local background is somewhat Corbelled (I I I I) version and suggest that first-hand observation
would be much more rewarding! With kindest regards, etc.


'Really,' Alleyn said, handing the letter back to Troy,
'short of cabling: 'Drug barons at work come and catch
them,' she could scarcely have put it more clearly.'

'You didn't read the letters. I only told you about bits
of them. I ought to have guessed.'

'Well, it's no good blackguarding ourselves. Look here,
both of you. Suppose we're on the right track about Miss
Garbel. Suppose, for some reason, she's in the racket yet
wants to put me wise about it and has hoped to lure me


130


here. Why, when Troy writes and tells her we're
;, does she go away without explanation?'
t'And why,' Troy interjected, 'does she send flowers by
^someone who used them as a means of kidnapping Ricky
land taking him to her flat?'

'The card on the flowers isn't in her writing.'

'She might have telephoned the florist.'

'Which can be checked,' said M. Dupont, 'of course.
Will you allow me? This, I assume is the bouquet.'

He inspected the box of tuberoses. 'Ah, yes. Le Pot des
Fleurs. May I telephone Madame?'

While he did so, Troy went out to the balcony and Alleyn,
seeing her there, her fingers against her lips in the classic
gesture of the anxious woman, joined her and put his arm
about her shoulders.

'I'm looking at that other balcony,' she said. 'It's silly,
isn't it? Suppose he came out again. It's like one of those
dreams of frustration.'

He touched her cheek and she said: 'You mustn't be
too nice to me.'

'Little perisher,' Alleyn muttered, 'you may depend upon
it he's airing his French and saying 'why' with every second
breath he draws. Did you know W.S.Gilbert was pinched
by bandits when he was a kid?'

'I think I did. Might they have taken him to the Chevre
d'Argent? As a sort of double bluff?'

'I don't think so, my darling. My bet is he's somewhere
nearer than that.'

'Nearer to Roqueville? Where, 1*ory, where?'

'It's a guess and an unblushing guess, but - '

M. Dupont came bustling out to the balcony.

'Alors!' he began and checked himself. 'My dear Monsieur
and Madame, we progress a little. The Pot des Fleurs tells
me the flowers were bought and removed by a woman
of the servant class, not of the district, who copied the
writing on the card from a piece of paper. They do not
remember seeing the woman before. We may find she is
a maid at the chateau, may we not?'


131


'May we?' said Troy a little desperately.

'But there are better news than these, Madame. The good
Raoul Milano has reported to the hotel. It appears that
an acquaintance of his, an idle fellow living in the western
suburb, has seen a car, a light blue Citroen, at 2.30 p.m.
driving out of Roqueville by the western route. In the car
were the driver, a young woman and a small boy dressed
in yellow and brown. The man wears a red beret and the
woman is bare-headed. The car was impeded for a moment
by an omnibus and the acquaintance of Milano heard the
small one talking. He spoke in French but childishly and
with a little difficulty, using foreign words. He appeared
to be making an inquiry. The acquaintance heard him say 'pourquoi' several times.'

'Conclusive,' Alleyn said, watching Troy. She cried out:
'Did he seem frightened?'

'Madame, no. It appears that Milano made the same
inquiry. The acquaintance said the small one seemed
exigent. The actual phrase,' M. Dupont said, turning to
Alleyn, 'was: '11 semblait pounds re impatient de comprendre
quelquechoseT.

'He was impatient to understand something,' Troy
ejaculated, 'is that it?'

'Mats oui, Madame,' said Dupont and added a playful
compliment in French to the effect that Troy evidently
spoke the language as if she were born to it. Troy failed
to understand a word of this and gazed anxiously at him.
He continued in English: 'Now, between Roqueville and
the point where our nearest patrol on the western route
is posted there are three deviations: all turning inland. Two
are merely rural lanes. The third is a road that leads to
a monastery and also - ' here M. Dupont raised his
forefinger and looked roguish.

'And also,' Alleyn said, 'to the Factory of the Maritime
Alps Chemical Company.'

'Parfaitement!' said M. Dupont.


132


IV


'And you think he's there!' Troy cried out. 'But why? Why
take him there?'

Alleyn said: 'As I see it, and I don't pretend, lord knows,
to see at all clearly, this might be the story. Oberon &
Co. have a strong interest in the factory but they don't
realise we know it. Baradi and your painting chum Glande
were at great pains to deplore the factory: to repudiate
the factory as an excrescence in the landscape. But we
suspect it probably houses the most impudent manufactory
of hyoscine in Europe and we know Oberon's concerned
in the traffic. All right. They realise we've seen Ricky on
the balcony of No. 16 and have called in the police. If
Blanche has succeeded in getting herself out of durance
vile she's told them all about it. They've lost their start.
They daren't risk taking Ricky to St. Celeste, as they
originally planned. What are they to do with him? It would
be easy and safe to house him in one of the offices at
the factory and have him looked after. You must remember
that nobody up at the chateau knows that he understands
a certain amount of French.'

'The people who've got him will have found that out
by now.'

'And also that his French doesn't go beyond the nursery
stage. They may have told him that we've gone back to
look after Miss Truebody and have arranged for him to
be minded until we are free. I think they may have meant
to keep him at No. 16 while we went baring off to St. Celeste. La Belle Blanche (damn her eyes) probably rang up and
said we'd spotted him on the balcony and they thought
up the factory in a hurry.'

'Could they depend on our going to St. Celeste? Just
on the strength of our probably getting to hear about the
other kidnapping?'

'No,' said Alleyn and Dupont together.

'Then - I don't understand.'

'Madame,' said Dupont, 'there is no doubt that you shall


133


be directed, if not to a place near St. Celeste, at least to
some other place along the eastern route. To some place
as far as possible from the true whereabouts of Ricketts.'

'Directed?'

'There will be a little note or a little telephone message.
Always remember they fashion themselves on the pattern
of the former affair, being in ignorance of this morning's
arrest.'

'It all sounds so terribly like guesswork,' Troy said after
a moment. 'Please, what do we do?'

Alleyn looked at Dupont whose eyebrows rose
portentously. 'It is a little difficult,' he said. 'From the
point of view of my department, it is a delicate situation.
We are not yet ready to bring an accusation against the
organisation behind the factory. When we are ready,
Madame, it will be a very big matter, a matter not only
for the department but for the police forces of several
nations, for the International Police and for the United
Nations Organisation itself.'

Troy suddenly had a nightmarish vision of Ricky in his
lemon shirt and brown shorts abandoned to a labyrinth
of departmental corridors.

Watching her, Alleyn said: 'So that we mustn't suggest,
you see, that we are interested in anything but Ricky.'

'Which, God knows, I'm not,' said Troy.

'Ah.Madame,' Dupont ejaculated, 'I, too, am a parent.'
And to Troy's intense embarrassment he kissed her hand.

'It seems to me,' Alleyn said, 'that the best way would
be for your department, my dear Dupont, to make a great
show of watching the eastern route and the country round
St. Celeste and for us to make an equally great show of
driving in a panic-stricken manner about the countryside.
Indeed, it occurs to me that I might very well help matters
by ringing up the chateau and registering panic. What do
you think?'

Dupont made a tight purse of his mouth, drew his brows
together, looked pretty sharply at Alleyn and then lightly
clapped his hands together.


134


'In effect,' he said, 'why not?'

Alleyn went to the telephone. 'Baradi, I fancy,' he said
thoughtfully, and after a moment's consideration: 'Yes, I
think it had better be Baradi.'

He dialled the hotel office and gave the number. While
he waited he grimaced at Troy: 'Celebrated imitation about
to begin. You will notice that I have nothing in my mouth.'

They could hear the bell ringing, up at the Chevre
d'Argent.

'Allo, allo!' Alleyn began in a high voice and broke into
a spate of indifferent French. Was that the Chevre d'Argent?
Could he speak to Dr Baradi? It was extremely urgent.
He gave his name. They heard the telephone quack: 'C/n moment, Monsieur'. He grinned at Troy and covered the
receiver with his hand. 'Let's hope they have to wake him
up,' he said. 'Give me a cigarette, darling.'

But before he could light it Baradi had come to the
telephone. Alleyn's deep voice was pitched six tones above
its normal range and sounded as if it was only just under
control. He began speaking in French, corrected himself,
apologised and started again in English. 'Do forgive me,'
he said, 'for bothering you again. The truth is, we are
in trouble here. I know it sounds ridiculous but has my
small boy by any chance turned up at the chateau? Yes.
Yes, we've lost him. We thought there might be a chance
- there are buses, they say - and we're at our wit's end.
No, I was afraid not. It's just that my wife is quite frantic.
Yes. Yes, I know. Yes, so we've been told. Yes, I've seen
the police but you know what they're like.' Alleyn turned
towards M. Dupont who immediately put on a heroic look.
'They're the same wherever you go, red tape and inactivity.
Most unsatisfactory.' M. Dupont bowed. 'Yes, if it's the
same blackguards we shall be told what we have to do.
No, no, I refuse to take any risks of that sort. Somehow
or another I'll raise the money but it won't be easy with
the restrictions.' Alleyn pressed his lips together. His long
fingers blanched as they tightened round the receiver.
'Would you really?' hi said and the colour of his voice,


135


its diffidence and its hesitancy, so much at variance with
the look in his eyes, gave him the uncanny air of a
ventriloquist. 'Would you really? I say, that's most awfully
kind of you both. I'll tell my wife. It'll be a great relief
to her to know - yes, well I ought to have said something
about that, only I'm so damnably worried - I'm afraid
we shan't be able to do anything about Miss Truebody
until we've found Ricky. I am taking my wife to St. Celeste,
if that's where - yes, probably this afternoon if - I don't
think we'll feel very like coming back after what's happened,
but of course - Is she? O, dear! I'm very sorry. That's
very good of him. I am sorry. Well, if you really don't
mind. I'm afraid I'm not much use. Thank you. Yes. Well,
goodbye.'

He hung up the receiver. His face was white.

'He offers every possible help,' he said, 'financial and
otherwise, and is sure Mr Oberon will be immeasurably
distressed. He has now, no doubt, gone away to enjoy
a belly laugh at our expense. It is going to be difficult
to keep one's self-control over Messrs. Oberon and Baradi.'

'I believe you,' said M. Dupont.

'Rory, you're certain now, in your own mind, aren't you?'

'Yes. He didn't utter a word that was inconsistent with
genuine concern and helpfulness, but I'm certain in my
own mind.'

'Why?'

'One gets a sixth sense about that sort of bluff. And
I think he made a slip. He said: 'Of course you can do
nothing definite until these scoundrels ring you up.''

M. Dupont cried: 'Ahah!'

'But you said to him,' Troy objected, 'that we would
be told what to do.'

' 'Would be told what to do'! Exactly, In the other case
the kidnappers' instructions came by letter. Why should
Baradi think that this time they would telephone?'

As if in answer, the bedroom telephone buzzed twice.

'This will be it,' said Alleyn and took up the receiver.


136


CHAPTER SEVEN


SOUND OF RICKY


Alleyn was used to anonymous calls on the telephone. There
was a quality of voice that he had learnt to recognise as
common to them all. Though this new voice spoke in French
it held the familiar tang of artifice. He nodded to Dupont
who at once darted out of the room.

The voice said: 'M. Alien?'

'C'est Alien qui parle.'

'Bien. Ecoutez. A sept heures demain soir, presentezvous
a pied et tout seul, vis-a-vis du pavilion de chasse en mines,
il y a sept kilometres vers le midi du village St. CelestedesAlpes.
Apportez avec vouc cent mille francs en billets
de cent. N"avertissez-pas la police, ou le petit apprendra Men
les consequences. Compris?'

Alleyn repeated it in stumbling French, as slowly as
possible and with as many mistakes as he dared to
introduce. He wanted to give Dupont time. The voice grew
impatient in correction. Alleyn, however, repeated his
instructions for the third time and began to expostulate
in English. 'Plus rien a dire,' said the voice and rang off.

Alleyn turned to Troy. 'Did you understand?' he asked.

'I don't know. I think so.'

'Well, it's all right, my dearest. It's as we thought. Tomorrow
evening outside the village called St. Celeste-desAlpes
with a hundred quid in my hand. The village, no
doubt, will be somewhere above St. Celeste.'

'You didn't recognise the voice?'

'It wasn't Baradi or Oberon. It wasn't young Herrington.
I wouldn't swear it wasn't Carbury Glande who was
croaking with hangover this morning and might have


137


recovered by now. And I would by no means swear that
it wasn't Baradi's servant whom I've only heard utter about six phrases in Egyptian but who certainly understands
French. There was a bit of an accent and I didn't think
it sounded local.'

Dupont tapped and entered. 'Any luck?' Alleyn said.

'Of a kind. I rang the centrale and was answered by
an imbecile but the call has been traced. And to where
do you suppose?'

'No.l6Ruedes Violettes?'

'Precisely!'

'Fair enough,' Alleyn said. 'It must be their town office.'

'I also rang the Prefecture. No reports have come in
from the patrols. What was the exact telephone message,
if you please?'

Alleyn told him in French, wrapping up the threats to
Ricky in words that were outside Troy's vocabulary.

'The same formula,' Dupont said, 'as in the reported
version of the former affair. My dear Mr Chief and
Madame, it seems that we should now pursue our hunch.'

'To the chemical works?'

'Certainly.'

'Thank God!' Troy ejaculated.

'All the same,' Alleyn said, 'it's tricky. As soon as we
get there the gaff is blown. The chateau, having been
informed that the telephone message went through, will
wait for us to go to St. C61este. When we turn up at the
factory, the factory will ring the chateau. Tricky! How
far away is St. Celeste?'

'About seventy kilometres.'

'Is it possible to start off on the eastern route and come
round to the factory by a detour? Behind Roqueville?'

M. Dupont frowned. 'There are some mountain lanes,'
he said. 'Little more than passages for goats and cattle
but of a width that is possible.'

'Possible for Raoul who is, I have noticed, a good driver.'

'He will tell us, at least. He is beneath.'

'Good.' Alleyn turned to his wife. 'See here, darling.


138


Will you go down and ask Raoul to fill up his tank faire
plein d'essence will be all right - and ask him to come
back as soon as he's done it. Will you then ask for the
manager and tell him we're going to St. Celeste but would
like to leave our heavy luggage here and keep our rooms.
Perhaps you should offer to pay a week in advance. Here's
some money. I'll bring down a couple of suitcases and
join you in the hall. All right?'

'All right. Voulez-vous,' Troy said anxiously, 'faire plein
f essence et revenez id. O.K.?'

'O.K.'

When she had gone Alleyn said: 'Dupont, I wanted a
word with you. You can see what a hellish business this
is for me, can't you? I know damn' well how important
it is not to let our investigations go off like a damp squib.
I realise, nobody better, that a premature inquiry at the
factory might prejudice a very big coup. I'm here on a
job and my job is with the police of your country and
my own. In a way it's the most critical assignment I've
ever-had.'

'And for me, also.'

'But the boy's my boy and his mother's my wife. It looked
perfectly safe to bring them here and they gave me
admirable cover but as things have turned put, I shouldn't
have brought them. But for the unfortunate Miss Truebody,
of course, it would have been all right.'

'And she, too, provided admirable cover. An
unquestioned entree.'

'Not for long, however. What I'm trying to say is this:
I've fogged out a scheme of approach. I realise that in
suggesting it I'm influenced by an almost overwhelming
anxiety about Ricky. I'll be glad if you tell me at once
if you think it impracticable and, from the police angle,
unwise.'

Dupont said: 'M. l'Inspectuer-en-Chef, I understand the
difficulty and respect, very much, your delicacy. I shall
be honoured to advise.'

'Thank you. Here goes, then. It's essential that we arouse


139


no suspicion of our professional interest in the factory.
It's highly probable that the key men up there have already
been informed from the chateau of my real identity. There's
a chance, I suppose, that Annabella Wells has kept her
promise but it's a poor chance. After all, if these people
don't know who I am why should they kidnap Ricky? All
right. We make a show of leaving this hotel and taking
the eastern route for St. Celeste. That will satisfy anybody
who may be watching us at this end. We take to the hills
and double back to the factory. By this time, you, with
a suitable complement of officers, are on your way there.
I go in and ask for Ricky. I am excitable and agitated.
They say he's not there. I insist that I've unimpeachable
evidence that he is there. I demand to see the manager.
I produce Raoul who says he took his girl for a drive
and saw a car with Ricky in it, turn in at the factory gates.
They stick to their guns. I make a hell of a row. I tell
them I've applied to you. You arrive with a carload of
men. You take the manager aside and tell him I am a
V.I.P. on holiday.'

'Comment? V.I.P.?'

'A very important person. You see it's extremely
awkward. That you think the boy's been kidnapped and
that it's just possible one of their workmen has been bribed
to hide him. You'll say I'll make things very hot for you
at the Surete if you don't put on a show of searching for
Ricky. You produce a mandat de perquisition. You are
terribly apologetic and very bored with me but you say
that unfortunately you have no alternative. As a matter
of form you must search the factory. Now, what does the
manager do?'

Dupont's sharp eyebrows were raised to the limit.
Beneath them his round eyes stared with glazed impartiality
at nothing in particular. His arms were folded. Alleyn
waited.

'In effect,' Dupont said at last, 'he sends his secretary
to investigate. The secretary returns with Ricketts and there
are a great many apologies. The manager assures me that


140


there will be an exhaustive inquiry and appropriate
dismissals.'

'What do you say to this?'

'Ah,' said Dupont suddenly lowering his eyebrows and
unfolding his arms. 'That is more difficult.'

'Do I perhaps intervene? Having clasped my son to my
bosom and taken him out with his mother to the car, thus
giving the manager an opportunity to attempt bribery at
a high level, do I not return and take it as a matter of
course that you consider this an admirable opportunity
to pursue your search for the kidnappers?'

Dupont's smile irradiated his face. 'It is possible,' he
said. 'It is conceivable.'

'Finally, my dear Dupont, can we act along these lines
or any other that suggest themselves without arousing the
smallest suspicion that we are interested in anything but
the recovery of the child?'

'The word of operation is indeed 'act.' From your
performance on the telephone, Mr Chief, I can have no
misgivings about your own performance. And for myself,'
here Dupont tapped his chest, touched his moustache and
gave Alleyn an indescribably roguish glance, 'I believe I
shall do well enough.'

They stood up. Alleyn put his police bag inside a large
suitcase. After looking at the chaos within Troy's partly
unpacked luggage, he decided on two cases. He also
collected their overcoats and Ricky's.

'Shall we about it?' he asked.

'En avant, alors!' said Dupont.


II


Mr Oberon looked down at the figure on the bed. 'Quite

peaceful,' he said. 'Isn't it strange?*
'The teeth,' Baradi pointed out, 'make a great difference.'
'There is a certain amount of discoloration.'
'Hypostatic staining. The climate.'


141


'Then there is every reason,' Mr Oberon observed with
satisfaction, 'for an immediate funeral.'

'Certainly.'

'If they have in fact gone off to St. Celeste they cannot
return until the day after tomorrow.'

'If, on the other hand, this new man at the Prefecture
is intelligent, which Alleyn says is not the case, they may
pick up some information.'

'Let us,' Mr Oberon suggested as he absentmindedly
re-arranged the sprigged locknit nightgown which was
pinned down by crossed hands to the rigid bosom, 'let
us suppose the worst. They recover the child,' he raised
his hand. 'Yes, yes, it is unlikely, but suppose it happens.
They call to inquire. They ask to see her.'

The two men were silent for a time. 'Very well,' Baradi
said. 'So they see her. She will not be a pretty sight, but
they see her.'

Mr Oberon was suddenly inspired. 'There must be
flowers,' he ejaculated. 'Masses and masses of flowers. A
nest. A coverlet all of flowers, smelling like incense.
Tuberoses,' he cried softly, clapping his hands together.
'They will be entirely appropriate. I shall order them.
Tuberoses! And orchids.'


Ill


The eastern route followed the seaboard for three miles
out of Roqueville and then turned slightly inland. At this
point a country road branched off it to the left. Raoul
took the road which mounted into the hills by a series
of hairpin bends. They climbed out of soft coastal air and
entered a region of mountain freshness. A light breeze
passed like a hand through the olive groves and sent spirals
of ruddy dust across the road. The seaboard with its fringe
of meretricious architecture had dwindled into an incident
while the sea and sky and warm earth widely enlarged
themselves.


142


The road turning about the contour of the hills was
littered with rock and scarred by wheel tracks. Sometimes
it became a ledge traversing the face of sheer cliffs and
in normal times Troy, who disliked heights, would have
feared these passages. Now she dreaded them merely
because they had to be taken slowly.

'How long,' she asked, 'will it be, do you suppose?'

'Roqueville's down there a little ahead of us. We'll pass
above it in a few minutes. I gather we now cast back into
the mountains for about the same distance as we've travelled
already and then work round to a junction with the main
road to the factory. Sorry about these corners, darling,'
Alleyn said as they edged round a bend that looked like
a take-off into space. 'Are you minding it very much?'

'Only because it's slow. Raoul's a good driver, isn't he?'

'Very good indeed. Could you bear it if I told you about
this job? I think perhaps I ought to but it'll be a bit dreary.'

'Yes,' Troy said. 'I'd like that. The drearier the better
because I'll have to concentrate.'

'Well, you know it's to do with the illicit drug trade
but I don't suppose you know much about the trade itself.
By and large it's probably the worst thing apart from war
that's happened to human beings in modern times. Before
the 1914 war the nations most troubled by the opium racket
had begun to do something about it. There was a Shanghai
Conference and a Hague Convention. Both were cautious
tentative shows. None of the nations came to them with
a clean record and all the delegates were embarrassed by
murky backgrounds in which production, manufacture and
distribution involved the revenue both of states and of
highly placed individuals. Dost thou attend me?'

'Sir,' said Troy, 'most heedfully.'

They exchanged the complacent glances of persons who
recognise each other's quotations.

'At the Hague Convention they did get round to making
one or two conservative decisions but before they were
ratified the war came along and the whole thing lapsed.
After the peace the traffic was stepped up most


143


murderously. It's really impossible to exaggerate]
scandal of those years. At the top end were nations ge a fat revenue out of the sale of opium and its deriv^j
An investigator said at one stage that half Europ^]
being poisoned to bolster up the domestic poli<
Bulgaria. The goings-on were fantastic. Charges d'Affjj
smuggled heroin in their diplomatic baggage. Drug ha built works all over Europe. Diacetylmorphine, wh.jj
heroin to you, was brewed on the Champs-Ely sees. Hi|
qualified chemists were offered princely salaries to
in drug factories and a great number of them fell f0 Many of the smartest and most fashionable peopd
European society lived on the trade: murderers, if the
has any meaning. At the other end of the stick were|
street pedlars, at the foot of Nurse CavelFs statue at
other places, and the addicts. The addicts were Icjjj
themselves in studies, studios, dressing-rooms, brot^
boudoirs and garrets; young intellectuals and young inij
were ruining themselves by the score. Girls were kept.
by their souteneurs with shots of the stuff. And sq |
Thou attendest not.'

'O, good Sir, I do.'

'I pray thee, mark me. At the Peace Conference
revolting baby was handed over to the League of Nat1!
who appointed an Advisory Committee who began the'
determined assault on the thing. The International ty came in, various bodies were set up and a bit of real pro^
was made. Only a bit. Factories pulled down in tu/
were rebuilt in Bulgaria. Big centralised industries
bust only to reappear like crops of small ulcers in o]
places. But something was attempted and a certain arn^
was achieved by 1919.'

'O, dear! History at it again?'

'More or less. The difference lies in the fact that
time the preliminary work had been done and the machi^
for investigation partly set up. But the second world
did its stuff and everything lapsed. U.N.O. doesn't
from scratch in the way that the League did. But it (f\


144


tuft still up against the Big Boys,
fithc sprats at the Customs counter
; in high places. The factories have
into post-war Italy and from
into the Paysdoux of Southern
Boys have moved with them.
rand Mr Oberon.'


^perhaps. There we climb into very
as hazardous a road as this one.
rare certainly in the mackerel class.
lyoo, is a British subject at the moment
the Middle East, where he ran a
sort and got six months for
i by way of Portugal and Egypt.
the same game during the war
i with the dope trade. In Egypt
: racket and made the acquaintance
at time he'd acquired large sums
into his lap from rich disciples
women, who became Daughters
, re-made their wills and died shortly


Baradi's a different story. Baradi
i student who trained in Paris
'the leading surgeons of his time,
sort of entree to court circles
s skill and charms, any number
France. You may not think him
that a great many women
|8oys in Paris and Egypt and is
^*B a big way. It's his money and
^ifce Chemical Company of the
much as the combined efforts
the Surete and the Yard have
Oberon and it's on that
iR»ct.'


145


'And is Ricky a spanner in the works?'

'He may be a spanner in the works, my pretty. He gives
us an excuse for getting into the factory. They may have
played into our hands when they took Ricky into the
factory.'

'If they took him there,' Troy said under her breath.

'If they drove beyond the turn-off to the factory the
patrols would have got them. Of course he may be
maddening the monks in the monastery farther up.'

'Mightn't the car have pushed on and come round by
this appalling route?'

'The patrols on the eastern route will get it if it did
and there are no fresh tyre tracks.'

'It's so strange,' Troy said, 'to hear you doing your stuff.'

Raoul humoured the car down a steep incline and past
a pink-washed hovel overhanging the cliff. A peasant stood
in the doorway. At Alleyn's suggestion Raoul called to
him.

'He friend! Any other driver comes this way today?'

'Pas tin de si bete!'

'That was: 'no such fool' wasn't it?' Troy asked.

'It was.'

'I couldn't agree more.'

They bumped and sidled on for some time without further
conversation. Raoul sang. The sky was a deeper blue and
the Mediterranean, now almost purple, made unexpected
gestures between the tops of hills. Troy and Alleyn each
thought privately how much, in spite of the road, they
would have enjoyed themselves if Ricky had been with
them.

Presently Raoul, speaking slowly out of politeness to
Troy, pointed to a valley they were about to enter.

The monastery road, M'sieur - Madame. We descend.'

They did so, precipitately. The roofs of the Monastery
of Our Lady of Paysdoux appeared, tranquil and modest,
folded in a confluence of olive groves. As they came into
the lower valley they looked down on an open place where
a few cars were parked and where visitors to the cloisters


146


moved in and out of long shadows. The car dived down
behind the monastery, turned and ran out into the head
of a good sealed road. 'The factory,' Raoul said, 'is round
the next bend. Beyond, Monsieur can see the main road
and away to the right is the headland with the tunnel that
comes out by the CMteau de la Chevre d'Argent.'

'Is there a place lower down and out of sight of the
factory where we can watch the main road on the Roqueville
side?'

'Yes, Monsieur. As one approaches the bend.'

'Let us stop there for a moment.'

'Good, Monsieur.'

Raoul's point of observation turned out to be a pleasant
one overlooking the sea and commanding a full view of
the main road as it came through the hills from Roqueville.
He ran the car to the outer margin of their road and stopped.
Alleyn looked at his watch. 'A quarter-past four. The works
shut down at five. I hope Dupont's punctual. We'll have
a final check. Raoul first, darling, if you don't mind. See
how much you can follow and keep your eye on the main
road for the police car. Alors, Raoul.'

Raoul turned to listen. He had taken off his chauffeur's
cap and his head, seen in profile against the homeric blue
of the Mediterranean, took on a classic air. Its colour was
a modulation of the tawny earth. Grapelike curls clustered
behind his small ear, his mouth was fresh, reflected light
bloomed on his cheekbones and his eyes held a look of
untroubled acceptance. It was a beautiful head and Troy
thought: 'When we're out of this nightmare I shall want
to paint it.'

Alleyn was saying: ' ... so you will remain at first in
the car. After a time I may fetch or send for you. If I
do you will come into the offices and tell a fairy story.
It will be to this effect

Raoul listened impassively, his eyes on the distant road.
When Alleyn had done, Raoul made a squaring movement
with his shoulders, blew out his cheeks into a mock147



truculent grimace and intimated that he was ready for
anything.

'Now, darling,' Alleyn said, 'do you think you can come
in with me and keep all thought of our inside information
out of your mind? You know only this: Ricky has been
kidnapped and Raoul has seen him being driven into the
factory. I'm going to have a shot at the general manager
who is called Callard. We don't know much about him.
He's a Parisian who worked in the States for a firm that
was probably implicated in the racket and he speaks
English. Any of the others we may run into may also speak
English. We'll assume, whatever we find, that they
understand it. So don't say anything to me that they
shouldn't hear. On the other hand, you can with advantage
keep up an agitated chorus. I shall speak bad French. We
don't know what may develop so we'll have to keep our
heads and ride the skids as we meet them. How do you
feel about it?'

'Should I be a brave little woman biting on the bullet
or should I go in, boots and all, and rave?'

'Rave if you fell like it, my treasure. They'll probably
expect it.'

'I daresay a spartan mother would seem more British
in their eyes or is that a contradiction in terms? O, Rory!'
Troy said in a low voice. 'It's so grotesque. Here we are
half-crazy with anxiety and we have to put on a sort of
anxiety-act. It's - it's a cruel thirfg, isn't it?'

'It'll be all right,' Alleyn said. 'It is cruel but it'll be
all right. I promise. You'll be as right as a bank whatever
you do. Hallo, there's Dupont.'

A car had appeared on the main road from Roqueville.

'M. le Commissaire,' said Roul and flicked his headlamps
on and off. The police car, tiny in the distance, winked
briefly in response.

'We're off,' said Alleyn.


148


IV


The entrance hall of the factory was impressive. The decor
was carried out in obscured glass, chromium and plastic
and was beautifully lit. In the centre was a sculptured figure,
modern in treatment, suggestive of some beneficent though
pin-headed being, who drew strength from the earth itself.
Two flights of curved stairs led airily to remote galleries.
There was an imposing office on the left. Double doors
at the centre back and a series of single doors in the right
wall all bore legends in chromium letters. The front wall
was plate-glass and commanded a fine view of the valley
and the sea.

Beyond a curved counter in the outer office a girl sat
over a ledger. When she saw Alleyn and Troy she rose
and stationed herself behind a chromium notice on the
counter:

'Renseignements.'

'Monsieur?' asked the girl. 'Madame?'

Alleyn, without checking his stride, said: 'Don't
disarrange yourself, Mademoiselle,' and made for the
central doors.

The girl raised her voice: 'One moment, Monsieur, whom
does Monsieur wish to see?'

'M Callard, le Controller.'

The girl pushed a bell on her desk. Before Alleyn could
reach the double doors they opened and a commissionaire
came through. Alleyn turned to the desk.

'Monsieur has an appointment?' asked the girl.

'No,' Alleyn said, 'but it is a matter of extreme urgency.
I must see M. Callard, Mademoiselle.'

The girl was afraid that M. Callard saw nobody without
an appointment. Troy observed that her husband was
making his usual impression on the girl, who touched her
hair, settled her shoulders and gave him a look.

Troy said in a high voice: 'Darling, what's she saying?
Has she seen him?'


149


The girl just glanced at Troy and then opened her eyes
at Alleyn. 'Perhaps I can be of assistance to Monsieur?'
she suggested.

Alleyn leant over the counter and haltingly asked her
if by any chance she had seen a little boy in brown shorts
and a yellow shirt. The question seemed to astonish her.
She made an incredulous sound and repeated it to the
commissionaire who merely hitched up his shoulders. They
had not seen any little boys, she said. Little boys were
not permitted on the premises.

Alleyn stumbled about with his French and asked the
girl if she spoke English. She said that unfortunately she
did not.

'Mademoiselle,' Alleyn said to Troy, 'doesn't speak
English. I think she says M. Callard won't see us. And
she says she doesn't know anything about Ricky.'

Troy said: 'But we know he's here. We must see the
manager. Tell her we must.'

This time the girl didn't so much as glance at Troy.
With a petunia-tipped finger and thumb she removed a
particle of mascara from her lashes and discreetly
rearranged her figure for Alleyn to admire. She said it
was too bad that she couldn't do anything for him. She
thought he had better understand this and said that at
any other time she might do a lot. She reacted with a
facial expression which corresponded, Troy thought, with
the 'haughty little moue' so much admired by Edwardian
novelists.

He said: 'Mademoiselle, will you have the kindness of
an angel? Will you take a little message to M. Callard?'
She hesitated and he added in English: 'And do you know
that there is a large and I believe poisonous spider on
your neck?'

She flashed a smile: 'Monsieur makes a grivoiserie at
my expense. He says naughty things in English, I believe,
'to pull a carrot at me.' '

'Doesn't speak English,' Alleyn said to Troy without
moving his eyes from the girl. He took out his pocket150



book, wrote a brief message and slid it across the counter
with a 500 franc note underneath. He playfully lifted the
girl's hand and closed it over both.

'Well, I must say!' said Troy, and she thought how strange
it was that she could be civilised and amused and perhaps
a little annoyed at this incident.

With an air that contrived to suggest that Alleyn as well
as being a shameless flirt was also a gentleman, the girl
moved back from the counter, glanced through the plate
glass windows of the main office where a number of typists
and two clerks looked on with undisguised curiosity, seemed
to change her mind, and came out by way of a gate at
the top of the counter and walked with short steps to the
double doors. The commissionaire opened them for her.
They looked impassively at each other. She passed through
and he followed her.

Alleyn said: 'She's taking my note to the boss. It ought
to surprise him. By all the rules he should have been rung
up and told we're on the road to St. Celeste.'

'Will he see us?'

'I don't see how he can refuse.'

While they waited, Troy looked at the spidery stairs,
the blind doors and the distant galleries. 'If he should
appear!' she thought. 'If there could be another flash of
yellow and brown.' She began to imagine how it would
be when they found Ricky. Would his face be white with
smudges under the eyes? Would he cry in the stifled
inarticulate fashion that always gripped her heart in a
stricture? Would he shout and run to her? Or, by a merciful
chance, would he behave like the other boy and want to
stay with his terrible new friends? She thought: 'It's unlucky
to anticipate. He may not be here at all. If we don't find
him before to-night I think I shall crack up.'

She knew Alleyn's mind followed hers as closely as one
mind can follow another and she knew that as far as one
human being can find solace in another she found solace
in him, but she suffered, nevertheless, a great loneliness


151


of spirit. She turned to him and saw compassion and anger
in his eyes.

'If anything could make me want more to get these
gentlemen,' he said, 'it would be this. We'll get them, Troy.'

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'I expect you will.'

'Ricky's here. I know it in my bones. I promise you.'

The girl came back through the double doors. She was
very formal.

'Monsieur Callard will see Monsieur and Madame,' she
said. The commissionaire waited on the far side, holding
one door open. As Alleyn stood aside for Troy to go
through, the girl moved nearer to him. Her back was turned
to the commissionaire. Her eyes made a sign of assent.

He murmured: 'And I may understand - what,
Mademoiselle?'

'What Monsieur pleases,' she said and minced back to
the desk.

Alleyn caught Troy up and took her arm in his hand.
The commissionaire was several paces ahead. 'Either that
girl's given me the tip that Ricky's here,' Alleyn muttered,
'or she's the smartest job off the skids in the Maritime
Alps.'

'What did she say?'

'Nothing. Just gave the go-ahead signal.'

'Good lord! Or did it mean Ricky?'

'It'd better mean Ricky,' Alleyn said grimly.

They were in an inner hall, heavily carpeted and furnished
with modern wall-tables and chairs. They passed two doors
and were led to a third in the end wall. The commissionaire
opened it and went in. They heard a murmur of voices.
He returned and asked them to enter.

A woman with blue hair and magnificent poise rose from
a typewriter. 'Bon your, Monsieur et Madame,' she said. 'Entrez s'il vousplait.' She opened another door. 'Monsieur
et Madame Alien,' she announced.

'Come right in!' invited a voice in hearty American. 'C'm
on! Come right in.'


152


M. Callard was a fat man with black eyebrows and bluish
chops. He was not a 		particularly evil-looking man: rather
one would have said that there was something meretricious
about him. His mouth looked as if it had been disciplined
by meaningless smiles and his eyes seemed to assume rather
than possess an air of concentration. He was handsomely
dressed and smelt of expensive cigars. His English was fluent
and falsely Americanised with occasional phrases and
inflections that made it clear he wasn't speaking his native
tongue.

'Well, well, well,' he said, pulling himself up from his
chair and extending his hand. The other held Alleyn's note.
'Very pleased to meet you, Mr - I just can't quite get the
signature.'

'Alleyn.'

'Mr Alien.'

'This is my wife.'

'MrsAllen,' said M. Callard bowing. 'Now, let's sit down,
isn't it, and get acquainted. What's all this I hear about
Junior?'

Alleyn said: 'I wouldn't have bothered you if we hadn't
by chance heard that our small boy who went missing early
this afternoon, had, Heavens knows how, turned up at
your works. In your office they didn't seem to know
anything about him and our French doesn't go very far.
It's a great help that your English is so good. Isn't it darling?'
he said to Troy.

'Indeed, yes. M. Callard, I can't tell you how anxious
we are. He just disappeared from our hotel. He's-only six
and it's so dreadful - '

To her horror Troy heard her voice tremble. She was
silent.

'Now, that's just too bad,' M. Callard said. 'And what
makes you think he's turned up in this part of the world?'

'By an extraordinary chance,' Alleyn said, 'the man we've


153


and woman. They turned in at the entrance to your works.
We don't pretend to understand all this, but you can
imagine how relieved we are to know he's all right.'

M. Callard sat with a half smile on his mouth, looking
at Alleyn's left ear. 'Well,' he said, 'I don't pretend to
understand it either. Nobody's told me anything. But we'll
soon find out.'

He bore down with a pale thumb on his desk bell. The
blue-haired secretary came in and he spoke to her in French.

'It appears,' he said, 'that Monsieur and Madame have
been given information by their chauffeur that their little
boy who has disappeared was seen in an auto somewhere
on our premises. Please make full inquiries, Mademoiselle, in all departments.'

'At once, Monsieur le Directeur,' said the secretary and
went out.

M. Callard offered Troy a cigarette and Alleyn a cigar
both of which were refused. He seemed mysteriously to
expand. 'Maybe,' he said, 'you folks are not aware there's
a gang of kidnappers at work along this territory. Child
kidnappers.'

Alleyn at once broke into a not too coherent and angry
dissertation on child-kidnappers and the inefficiency of the
police. M. Callard listened with an air of indulgence. He
had taken a cigar and he rolled it continuously between
his thumb and fingers, which were flattish and backed with
an unusual amount of hair. This movement was curiously
disturbing. But he listened with perfect courtesy to Alleyn
and every now and then made sympathetic noises. There
was, however, a certain quality in his stillness which Alleyn
recognised. M. Callard was listening to him with only part
of his attention. With far closer concentration he listened
for something outside the room: and for this, Alleyn
thought, he listened so far in vain.

The secretary came back alone.

She told M. Callard that in no department of the works
nor among the gardens outside had anyone seen a small
boy. Troy only understood the tenor of this speech. Alleyn,


154


who had perfectly understood the whole of it, asked to
have it translated. M. Callard obliged, the secretary
withdrew and the temper of the interview hardened. Alleyn
got up and moved to the desk. His hand rested on top
of a sound system apparatus. Troy found herself looking
at the row of switches and the loud-speaker and at the
good hand above them.

Alleyn said he was not satisfied with the secretary's
report. M. Callard said he was sorry, but evidently there
had been some mistake. Alleyn said he was certain there
was no mistake. Troy, taking her cue from him, let
something of her anxiety and anger escape. M. Callard
received her outburst* with odious compassion and said
it was quite understandable that she was not just one
hundred per cent reasonable. He rose but before his thumb
could reach the' bell-push Alleyn said that he must ask
him to listen to the account given by their chauffeur.

Tm sure that when you hear the man you will understand
why we are so insistent,' Alleyn said. And before Callard
could do anything to stop him he went out, leaving Troy
to hold, as it were, the gate open for his return.

Callard made a fat, wholly Latin gesture, and flopped
back into his chair. 'My dear lady,' he said, 'this good
man of yours is just a little difficult. Certainly I'll listen
to your chauffeur who is, no doubt, one of the local
peasants. I know how they are around here. They say what
they figure you want them to say and they don't worry
about facts: it's not conscious lying, it's just that they come
that way. They're just naturally obliging. Now, your
husband's French isn't so hot and my guess is, he's got
this guy a little bit wrong. We'll soon find out if I'm correct.
Pardon me if I make a call. This is a busy time with us
and right now I'm snowed under.'

Having done his best to make Troy thoroughly
uncomfortable he put through a call on his telephone,
speaking such rapid French that she scarcely understood
a word of what he said. He had just hung up the receiver
when something clicked. This sound was followed by a


155


a word of what he said. He had just hung up the receiver
when something clicked. This sound was followed by a
sense of movement and space beyond the office. M. Callard
glanced at the switchboard on his desk and said: 'AhT A disembodied voice spoke in midair.

'Monsieur le Directeur? Le service de transport avise qu'il
est incapable fexpedierla marchandise.'

'Qu'est ce qu'il se passe?'

"Rue barree!'

'Bien. Prenez garde. Remettez la marchandise a 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 this 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


156


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 Citroen, 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


157


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. 'Sacre 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
roughly.

'What's that?' Alleyn demanded.

'I've told him to get out.'
. 'Voits permettez, Madame, Monsieur?' Raoul asked and


158


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. Out. 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.

Tm 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 Alien.'

'If it's as big as all that your secretary's inquiries were
too brief to be effective. I don't believe any inquiries 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 inquiries. 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.


159


CHAPTER EIGHT


RICKY REGAINED


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 apologise. 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 midair: *Immediatement, 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

160


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.'


161


'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 with 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 rootled 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. // s'illume. Raoul and
lady said he does.'


162


|*Has he got a name?'
'His name's Goat,' Ricky said. He walked over to the car. Raoul opened the door and

got into the front seat casually displaying the goat.

'(Test fa,' Raoul said comfortably. He glanced down

Ricky, nodded three times with an air of sagacity and
ttit his cigarette. Ricky shoved one hand in the pocket of
his shorts and leant 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 leant 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.


163


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?'

'No. Black with kind of whitey blobs.'

'Did you like her?'

'Not extra much. Quite, though. She wasn't bad. I didn't
think I had to have a Nan over here.'

'Well, you needn't. She was a mistake. We won't have
her.'

'Anyway, she shouldn't have left me there with the fat
lady, should she, Daddy?'

'No,' Alleyn reached over the door and took the goat.
He held it up admiring it. 'Nice, isn't it?' he said. 'Did
she speak English, that Nanny?'

'Not properly. A bit. The man didn't.'

'The driver?'

"M. '

Was he a chauffeur like Raoul?'

'No. He had funny teeth. Sort of black. Funny sort of
driver for a person to have. He didn't have a cap like
Raoul or anything. Just a red beret and no coat and he


164


wasn't very clean either. He's Mr Garbel's driver, only
Mr Garbel's a Mademoiselle and not a Mr '

'Is he? How d'you know?'

'May I have Goat again, please? Because the Nanny said
you were waiting for me in Mademoiselle Garbel's room.
Only you weren't. And because Mademoiselle Garbel rang
up. The lady in the goat shop has got other people that
light themselves at night too. Saints and shepherds and
angels and Jesus. Pretty decent.'

Til have a look next time I'm there. When did Miss
Garbel ring up, Rick?'

'When I was in her room. The fat lady told the Nanny.
They didn't know about me understanding, which was sucks
to them.'

'What did the fat lady say?'

' 'Mademoiselle Garbel a telephone.' Easy!'

'What did she telephone about, do you know?'

The. She said they were to take me away and they told
me you would be here. Only - '

Ricky stopped short and looked wooden. He had turned
rather white.

'Only - ?' Alleyn said and then after a moment: 'Never
mind. I think I know. They went away to talk on the
telephone and you went out on the balcony. And you saw
Mummy and me waving on our balcony and you didn't
quite know what was up with everybody. Was it like that?'

'A bit.'

'Muddly?'

'A bit,' Ricky said tremulously.

'I know. We were muddled too. Then that fat old thing
came out and took you away, didn't she?'

Ricky leant back against his mother. Troy slipped her

arm round him and her hand protected his two hands and

; #»e silver goat. He looked at his father and his lip trembled.

'It was beastly,' he said. 'She was beastly.' And then
i a most desolate voice: 'They took me away. I was all
myself for ages in there. They said you'd be up here
you weren't. You weren't here at all.' And he burst


165


into a passion of sobs, his tear-drenched face turned in
bewilderment to Alleyn. His precocity fell away from him:
he was a child who had not long ago been a baby.

'It's all right, old boy,' Alleyn" said, 'it was only a sort
of have. They're silly bad lots and we're going to stop
their nonsense. We wouldn't have been able to if you hadn't
helped.'

Troy said: 'Daddy did come, darling. He'll always come.
We both will.'

'Well, anyway,' Ricky sobbed, 'another time you'd jolly
well better be a bit quicker.'

A whistle at the back of the factory gave three short
shrieks. Ricky shuddered, covered his ears and flung himself
at Troy.

Til have to go in,' Alleyn said. He closed his hand on
Ricky's shoulder and held it for a moment. 'You're safe,
Rick,' he said, 'you're safe as houses.'

'O.K.,' Ricky said in a stifled voice. He slewed his head
round and looked at his father out of the corner of his
eyes.

'Do you think in a minute or two you could help us
again? Do you think you could come in with me to the
hall in there and tell me if you can see that old Nanny
and Mr Garbel's driver?'

'Oh, no, Rory,' Troy murmured. 'Not now!'

'Well, of course, Rick needn't if he'd hate it but it'd
be helping the police quite a lot.'

Ricky had stopped crying. A dry sob shook him but
he said: 'Would you be there? And Mummy?'

'We'll be there.'

Alleyn reached over, picked up Troy's gloves from the
floor of the car and put them in his pocket.

'Hi!' Troy said, 'what's that for?'

"To be worn in my beaver and borne in the van," he
quoted, 'or something like that. If Radul or Dupont or
I come out and wave will you and Ricky come in? There'll
be a lot of people there, Rick, and I just want you to


166


look at 'em and tell me if you can see that Nanny and
the driver. O.K.?'

'O.K.,' Ricky said in a small voice.

'Good for you, old boy.'

He saw the anxious tenderness in Troy's eyes and added:
'Be kind enough, both of you, to look upon me as a tower
of dubious strength.'

Troy managed a grin at him. 'We have every confidence,'
she said, 'in our wonderful police.'

'Like hell!' Alleyn said and went back to the factory.


Ill


He found a sort of comic opera scene in full swing in
the central hall. Employees of all conditions were swarming
down the curved stairs and through the doors: men in
working overalls, in the white coat of the laboratory, in
the black jacket of bureaucracy; women equally varied in
attire and age: all of them looking in veiled annoyance
at their watches. A loud-speaker bellowed continually:

'Allo, Allo, Messieurs et Dames, faites attention, s'il vous
plait, Tous les employes, ayez la bonte de vous rendre
immediatement au grand vestibule. Allo, allo.'

M. Dupont stood in a commanding position on the base
of the statue and M. Callard, looking sulky, stood at a
little distance below him. A few paces distant, Raoul, composed and godlike in his simplicity, surveyed the milling
chorus. The gendarmes were nowhere to be seen.

Alleyn made his way to Dupont who was obviously in
high fettle and, as actors say, well inside the skin of his
part. He addressed Alleyn in English with exactly the right
mixture of deference and veiled irritability. Callard listened
moodily.

'Ah, Monsieur! You see we make great efforts to clear
up this little affair. The entire staff is summoned by
Monsieur le Directeur. We question everybody. This fellow
of yours is invited to examine the persons. You are invited


167


to bring the little boy, also to examine. Monsieur le
Directeur is most anxious to assist. He is immeasurably
distressed, is it not, Monsieur le Directeur?'

That's right,' said M. Callard without enthusiasm.

Alleyn said with a show of huffiness that he was glad
to hear that they recognised their responsibilities. M.
Dupont bent down as if to soothe him and he murmured:
'Keep going as long as you can. Spin it out.'

'To the last thread.'

Alleyn made his way to Raoul and was able to mutter:
'Ricky describes the driver as a man with black teeth, a
red beret, as your friend observed, and no jacket. The
woman has a moustache, is bareheaded and wears a black
dress with a whitish pattern. If you see a man and woman
answering to that description you may announce that they
resemble the persons in the car.'

Raoul was silent. Alleyn was surprised to see that his
face, usually a ready mirror of his emotions, had gone
blank. The loud-speaker kept up its persistent demands.
The hall was filling rapidly.

'Well, Raoul?'

'Would Monsieur describe again the young woman and
the man?'

Alleyn did so. 'If there are any such persons present
you may pretend to recognise them but not with positive
determination. The general appearance, you may say, is
similar. Then we may be obliged to bring Ricky in to see
if he identifies them.'

Raoul made a singular little noise in his throat. His lips
moved. Alleyn saw rather than heard the response.

'Bien, Monsieur,' he said.

'M. Dupont will address the staff when they are
assembled. He will speak at some length. I shall not be
present. He will continue proceedings until I return. Your soi-disant identification will then take place. Au 'voir, Raoul.'

"Voir, Monsieur.'

Alleyn edged through the crowd and round the wall of
the room to the double doors. The commissionaire stood


168


and eyed him dubiously. Alleyn looked across
heads and caught the notice of M. Dupont who
held up his hand. 'Attention!' he shouted. ez-vous (fwantage, je vous en prie.' The crowd
I in on him and Alleyn, left on the margin, slipped
_ the doors.

Shad at the most fifteen minutes in which to work,
ry's office was open but the door into M.
1's room was, as he had anticipated, locked. It
to his manipulation and he relocked it behind
le went to the desk and turned on the general inter
lication switch in the sound-system releasing the
rumour of a not quite silent crowd and the voice
Dupont embarked on an elaborate expose of child
ring on the Mediterranean coast,
aps, Alleyn thought, at this rate he would have a
longer than he had hoped. If he could find a single
: of evidence, enough to ensure the success of a surprise
igation by the French police, he would be satisfied,
looked at the filing cabinet against the walls. The
iwers had independent key-holes but the first fifteen were
;ked. He tried them and shoved them back without
inside. The sixteenth, marked with the letter P,
JUas locked. He got it open. Inside he found a number
of the usual folders each headed with its appropriate legend: *froduits chimiques en commande,' Per on et Cie,':
'Plastiques,' and so on. He went through the first of these,
memorising one or two names of drugs he had been told
to look out for. Per on et Cie was on the suspect list at
the Surete and a glance at the correspondence showed a
close business relationship between the two firms. He
flipped over the next six folders and came to the last which
was headed: 'Particulier a M. Callard. Secret et confidentiel.' It contained rough notes, memoranda and a number of
letters and Alleyn would have given years of routine
plodding for the right to put the least of them in his pocket.
He found letters from distributors in New York, Cairo,
London, Paris and Instanbul, letters that set out modes


169


of conveyance, .suggested suitable contacts, gave details of
the methods used by other illicit traders and warnings of
leakage. He found a list of the guests at the Chevre d'Argent
with Robin Herrington's name scored under and a query
beside it.

'Cette pratique abominable,' boomed the voice of M.
Dupont, warming to its subject, 'cette tache inderadnable
sur I'honneur de notre communaute - '

'Boy,' Alleyn muttered in the manner of M. Callard,
'you said it.'

He laid on the desk a letter from a wholesale firm dealing
in cosmetics in Chicago. It suggested quite blandly that 'Creme Veloutee' in tubes might be a suitable mode of
conveyance for diacetylmorphine and complained that the
last consignment of calamine lotion had been tampered
with in transit and had proved on opening to contain
nothing but lotion. It suggested that a certain Customs
official had set up in business on his own account and
had better be dealt with pretty smartly.

Alleyn unzipped from his breast-pocket a minute and
immensely expensive camera. Groaning to himself he
switched on M. Callard's fluorescent lights.

' - et, Messieurs, Dames,' thundered the voice of M.
Dupont, 'parmi vous, id, id, clans cette usine, ce crime
degoutant a eleve sa tete hideuse.'

Alleyn took four photographs of the letter, replaced it
in the folder and the folder in its file, relocked the drawer
and stowed away his lilliputian camera. Then, with an ear
to M. Dupont, who had evidently arrived at the point where
he could not prolong the cackle but must come to the
'osses, Alleyn made notes, lest he should forget them, of
points from the other documents. He returned his notebook
to his pocket, switched off the loud-speaker and turned
to the door.

He found himself face to face with M. Callard.

'And what the hell,' M. Callard asked rawly, 'do you
think you are doing?'

170


Alleyn took Troy's gloves from his pocket. 'My wife
left these in your office. I hope you don't mind.'

'She did not and I do. I locked this office.'

'If you did someone obviously unlocked it. Perhaps your
secretary came back for something.'

'She did not,' said M. Callard punctually. He advanced
a step. 'Who the hell are you?'

'You know very well who I am. My boy was kidnapped
and brought into your premises. You denied it until you
were forced to give him up. Your behaviour is extremely
suspicious, M. Callard, and I shall take the matter up with
the appropriate authorities in Paris. I have never,' continued
Alleyn who had decided to lose his temper, 'heard such
damned impudence in my life! I was prepared to give you
the benefit of the doubt but in view of your extraordinary
behaviour I am forced to suspect that you are implicated
personally in this business. And in the former affair of
child-stealing. Undoubtedly in the former affair.'

M. Callard began to shout in French, but Alleyn shouted
him down. 'You are a child-kidnapper, M. Callard. You
speak English like an American. No doubt you have been
to America where child-kidnapping is a common racket.'

'Sacrt nom (fun Men - '

'It's no use talking jargon to me, I don't understand
a bloody word of it. Stand aside and let me out.'

M. Callard's face was not an expressive one, but Alleyn
thought he read incredulity and perhaps relief in it.

'You broke into my office,' M. Callard insisted.

'I did nothing of the sort. Why the hell should I? And
pray what have you got in your office,' Alleyn asked as
if on a sudden inspiration, 'to make you so damned touchy
about it? Ransom money?'

'Imbecile! Sale cochon!'

'Oh, get to hell!' Alley said and advanced upon him.
He stood, irresolute, and Alleyn with an expert movement
neatly shouldered him aside and went back to the hall.


171


IV


Dupont saw him come in. Dupont, Alleyn considered, was
magnificent. He must have had an appalling job spinning
out a short announcement into a fifteen minute harangue
but he wore the air of an orator in the first flush of his
eloquence.

His gaze swept over Alleyn and round his audience.

'Eh bien, Messieurs, Dames, chacun a sa tache. Defllez,
s'il vous plait, devant cette statue . . . Rappelez-vous de mes
instructions. Milano!'

He signalled magnificently to Raoul who stationed
himself below him, at the base of the statue. Raoul was
pale and stood rigid like a man who faces an ordeal. M.
Callard appeared through the double doors and watched
with a leaden face.

The gendarmes, who had also reappeared, set about the
crowd in a business-like manner, herding it to one side
and then sending it across in single file in front of Raoul.
Alleyn adopted a consequential air and bustled over to
Dupont.

'What's all this, Monsieur?' he asked querulously. 'Is
it an identification parade? Why haven't I been informed
of the procedure?'

Dupont bent over in a placatory manner towards him
and Alleyn muttered: 'Enough to justify a search,' and
then shouted: 'I have a right to know what steps are being
taken in this affair.'

Dupont spread his blunt hands over Alleyn as if he were
blessing him.

'Calm yourself, Monsieur. Everything arranges itself,'
he said magnificently and added in French for the benefit
of the crowd: The gentleman is naturally overwrought.
Proceed, if you please.'

Black-coated senior executive officers and white-coated
chemists advanced, turned and straggled past with deadpan
faces. They were followed by clerks, assistant chemists,
stenographers and laboratory assistants. One or two looked


172


at Raoul, but by far the greater number kept on without
turning their heads. When they had gone past, the
gendarmes directed them to the top of the hall where they
were formed up into lines.

Alleyn watched the thinning ranks of those who were
yet to come. At the back, sticking together, were a number
of what he supposed to be the lesser fry: cleaners, van
drivers, workers from the canteen and porters. In a group
of women he caught sight of one a little taller than the
rest. She stood with her back towards the statue and at
first he could see only a mass of bronze hair with straggling
tendrils against the opulent curve of a full neck. Presently
her neighbour gave her a nudge and for a moment she
turned. Alleyn saw the satin skin and liquid eyes of a Murillo
peasant. She had a brilliant mouth and had caught her
under-lip between her teeth. Above her upper lip was a
pencilling of hair.

Her face flashed into sight and was at once turned away
again with a movement that thrust up her shoulder. It
was clad in a black material spattered with a whitish-grey
pattern.

Behind the girls was a group of four or five men in
labourer's clothes: boiler-men, perhaps, or outside hands.
As the girls hung back, the gendarme in charge of this
group sent the men forward. They edged self-consciously
past the girls and slouched towards Raoul. The third was
a thick-set fellow wearing a tight-fitting short-sleeved vest
and carrying a red beret. He walked hard on the heels
of the men in front of him and kept his eyes to the ground.
He had two long red scratches on the cheek nearest to
Raoul. As he passed by, Alleyn looked at Raoul who
swallowed painfully and muttered: ''Void le typeS

Dupont raised an eyebrow. The gendarme at the top
of the room moved out quietly and stationed himself near
the men. The girls came forward one by one and Alleyn
still watched Raoul. The girl in the black dress with the
whitish-grey pattern advanced, turned and went past with
averted head. Raoul was silent.


173


Alleyn moved close to Dupont. 'Keep your eye on that
girl, Dupont. I think she's our bird.'

'Indeed? Milano has not identified her.'

'I think Ricky will.'

Watched by the completely silent crowd, Alleyn went
out of the hall and, standing in the sunshine, waved to
Troy. She and Ricky got out of the car and, hand-in-hand,
came towards him.

'Come on, Ricky,' he said, 'let's see if you can find the
driver and the Nanny. If you do we'll go and call on the
goat-shop lady again. What do you say?'

He hoisted his little son across his shoulders and, holding
his ankles in either hand, turned him towards the steps.

'Coming, Mum?' Ricky asked.

'Rather! Try and stop me.'

'Strike up the band,' Alleyn said. 'Here comes the Alleyn
family on parade.'

He heard his son give a doubtful chuckle. A small hand
was laid against his cheek. 'Good old horse,' Ricky said
courageously and in an uncertain falsetto: 'How many miles
to Babylon?'

'Five score and ten,' Alleyn and Troy chanted and she
linked her arm through his.

They marched up the steps and into the hall.

The crowd was still herded at one end of the great room
and had broken into a subdued chattering. One of the
gendarmes stood near the man Raoul had identified.
Another had moved round behind the crowd to a group
of girls. Alleyn saw the back of that startlingly bronze
head of hair and the curve of the opulent neck. M. Callard
had not moved. M. Dupont had come down from his
eminence and Raoul stood by himself behind the statue,
looking at his own feet.

'A-ha!' cried M. Dupont, advancing with an air of
camaraderie, 'so here is Ricketts.'

He reached up his hand, Ricky stooped uncertainly from
his father's shoulders and put his own in it.

This is Ricky,' Alleyn said, 'M. Dupont, Ricky,


174


Superintendent of Police in Roqueville. M. Dupont speaks
English.'

'How do you do, sir,' said Ricky in his company voice.

M. Dupont threw a complimentary glance at Troy.

'So we have an assistant,' he said. 'This is splendid. I
leave the formalities to you, M. Alleyn.'

'Just have a look at all these people, Rick,' Alleyn said,
'and tell us if you can find the driver and the Nanny who
brought you up here.'

Troy and Dupont looked at Ricky. Raoul, behind the
statue, continued to look at his boots. Ricky, wearing the
blank expression he reserved for strangers, surveyed the
crowd. His attention came to a halt on the thick-set fellow
in the short-sleeved jersey. Dupont and Troy watched him.

'Mum?' said Ricky.

'Hallo?'

Ricky whispered something inaudible and nodded
violently.

Tell Daddy.'

Ricky stooped his head and breathed noisily into his
father's ear.

'O.K.,' Alleyn said. 'Sure?'

"M. "

'Tell M. Dupont.'

'Monsieur, void le chauffeur.'

'Montrez avec le doigt, mon brave,' said M. Dupont.

'Point him out, Rick,' said Alleyn.

Ricky had been instructed by his French Nanny that
it was rude to point. He turned pink in the face and made
a rapid gesture, shooting out his finger at the man. The
man drew back his upper lip and bared a row of blackened
teeth. The first gendarme shoved in beside him. The crowd
stirred and shifted.

'Bravo,' said M. Dupont.

'Now the Nanny,' Alleyn said. 'Can you see her?'

There was a long pause. Ricky, looking at the group
of girls at the back, said: 'There's someone that hasn't
turned round.'


175


M. Dupont shouted: 'Presentez-vous de face, tout le
monde!'

The second gendarme pushed through the group of girls.
They melted away to either side as if an invisible wedge
had been driven through them. The impulse communicated
itself to their neighbours: the gap widened and stretched,
opening out as Alleyn carried Ricky towards it. Finally
Ricky, on his father's shoulders, looked up an exaggerated
perspective to where the girl stood with her back to them,
her hands clasped across the nape of her neck as if to
protect it from a blow. The gendarme took her by the
arm, turned her and held down the hands that now struggled
to reach her face. She and Ricky looked at each other.

'Hallo, Teresa,' said Ricky.


Two cars drove down the Roqueville road. In the first
was M. Callard and two policemen and in the second, a
blue Citroen, were its owner and a third policeman. The
staff of the factory had gone. M. Dupont was busy in M.
Callard's office and a fourth gendarme stood, lonely and
important, in the empty hall. Troy had taken Ricky, who
had begun to be very pleased with himself, to Raoul's car.
Alleyn, Raoul and Teresa sat on an ornamental garden
seat in the factory grounds. Teresa wept and Raoul gave
her cause to do so.

'Infamous girl,' Raoul said, 'to what sink of depravity
have you retired? I think of your perfidy,' he went on,
'and I spit.'

He rose, retired a few paces, spat and returned. 'I compare
your behaviour,' he continued, 'to its disadvantage with
that of Herod, the Jewish Anti-Christ who slit the throats
of first-born innocents. Ricky is an innocent and also,
Monsieur will correct me if I speak in error, a firstborn.
He is, moreover, the son of Monsieur, my employer, who,
as you observe, can find no words to express his loathing


176


of the fallen woman with whom he finds himself in
occupation of this contaminated piece of garden furniture/

'Spare me,' Teresa sobbed. 'I can explain myself.'

Raoul bent down in order to place his exquisite but
distorted face close to hers. 'Female ravisher of infants,'
he apostrophised. 'Trafficker in unmentionable vices.
Associate of perverts.'

'You insult me,' Teresa sobbed. She rallied slightly. 'You
also lie like a brigand. The Holy Virgin is my witness.'

'She blushes to hear you. Answer me,' Raoul shouted
and made a complicated gesture a few inches from her eyes. 'Did you not steal the child? Answer!'

'Where there is no intention, there is no sin,' Teresa
bawled, taking her stand on dogma. 'I am as pure as the
child himself. If anything, purer. They told me his papa
wished me to call for him.'

'Who told you?'

'Monsieur,' said Teresa, changing colour.

'Monsieur Goat! Monsieur Filth! In a word, Monsieur
Oberon.'

'It is a lie,' Teresa repeated but rather vaguely. She turned
her sumptuous and tear-blubbered face to Alleyn. 'I appeal
to Monsieur who is an English nobleman and will not spit
upon the good name of a virtuous girl. I throw myself
at his feet and implore him to hear me.'

Raoul also turned to Alleyn and spread his hands out
in a gesture of ineffable poignancy.

'If Monsieur pleases,' he said, making Alleyn a present
of the whole situation.

'Yes,' Alleyn said. 'Yes. Well now - '

He looked from one grand-opera countenance to the
other. Teresa gazed at him with nerveless compliance, Raoul
with grandeur and a sort of gloomy sympathy. Alleyn got
up and stood over the girl.

'Now, see here, Teresa,' began. Raoul took a respectful
step backwards. 'It appears that you have behaved very
foolishly for a long time and you are a fortunate girl to
have come out of it without involving yourself in disaster.'


177


	'Undoubtedly,' Teresa said with a hint of complacency.
'I am under the protection of Our Lady of Paysdoux for
whom I have a special devotion.'

'Which you atrociously abuse,' Raoul remarked to the
landscape.

'Be that as it may,' Alleyn hurriedly intervened. 'It's
time you pulled yourself together and tried to make amends
for all the harm you have done. I think you must know
very well that your employer at the chateau is a bad man.
In your heart you know it, don't you, Teresa?'

Teresa placed her hand on her classic bosom. 'In my
heart, Monsieur, I am troubled to suffocation in his
presence. It is in my soul that I find him impure.'

'Well, wherever it is, you are perfectly correct. He is
a criminal who is wanted by the police of several countries.
He has made fools of many silly girls before you. You're
lucky not to be in gaol, Teresa. M. le Commissaire would
undoubtedly have locked you up if I had not asked him
to give you a chance to redeem yourself.'

Teresa opened her mouth and let out an appropriate
wail.

'To such deplorable depths have you reduced yourself,'
said Raoul who had apparently assumed the maddening
role of chorus. 'And me!' he pointed out.

'However,' Alleyn went on, 'we have decided to give
you this chance. On condition, Teresa, that you answer
truthfully any questions I ask you.'

'The Holy Virgin is my witness - ' Teresa began.

'There are also other less distinguished witnesses,' said
Raoul. 'In effect, there is the child-thief Georges Martel
with whom you conspired and who is probably your
paramour.'

'It is a lie.'

'How,' Alleyn asked, 'did it come about that you took
Ricky from the hotel?'

'I was in Roqueville. I go to the market for the femme
de charge. At one o'clock, following my custom I visited
the restaurant of the parents of Raoul who is killing me


178


with cruelty,' Teresa explained, throwing a poignant glance
at her fiance. 'There is a message for me to telephone the
chateau. I do so. I am told to wait as Monsieur wishes
to speak to me. I do so. My heart churns in my bosom
because that unfortunately is the effect Monsieur has upon it: it is not a pleasurable sensation.'
'Tell that one in another place,' Raoul advised.
'I swear it. Monsieur instructs me: there is a little boy
at the Hotel Royal who is the son of his dear friends,
Monsieur and Madame Allaine. He plans with Monsieur
Allaiiie a little trick upon Madame, a drollery, a blague. They have nounou for the child and while they are here
I am to be presented by Monsieur as a nounou and I am
;jto receive extra salary.'

'More atrocity,' said Raoul. 'How much?'
'Monsieur did not specify. He said an increase. And he
instructs me to go to Le pot de Fleurs and purchase
s. He tells me, spelling it out, the message I am
write. I have learned a little English from the servants
f English guests at the chateau so I understand. The flowers
from Mademoiselle Garbel who is at present at the
^chateau.'
|p'*Is she, by Heaven!' Alleyn ejaculated. 'Have you seen

>rr

6;KIOften, Monsieur. She is often there.'
^What does she look like?'

'Like an Englishwoman. All Englishwomen with the
tion, no doubt, of Madame, the wife of Monsieur,
teeth like mares and no poitrine. So, also,
aoiselle Garbel.'
|*Go on, Teresa.'

|3n order that the drollery shall succeed, I am to go
hdtel while Madame is at dejeuner. I shall have the
and if without inquiry I can ascertain the ents of Monsieur and Madame I am to go there.
J am questioned I am to say I am the new nounou and
to the appartements. I am to remove the little one
service stairs. Outside 		Georges Martel, who is


179


nothing to me, waits in his auto. And, from that point
Georges will command the proceedings!'

'And that's what you did? No doubt you saw the number
of the appartement on the luggage in the hall.'

'Yes, Monsieur.'	x

'And then?'

'Georges drives us to 16 Rue des Violettes where the
concierge tells me she will take the little boy to the appartement of Mademoiselle Garbel where his father
awaits him. I am to stay in the auto in the back streets
with Georges. Presently the concierge returns with the little
boy. She says to Georges that the affair is in the water
as the parents have seen the boy. She says that the orders
are to drive at once to the factory. Georges protests: is
it not to St. Celeste? She says, 'No, at once, quickly to
the factory.' The little boy is angry and perhaps frightened
and he shouts in French and in English that his papa and
mama are not in a factory but in their hotel. But Georges
uses blasphemous language, and drives quickly away. And
Monsieur will, I entreat, believe me when I tell him I
regretted then very much everything that had happened.
I was afraid. Georges would tell me nothing except to keep
my mouth sewn up. So I see that I am involved in wickedness
and I say several decades of the rosary and try to make
amusements for the little boy who is angry and frightened
and weeps for the loss of a statue bought from Marie of
the Chevre d'Argent. I think also of Raoul,' said Teresa.

'It's easy to see,' Raoul observed, 'that in the matter
of intelligence you have not invented the explosive.' But
be was visibly affected, nevertheless. 'You should have
known at once that it was a lot of blague about the nounou."

'And when you got to the factory?' Alleyn asked.

'Georges took the little boy inside. He then returned
alone and we drove round to the garages at the back. I
tried to run away and when he grasped my arms I inflicted
some formidable scratches on his face. But he threw me
a smack on the ear and told me Monsieur Oberon would
put me under a malediction.'


180


'When he emerges from gaol,' Raoul said thoughtfully,
'I shall make a meat pate of Georges. He is already fried/

'And then, Teresa?'

'I was frightened again, Monsieur, not of Georges but
of what Monsieur Oberon might do to me. And presently
the whistle blew and a loud-speaker summoned everybody
to the hall. And Georges said we should clear out. He
walked a little way and peeped round the corner and came
back saying there were gendarmes at the gates and we must
conceal ourselves. But one of the gendarmes came into
the garage and said we must go into the hall. And when
we arrived Georges left me saying: get out, don't hang
round my heels. So I went to some of the girls I knew
and when I heard the announcement of Monsieur le
Commissaire and saw Raoul and they said Raoul had seen
me: Oh, Monsieur, judge of my feelings! Because, say what
you will, Raoul is the friend of my heart and if he no
longer loves me I am desolate.'

. 'You are silly as a fool,' said Raoul, greatly moved, 'but
it is true that I love you.'

'Ah!' said Teresa simply, 'Quelle extase!'

'And upon that note,' said Alleyn, 'we may return to
Roqueville and make our plans.'


181


CHAPTER NINE


DINNER IN ROQUEVILLE


On the return journey Alleyn and Troy sat in the back
seat with Ricky between them. Teresa, who was to be given
a lift to the nearest bus stop, sat in the front by Raoul.
She leant against him in a luxury of reconciliation, every
now and then twisting herself sideways in order to gaze
into his face. Ricky, who suffered from an emotional
hangover and was, therefore, inclined to be querulous and
in any case considered Raoul his especial property, looked
at these manifestations with distaste.

'Why does she do that?' he asked fretfully, 'Isn't she
silly? Does Raoul like her?'

'Yes,' said Troy, hugging him.

'I bet he doesn't really.'

'They are engaged to be married,' said Troy, 'I think.'

'You and Mummy are married, aren't you, Daddy?'

'Yes.'

'Well, Mummy doesn't do it.'

'True,' said Alleyn who was in good spirits, 'but I should
like it if she did.'

'Oo, Daddy, you would no/.'

Teresa wound her arm round Raoul's neck.

*Je t'adorer she crooned.

'Oh, gosh!' said Ricky and shut his eyes.

'All the same,' Alleyn said, 'we'll have to call a halt
to her raptures.' He leant forward. 'Raoul, shall we stop
for a moment. If Teresa misses her bus you may drive
her back from Roqueville.'

'Monsieur, may I suggest that we drive direct to


182


Roqueville where, if Monsieur and Madame please, my
parents will be enchanted to invite them to an aperitif, or, if preferred, a glass of good wine, and perhaps an early
but well-considered dinner. The afternoon has been
fatiguing. Monsieur has not eaten, I think, since morning
and Madame and Monsieur Ricky may be glad to dine
early. Teresa is, no doubt, not expected at the house of
infamy, being, as they will suppose, engaged in the
abduction of Ricky and in any case I do not permit her
to return.'

Teresa made a complicated noise, partly protesting but
mostly acquiescent. She essayed to tuck one of Raoul's
curls under his cap.

Ricky, with his eyes still shut, said: 'Is Raoul asking
us to tea, Daddy? May we go? Just as however,' he added
pointedly.

'We shall all go,' Alleyn said, 'including Teresa. Unless,
Troy darling, you'd rather take Ricky straight to the hotel.'

Ricky opened his eyes. 'Please not, Mummy. Please let's
go with Raoul.'

'All right, my mammet. How kind of Raoul.'

So Alleyn thanked Raoul and accepted his invitation
and as they had arrived at the only stretch of straight road
on their journey Raoul passed his right arm round Teresa
and broke into song.

They drove on through an evening drenched in a sunset
that dyed their faces and hands crimson and closely
resembled the coloured postcards that are sold on the
Mediterranean coast. Two police cars passed them with
a great sounding of horns and Alleyn told Troy that M.
Dupont had sent for extra men to effect a search of the
factory. 'It was too good an opening to miss,' he said.
'He'll certainly find enough evidence to throw a spanner
through the plate-glass and thanks for the greater part,
let's face it, to young Rick.'

'What have I done, Daddy?'

'Well, you mustn't buck too much about it, but by being


183


a good boy and not making a fuss when you were a bit
frightened you've helped us to shut up that factory back
there and stop everybody's nonsense.'

'Lavish!' said Ricky.

'Not bad. And now you can pipe down for a bit while
I talk to Mummy.'

Ricky looked thoughtfully at his father, got down from
his seat and placed himself between Alleyn's knees. He
then aimed a blow with his fist at Alleyn's chest and
followed it up with a tackle. Alleyn picked him up. 'Pipe
down, now,' he said and Ricky, suddenly quiescent, lay
against his father and tried to hide his goat from the light
in the hope that it would illuminate itself.

'The next thing,' Alleyn said to Troy, 'is to tackle our
acquaintances of this morning. And from this point
onwards, my girl, you fade graciously but inexorably out. You succour your young, reside in your classy pub and
if your music grows exigent you go out with Raoul and
your young and paint pretty peeps of the bay, glimpsed
between sprays of bougainvillaea.'

'And do we get any pretty peeps of you?'

'I expect to be busyish. Would you rather move on to
St. Celeste or back to St. Christophe? Does this place stink
for you, after today?'

'I don't think so. We know the real kidnappers are in
jug, don't we? And I imagine the last thing Oberon and
Co. will try on is another shot at the same game.'

'The very last. After to-morrow night,' Alleyn said, 'I
hope they will have no chance of trying anything on except
the fruitless contemplation of their past infamies and
whatever garments they are allowed to wear in the local
lockup.'

'Really? A coup in the offing?'

'With any luck. But see here, Troy, if you're going to
feel at all jumpy we'll pack you both off to - well, home,
if necessary.'

'I don't want to go home,' Ricky said from inside Alleyn's


184


jacket. 'I think Goat's beginning to illumine himself,
Daddy.'

'Good. What about it, Troy?'

'I'd rather stay, Rory. Indeed, if it wasn't for the young,
and yet I suppose because of him, I'd rather muck in on
the job. I'm getting a first-hand look at the criminal classes
and it's surprising how uncivilised it makes one feel.'

Alleyn glanced at the now hazardously entwined couple
in the front seat. He adjusted Ricky and flung an arm
round Troy.

'A fat lot they know about it,' he muttered.

As the car slipped down the familiar entry into Roqueville
he said: 'And how would you muck in, may I ask?'

'I might say I wanted to do a portrait of Oberon in
the lotus bud position and thus by easy degrees become
a Daughter of the Sun.'

'Like hell, you might.'

'Anyway, let's stay if only to meet Cousin Garbel.'

She felt Alleyn's arm harden. Like Teresa, she turned
to look at her man.

'Rory,' she said, 'did you believe Baradi's story about
the charades?'

'Did you?'

'I thought I did. I wanted to. Now, I don't think I do.'

'Nor do I,' Alleyn said.

'0/i arrive,' said Raoul turning into a narrow street, 'Fiw'ci L'Escargot Bienvenue.'


II


It was, as Raoul had said, an unpretentious restaurant.
They entered through a portiere of wooden beads into a
whitewashed room with fresh window curtains and nine
tables. A serving counter ran along one side and on it
stood baskets of fresh fruit, of bread and of langoustes bedded in water-cress. Bottles of wine and polished glasses


185


	filled the shelves behind the counter and an open door
led into an inner room where a voice was announcing the
weather forecast in French. There were no customers in
the restaurant, and Raoul having drawn out three chairs
and seated his guests, placed his arm about Teresa's waist
and led her into the inner room.

'Maman! Papa!' he shouted.

An excited babble broke out in the background.

'Come to think of it,' Alleyn said, 'I'm damned hungry.
Raoul told me his papa was particularly good with steak. Filet mignon? What do you think?'

'Are we going to be allowed to pay?'

'No. Which means that good or bad we'll have to come
back for more. But my bet is, it'll be good.'

The hubbub in the background came closer and Raoul
reappeared, accompanied by a magnificent Italian father
and a plump French mother, both of whom he introduced
with ceremony. Everybody was very polite, Ricky was made
much of and a bottle of extremely good sherry was opened.
Ricky was given grenadine. Healths were drunk, Teresa
giggled modestly in the background. M. Milano made a
short but succinct speech in which he said he understood
that Monsieur and Madame Ah-laine had been instrumental
in saving Teresa from a fate that was worse than death
and had thus preserved the honour of both families and
made possible an alliance that was the dearest wish of their
hearts. It was also, other things being equal, a desirable
match from the practical point of view. Teresa and Raoul
listened without embarrassment and with the detachment
of connoisseurs. M. Milano then begged that he and
Madame might be excused as they believed they were to
have the great pleasure of serving an early dinner and must
therefore make a little preparation with which Teresa would
no doubt be pleased to assist. They withdrew. Teresa
embraced Raoul with passionate enthusiasm and followed
them.


186


, Alleyn said: 'Bring a chair, Raoul. We have much to
say to each other.'

'Monsieur,' Raoul said without moving, 'no mention has
been made of my neglect of duty this afternoon. I mean,
Monsieur, my failure, which was deliberate, to identify
Teresa.'

'I have decided to overlook it. The circumstances were
extraordinary.'

'That is true, Monsieur. Nevertheless, the incident had
the effect of incensing me against Teresa who, foolish as
she is, has yet got something which caused me to betray
my duty. That is why I spoke a little sharply to Teresa.
With results,' he added, 'that are, as Monsieur may have
noticed, not undesirable,'

'I have noticed. Sit down, Raoul.'

Raoul bowed and sat down. Madame Milano, beaming
and business-like returned with a book in her hands. It
was a large shabby book with a carefully mended binding.
She laid it on the table in front of Ricky.

'When my son was no larger than this little Monsieur,'
she said, 'it afforded him much amusement.'

'Merci, Madame,' Ricky said, eyeing it.

Troy and Alleyn also thanked her. She made a
deprecating face and bustled away. Ricky opened the book.
It was a tale of heroic and fabulous adventures enchantingly
illustrated with coloured lithographs. Ricky honoured it
with the silence he reserved for special occasions. He
removed himself and the book to another table. 'Coming,
Mum?' he said and Troy joined him. Alleyn looked at the
two dark heads bent together over the book and for a
moment or two he was lost in abstraction. He heard Raoul
catch his breath in a vocal sigh, a sound partly affirmative,
partly envious. Alleyn looked at him.
I 'Monsieur is fortunate,' Raoul said simply.

'I believe you,' Aileyn muttered. 'And now, Raoul, we
a plan. Earlier to-day, and I must say it feels more
last week, you said you were willing to join in an


187


enterprise that may be a little hazardous: an enterprise
that involves an unsolicited visit to the Chevre d'Argent
on Thursday night.'

'I remember, Monsieur.'

'Are you still of the same mind?'

'If possible, I feel an increase of enthusiasm.'

'Good, now, listen. It is evident that there is a close
liaison between the persons at the chateau and those at
the factory. To-night the commissary will conduct an
official search of the factory and he will find documentary
evidence of the collaboration. It is also probable that he
will find quantities of illicitly manufactured heroin. It is
not certain whether he will find direct and conclusive
evidence of sufficient weight to warrant an arrest of M.
Oberon and Dr Baradi and their associates. Therefore, it
would be of great assistance if they could be arrested for
some other offence and could be held while further
investigations were made.'

'There is no doubt, Monsieur, that their sins are not
confined to contraband.'

'I agree.'

'They are capable of all.'

'Not only capable but culpable! I think,' Alleyn said,
'that one of them is a murderer.'

Raoul narrowed his eyes. His stained mechanic's hands
lying on the table, fixed and then stretched.

'Monsieur speaks with confidence,' he said.

'I ought to,' Alleyn said dryly, 'considering that I saw
the crime.'	.

'You - ?'

'Through a train window.' And Alleyn described the
circumstances.

'Bizarre,' Raoul commented summing up the incident.
'And the criminal, Monsieur?'

'Impossible to say. I had the impression of a man or
woman in a white gown with a cowl or hood. The right
arm was raised and held a weapon. The face was


188


iistinguishable although there was a strong light thrown

9Bi the side. The weapon was a knife of some sort.'
5; 'The animal,' said Raoul who had settled upon this form
reference to M. Oberon, 'displays himself in a white

be.'

Yes.'

'And the victim was a woman, Monsieur?'

'A woman. Also, I should say, wearing some loose-fitting
garment. One saw only a shape against a window blind
; and then for a second, against the window itself. The man,
lif it was a man, had already struck and had withdrawn
the weapon which he held aloft. The impression was
I melodramatic,' he added, almost to himself. 'Over.
dramatic. One might have believed it was a charade.'

'A charade, Monsieur?'

'Dr Baradi offered the information that there were
charades last night. It appears that someone played the
part of the Queen of Sheba stabbing King Solomon's
principal wife. He himself enacted a concubine.'

'Obviously he is not merely a satyr but also a perverted
being - a distortion of nature. Only such a being could
invent such a disgusting lie.'

While he grinned at Raoul's scandalised sophistry Alleyn
wondered at the ease with which they talked to each other.
And, being a modest man, he found himself ashamed. Why,
in Heaven's name, he thought, should he not find it good
to talk to Raoul who had an admirable mind and a simple
approach? He thought: 'We understand so little of our
fellow creatures. Somewhere in Raoul there is a limitation
but when it comes to the Oberons and Baradis he, probably
by virtue of his limitation, is likely to be a much more
useful judge than . . . '

'The Queen of Sheba,' Raoul fumed, 'is a Biblical
personage. She was the chere amie of the Lord's Anointed.
To murder he adds a blasphemy which has not even the
merit of being true. Unfortunately, he is left-handed,' he
added in a tone of acute disappointment.


189


'Exactly! Moreover, he offered this information,' Alleyn
pointed out. 'One must remember the circumstances. The
scene, real or simulated, reached its climax as the train
drew up and stopped. The blind was released as the woman
fell against it. And the man, not necessarily Oberon or
Baradi, you know, saw other windows - those of the train.'

'So knowing Monsieur must have been in the train and
awake, since he was to alight at Roqueville, this blasphemer
produces his lies.'

'It might well be so. M. Dupont and I both incline to
think so. Now, you see, don't you, that if murder was done in that room in the early hours of this morning, we
have great cause to revisit the chateau. Not only to arrest
a killer but to discover why he killed. Not only to arrest
a purveyor of drugs who has caused many deaths but to
discover his associates. And not only for these reasons,
but also to learn if we can what happens in the locked
rooms on Thursday nights. For all these reasons, Raoul,
it seems imperative that we visit the chateau.'

'Well, Monsieur.'

'Two courses suggest themselves. I may return openly
to inquire after the health of Mademoiselle Truebody. If
I do this I shall have to admit that Ricky has been found.'

'They will have learnt as much from the man Callard,
Monsieur.'

'I am not so sure. This afternoon M. Dupont ordered
that all outward calls from the factory should be blocked
at central and that the chateau should be cut off. At the
chateau they will be extremely anxious to avoid any sign that they are in touch with the factory. They will, of course,
question Teresa to whom we must give instructions. If I
pursue our first course I shall tell the story of the finding
of Ricky to M. Oberon and his guests and I shall utter
many maledictions against Callard as a child-kidnapper.
And, having seen Miss Truebody, I must appear to go
away and somehow or another remain. I've no idea how
this can be done. Perhaps, if one had a colleague within


190

the place one might manage it. The alternative is for me,
and you, Raoul, to go secretly to the chateau. To do this
we would again need a colleague who would admit and
conceal us.'

Raoul put his head on one side and with the air of a
collector examining a doubtful treasure. 'Monsieur refers,
of course to Teresa.' he said.

'I do.'

Teresa,' Raoul continued anxiously, 'has not displayed
herself to advantage this afternoon. She was bouleversee and therefore behaved foolishly. Nevertheless, she is
normally a girl of spirit. She is also at the present time
desirous of re-establishing herself in my heart. Possibly
I have been too lenient with her but one inclines to leniency
where one's affections are engaged. I have, as Monsieur
knows, forbidden her return to this temple of shame.
Nevertheless, where the cause is just and with the protection
of Our Lady of Paysdoux (about whose patronage Teresa
is so unbecomingly cocksure) there can be no sin.'

'I take it,' Alleyn said, 'that you withdraw your
objection?'

'Yes, Monsieur. Not without misgivings, because Teresa
is dear to me and, say what you like, it is no place for
one's girl.'

'Judging by the lacerations on Georges Martel's face,
Teresa is able to defend herself on occasion.'

'True/ Raoul agreed, cheering up. 'She has enterprise.'

'Suppose we talk to her about it?'

'I will produce her.'

Raoul went out to the kitchen.

'Hallo, you two,' Alleyn said.

'Hallo, yourself,' Troy said.

'Daddy, this is a lavish book. I can read it better than
Mummy.'

'Don't buck,' Alleyn said automatically.

'Have you sent Raoul to get that nanny person? Teresa?'

'Yes.'


191


'Why?'

'We've got a job for her.'

'Not minding me?'

'No, no. Nothing to do with you, old boy.'

'Well, good, anyway,' said Ricky returning to his book.
Raoul came back with Teresa who now wore an apron
and seemed to be in remarkably high spirits. On Alleyn's
invitation she sat down, using, however, the very edge of
her chair. Alleyn told her briefly what he wanted her to
do. Raoul folded his arms and scowled thoughtfully at
the tablecloth.

'You see, Teresa,' Alleyn said, 'these are bad men and
also unfortunately extremely clever men. They think they've
made a fool of you as they have of a great many other
silly girls. The thing is - are you ready to help Raoul and
me and the police of your own country to put a stop to
their wickedness?'

'Ah, yes, Monsieur,' said Teresa cheerfully. 'I now
perceive my duty and with the help of Raoul and the holy
saints, dedicate myself to the cause.'

'Good. Do you think you can keep your head and behave
sensibly and with address if an emergency should arise?'

Teresa gazed at him and said that she thought she could.

'Very well. Now, tell me: were you on duty last evening?'

'Yes, Monsieur. During the dinner I helped the
housemaids go. round the bedrooms and then I worked
in the kitchen.'

'Was there a party?'

'A party? Well, Monsieur, there was the new guest, Mile
Wells, who is an actress. And after dinner there was a
gathering of all the guests in the private apartments of
Monsieur Oberon. I know this because I heard the butler
say that Monsieur wished it made ready for a special welcome for Mile Wells. And this morning,' said Teresa
looking prim, 'Jeanne Barre who is an underhousemaid
said that Mile Lock, the English noblewoman, must have
taken too much wine because her door was locked with


192


la notice not to disturb and this is always a sign she has
fbeen indiscreet.'

'I see. Tell me, Teresa: have you ever seen into the room
that is only opened on Thursday night?'

'Yes, Monsieur. On Thursday morning I dust this room
and on Fridays it is my duty to clean it.'

'Where is it exactly?'

'It is down the stairs, three flights, from the vestibule,
and beneath the library. It is next to the private apartments
of M. Oberon.'

'Has it many windows?'

'It has no windows, Monsieur. It is in a very old part
of the chateau.'

'And M. Oberon's rooms?'

'Oh, yes, Monsieur. The salon has a window which is
covered always by a white blind with a painting of the
sun because Monsieur dislikes a brilliant light. So it is
always closed. But Monsieur has nevertheless a great lamp
fashioned like the sun and many strange ornaments and
a strange wheel which Monsieur treasures and a magnificent
bed and in the salon a rich divan,' said Teresa warming
to her subject, 'and an enormous mirror where - 'there
she stopped short and blushed.

'Continue,' Raoul ordered, with a face of thunder.

'Where once when I took in petit dejeuner I saw Monsieur
contemplating himself in a state of nature.'

Alleyn, with an eye on Raoul, said hurriedly, 'Will you
describe the room that you clean?'

Raoul reached across the table and moved his forefinger
to and fro in front of his beloved's nose. 'Ghoose your
words, my treasure,' he urged. 'Invent nothing. Accuracy
is all.'

'Yes, indeed it is,' said Alleyn heartily.

Thus warned, Teresa looked self-consciously at her
folded hands and with a slightly sanctimonious air began
her recital.


193


'If you please, Monsieur, it is a large room and at first
I thought perhaps it was a chapel.'

"A chapel?' Alleyn exclaimed. Raoul made a composite
noise suggestive of angry incredulity.

'Yes, Monsieur. I thought perhaps it was reserved for
the private devotions of Monsieur Oberon and his friends.
Because at one side is a raised place with a table like the
holy altar, covered in a cloth which is woven in a rich
pattern with gold and silver and jewels. But although one
saw the holy cross, there were other things in the pattern
that one does not see in altar cloths/

'The hoof prints of Anathema!' Raoul ejaculated.

'Go on, Teresa,' said Alleyn.

'And on the table there was something that was also
covered with an embroidered cloth.'

'What was that, do you suppose?'

Teresa's white eyelids were raised. She gave Alleyn the
glance of a cunning child.

'Monsieur must not think badly of me if I tell him I
raised the cloth and looked. Because I wanted to see if
it was a holy relic.'

'And was it?'

'No, Monsieur. At first I thought it was a big monstrance
made of glass. Only it was not a monstrance although in
shape it resembled a great sun and inside the sun a holy
cross broken and a figure like this.'

With a sort of disgusted incredulity Alleyn watched her
trace with her finger on the table, a pentagram. Raoul
groaned heavily.

'And it was, as I saw when I looked more closely,
Monsieur, a great lamp because there were many, many
electric bulbs behind it and behind the sun at the back
was a bigger electric bulb than I have ever seen before.
So I dropped the heavy cloth over it and wondered.'

'What else did you see?'

'There was nothing else in the room, Monsieur. No chairs


194


or any furniture or anything. The walls were covered with
black velvet and there were no pictures.'

'Any doors, other than the one leading from Mr Oberon's
room?'
'Yes, Monsieur. There was a door in the wall opposite
the table. I didn't notice it the first time I cleaned the
room because it is covered like the walls and had no handle.
But the second time it was open and I was told to clean
the little room beyond.'

'What was it like, this room?'

'On the floor there were many black velvet cushions and
one large one like the mattress for a divan. And the walls
here also were covered in black velvet and there was a
black velvet curtain behind which were hanging a great
number of white robes such as the robe Monsieur wears
and one black velvet robe. And on the table there were
many candles in black candlesticks which I had to clean.
There was also a door from the passage into this little
room.'

'Nastier and nastier,' Alleyn muttered in English.

'I beg Monsieur's pardon?'

'Nothing. And this was the only door into the big room?'

'No, Monsieur, there was another, very small like a trapdoor
behind the table, painted with signs like the signs
on the sun-lamp and on the floor.'

'There were signs on the floor?'

'Yes, Monsieur. I had been told to clean the floor,
Monsieur. It is a beautiful floor with a pattern made of
many pieces of stone and the pattern is the same as the
other.' Her finger traced the pentagram again. 'And when
I came to clean it, Monsieur; I knew the room was not
achapel.'

'Why?'

'Because the floor in front of the table was as dirty as
a farmyard,' said Teresa. 'It was like our yard at my home
in the Paysdoux. There had been an animal in the room.'


195


'An animal!' Raoul ejaculated. 'I believe you! And what
sort of animal?'

'That was easy to see,' Teresa said simply. 'It was a
goat.'


Ill


Alleyn decided finally that the following evening he and
Raoul would call at the Chevre d'Argent. He would arrive
after the hour of six when, according to Teresa, the entire
household would have retired for something known as a 	private meditation but which was supposed by Teresa to
be a sound sleep. It was unusual at this time for anyone
to appear and indeed, again according to Teresa, a rule
of silence and solitude was imposed from six until nine
by Mr Oberon. On Thursdays there was no dinner, but
Teresa understood that there was a very late supper at
which the guests were served by the Egyptian servant only.
Teresa herself was dismissed with the other servants as
soon as their late afternoon and early evening tasks were
executed. If they didn't encounter any member of the
household on their way through the tunnel Alleyn and
Raoul were to go past the main entrance and down a flight
of steps to a little-used door through which Teresa would
admit them. No attention would be paid to Raoul if he
was seen by any other servants who might still be about
and if Alleyn kept in the background it might be possible
to suggest that he was a relative from Marseilles. 'A
distinguished relative,' Raoul amended, 'seeing that in
appearance and in speech Monsieur is clearly of a superior
class.'

Teresa would then conceal Alleyn and Raoul in her own
room, where with any luck she would have already secreted
two of the white robes. She was pretty certain there were
many more in the little ante-room than would be needed by M. Oberon's guests. It would be tolerably easy when


196


she cleaned this room to remove them under cover of the
laundry it was her duty to collect from the bedroom.

'Is it not as I have said, Monsieur?' Raoul remarked,
indicating his fiancee, 'she is not without enterprise, is
Teresa.' Teresa looked modestly at Alleyn and passionately
at Raoul.

If all went well, up to this point, Teresa would have
done as much as could be expected of her. She would take
her departure as usual and could either wait in RaouFs
car or catch the evening bus to her home in Paysdoux.
It should be possible for Alleyn and Raoul to pass through
the house without attracting attention. The cowls of their
robes would be drawn over their heads and it might be
supposed if they were seen that they were belated guests
or even early arrivals for the ceremony: Teresa had heard
that occasionally there were extra people on Thursday
nights, people staying in Roqueville or in St. Chrisophe.

And then? 'Then,' Alleyn said, 'it will be up to us, Raoul.'

The alternative to this plan was tricky. If he was spotted
on his way into the Chevre d'Argent, Alleyn would put
a bold face on it and say that he had come to see Miss
Truebody. No doubt Baradi would be summoned from
his private meditation and Alleyn would have to act upon
the situations as they arose. Raoul would still call on Teresa
and hide in her room.

'All right,' Alleyn said. 'That's as far as we need go.
Now Teresa, this evening you will return to the chateau
and M. Oberon will no doubt question you about to-day's
proceedings. You will tell him exactly what happened at
the factory, up to and after the identification parade. I
will tell him that Ricky identified you. Then, you will say,
the police made you come back to Roqueville and asked
you many questions, accusing you of complicity in the
former kidnapping affair and asking who were your
colleagues in that business. You will say that you told the
police you know nothing: that Georges Martel offered you


197


a little money to fetch the boy and beyond that you know
nothing at all. This is important, Teresa. Repeat it, please.'

Teresa folded her hands and repeated it, prompted
without necessity by Raoul.

'Excellent,' Alleyn said. 'And you will, of course, have
had no conversation with me. Perhaps it will be well to
say if you are asked, that you returned to Roqueville in
Raoul's car. You may have been seen doing so. But you
will say that Madame and I were so overjoyed on recovering
our son that we had nothing to say except that no doubt
the police would deal with you.'

'Yes, Monsieur.'

'Have courage, my little one,' Raoul admonished her,
'lie no more than is necessary, you understand, but when
you do lie, lie like a brigand. It is in the cause of the
angels.'

'Upon whose protection and of that of Our Lady of
Paysdoux,' Teresa neatly interpolated, 'I hurl myself.'

'Do so.'

Teresa rose and made a convent-child's bob. Raoul also
asked to be excused. As they went together to the door,
Alleyn said: 'By the way, did you hear to-morrow's weather
forecast for the district?'

'Yes, Monsieur. It is for thunderstorms. There are
electrical disturbances.'

'Indeed? How very apropos. Thank you, Raoul.'

'Monsieur,' said Raoul obligingly and withdrew his
beloved into the inner room.

Alleyn rejoined his family. 'Did you get much of that?'
he asked.

'I've reached exhaustion point for French,' Troy said.
'I can't even try to listen. And Ricky, as you see, is otherwise
engaged.'

Ricky looked up from a brilliant picture of two knights
engaged in single combat. 'I bet there'll be a wallop when
they crash,' he said. 'Whang! I daresay I'd be able to read


198


this pretty soon if we stayed 	here. I can read a bit, can't

I, Mummy?'
'English, you can.'

'I know. So don't you dare say I could French, Daddy?'
'I wouldn't put it past you. Did you know what we were

talking about, just now?'
'I wasn't listening much,' Ricky lowered his voice to

a polite whisper. 'If it isn't a rude question!' he said, 'when's
dinner?'

'Soon. Pipe down, now. I want to talk to Mummy.'
'O.K.. What are you going to do in Teresa's bedroom

to-morrow night, Daddy?'
'I must say I should like to be associated with that

inquiry,' said Troy warmly.
'I am changing there for a party.'
'Who's having a party?' Ricky demanded.
'A silver goat. I rather think he lights himself up.'
The door opened. Teresa came in with a tray.


IV


The dinner was superb, the filets mignons particularly, being
inspired. When it was finished the Alleyns invited the
Milanos to join them for fines and M. Milano produced
a bottle of distinguished cognac. The atmosphere was gay
and comme il faut. Presently the regular clientele of the
house began to come in: quiet middle-class people who
greeted Madame Milano and took down their own table
napkins from hooks above their special places. A game
of draughts was begun at the corner table. Troy, who had
enjoyed herself enormously but was in a trance of fatigue,
said she thought that they should go. Elaborate leave
takings were begun. Ricky, full of vegetables and rich gravy
and sticky with grenadine, yawned happily and bestowed
a smile of enchanting sweetness upon Madame Milano. 'Mille remerciements, chere Madame,' he said, stumbling


199


a little over the long word, *de man beau repas,' and held
out his hand. Madame made a complicated, motherly,
bustling movement and ejaculated, 'Ah, man Dieu, quel
amour a*enfant!' There followed a great shaking of hands
and interchange of compliments and the Alleyns took their
departure on the crest of the wave.

Raoul drove them back to their hotel where, regrettably,
a great fuss was again made over Ricky, who began to
show infantile signs of vainglory and struck an attitude
before M. Malaquin, the proprietor, shouting: 'Kidnappers!
Huh! Easy!' and was applauded by the hall porter.

Alleyn said: 'That's more than enough from you, my
friend,' picked his son up and bore him into the lift. Troy
followed wearily, saying: 'Don't be an ass, Ricky darling.'
When they got upstairs Ricky, who had been making
tentative sounds of defiance, became quiet. When he was
ready for bed he turned white and said he wouldn't sleep
in 'that room.' His parents exchanged the look that
recognises a dilemma. Troy muttered: 'It is trying him a
bit high, isn't it?' Alleyn locked the outer door of Ricky's
room and took him into the passage to show him that
it couldn't be opened. They returned leaving the door
between the two rooms open. Ricky hung back. He had
shadows under his eyes and looked exhausted and
miserable.

'Why can't Daddy go in there?' he asked angrily.

Alleyn thought for a moment and then said: 'I can of
course, and you can be with Mummy.'

'Please,' Ricky said. 'Please.'

'Well, I must say that's a bit more civil. Look here,
old boy, will you lend me your goat to keep me company?
I want to see if it really does light itself up.'

'Yes, of course he will,' said Troy with an attempt at
maternal prompting, 'which,' she thought, 'I should find
perfectly maddening if I were Ricky.'

Ricky said: 'I want to be in here with Mummy and I
want Goat to be here too. Please.' he added.


200


'All right,' Alleyn said. 'You won't see him light himself
up, of course, because Mummy will want her lamp on for
some time, won't you darling?'

'For ages and ages,' Troy agreed who desired nothing
less.

Ricky said: 'Please take him in there and tell me if he
illumines.' He fished his silver goat out of the bosom of
his yellow shirt. Alleyn took it into the next room, put
it on the bedside table, shut the door and turned out the
lights.

He sat on the bed staring into the dark and thinking
of the events of the long day and of Troy and Ricky and
presently a familiar experience revisited him. He seemed
to see himself for the first time, a stranger, a being divorced
from experience, a chrysalis from which his spirit had
escaped and which it now looked upon, he thought, with
astonishment as a soul might look after death at its late
housing. He thought: 'I suppose Oberon imagines he's got
all this sort of thing taped. Raoul and Teresa too, after their fashion and belief. But I have never found an answer.'
The illusion, if it was an illusion and he was never certain
about this, could be dismissed, but he held to it still and
in a little while he found he was looking at a fluorescence,
a glimmering of something, no more than a bat-light. It
grew into a shape. It was Ricky's little figurine faithfully
illuminating itself in the dark. And Ricky's voice still rather
fretful, brought Alleyn back to himself.

'Daddy!' he was shouting, 'is he doing it? DADdy!'

'Yes,' Alleyn called, rousing himself, 'he's doing it. Come
and see. But shut the door after you or you'll spoil it.'

There was a pause. A blade of light appeared and
widened. He saw Ricky come in, a tiny figure in pyjamas.
'Shut the door, Ricky,' Alleyn repeated, 'and wait a
moment. If you come to me, you'll see,'

The room was dark again.

'If you'd go on talking, however,' Ricky's voice said,
very small and polite, 'I'd find you.'


201


Alleyn went on talking and Ricky found him. He stood
between his father's knees and watched the goat shining.
'He honestly is silver,' he said. 'It's all true.' He leant back
against his father, smelling of soap, and laid his relaxed
hand on Alleyn's. Alleyn lifted him on to his knee. 'I'm
fizzily and motionly zausted,' Ricky said in a drawling voice.

'What in the world does that mean?'

'It's what Mademoiselle says I am when I'm overtired.'
He yawned cosily. Til look at Goat a bit more and then
I daresay . . . ' His voice trailed into silence.

Alleyn could hear Troy moving about quietly in the next
room. He waited until Ricky was breathing deeply and
then put him to bed. The door opened and Troy stood
there listening. Alleyn joined her. 'He's off,' he said and
watched while she went to see for herself. They left the
door open.

'I don't know whether that was sound child-psychiatry
or a barefaced cheat,' Alleyn said, 'but it's settled his
troubles. I don't think he'll be frightened of his bedroom
now.'

'Suppose he wakes and gets a panic, poor sweet.'

'He won't. He'll see his precious goat and go to sleep
again. What about you?'

'I'm practically snoring on my feet.'

'Fizzily and motionly zausted?'

'Did he say that?'

'Queer little bloke that he is, he did. Shall I stay with
you, too, until you go to sleep?'

'But - what about you?'

'I'm going up to the factory. Dupont's still there and
Raoul's hiring me his car.'

'Rory, you can't.. You must be dead.'

'Not a bit of it. The night's young and it'll be tactful
to show up. Besides, I've got to make arrangements for
tomorrow.'

'I don't know how you do it?'

'Of course you don't, my darling. You're not a cop.'


202


She tried to protest but was so bemused with sleepiness
that her voice trailed away as Ricky's had done. By the
time Alleyn had washed and found himself an overcoat,
Troy, too, was in bed and fast asleep. He turned off the
lights and slipped out of the room.

Left to itself the little silver goat glowed steadfastly
through the night.


203


CHAPTER TEN


THUNDER IN THE AIR


Alleyn left word at the office that he might be late coming
in and said that unless he himself rang up no telephone
calls were to be put through to Troy. Anybody who rang
was to be asked to leave a message. It was nine o'clock.

The porter opened the doors and Alleyn ran down the
steps to Raoul's car. There was another car drawn up beside
it, a long and stylish racing model with a G.B. plate. The driver leant out and said cautiously: 'Hallo, sir.'

It was Robin Herrington.

'Hallo,' Alleyn said.

'I'm on my way back, actually from Douceville. As a
matter of fact, I was just coming in on the chance of having
a word with you,' Herrington said rapidly and in a muted
voice. 'I'm sorry you're going out. I mean, I don't suppose
you could give me five minutes. Sorry not to get out but
as a matter of fact, I sort of thought - It wouldn't take
long. Perhaps I could drive you to wherever you're going
and then I wouldn't waste your time. Sort of.'

'Thank you. I've got a car but I'll give you five minutes
with pleasure. Shall I join you?'

'Frightfully nice of you sir. Yes, please do.'

'Alleyn walked round and climbed in.

'It won't take five minutes,' Herrington said nervously
and was then silent.

'How,' Alleyn asked after waiting for some moments,
'is Miss Truebody?'

Robin shuffled his feet. 'Pretty bad,' he said. 'She was
when I left. Pretty bad, actually.'


204


Alleyn waited again and was suddenly offered a drink.
His companion opened a door and a miniature cocktail
cabinet lit itself up.

'No, thank you,' Alleyn said. 'What's up?'

'I will, if you don't mind. A very small one.' He gave
himself a tot of neat brandy and swallowed half of it. 'It's
about Ginny,' he said.

'Oh!'

'As a matter of fact, I'm rather worried about her, which
may sound a bit funny.'

'Not very.'

'Oh. Well, you see, she's so terrifyingly young, Ginny.
She's only nineteen. And, as a matter of fact, I don't think
this is a madly appropriate setting for her.' Alleyn was
silent and after a further pause Robin went on,' I don't
know if you've any idea what sort of background Ginny's
got. Her people were killed when she was a kid. In the
blitz. She was trapped with them and hauled out somehow,
which rocked her a good deal at the time and actually
hasn't exactly worn off even now. She's rather been
nobody's baby. Her guardian's a pretty odd old number.
More interested in marmosets and miniatures than children,
really. He's her great-uncle.'

'You don't mean Mr Penderby Locke?' Alleyn said,
recognising this unusual combination of hobbies.

'Yes, that's right. He's quite famous on his own pitch,
I understand, but he couldn't have been less interested in
Ginny.'

'Then - Miss Taylor is related to Miss Grizel Locke
who, I think, is Mr Penderby Locke's sister, isn't she?'

'Is she? I don't know. Yes, I think she must be,' Robin
said, shooting out the words quickly and hurrying on. 'The
thing is, Ginny just sort of grew up rather much under
her own steam. She was sent to a French family and they
weren't much cop, I gather, and then she came back to
England and somebody brought her out and she got in
with a pretty vivid set and had a miserable love affair with


205


a poor type of chap and felt life wasn't as gay as it's cracked
up to be. And this affair bust up when they were staying
with some of his chums at Cannes and Ginny felt what
was the good of anything anyway, and I must say I know
what that's like.'

'She arrived at this philosophy in Cannes?'

'Yes. And she met Baradi and Oberon there. And I was
there too, as it happened,' said Robin with a change of
voice. 'So we were both asked to come on here. About
a fortnight ago.'

'I see. And then?'

'Well, it's a dimmish sort of thing to talk about one's
hosts, but I don't think it was a particularly good thing,
her coming. I mean it's all right for oneself.'

'Is it?'

'Well, I don't know. Just to do once and - and perhaps
not do again, Quite amusing, really,' said Robin miserably.
'I mean, I'm not madly zealous about being a Child of
the Sun. I just thought it might be fun. Of a sort. I mean,
one knows one's way about.'

'One would, I should think, need to.'

'Ginny doesn't,' Robin said.

'No?'

'She thinks she does, poor sweet, but actually she hasn't
a clue when it comes to - well, to this sort of party, you
know.'

'What sort of party?'

Robin pushed his glass back and shut the cupboard with
a bang. 'You saw, didn't you, sir?'

'I believe Dr Baradi is a very good surgeon. I only met
the others for a few moments, you know.'

'Yes, but - well, you know Annabella Wells, don't you?
She said so.'

'We crossed the Atlantic in the same ship. There were
some five hundred other passengers.'

'I'd have thought she'd have shown up if there'd been


206


five million,1 Robin said with feeling. Alleyn glanced at
his watch.

'I'm sorry, I'm not exactly pressing ahead with this,'
Robin said.

'Don't you think you'd better tell me what you want
me to do?'

'It sounds odd. MrsAllen will think it such cheek.'

'Troy? How can it concern her?'

'I - well, I was wondering if MrsAllen would ask Ginny
to dinner to-morrow night.'

'Why to-morrow night, particularly?'

Robin muttered: 'There's going to be a sort of party
up there. I'd rather Ginny was out of it.'

'Would she rather be out of it?'

'Hell!' Robin shouted. 'She would if she were herself.
My God, she would!'

'And what exactly,' Alleyn asked, 'do you mean by that?'

Robin hit the wheel of his car with his clenched fist
and said almost inaudibly: 'He's got hold of her. Oberon.
She thinks he's the bottom when he's not - it's just one
of those bloody things.'

'Well,' Alleyn said, 'we'd be delighted if Miss Taylor
would dine with us but don't you think she'll find the
invitation rather odd? After all, we've scarcely met her.
She'll probably refuse.'

'I'd thought of that,' Robin said eagerly. 'I know. But
I thought if I could get her to come for a run in the car,
I'd suggest we called on MrsAllen. Ginny liked MrsAllen
awfully. And you, sir, if I may say so. Ginny's interested
in art and all that and she was quite thrilled when she
knew MrsAllen was Agatha Troy. So I thought if we might
we could call about cocktail time and I'd say I'd got to
go somewhere to see about something for the yacht or
something and then I could ring up from somewhere and
say I'd broken down.'

'She would then take a taxi back to the Chevre d'Argent.'

Robin gulped. 'Yes, I know,' he said. 'But - well, I


207


thought perhaps by that time Mrs Alien might have sort
of talked to her and got her to see. Sort of.'

'But why doesn't Miss Locke talk to her? Surely, as her
aunt - What's the matter?'

Robin had made a violent ejaculation. He mumbled
incoherently: 'Not that sort. I've told you. They didn't care
about Ginny.'

Alleyn was silent for a moment.

'I know it's a hell of a lot to ask,' Robin said desperately.

'I think it is,' Alleyn said, 'when you are so obviously
leaving most of the facts out of your story.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'You are asking us to behave in a difficult and extremely
odd manner. You want us, in effect, to kidnap Miss Taylor.
We have had,' Alleyn said, 'our bellyful of kidnapping
this afternoon. I suppose you heard about Ricky.'

Robin made an inarticulate noise that sounded rather
like a groan. 'I know. Yes. We did hear. I'm awfully sorry.
It must be terribly worrying.'

'And how,' Alleyn asked, 'did you hear about it?' and
would have given a good deal to have had a clear view
of Robin's face.

'Well, I - well, we rang up the hotel this afternoon.'

'I thought you said you had been to Douceville all the
afternoon.'

'Hell!'

'I think you must have known much earlier that Ricky
was kidnapped, didn't you?'

'Look here, sir, I don't know what to say.'

Til tell you. If you want me to help you with this child,
Ginny, and I believe you do, you will answer, fully and
truthfully, specific questions that I shall put to you. If you
don't want to answer, we'll say good night and forget we
had this conversation. But don't lie. I shall know,' Alleyn
said mildly, 'if you lie.'

Robin waited for a moment and then said: 'Please go
ahead.'


208


'Right. What precisely do you expect to happen at this
party?'

A car came down the square. Its headlights shone
momentarily on Robin's face. It looked very young and
frightened, like the face of a sixth form boy in serious
trouble with his tutor. The car turned and they were in
the dark again.

Robin said: 'It's a regular thing. They have it on Thursday
nights. It's a sort of cult. They call it The Rites of the
Children of the Sun in the Outer, and Oberon's the sort
of high priest. You have to swear not to talk about it.
I've sworn. I can't talk. But it ends pretty hectically. And
to-morrow Ginny - I've heard them - Ginny's cast for
the leading part.'

'And beforehand?'

'Well - it's different from ordinary nights. There's no
dinner. We go to our rooms until the Rites begin at eleven.
We're meant not to speak to each other or anything.'

'Do you not eat or drink?'

'Oh, there are drinks. And so on.'

'What does 'so on' mean?' Robin was silent. 'Do you
take drugs? Reefers? Snow?'

'What makes you think that?'

'Come on. Which is it?'

Reefers mostly. There's food when we smoke. There has
to be. I don't know if they are the usual kind. Oberon
doesn't smoke. I don't think Baradi does.'

'Are they traffickers?'

'I don't know much about them.'

'Do you know that much?"

'I should think they might be.'

'Have they asked you to take a hand?'

'Look,' Robin said, 'I'm sorry, but I've got to say it.
I don't know much about you either, sir. I mean, I don't
know that you won't -' He had turned his head and Alleyn
knew he was peering at him.

'Inform the police?' Alleyn suggested.


209


'Well - you might.'

*Come: you don't, as you say, know me. Yet you've
elected to ask me to rescue this wretched child from the
clutches of your friends. You can't have it both ways.'

'You don't know,' Robin said. 'You don't know how
tricky it all is. If they thought I'd talked to you!'

'What would they do?'

'Nothing!' Robin cried in a hurry. 'Nothing! Only I've
accepted, as one says, their hospitality.'

'You have got your values muddled, haven't you?'

'Have I? I daresay I have.'

'Tell me this. Has anything happened recently - I mean
within the last twenty-four hours - to precipitate the
situation?'

Robin said: 'Who are you?'

'My dear chap, I don't need to be a thought-reader to
see there's a certain urgency behind all this preamble.'

'I suppose not. I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't answer any
more questions. Only - only, for God's sake, sir, will you
do something about Ginny?'

Til make a bargain with you. I gather that you want
to remove the child without giving a previous warning to
the house-party.'

'That's it, sir. Yes.'

'All right. Can you persuade her, in fact, to drive into
Roqueville at six o'clock?'

'I don't know. I was gambling on it. If he's not about.
I might. She - I think she is quite fond of me,' Robin
said humbly, 'when he's not there to bitch it all up.'

'Failing a drive, could you get her to walk down to the
car park?'

'I might do that. She wants to buy one of old Marie's
silver goats.'

'Would it help to tell her we had rung up and asked
if she would choose a set of the figures for Ricky? Aren't
there groups of them for Christmas? Cribs?'

'That might work. She'd like to do that.'


210


'All right. Have your car waiting and get her to walk
on to the park. Suggest you drive down to our hotel with
the figures.'

'You know, sir, I believe that'd do it.'

'Good. Having got her in the car it's up to you to keep
her away from the chateau. Take her to see Troy by all
means. But I doubt if you'll get her to stay to dinner.
You may have to stage a breakdown on a lonely road.
I don't know. Use your initiative. Block up the air vent
in your petrol cap. One thing more. Baradi, or someone,
said something about a uniform of sorts that you all wear
on occasion.'

That's right. It's called the mantle of the sun. We wear
them about the house and - and always on Thursday nights.'

'It it the white thing Oberon had on this morning?'

'Yes. A sort of glorified monk's affair with a hood.'

'Could you bring two of them with you?'

Robin turned his head and peered at Alleyn in
astonishment. 'I suppose I could.'

'Put them in your car during the day.'
'I don't see-'

'I'm sure you don't. Two of your own will do, if you
have two. You needn't worry about bringing Miss Taylor's
gown specifically.'

'Hers!' Robin cried out. 'Bring hers! But that's the whole
thing! To-morrow night they'll make Ginny wear the Black
Robe.'

"Then you must bring a black robe,' Alleyn said.


II


On Thursday evening the Cote d'Azur, inclined always to
the theatrical, became melodramatic and, true to the
weather report, staged a thunderstorm.

'It's going to rain,' a voice croaked from the balustrade
of the Chevre d'Argent. 'Listen! Thunder!'


211


Far to southward the heavens muttered an affirmative.

Carbury Glande looked at the brilliantly-clad figure
perched, knees to chin, on the balustrade. It mingled with
a hanging swag of bougainvillaea. 'One sees a voice rather
than a person. You look like some fabulous bird, dear
Sati,' he said. 'If I didn't feel so ghastly I'd like to paint
you.'

'Rumble, mumble, jumble and clatter,' said the other,
absorbed in delighted anticipation. 'And then the rains.
That's the way it goes.' She pursed her lips out and, drawing
in air with the smoke, took a long puff at an attenuated
cigarette.

Baradi walked over to her and removed the cigarette.
'Against the rules,' he said. 'Everything in its appointed
time. You're over-excited.' He threw the cigarette away
and returned to his chair.

A whiteness flickered above the horizon and was followed
after a pause by a tinny rattle.

'We do this sort of thing much better at the Comedie
Francaise,' Annabella Wells paraphrased, twisting her
mouth in self-contempt.

Baradi leant forward until his nose was placed in
surrealistic association with her ear. Beneath the nose his
moustache shifted as if it had a life of its own and beneath
the moustache his lips pouted and writhed in almost
soundless articulation. Annabella Wells's expression did
not change. She nodded slightly. His face hung for a
moment above her neck and then he leant back in his
chair.

Above the blacked Mediterranean the sky splintered with
forked lightning.

'One. Two. Three. Four,' the hoarse voice counted to
an accompaniment of clapping hands. The other guests
ejaculated under a canopy of thunder.

'You always have to count,' the voice explained when
it could be heard again.

'The thing I really hate,' Ginny Taylor said rapidly, 'is


212


not the thunder or lightning but the pauses between bouts.
Like this one.'

'Come indoors,' Robin Herrington said. 'You don't have
to stay out here.'

'It's a kind of dare I have with myself.'

'Learning to be brave?' Annabella Wells asked with a
curious inflexion in her voice.

'Ginny will have the courage of a lioness,' said Baradi,
'and the fire of a phoenix.'

Annabella got up with an abrupt expert movement and
walked over to the balustrade. Baradi followed her. Ginny
pushed her hair back from her forehead and looked quickly
at Robin and away again. He moved nearer to her. She
turned away to the far end of the roof-garden. Robin
hovered uncertainly. The other four guests had drawn closer
together. Carbury Glande half-closed his eyes and peered
at the cloud-blocked sky and dismal sea. 'Gloriously
ominous,' he said, 'and quite unpaintable. Which is such
a good thing.'

The pause was not really one of silence. It was dramatised
by minor noises, themselves uncannily portentous. Mr
Oberon's canary, for instance, hopped scratchily from cage
floor to perch and back again. A cicada had forgotten
to stop chirruping in the motionless cactus slopes that Mr
Oberon called his jardin exotique. Down in the servants'
quarters a woman laughed and many kilometres away
towards Douceville a train shrieked effeminately. Still,
beside the threat of thunder, these desultory sounds added
up to silence.

Glande, with an eye on Ginny, muttered: 'I damned well
think we need something. After all -' He swallowed. 'After
everything. It's nervy work waiting.' His voice shot up into
falsetto. 'I don't pretend to be phlegmatic. I'm a bloody
artist, I am.'

Baradi said: 'Keep your voice down. You certainly have
a flair for the appropriate adjective,' and laughed softly.


213


Glande fingered his lips and stared at Baradi. 'How you
can!' he whispered.

Annabella, looking out to sea, said: 'Keep your hand
to the plough, Carbury dear. You've put it there. No looking
back.'

Tm on your side,' announced the voice from the
balustrade. 'Look what I am doing for you all.'

From her remote station Ginny said: 'I can't stand this.'

'Well, don't,' Robin said quietly. 'Old Marie asked me
to tell you there's only one of the big silver goats left.
Why not dodge down before the rain and get it? In the
passage you won't see if there's lightning. Come on.'

Ginny looked at Baradi. He caught her glance and walked
across to her. 'What is it?' he said.

'I thought I might go to old Marie's shop,' Ginny said.
'It's away from the storm.'

'Why not?' he said. 'What a good idea.'

'I thought I might,' Ginny repeated doubtfully.

For a split second lightning wrote itself across the sky
in livid calligraphy. The voice on the balustrade had-counted
two when the heavens crashed together in a monstrous
report. Ginny's mouth was wide open. She ran into the
tower and Robin followed her.

The initial clap was succeeded by a prolonged rattle and
an ambiguous omnipotent muttering. Above this rumpus
Glande could be heard saying: 'What I mean to say: do
we know we can trust them? After all, they're comparative
strangers and I must say I don't like the boy's manner.'

Baradi, who was watching Annabella Wells, said:
'There's no need to disturb yourself on their account. Robin
is much too heavily involved and as for Ginny, can we
not leave her safely to Ra? In any case, she knows nothing.'

'The boy does. He might blurt out something to those
other two - Troy and her bloody high-hat husband.'

'If Mr and MrsAllen should arrive there need be no
meeting.'


214


'How do you know they don't suspect something
blready?'

'I have told you. The girl Teresa reports that having
? lecovered the boy, they have retired to their hotel in high
Iglee.'

'There was a bungle over the kid. There might be another
bungle. Suppose Alien hangs about like he did last time
I asking damn'-fool esoteric questions?'

'They were not as silly as you may think, my dear
Carbury. The man is an intelligent man. He behaved
intelligently during the operation. He would make a good
^anaesthetist.'
T 'Well - there you are!'

'Please don't panic. He is both intelligent and inquisitive.
That is why we thought it better to remove him, if possible,
to St. Celeste until the Truebody has been disposed of.'
Baradi's teeth gleamed under his moustache.

'I can see no cause for amusement.'

'Can you not? You must cultivate a taste for irony.
Annabella,' Baradi continued, looking at her motionless
| figure against the steel-dark sky. 'Annabella tells us that
Mr Alien, as far as she knows, is the person he appears
to be: a dilettante with a taste for mysticism, curious
literature and big-game hunting. The latter, I may add,
in the generally accepted sense of the expression.'

'Oh, for God's sake!' Glande cried out. The voice from
the balustrade broke into undisciplined laughter. 'Shut up!'
he shouted. 'Shut up, Sati! You of all people to laugh.
It's so damned undignified. Remember who you are!'

'Yes, Grizel dear,' Annabella Wejls said, 'pray do
remember that.'

It had grown so dark that the lightning darted white
on their faces. They saw one another momentarily as if
by a flash-lamp, each wearing a look of fixity. The thunderclap
followed at once. One might have imagined the heavens
had burst outward like a gas-filled cylinder.


215


Mr Oberon, wearing his hooded gown, stepped out of
the tower door and contemplated his followers.

'Cher mattre,' shouted Baradi, waving his hand, 'you
come most carefully upon your hour. What an entrance!
Superb!'

The volley rolled away into silence. Mr Oberon moved
forward and, really as if he had induced it, rain struck
down in an abrupt deluge.

'You will get wet, dear Sati,' said Mr Oberon.

Glande said: 'What's happened?'

They all drew near to Mr Oberon. The rain made a
frightful din, pelting like bullets on water and earth and
stone and on the canvas awning above their heads.
Landscape and seascape were alive with its noise. The four
guests, with the anxious air of people who are hard of
hearing, inclined their heads towards their host.

'What's happened?' Glande repeated but with a subdued
and more deferential manner.

'All is well. It is arranged for to-morrow afternoon. An
Anglican ceremony,' said Oberon, smiling slightly. 'I have
spoken to the - should I call him priest? I was obliged
to call on him. The telephone is still out of order. He
is a dull man but very obliging. A private funeral, of course.'

'But the other business - the permit or whatever it is?'

'I've already explained,' Baradi cut in irritably, 'that my
authority as a medical man is perfectly adequate. The
appropriate official will be happy to receive me tomorrow
when the necessary formalities will be completed.'

'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 Oberon gently, 'you have been smoking, I
think.'

'Dearest Ra, only the least puff.'

'Yet, there is our rule. Not until tonight.'


216


'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.


Ill


Old Marie's shop was a cave sunk in the face of the hill
and protected at its open end by the Chevre 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 those stood Marie's


217


figurines. She herself sat at a table over an oil lamp and
wheezed out praises for 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 MrsAllen 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 I 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 naive 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 passageway.
They ran into a world of rain, Ginny protesting and
Robin shouting encouragement. With the help of his stick
be 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?'


218


The car stood out on the platform like a rock in a
waterfall. He bundled her into it. 'You look like t you i 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 metre, seventy, 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
seek.'

But Robin, driving in a state of strange exhilaration
towards Roqueville, sat on the disregarded note and


219


wondered if it was by accident or intention that Ginny
leant 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 his 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 Chevre
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 Chevre 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-glases. 'Yes,'
he said, 'they are lighting candles. Start up your engine,
Raoul. It is time to be off.


220


IV


'You disturb yourself without cause,' Baradi said, 'she is
buying herself a silver goat. Why not? It is a good omen.'

'Already she's been away half an hour.'

'She has gone for a walk, no doubt.'

'With him.'

'Again, why not? The infatuation is entirely on one side.
Let it alone.'

'I am unusually interested and therefore nervous,' said
Mr Oberon. 'It means more to me, this time, than ever
before and besides the whole circumstances are
extraordinary. The mystic association. The blood sacrifice
and then, while the victim is still here, the other, the living
sacrifice. It is unique.'

Baradi looked at him with curiosity. 'Tell me,' he said,
'how much of all this' - he made a comprehensive
gesture - 'means anything to you? I mean I can understand
the, what shall I call it, the factual pleasure. That is a
great deal. I envy you your flair. But the esoteric window
dressing - is it possible that for you - ?' He paused. Mr
Oberon's face was as empty as a mask. He, touched his
lips with the tip of his tongue.

He said: 'Wherein, if not in my belief, do you suppose
the secret of my flair is to be found? I am what I am
and I go back to beyond the dawn. I was the King of
the Wood.'

Baradi examined his own shapely hands. 'Ah, yes?' he
said politely. 'A fascinating theory.'

'You think me a poseur?1

'No, no. On the contrary. It is only as a practical man
I am concerned with the hazards of the situation. You,
I gather, though you have every cause, are not at all anxious
on that account? The Truebody situation, I mean?'

'I find it immeasurably stimulating.'

'Indeed,' said Baradi dryly.


221


'Only the absence of the girl disturbs me. It is almost
dark. Turn on the light.'

Baradi reached out his hand to the switch. There was
a click.

'No lights, it seems,' he said and opened the door. 'No
lights anywhere. There must be a fuse.'

'How can she be walking in the dark? And with a cripple
like Robin? It is preposterous.'

'The British do these things.'

'I am British. I have my passport. Telephone the bureau
in Roqueville.'

'The telephone is still out of order.'

'We must have light.'

'It may be a fault in the house. The servants will attend
to it. One moment.'

He lifted the receiver from Mr Oberon's telephone. A
voice answered.

'What is the matter with the lights?' Baradi asked.

'We cannot make out, Monsieur. There is no fault here.
Perhaps the storm has brought down the lines.'

'Nothing but trouble. And the telephone? Can one
telephone yet to Roqueville?'

'No, Monsieur. The centrale sent up a man. The fault
is not in the chateau. They are investigating. They will
ring through when the line is clear.'

'Since yesterday afternoon we have been without the
telephone. Unparalleled incompetence!' Baradi ejaculated.
'Have Mr Herrington and Mile Taylor returned?'

'I will inquire, Monsieur.'

'Do so, and ring Mr Oberon's apartments if they are
in.'

He clapped down the receiver. 'I am uneasy,' he said.
'It has happened at a most tiresome moment. We have
only the girl Teresa's account of the affair at the factory.
No doubt she is speaking the truth. Having found the boy
they are satisfied. All the same it is not too amusing, having
had the police in the factory.'


222


'Callard will have handled them with discretion.'

'No doubt. The driver, Georges Martel, however, will
be examined by the police.'

'Can he be trusted?'

'He has too much at stake to be anything but dependable.
We pay him very highly. Also he has his story. He was
rung up by an unknown client purporting to be the boy's
father. He took the job in good faith and merely asked
the girl Teresa to accompany him. They know nothing.
The police will at once suspect the former kidnappers.
Nevertheless, I wish we had not attempted the affair with
the boy.'

'One wanted to rid oneself of the parents.'

'Exactly. Of the father. If circumstances were different,'
Baradi said softly, 'I should not be nearly so interested
in ridding myself of Mama. Women!' he ejaculated
sententiously.

'Women!' Mr Oberon echoed with an inexplicable laugh
and added immediately: 'All the same I am getting
abominably anxious. I don't trust him. And then, the light!
Suppose it doesn't come on again before the Rites. How
shall we manage?'

'Something can be done with car batteries, I think, and
a soldering iron. Mahomet is ingenious in such matters.
I shall speak to him in a moment.'

Baradi walked over to the window and pulled back the
silk blind. 'It is quite dark.' The blind shot up with a whirr
and click.

'It really is much too quick on the trigger,' he observed.

Mr Oberon said loudly: 'Don't do that! You exacerbate
my nerves. Pull it down. Tie it down.'

And while Baradi busied himself with the blind he added:
'I shall send out. My temper is rising and that is dangerous.
I must not become angry. If his car has gone I shall send
after it.'

'I strongly suggest you do nothing of the sort. It would


223


be an unnecessary and foolish move. She will return. Surely
you have not lost your flair.'

Mr Oberon, in the darkness, said: 'You are right. She
will return. She must.'

'As for your rising temper,' said Baradi, 'you had better
subdue it. It is dangerous.'


224


CHAPTER ELEVEN


P.E. GARBEL


Raoul slowed down at a point above the entrance to the
tunnel.

'Where should we leave the car, Monsieur?'

'There's a recess off the road, on the far side, near the
tunnel and well under the lee of the hill. Pull in there.'

The silhouette of the Chevre d'Argent showed black
above the hills against a clearing but still stormy sky. A
wind had risen and cloud-rack scurried across a brilliant
display of stars.

'Gothic in spirit,' Alleyn muttered, 'if not in design.'

The road turned the headland. Raoul dropped to a crawl
and switched off his lights. Alleyn used a pocket torch.
When they came down to the level of the tunnel exit he
got out and guided Raoul into a recess hard by the stone
facing.

Raoul dragged out a marketing basket from which the
intermingled smells of cabbage, garlic and flowers rose
incongruously on the rain-sweetened air.

'Have you hidden the cloaks underneath?' Alleyn asked
him.

'Yes, Monsieur. It was an excellent notion. It is not
unusual for me to present myself with such gear. The aunt
of Teresa is a market-gardener.'

'Good. We'll smell like two helpings of a particularly
exotic soup.'

'Monsieur?'

'No matter. Now, Raoul, to make certain we understand
each other will you repeat the instructions?'


225


m


'Very well, Monsieur. We go together to the servants'
entrance. If, my mischance we encounter anybody on the
way who recognises Monsieur, Monsieur will at once say
he has come to inquire for the sick Mademoiselle. I will
continue on and will wait for Monsieur at the servants'
entrance. If Monsieur, on arriving there, is recognised by
one of the servants who may not yet have left, he will
say he has been waiting for me and is angry. He will say
he wishes to speak to Teresa about the stealing of Riki.
If, on the other hand, all goes well and we reach the servants'
quarters together and unchallenged, we go at once to
Teresa's room. Monsieur is seen but not recognised, he
is introduced as the intellectual cousin of Teresa who has
been to England, working in a bank and has greatly
improved his social status and again we retire quickly to
Teresa's room before the Egyptian valet or the butler can
encounter Monsieur. In either case, Teresa is to give a message saying it has come by a peasant on a bicycle.
It is to say that Mr Herrington's car has broken down
but that Miss Taylor and he will arrive in time for the
party. Finally, if Monsieur does not come at all, I wait
for an hour then go to seek for him.'

'And if something we have not in the least anticipated
turns up?'

Raoul laughed softly in the dark: 'One must then use
one's wits, Monsieur.'

'Good, shall we start?'

They walked together up the steep incline to the platform.

A goods train came puffing up from Douceville. The
glow from the engine slid across the lower walls and bastions
of the Chevre d'Argent. Behind the silk blind a dim light
burned: a much fainter light than the one they had seen
from the window of their train. Higher up, at odd intervals
in that vast facade, other windows glowed or flickered where
candles had been placed or were carried from one room
to another.

The train tooted and clanked into the tunnel.


226


	It was quite cold on the platform. A mountain breeze
cut across it and lent credibility to the turned-up collar
f of Alleyn's raincoat and the scarf across his mouth. The
^passage was almost pitch dark but they thought it better
not to use a torch. They slipped and stumbled on wet and
uneven steps. The glow from old Marie's door was a guide.
As they passed by she shouted from behind the oil-lamp:
; 'Hola, there! Is it still raining?'

Raoul said quietly: 'The stars are out. Good night, Marie,'

and they hurried into the shadows. They heard her shouting

jovially after them: 'Give her something to keep out the
fcold.'

'She speaks of Teresa,' Raoul whispered primly. 'There
is a hint of vulgarity in Marie.'

Alleyn stifled a laugh. They groped their .way round a
bend in the passage, brushing 	their hands against damp
stone. Presently an elegant design of interlaced rosettes
appeared against a background of reflected warmth. It was
the wrought-iron gate of the Chevre d'Argent.

'As quick as we dare,' Alleyn whispered.
, The 	passage glinted wet before the doorway. The soles
of his shoes were like glass. He poised himself and moved
lightly forward. As he entered the patch of light he heard
a slither and an oath. Raoul hurtled against him, throwing
him off his balance. He clung to the gate while Raoul,
in a wild attempt to recover himself, clutched at the nearest
object.

It was the iron bell-pull.

The bell gave tongue with a violence that was refracted
intolerably by the stone walls.

Three cabbages rolled down the steps. Raoul by some
desperate effort still clung to the basket with one hand
and to the bell-pull with the other.

'Monsieur! Monsieur!' he stammered.

'Go on,' Alleyn said, 'Go on!'

Raoul let go the bell-pull and a single note fell


227

inconsequently across the still-echoing clangour. He
plunged forward and was lost in shadow.

Alleyn turned to face the door.

'Why, if it's not Mr Alleyn!' said Mr Oberon.


II


He stood on the far side of the door with his back to
a lighted candelabrum that had been set down on a chest
in the entry. Little could be seen of him but his shape,
enveloped in his white gown with the hood drawn over
his head. He moved towards the door and his hands
emerged and grasped two of the iron bars.

Alleyn said: Tm afraid we made an appalling din. My
chauffeur slipped and grabbed your bell-pull.*

'Your chauffeur?*

'He's taken himself off. I fancy he knows one of your
maids. He had some message for her, it seems.'

Mr Oberon said, as if to explain his presence at the door:
'I am waiting for someone. Have you seen - ' He paused
and shifted his hands on the bars. His voice sounded out
of focus. 'Perhaps you met Ginny. Ginny Taylor? And
Robin Herrington? We are a little anxious about them.'

'No,' Alleyn said. 'I didn't see them. I came to ask about
Miss Truebody.'

Mr Oberon didn't move. Alleyn peered at him. 'How
is she?' he asked.

Mr Oberon said abruptly: 'Our telephone has been out
of order since yesterday afternoon. Do forgive me. I am
a little anxious, you know.'

'How is Miss Truebody?'

'Alas, she is dead,' said Mr Oberon.

They faced each other like actors in some medieval prison
scene. The shadow of twisted iron was thrown across
Alleyn's face and chest.

'Perhaps,' Alleyn said, 'I may come in for a moment.'


228


'But, of course. How dreadful of me! We are all so
distressed. Mahomet!'

Evidently the Egyptian servant had been waiting in the
main hall. He unlocked the door, opened it and stood aside.
When Alleyn had come in he relocked the door.

With the air of having arrived at a decision, Mr Oberon
led the way into the great hall. Mahomet came behind
them bringing the candelabrum which he set down on a
distant table. In that vast interior it served rather to
emphasise the dark than relieve it.

'Monsieur,' said Mahomet in French, 'may I speak?'

'Well?'

'There is a message brought by a peasant from Mr
Herrington. He has had trouble with his auto. He is getting
:a taxi. He and Mile Taylor will arrive in time for the
ceremony.'

'Ah!' It was a long drawn-out sigh. 'Who took the
message?'

'The girl Teresa, who was on her way to catch the
omnibus. The peasant would not wait so the girl returned
with the message. Miss Taylor also sent a message. It was
that Monsieur must not trouble himself. She will not fail
the ceremony. She will go immediately to her room.'

'Is all prepared?'

'All is prepared, Monsieur.'

Mr Oberon raised his hand in dismissal. Mahomet moved
away into the shadows. Alleyn listened for the rattle .of
curtain rings but there was no other sound than that of
Mr Oberon's uneven breathing. 'Forgive me again,' he said,
coming closer to Alleyn. 'As you heard from him it was
news of our young people.'

'Fm afraid my French is too rudimentary for anything
but the most childish phrases.'

'Indeed? It appears they have had a breakdown but all
is now well.'

Alleyn said: 'When did Miss Truebody die?'

'Ah, yes. We are so sorry. Yesterday afternoon. We tried


229


to get you at the hotel, of course, but were told that you
had gone to St. Celeste for a few days.'

'We changed our plans,' Alleyn said. 'May I speak to
Dr Baradi?'

To All? I am not sure - I will inquire - Mahomet!'

'Monsieur!' said a voice in the shadows.

'Tell your master that the English visitor is here. Tell
him the visitor knows that his compatriot has left us.'

'Monsieur.'

The curtain rings jangled together.

'He will see if our friend is at home.'

'I feel,' Alleyn said, 'that I should do everything that
can be done. In a way she is our responsibility.'

'That is quite wonderful of you, Mr Alleyn,' said Mr
Oberon who seemed to have made a return to his normal
form. 'But I already sensed in you a rare and beautiful
spirit. Still, you need not distress yourself. We felt it our
privilege to speed this soul to its new life. The interment
is to-morrow at three o'clock. Anglican. I shall, however,
conduct a little valedictory ceremony here.'

The curtain rings clashed again. Alleyn saw a large
whiteness move towards him.

'Mr Alien?' said Baradi, looming up on the far side of
the candelabrum. He wore a white robe and his face was
a blackness within the hood. 'I am so glad you've come.
We were puzzled what to do when we heard you had gone
to St. Celeste.'

'Fortunately there was no occasion. We ran Ricky.to
earth, I'm glad to say.'

They both made enthusiastic noises. They rejoiced. An
atrocious affair. Where had he been found?

'In the chemical factory, of all places,' Alleyn said. 'The
police think the kidnappers must have got cold feet and
dumped him there.' He allowed their ejaculations a decent
margin and then said: 'About poor Miss Truebody - '

'Yes, about her,* Baradi began crisply. 'I'm sorry it
happened as it did. I can assure you that it would have


230


made no difference if there had been a hospital with an
entire corps of trained nurses and surgeons. And certainly,
may I add, she could not have had a more efficient
anaesthetist. But, as you know, peritonitis was greatly
advanced. Her condition steadily deteriorated. The heart,
by the way, was not in good trim. Valvular trouble. She
died at 4.28 yesterday afternoon without recovering
consciousness. We found her address in her passport. I
have made a report which I shall send to the suitable
authorities in the Bermudas. Her effects, of course, will
be returned to her home there, I understand there are no
near relatives. I have completed the necessary formalities
here. I should have preferred, under the circumstances to
have asked a brother medico to look at her but it appears
they are all in conclave at St. Christophe.'

'I expect I should write to - well, to somebody.'

'By all means. Enclose a letter with my report. The
authorities in the Bermudas will see that it reaches the
lawyer or whoever is in charge of her affairs.'

'I think perhaps - one has a feeling of responsibility
- I think perhaps I should see her.'

There was an infinitesimal pause.

'Of course,' Baradi said. 'If you wish, of course, I must
warn you that the climatic conditions and those of her
illness and death have considerably accelerated the usual
postmortem changes.'

'We have done what we could,' Mr Oberon said.
'Tuberoses and orchids.'

'How very kind. If it's not troubling you too much.'

There was a further slight pause. Baradi said: 'Of course,'
again and clapped his hands. 'No electricity,' he explained.
'So provoking.' The servant reappeared, carrying a single
candle. Baradi spoke to him in their own language and
took the candle from him. Til go with you,' he said. 'We
have moved her into a room outside the main part of the
chateau. It is quite suitable and cooler.'

With this grisly little announcement he led Alleyn down


231


the now familiar corridor past the operating room and
into a much narrower side-passage that ended in a flight
of descending steps and a door. This, in turn, opened on
a further reach of the outside passage-way. The night air
smelt freshly after the incense-tainted house. They turned
left and walked a short distance down the uneven steps.
Alleyn thought that they could not be far from the servants'
entrance.

Baradi stopped at a deeply recessed doorway and asked
Alleyn to hold the candle. Alleyn produced his torch and
switched it on. It shone into Baradi's face.

'Ah!' he said blinking, 'that will be better. Thank you.'
He set down the candle. It flickered and guttered in the
draught. He thrust his hand under his gown and produced
a heavily furnished key-ring that might have hung from
the girdle of a medieval gaoler. Alleyn turned his light
on it and Baradi selected a great key with a wrought-iron
loop. He stooped to fit it in a key-hole placed low in the
door. His wide sleeves drooped from his arms, his hood
fell over his face and his shadow, grotesque and distorted,
sprawled down the steps beyond him.

'If you would lend me your torch,' he said. 'It is a little
awkward, this lock.'

Alleyn gave him his torch. The shadow darted across
the passage and reared itself up the opposite wall. After
some fumbling, the key was engaged and noisily turned.
Baradi shoved at the door and with a grind of its hinges
it opened suddenly inwards and he fell forward with it,
dropping the torch, nose first, in the stone threshold. There
was a tinkle of glass and they were left with the guttering
candle.

''Ah, sacri nom <fun chien!' Baradi ejaculated. 'My dear
Mr Alien, what have I done!'

Alleyn said: 'Be careful of the broken glass.'

'I am wearing sandals. But how careless! I am so sorry.'

'Never mind. The passage seems to be unlucky for us
this evening. Let's hope there's not a third mishap. Don't


232


give it another thought. Shall we go inT Alleyn laid down
his walking-stick and took up the candle and the broken
torch. They went in, Baradi shutting the door with a heave
and a weighty slam.

It seemed to be a small room with white-washed stone
walls and a shuttered window. Candelight wavered over
a bank of flowers. A coffin stood in the middle of trestles.
The mingled odours of death and tuberoses were horrible.

'I hope you are not over-sensitive,' Baradi said. 'We have
done our best. Mr Oberon was most particular, but - well
- as you see - '

Alleyn saw. The ltd of the coffin had been left far enough
withdrawn to expose the head of its inhabitant which was
literally bedded in orchids. A white veil of coarse net lay
over the face but it did little to soften the inexorable
indignities of death.

'The teeth,' said Baradi, 'make a difference, don't they?'

Looking at them Alleyn was reminded of Teresa's
generality to the effect that all English spinsters have teeth
like mares. This lonely spinster's dentist had evidently
subscribed to Teresa's opinion and Alleyn saw the other
stigmata of her kind: the small mole, the lines and pouches,
the pathetic tufts of grey hair from which the skin had
receded.

He backed away. 'I thought it better to see her,' he said,
and his voice was constrained and thin. 'In case there should
be any questions of identification.'

'Much better. Are you all right? For the layman it is
not a pleasant experience.'

Alleyn said: 'I find it quite appalling. Shall we go? I'm
afraid I - ' His voice faded. He turned away with a violent
movement and at the same time jerked his handkerchief.
It flapped across the candle flame and extinguished it.

In the malodorous dark Baradi cursed unintelligibly.
Alleyn gabbled: 'The door, for God's sake, where is the
door? I'm going to be sick.' He lurched against Baradi
and sent him staggering to the far end of the room. He


233


drop-kicked the candlestick in the opposite direction. His
hands were on the coffin. His left hand discovered the
edge of the lid, slid under it, explored a soft material, a
tight band and the surface beneath. His fingers, inquisitive
and thrusting, found what they sought.

'I can't stand this!' he choked out. 'The door!'

Baradi was now swearing in French. 'Idiot!' he was
saying. 'Maladroit, imbecile!'

Alleyn made retching noises. He found his way unerringly
to the door and dragged it open. A pale lessening of the
dark was admitted. He staggered out into the passageway
and leant against the stone wall. Baradi came after him
and dragged the door shut. Alleyn heard him turn the key
in the lock.

'That was not an amusing interlude,' Baradi said. 'I
warned you it would not be pleasant.'

Alleyn had his handkerchief pressed to his mouth. He
said indistinctly: Tm sorry. I didn't realise - I'll be all
right.'

'Of course you will,' Baradi snapped at him. 'So shall
I when my bruises wear off.'

'Please don't let me keep you. Fresh air. I'll go back
to the car. Thank you: I'm sorry.'

Apparently Baradi had regained his temper. He said:
'It is undoubtedly the best thing you can do. I recommend
a hot bath, a stiff drink, two aspirins and bed. If you're
sure you're all right and can find your way back - '

'Yes, yes. It's passing off.'

'Then if you will excuse me. I am already late. Good
night, Mr Alien.'

Alleyn, over his handkerchief, watched Baradi return
up the steps, open the side door and disappear into the
house. He waited for some minutes, accustoming his eyes
to the night.

'Somehow,' he thought, 'I must get a wash,' and he wiped
his left hand vigorously on his handkerchief which he then
threw into the shadows.


234


But he did not wipe away the memory of a not very
large cavity under the left breast of a sprigged locknit
nightgown.


Ill


He had been right about the nearness of the servants'
entrance. The stone passageway dipped, turned and came
to an end by a sort of open penthouse. Alleyn had to
grope his way down steps but the non-darkness that is
starlight had filtered into the purlieus of the Chevre
d'Argent and glistened faintly on ledges and wet stone.
He paused for a moment and looked back and upwards.
The great mass of stone and rock made a black hole in
the spangled heavens. The passage-way had emerged from
beneath a bridge-like extension of the house. This linked
the seaward portion with what he imagined must be the
original fortress, deep inside the cliff-face. Alleyn moved
into an inky-dark recess. A light had appeared on the bridge.

It was carried by the Egyptian servant, who appeared
to have something else, possibly a tray, in his hand. He
was followed by Baradi. Unmistakably it was Baradi. The
servant turned and his torchlight flickered across the dark
face. The doctor no longer wore his robe. Something that
looked like a smooth cord hung round his neck. They moved
on and were lost inside the house. Alleyn gave a little grunt
of satisfaction and continued on his way.

A lantern with a stub of candle in it hung by a half
open door and threw a yellow pool on the m,nflat surface
beneath.

'Monsieur?' a voice whispered.

'Raoul?'

'Oui, Monsieur. Tout va bien. Allans.'

Raoul slid out of the penthouse. Alleyn's wrist was
grasped. He moved into the pool of light. Raoul pushed
the door open with his foot. They entered a stone corridor,


235


passed two closed doors and turned right. Raoul tapped
with his finger-tips on a third door. Teresa opened it and
admitted them.

It was a small neat bedroom, smelling a little fusty. One
of old Marie's Madonnas, neatly inscribed: 'Notre Dame
de Paysdoux' stood on a corner shelf with a stool before
it. Dusty paper flowers, candles and a photograph of Teresa
in her confirmation dress, with folded hands and upturned
eyes, completed the decor. A sacred print, looking
dreadfully like Mr Oberon, hung nearby. Across the bed
were disposed two white gowns. A washstahd with a jug
and basin stood in a farther corner.

Teresa, looking both nervous and complacent, pushed
forward her only chair.

Alleyn said: 'Is is possible to wash one's hands, Teresa?
A little water and some soap?'

'I will slip out for some warm water, Monsieur. It is
quite safe to do so. Monsieur will forgive me. I had
forgotten. The English always wish to wash themselves.'

Alleyn did not correct this aphorism. When she had gone
he said: 'Well, Raoul?'

'The servants have gone out, Monsieur, with the
exception of the Egyptian who is occupied downstairs. The
guests are in their rooms. It is unlikely that they will emerge
before the ceremony.' He extended his hands, palms
upwards. 'Monsieur, how much mischief have I made by
my imbecility?'

Alleyn said: 'Well, Raoul, you certainly rang the bell,'
and then seeing his companion's bewilderment and 9	distress,
added: 'It was not so bad after all. It worked out rather
well. Dr Baradi and I have visited the body of a murdered
woman.'

'Indeed, Monsieur?'

'It lies among orchids in a handsome coffin in a room
across the passage of entrance. The coffin, as M. le
Commissaire had already ascertained, arrived this morning
from an undertaker in Roqueville.'


236


'But Monsieur - '

'There is a wound, covered by a surgical dressing, under
the left breast.'

'Teresa has told me that the English lady died.'

'Here is Teresa,' Alleyn said and held up his hand.

While he washed he questioned Teresa about Miss
Truebody.

'Teresa, in what room of the house did the English lady
die? Was it where we put her after the operation?'

'No, Monsieur. She was moved at once from there. The
Egyptian and the porter carried her to a room upstairs
in the Saracen's watch-tower. It is not often used. She was
taken there because it would be quieter, Monsieur.'

Til be bound she was,' Alleyn muttered. He dried his
hands and began to outline a further plan of action. 'Last
night,' he said, 'I learnt from Mr Herrington a little more
than Teresa perhaps may know, of the normal procedure
on Thursday nights. At eleven o'clock a bell is rung. The
guests then emerge from their rooms wearing their robes
which have been laid out for them. They go in silence
to the ceremony known as the Rites of the Children of
the Sun. First they enter the small ante-room where each
takes up a lighted candle. They then go into the main room
and stay there until after midnight. Supper is served in
Mr Oberon's salon. The whole affair may go on, after a
fashion, until five o'clock in the morning.'

Teresa drew in her breath with an excited hiss.

'Now it is my intention to witness this affair. To that
end I propose that you, Raoul, and I replace Miss Taylor
and Mr Herrington who will not be there. Electricity will
not be restored in the chateau to-night and by candlelight
we have at least a chance of remaining unrecognised.'

Teresa made a little gesture. 'If Monsieur pleases,' she
said.

'Well, Teresa?'

'The Egyptian has brought in iron boxes from Mr
Oberon's auto and a great deal of electrical cord and a


237


soldering iron, he has arranged that the sun lamp in the
room of ceremonies shall be lighted.'

'Indeed? How very ingenious of him.'

'Monsieur,' Raoul said, eyeing the gowns on the bed,
'is it your intention that I make myself pass for a lady?'

Teresa cackled and clapped her hand over her mouth.

'Exactly so,' said Alleyn. 'You are about the same height
as Miss Taylor. In the black gown with the hood drawn
over your face and your hands (by the way, you too must
wash your hands) hidden in the sleeves, you should, with
luck, pass muster. You have small feet. Perhaps you may
be able to wear Miss Taylor's slippers.'

'Ah, mon Dieu, quelle blague!'

'Comport yourself with propriety, Teresa, Monsieur is
speaking.'

'If you cannot manage this I have bought a pair of black
slippers which will have to do instead.'

'And my costume, Monsieur?' Raoul asked, indicating
with an expressive gesture his stained singlet, his greenish
black trousers and his mackintosh hitched over his
shoulders.

'I understand that, apart from the gown and slippers
there is no costume at all.'

'Ah, mon Dieu, en voila we affaire!'

'Teresa! Attention!'

'However, the gown is voluminous. For propriety's sake,
Raoul, you may retain your vest and underpants. In any
case you must be careful to conceal your legs which, no
doubt, are unmistakably masculine.'

'They are superb,' said Teresa. 'But undoubtedly
masculine.'

'It seems to me,' continued Alleyn, who had become
quite used to the peculiarities of conversation with Raoul
and Teresa, 'that our first difficulty is the problem of getting
from here to the respective rooms of Mr Herrington and
Miss Taylor. Teresa, I see, has brought two white gowns.
Mr Herrington has provided us with a white and a black


238


one. Miss Taylor would have appeared in black tonight.
Therefore, you must put on the black, Raoul, and I shall
wear the longest of the white. Teresa must tell us where
these rooms are. If the Egyptian or any of the guests should
see us on our way to them we must hope they will observe
the rule of silence which is enforced before the ceremony
and pay no attention. It will be best if we can find our
way without candles. Once inside our rooms we remain
there until we hear the bell. How close, Teresa, are these
rooms to the room where the ceremony is held? The room
you described to me yesterday.'

'The young lady's is nearby, Monsieur. It is therefore
close to the apartment of Mr Oberon.'

'In that case, Raoul, when you hear the bell, go at once
to the ante-room. Take a candle and, by the communicating
door, go into the ceremonial room. There will be five or
six black cushions on the floor and a large black divan.
If there are six cushions, yours will be apart from the others.
If there are five, your position will be on the divan. I am
only guessing at this. One thing I do know - the rule of
silence will be observed until the actual ceremony begins.
If you are in the wrong position it will be attributed, with
luck, to stage-fright and somebody will put you right. Where
is Mr Herrington's room, Teresa?'

'It is off the landing, Monsieur, going down to the lower
storey where the ceremonies are held.'

'And the other guests?'

'They are in the higher parts of the chateau, Monsieur.
Across the outside passage and beyond it.'

'Do you know the room of Miss Grizel Locke?'

'Yes, Monsieur.'

'Have you seen her today?'

'Not since two days ago, Monsieur, but that is not
unusual. As I have informed Monsieur, it is the lady's habit
to keep to her room and leave a notice that she must not
be disturbed.'

'I see. Now, if I leave Mr Herrington's room on the


239


	first stroke of the bell, I should arrive hard on your heels,
Raoul, and in advance of the others. I may even go in
a little earlier.' He looked at his watch. 'It is half-past
seven. Let us put on our gowns. Then, Teresa, you must
go out and, if possible, discover the whereabouts of the
Egyptian.'

'Monsieur, he was summoned by M. Baradi before you
came in. I heard him speaking on the house telephone.'

'Let us hope the doctor keeps his man with him for
some time. Now then, Raoul. On with the motley!'

The gowns proved to be amply made, wrapping across
under their girdles. The hoods would come well forward
and, when the head was bent, completely exclude any
normal lighting from the face. 'But it will be a different
story if one holds a lighted candle,' Alleyn said. 'We must
not be seen with our candles in our hands.'

He had bought for Raoul a pair of feminine sandals,
black and elegant with highish heels. Raoul said he thought
they would fit admirably. With a grimace of humorous
resignation he washed his small, beautiful and very dirty
feet and then fitted them into the sandals. 'Oh, la la!' he
said, 'one must be an acrobat, it appears.' And for the
diversion of Teresa he minced to and fro, wagging his hips
and making unseemly gestures. Teresa crammed her fists
in her mouth and was consumed with merriment. 'Ah, man
Dieu,' she gasped punctually, 'quel drole de type!'

Alleyn wondered rather desperately if he was dealing
with children or merely with the celebrated latin joie de
vivre. He called them to order and they were at once as
solemn as owls.

Teresa,' he said, 'you will go a little ahead of us with
your candle. Go straight through the house and down the
stairs to the landing beneath the library. If you see anybody,
blow your nose loudly.'

'Have you a handkerchief, my jewel?'

'No.'

'Accept mine,' said Raoul, offering her a dubious rag.


240


'If anybody speaks to you and, perhaps, asks you why
you are still on the premises, say that you missed your
bus because of the message about Miss Taylor. If it is
necessary, you must say you are going to her room to
do some little act of service that you had forgotten and
that then you will leave to catch the later bus. If it is possible,
in this event, Raoul and I will conceal ourselves until the
coast is clear. If this is not possible, we will behave as
Mr Herrington and Miss Taylor would behave under the
rule of silence. You will continue to Miss Taylor's room,
open the door for Raoul and go in for a moment, but
only for a moment. Then, Teresa, I have another task for
you,' continued Alleyn, feeling for the second time/in two
days that he had become as big a bore as Prospero. Teresa,
however, was a complacent Ariel and merely gazed
submissively upon him.

'You will find Mr Oberon and will tell him that Miss
Taylor has returned and asks to be allowed her private
meditation alone in her room until the ceremony. That
is very important.'

'Ah, Monsieur, if he were not so troubling to my soul!'

'If you value my esteem, Teresa - ' Raoul began.

'Yes, yes, Monsieur,' said Teresa in a hurry, 'I am
resolved! I will face it.'

'Good. Having given this message, come and report to
me. After that your tasks for the night are finished. You
will catch the late bus for your home in the Paysdoux.
Heaven will reward you and I shall not forget you. Is all
that clear, Teresa?'

Teresa repeated it all.

'Good. Now, Raoul, we may not have a chance to speak
to each other again. Do as I have said. You are enacting
the role of a frightened yet fascinated girl who is under
the rule of silence. What will happen during the ceremony
I cannot tell you. Mr Herrington could not be persuaded
to confide more than you already know. You can only
try to behave as the others do. If there is a crisis I shall


241


deal with it. You will probably see and hear much that
will shock and anger you. However beastly the behaviour
of these people, you must control yourself. Have you ever
heard of the Augean Stables?'

'No, Monsieur.'

'They were filthy and were cleansed. It was a heroic
task. Now, when you get to Miss Taylor's room you will
find a robe, like the one you are wearing, laid out for
her. If there is no difference you need not change. I don't
think you need try to wear her shoes but if there is anything
else set out for her - gloves perhaps - you must wear
whatever it may be. One thing more. There may be cigarettes
in Miss Taylor's room. Don't smoke them. If cigarettes
are given to us during the ceremony we must pretend to
smoke. Like this.'

Alleyn pouted his lips as if to whistle, held a cigarette
in the gap between them and drew in audibly. 'They will
be drugged cigarettes. Air and smoke will be .inhaled
together. Keep your thumb over the end like this and you
will be safe. That's all. A great deal depends upon us,
Raoul. There have been many girls before Miss Taylor
who have become the guests of Mr Oberon. I think perhaps
of all evil-doers, his kind are the worst. Monsieur le
Commissaire and I are asking much of you.'

Raoul, perched on his high heels and peering out of
the black hood, said: 'Monsieur PInspecteur-en-Chef, in
the army one learns to recognise authority. I recognise
it in you, Monsieur, and I shall serve it to the best of
my ability.'

Alleyn was acutely embarrassed and more than a little
touched by this speech. He said: 'Thank you. Then we
must all do our best. Shall we set about it? Now, Teresa,
as quietly as you can unless you meet anybody, and
then - boldly. Off you go.'

'Courage, my beloved. Courage and good sense.*

Teresa bestowed a melting glance upon Raoul, opened
the door and, after a preliminary look down the passage,


242


took up her candle and went out. Alleyn followed with
his walking-stick in his hand and Raoul, clicking his high
heels and taking small steps, brought up the rear.


Down in Roqueville Troy absentmindedly arranged little
figures round a crib and pondered on the failure of her
session with Ginny and Robin. She heard again Ginny's
desperate protest: 'I don't want to, I don't want to but
I must. I've taken the oath. Dreadful things will happen
if I don't go back.'

'You don't really believe that,' Robin had said and she
had cried out: 'You've sworn and you won't tell. If we
don't believe why don't we tell?'

Suddenly, with something of Ricky's abandon, she had
flung her arms round Troy. 'If you could help,' she had
stammered, 'but you can't; you can't!' And she had run
out of the room like a frightened animal. Robin, limping
after her, had turned at the door.

'It's all right,' he had said. 'MrsAllen, it's all right. She
won't go back.'

There was a tidily arranged pile of illustrated papers
in the private sitting-room where they had had their drinks.
Troy found herself idly turning the pages of the top one.
Photographs of sun-bathers and race-goers flipped over
under her abstracted gaze. Dresses by Dior and dresses
by Path, Prince Aly Khan leading in his father's horse,
the new ballet at the Marigny - 'Ley invites reunis pour
quelques jours au Chateau de la Chevre a*Argent. De gauche
a droite: L'Hote, M. Oberon; Mile Imogen Taylor, M.
Carbury Glande, DrBaradi, M. Robin Herrington et la Hon.
Grizel Locke.' Troy's attention was arrested and then
transfixed. It was a clear photograph taken on the roof
garden. There they were, perfectly recognisable, all except
Grizel Locke.

The photograph of Grizel Locke was that of a short,
lean woman with the face of a complete stranger.


243


IV


Robin was driving up a rough lane into the hills with Ginny
beside him saying feverishly: 'You're sure this is a shorter
way? It's a quarter to eight, Robin! Robin, you're sure?'

He thought: 'The tank was three-quarter full. How long
before the petrol stopped flowing?'

'There's tons of time,' he said, 'and I'm quite sure.' As
he turned the next corner the engine missed and then
stopped. Robin crammed on his brakes.

Looking at Ginny's blank face he thought: 'Now, we're
for it. It's to-night or nevermore for Ginny and me.'

Dupont, waiting under the stars on the platform outside
the Chevred'Argent looked at his watch. It was a quarter
to eight. He sighed and settled himself inside his coat. He
expected a long vigil.


Teresa's candle bobbed ahead. Sometimes it vanished round
corners, sometimes dipped or ascended as she arrived at
steps and sometimes it was stationary for a moment as
she stopped and listened. Presently they were on familiar
ground. Forward, on their left, was the operating room:
opposite this, the room where Miss Truebody had waited.
Nearer, on their right, a thin blade of light across the carpet
indicated the door into Baradi's room. Teresa's hand,
dramatised by candlelight, shielded the flame. Beyond her,
the curtain at the end of the passage was faintly defined
against some further diffusion of light.

She passed Baradi's door. Alleyn and Raoul approached
it. Alleyn held up a warning hand. He halted and then
crept forward. His ear was at the door. Beyond it, like
erring souls, Baradi and his servant were talking together
in their own language.


244


Alleyn and Raoul moved on. Teresa had come to the
curtain. They saw her lift it and a triangle of warmth
appeared. Her candle sank to the floor. The foot of the
curtain was raised and the candle, followed by the doubled
up shape of Teresa disappeared beneath it.

'Good girl,' Alleyn thought, 'she's remembered the rings.'

He followed quickly. He was tall enough to reach the
rings and hold the top of the curtain to the rail while he
raised the skirt for Raoul to pass through.

Now Raoul was in the great hall where the candelabrum
still burned on the central table. Teresa had already passed
into the entrance lobby. Alleyn still held the curtain in
his hand when Teresa blew her nose.

He slipped back behind the curtain, leaving a peephole
for himself. He saw Raoul hesitate and then move forward
until his back was to the light and he saw a white-robed
figure that might have been himself come in from the lobby.
Looking beyond the six burning candles he watched the
two figures confront each other. The white hood was thrust
back and Carbury Glande's red beard jutted out. Alleyn
heard him mutter.

'Well, thank God for you, anyway. You have put him
in a tizzy! What happened?'

The black cowl moved slightly from side to side. The
head was bent.

'Oh, all right!' Glande said pettishly. 'What a stickler
you are, to be sure!'

The white figure crossed the end of the hall and
disappeared up the stairway.

Raoul moved on into the lobby and Alleyn came out
of cover and followed him. When he entered the lobby,
Alleyn went to the carved chest that stood against the back
wall. It was there that the Egyptian servant had put the
key of the wrought-iron door. Alleyn found the key and
through the grill tossed it out of reach into the outside
passageway.

From the lobby, the staircase wound downwards.


245


Teresa's candle, out of sight and sinking, threw up her
own travelling shadow and that of Raoul. Alleyn followed
them, but they moved faster than he and he was left to
grope his way down in a kind of twilight. He had completed
three descending spirals when he arrived at the landing.
The door he had noticed on his previous visit was now
open and beyond it was a bedroom with a light burning
before a looking-glass. This, evidently, was Robin
Herrington's room. Alleyn went in. On the outside doorhandle
hung a notice: ""Heure de Meditation. Ne erangez
pas.' He hung it outside and shut the door.

The room had the smell and sensation of luxury that
were characteristic of the Chevre d'Argent. A white robe,
like his own, was laid out together with silk shorts and
shirt and a pair of white sandals. Alleyn changed quickly.
On a table near the bed was a silver box, an ashtray, an
elaborate lighter and, incongruously, a large covered dish
which, on examination, proved to contain a sumptuous
assortment of hors d'oeuvres and savouries. In the box
were three cigarettes; long, thin and straw-coloured. He
took one up, smelt it, broke it across and put the two
halves in his case. He held a second to the candle, kept
it going by returning it continuously to the flame and,
as it was consumed, broke the ash into the tray.

'Three of those,' he thought, 'and young Herrington's
values would be as cockeyed as one of Carbury Glande's
abstracts.'

There was the lightest of taps on the door. It opened
slightly, 'Monsieur?' whispered Teresa.

He let her in.

'Monsieur, it is to tell you that I have executed your
order. I have spoken to M. Oberon. To-night he was not
as formerly he has been. He was not interested in me but
all the same he was excited. One would have thought he
was intoxicated, Monsieur, but he does not take wine.'

'You gave the message?'

'Yes, Monsieur. He listened eagerly and questioned me,


246


	saying: 'Have you seen her?' and I thought best, with the
permission of the Saints, to say 'yes.''

'Quite so, Teresa.'

'He then asked me if Mademoiselle Taylor was quite
well and I said she was and then if she seemed happy
and I said 'yes, she seemed pleased and excited' because
that is how one is, Monsieur, when one keeps an
appointment. And I repeated that Mademoiselle had asked
to be alone and he said: 'Of course, of course. It is essential,'
as if to himself. And he was staring in a strange manner
as if I was not there and so I left him. And although I
was frightened, Monsieur, I was not troubled as formerly
by M. Oberon because Raoul is the friend of my bosom
and to him I will be constant.'

'I should certainly stick to that, if I were you. You are
a good girl, Teresa, and now you must catch your bus.
To-morrow you shall choose a fine present against your
wedding day.'

'Ah, Monsieur!' Teresa exclaimed and neatly sketching
ineffable astonishment and delight, she slipped out of the
room.

It was now eight o'clock. Alleyn settled down to his
vigil. He thought of poor Miss Truebody and of the four
remaining guests and Mr Oberon, each in his or her room,
and each, he believed, oppressed by an almost intolerable
sense of approaching climax. He wondered if Robin
Herrington had followed his advice about 			blocking the vent
in the cap on his petrol tank and he wondered if Troy
had had any success in breaking down Ginny's enthralment.

He turned over in-his mind all he had read of that curious
expression of human credulity called magic. As it happened
he had been obliged on a former case to dig up evidence
of esoteric ritual and had become fascinated by its witness
to man's industry in the pursuit of a chimera. Hundreds
and hundreds of otherwise intelligent men, he found, had
subjected themselves throughout the centuries to the
boredom of memorising and reciting senseless formulae,


247


to the indignity of unspeakable practices and to the threat
of the most ghastly reprisals. Through age after age men
and woman had starved, . frightened and exhausted
themselves, had got themselves racked, broken and burnt,
had delivered themselves up to what they believed to be
the threat of eternal damnation and all without any first
hand evidence of the smallest success. Age after age the
Oberons and Baradis had battened on this unquenchable
credulity, had traced their pentagrams, muttered their
interminable spells, performed their gruelling ceremonies
and taken their toll. And at the same time, he reflected,
the Oberons (never the Baradis) had ended by falling into
their own traps. The hysteria they induced was refracted
upon themselves. Beyond the reek of ceremonial smoke
they too began to look for the terrifying reward.

He wondered to what class of adept Oberon belonged.
There was a definite hierarchy. There had always been
practitioners who, however misguided, could not be accused
of charlatanism. To this day, he believed, such beings
existed, continuing their barren search for a talisman, for
a philosopher's stone, for power and for easy money.

Magical rituals from the dawn of time had taken on
the imprint of their several ages. From the scope and dignity
of the Atkadian Inscriptions to the magnificence of the'
Graeco-Egyptian Papyri, from the pious Jewish mysteries
to the squalors, brutalities and sheer silliness of the German
pseudo-Faustian cults. From the Necromancer of the
Coliseum to the surprisingly fresh folklorishness of the
English genre: each had its peculiar character and its own formula of frustration. And alongside the direct line like
a bastard brother ran the cult of Satanism, the imbecile
horrors of the .Black Mass, the Amatory Mass and the
Mortuary Mass.

If Oberon had read all the books in his own library
he had a pretty sound knowledge of these rituals together
with a generous helping of Hinduism, Voodoo and
Polynesian mythology: a wide field from which to concoct


248


a ceremony for the downfall of Ginny Taylor and her
predecessors. Alleyn fancied that the orthodox forms would
not be followed. The oath of silence he had read in Baradi's
room was certainly original. 'If it's the Amatory Mass as
practised by Madame de Montespan,' he thought, 'poor
old Raoul's sunk from the word go.' And he began to
wonder what he should do if this particular crisis arose.

He spent the rest of his vigil eating the savouries that
had no doubt been provided to satisfy the hunger of the
reefer addict and smoking his own cigarettes. He checked
over the possibilities of disaster and found them many and
formidable. 'All the same,' he thought, 'it's worth it. And
if the worst comes to the worst we can always - *

Somebody was scratching at his door.

He ground out his cigarette, extinguished his candle and
seated himself on the floor with his back to the door and
his legs folded Oberon-wise under his gown. He was facing
the dressing-table with its large tilted looking-glass. The
scratching persisted and turned into a feather-light tattoo
of fingertips. He kept his gaze on that part of the darkness
where he knew the looking-glass must be. He heard a
fumbling and a slight rap and guessed that the notice had
been moved from the door-handle. A vertical sliver of light
appeared. He watched ^the reflection of the opening door
and of the white-robed candle-bearer. He caught a glimpse,
under the hood, of a long face with a beaked nose. Robed
like that she seemed incredibly tall: no longer the figure
of fantasy that she had presented yesterday in pedal-pushers
and scarf and yet, unmistakably, the same woman. The
door was shut. He bent his head and looked from under
his brows at the reflection of the woman who advanced
so close that he could hear her breathing behind him.

'I know it's against the Rule,' she whispered, 'I've got
to speak to you.'

He made no sign.

'I don't know what they'll do to me if they find out
but I'm actually past caring!' In the glass he saw her put


249


the candle on the table. 'Have you smoked?' she said. 'If
you have I suppose it's no good. I haven't/ He heard her
sit heavily in the chair. 'Well,' she whispered almost cosily,
'it's about Ginny. You've never seen an initiation, have
you? I mean of that sort. You might at least nod or shake
your head.'

Alleyn shook his head.

'I thought not. You've got to stop her doing it. She's
fond of you, you may depend upon it. If it was not for him she'd be in love like any other nice girl, with you.
And you're fond of her. I know. I've watched. Well, you've
got to stop it. She's a thoroughly nice girl,' the prim whisper
insisted, 'and you're still a splendid young fellow. Tell her
she mustn't.'

Alleyn's shoulders rose in an exaggerated shrug.

'Oh, don'tr The whisper broke into a vocal protest. 'If
you only knew how I've been watching you both. If you
only knew what I'm risking. Why, if you tell on me I don't
know what they won't do. Murder me, as likely as not.
It wouldn't be the first time unless you believe she killed
herself, and I certainly don't.'

The voice stopped. Alleyn waited.

'One way or another,' the voice said quite loudly, 'you've
got to give me a sign.'

He raised his hand and made the Italian negative sign
with his finger.

'You won't! You mean you'll let it happen. To Ginny?
In front of everybody. Oh, dear me!' the voice sighed out
most lamentably, 'Oh, dear, dear me, it's enough to break
one's heart!' There was a further silence. Alleyn thought:
'The time's going by: we haven't much longer. If she'd
just say one thing!'.

The voice said strongly, as if its owner had taken fresh
courage: 'Very well. I shall speak to her. It won't do any
good. I look at you and I ask myself what sort of creature
you are. I look - '

She broke off. She had moved her candle so that its


250


reflection in the glass was thrown back upon Alleyn. He
sat frozen.

'Who are you? the voice demanded strongly. 'You're
not Robin Herrington.'

She was behind him. She jerked the hood back from
his head and they stared at each other in the looking-glass.

'And you're not Grizel Locke,' Alleyn said. He got up,
faced her and held out his hand. 'Miss P.E. Garbel, I
presume,' he said gently.


251


CHAPTER TWELVE


ECLIPSE OF THE SUN


'Then you guessed!' said Miss Garbel, clinging to his hand
and shaking it up and down as if it was a sort of talisman.
'How did you guess? How did you get here? What's
happening?'

Alleyn said: 'We've got twenty-five minutes before that
damn' bell goes. Don't let's squander them. I wasn't sure.
Yesterday morning, when you talked like one of your letters,
I wondered.'

'I couldn't let either of you know who I was. Oberon
was watching. They all were. I thought the remark about
the bus might catch your attention.'

'I didn't dare ask outright, of course. Now, tell me. Grizel
Locke's dead, isn't she?'

'Yes; small hours of yesterday morning. We were told
an over-dose of self-administered heroin. / think murdered.'
'Why was she murdered?'

'/ think, because she protested about Ginny. Ginny's
her niece. / think she may have threatened them with
exposure.'

'Who killed her?'

'I haven't an idea. Oh, not a notion!'

'What exactly were you told?'

'That if it was found out we'd all be in trouble. That
the whole thing would be discovered - the trade in
diacetylmorphine, the connection with the factory - have
you discovered about the factory? - everything, they said,
would come out and we'd all be arrested and the British


252


subjects would be extradited and tried and imprisoned.
Then, it appears, you rang up about Miss Truebody. Baradi
saw it as a chance to dispose of poor Grizel Locke. She
would be buried, you see, and you would be told it was
Miss Truebody. Then later on, when you were out of the
way and Miss Truebody was well, a made-up name would
be put over the grave. Baradi said that if anybody could
save Miss Truebody's life, he could. I'm guessing at how
much you know. Stop me if I'm not clear. And then you
or your wife asked about 'Cousin Garbel.' You can imagine
how that shocked them! I was there, you see. I'm their
liaison with the factory. I work at the factory. I'll tell you
why and how if we've time. Of course I guessed who you
were but I told them I hadn't a notion. I said I supposed
you must be some unknown people with an introduction
or something. They were terribly suspicious. They said I
must see you both and find out what you were doing,
and why you'd asked about me. Then Baradi said it would
be better if I didn't present myself as me. And then they
said I must pretend to be Grizel Locke so that if there
was ever an inquiry or trouble, you and Cousin Aggie '

'Who!' Alleyn ejaculated.

'Your wife, you know. She was called Agatha after iriy
second-cousin, once - '

'Yes, yes. Sorry. I call her Troy.'

'Really? Quaint! I've formed the habit of thinking of
her as Cousin Aggie. Well, the plan was that I'd be
introduced to you as Grizel Locke and I should tell them
afterwards if I recognised you or knew anything about
you. They made me wear Grizel's clothes and paint my
face, in face you'd heard about her or would be asked
about her afterwards. And then, to-morrow, after the
funeral we are meant to meet again and I've to say I'm
leaving for a trip to Budapest. If possible, you are to see
me go. So that if a hue-and-cry goes out for Grizel Locke,
you will support the story that she's left for Hungary. I'm
to go as far as Marseilles and stay there until you're both


253


out of the way. The factory has extensive connections in
Marseilles. At the same time we're to give out that I, as
myself, you know, have gone on holiday. How much longer
have we got?'

'Twenty-one minutes.'

'I've time, at least, to tell you quickly that whatever
you're planning you mustn't depend too much on me. You
see, I'm one of them.'

'You mean,' Alleyn said, 'you've formed the habit - ?'

'I'm fifty. Sixteen years ago I was a good analytical
chemist but terribly poor. They offered me a Job on a
wonderful salary. Research. They started me off in New
York and after the war they brought me over here. At
first I thought it was all right and then gradually I discovered
What was happening. They handled me on orthodox lines.
A man, very attractive, and parties. I was always plain
and he was experienced and charming. He started me on
marihuana - reefers, you know - and I've never been able
to break off. They see to it I get just enough to keep me
going. They get me up here and make me nervous and
then give me cigarettes. I'm very useful to them. When
I smoke I get very silly. I hear myself saying things that
fill me with bitter shame. But when I've got the craving
to smoke and when he's given me cigarettes, I - well, you've
seen. It wasn't all play acting when I pretended to be Grizel
Locke. We all get like that with Oberon. He has a genius
for defilement.'

'Why did you write as you did to Troy? I must tell you
that we didn't realise what you were up to until yesterday.'

'I was afraid you wouldn't. But I daren't be explicit.
Their surveillance is terribly thorough and my letters might
have been opened. They weren't, as it turned out, otherwise
you would have been recognised as my correspondent. I
wrote - '

The voice, half vocal, half whispering, faltered. She
pushed back her hood and tilted her tragi-comic face
towards his. 'I began to write because of the girls like Ginny.


254


You've seen me and you've seen Annabella Wells - frightful,
aren't we? Grizel Locke was the same. Drug-soaked old
horrors. We're what happens to the Ginnys. And there
are lots and lots of Ginnys: bomb-children I call 'em. No
moral stamina and no nervous reserve. Parents killed within
the child's memory and experience. Sense of insecurity and
impending disaster. The poor ones with jobs have the best
chance. But the others - the rich Ginnys - if they run
into our sort of set - whoof! And once they're made
Daughters of the Sun it's the end of them. Too ashamed
to look back or up or anywhere but at him. So when I
saw in the English papers that my clever kinswoman had
married you, I thought: Til do it. I haven't the nerve or
self-control to fight on my own but I'll try and hint.' So
I did. I was a little surprised when Cousin Aggie replied
as if to a man but I did not correct her. Her mistake gave
me a foolish sense of security. How long, now?'

'Just over seventeen minutes. Listen! Herrington and
Ginny won't come back to-night. My chauffeur and I are
replacing them. Can we get away with it? What happens
in the ceremony?'

She had been talking eagerly and quickly, watching him
with a bird-like attentiveness. Now it was as if his question
touched her with acid. She actually threw up her hands
in a self-protective movement and shrank away from him.

'I can't tell you. I've taken an oath of silence.'

'All that dagger and fire and molten lead nonsense?'

'You can't know! How do you know? Who's broken
faith?'

'Nobody. I hoped you might.'

'Never!'

'A silly gimcrack rigmarole. Based on infamy.'

'It's no good. I told you. I'm no good.'

'My man's about Ginny's height and he's wearing the
black robe. Has he a chance of getting by?'

'Not to the end. Of course not.' She caught her breath


255


in something that might have been a sob or a wretched
giggle. 'How can you dream of it?'
|Will anybody be asked to take this oath - alone?'
'No - I can tell you nothing - but - he - no. Why are
you doing this?'

'We think the ceremony may give us an opportunity
for an arrest on a minor charge. Not only that - ' Alleyn
hesitated. 'I feel as you do,' he said hurriedly, 'about this
wretched child. For one thing she's English and there's
a double sense of responsibility. At the same time I'm not
here to do rescue work, particularly if it prejudices the
success of my job. What's more, if Oberon and Baradi
suspect that this child and young Herrington have done
a bolt, they'll also suspect a betrayal. They'll have the
machinery for meeting such a crisis. All evidence of their
interest in the racket will be destroyed and they'll shoot
the moon. Whereas, if, by good luck, we can diddle them
into thinking Ginny Taylor and Robin Herrington have
returned to their unspeakable fold we may learn enough,
here, to-night to warrant an arrest. We can then hold the
principals, question the smaller fry and search the whole
place.'

'I'm small fry. How do you know I won't warn them?'

'I've heard you plead for Ginny.'

'You've told me she's safe,' whimpered Miss Garbel. She
bit her fingertips and looked at them out of the corner
of her pale eyes. That's all I wanted. You ask me to bring
ruin on myself. I've warned you. I'm no good. I've no
integrity left. In a minute I must smoke and then I'll be
hopeless. You ask too much.'

Alleyn said: 'You're a braver woman that you admit.
You've tried for months to get me here, knowing that if
I succeed your job will be gone and you will have to break
yourself of your drug. You risked trying to tip me off
yesterday morning and you risked coming to plead with
young Herrington here to-night. You're a woman of science
with judgment and curiosity and a proper scepticism. You


256


know, positively, that this silly oath of silence was taken
under the influence of your drug, that the threats it carries
are meaningless, that it's your clear duty to abandon it.
I think you will believe me when I say that if you keep
faith with us to-night you will have our full protection
afterwards.'

'You can't protect me,' she said, 'from myself.'

'We can try. Come! Having gone so far, why not all
the way?'

'I'm so frightened,' said Miss Garbel. 'You can't think.
So dreadfully frightened.'

She clasped her claw-like hands together. Alleyn covered
them with his own. 'All right,' he said. 'Never mind. You've
done a lot. I won't ask you to tell me about the rites.
Don't go to the ceremony. Can you send a message?'

'I must go. There must be seven.'

'One for each point of the pentagram, with Oberon and
the Black Robe in the middle?'

'Did they tell you? Ginny and Robin? They wouldn't
dare.'

'Call it a guess. Before we separate I'm going to ask
you to make one promise to-night. Shall we say for Grizel
Locke's sake? Don't smoke so much marihuana that you
may lose control of yourself and perhaps betray us.'

'I shan't betray you. I can promise that. I don't promise
not to smoke and I implore you to depend on me for
nothing more than this. I won't give you away.'

'Thank you a thousand times, my dear cousin-by
marriage. Before the night is over I shall ask if I may
call you Penelope.'

'Naturally you may. In my bad moments,' said poor
Miss Garbel, 'I have often cheered myself up by thinking
of you both as Cousins Roddy and Aggie.*

'Have you really?* Alleyn murmured and was saved from
the necessity of further comment by the sound of a cascade
of bells.
Miss Garbel was thrown into a great state of perturbation


257


by the bells which, to Alleyn, were reminiscent of the dinner
chimes that tinkle through the corridors of ocean liners.

'There!' she ejaculated with a sort of wretched triumph.
'The Temple bells! And here we are in somebody else's
room and goodness knows what will become of us.'

Til see if the coast's clear.' Alleyn said. He took up
his stick and then opened the door. The smell of incense
hung thick on the air. Evidently candles had been lit on
the lower landing. The stairwell sank into reflected light
through which there rose whorls and spirals of scented
smoke. As he watched, a shadow came up from below
and the sound of bells grew louder. It was the Egyptian
servant. Alleyn watched the distorted image of his tarboosh
travel up the curved wall followed by that of his body
and of his hands bearing the chime of bells. Alleyn stood
firm, leaning on his stick with his hood over his face. The
Egyptian followed his own shadow upstairs, ringing his
little carillon. He crossed the landing, made a salutation
as he passed Alleyn and continued on his way upstairs.

Alleyn looked back into the room. Miss Garbel stood
there, biting her knuckles. He went to her.

'It's all right,' he said. 'You can go down. If you feel very brave and venturesome keep as close as you dare to
the Black Robe and if he looks like making a mistake
try and stop him. He only speaks French. Now, you'd
better go.'

She shook her head two or three times. Then, with an
incredible suggestion of conventional leave-taking she
began to settle herself inside her robe. She actually held
out her hand.

'Good-bye. I'm sorry I'm not a braver woman,' she said.

'You've been very brave for a long time and I'm
exceedingly grateful,' Alleyn said.
He watched her go and after giving her about thirty
seconds blew out the candle and followed her.


258


II


The stairs turned three times about the tower before he
came limping to the bottom landing. Here a lighted
candelabrum stood near a door: the'door he had noticed
yesterday morning. Now it was open. The air was dense
with the reek of incense so that each candle flame blossomed
in a nimbus. His feet sank into the deep carpet and dimly
he could make out the door into Oberon's room and the
vista of wall-tapestries, receding into a passage.

Through the open door he saw four separate candlesticks,
each with a lighted black candle. This, then, was the anteroom.
Alleyn went in. The black velvet walls absorbed
light and an incense-burner hanging from the ceiling further
obscured it. He could make out a partly-opened curtain
and behind this a rack of hanging robes. He could not
be sure he was alone. Limping carefully he made for the
candles and took one up.

Remembering what Teresa had told him, he turned to
the right and with his free hand explored the wall. The
velvet surface was disagreeable to his touch. He moved
along still pressing it and in a moment it yielded. He had
found the swing door into the temple.

There was an unwholesomeness about the silent
obedience of the velvet door. It was as if everyday objects
had begun to change their values. He followed his hand
and walked, as it seemed, through the retreating wall into
the temple.

At first he was aware only of two candle flames below
the level of his knees and some distance ahead, six glowing
braziers. Then he saw a white robe, squatting not far from
a candle and then a black robe, near a second flame. He
felt the tessellated floor under his feet and, using his stick,
tapp*ed his way across. 'All the same,' he thought, 'young
Herrington's stick is rubber-shod.'

By the light of his own candle he made out the shape
of the giant pentagram in the mosaic of the floor. It had


259


been let into the pavement and was traced in some substance
that acted as a reflector. The five-pointed star was enclosed
in a double circle and he saw that at each of the points
there was a smaller circle and in this a black cushion and
a brazier filled with glowing embers. It was on one of these
cushions that the white robe squatted. He drew close to
it. A recognisable hand crept out from under the sleeve.
It was Miss Garbel's. He turned to the centre of the
pentagram. Raoul was holding his candle under his own
face. His hands and arms were gloved in black. He was
seated cross-legged on a black divan and in front of him
was a brazier.

Alleyn murmured: The lady behind you and to your
right is not unfriendly. She knows who you are.'

Raoul signalled an assent.

'Depend on me for nothing - nothing/ admonished a
ghost-whisper in French and then added in a sort of frenzy:
'Not there! Not in the middle. Not yet. Like me. There!'

Raoul darted into the point of the pentagram in front
of Miss Garbel's. He put down his candle on the floor
and pulled forward his hood.

Alleyn moved to the encircled point opposite Miss
Garbel's. He had seated himself on the cushion before his
brazier and had laid down his stick and candle when a
light danced across the facets of the pentagram. He sensed,
rather than heard, the entrance of a new figure. It passed
so close that he recognised Annabella Well's scent. She
moved into the encircled point on his right and seated
herself facing outwards as he did. At the same time there
was a new glint of candlelight and the sound of a subsidence
behind and to the left of Alleyn. In a moment or two
a figure, unmistakably Baradi's, swept round the pentagram
and entered it between Annabella and Raoul. Alleyn
guessed he had taken up his position at the centre. At
the same time the bells cascaded close at hand. 'Here we
go,' he thought

The five candles and six braziers furnished light enough


260


		for him to get a fitful impression of the preposterous scene.
By turning his head slightly and slewing his eyes, he could
see the neighbouring points of the great pentagonal star,
each protected by its circle and each containing its solitary
figure, seated before a brazier and facing outward. Outside
the pentagram and facing the points occupied by Annabella
and Raoul was the altar. Alleyn could see the glint of metal
in the embroidered cloth, and quite distinctly could make
out the shape of the great crystal sun-burst standing in
the middle.

The sound of bells came close and then stopped. A door
opened in the wall beside the altar and the Egyptian servant
walked through. He wore only a loin cloth and the squarish
head-dress of antiquity. Before each of the initiates he set
down a little box. 'More reefers,' thought Alleyn, keeping
his head down. 'Damned awkward if he wants to light
them for us.'

But the Egyptian made no attempt to do so. He moved
away and out of the tail of his eye, Alley saw Annabella
Wells reach out to her brazier, take a pair of tongs and
light her cigarette with a piece of charcoal. Alleyn found
that his brazier, too, was provided with tongs.

Because of the form of the pentagram the occupants
of the five points all had their backs turned to Baradi and
their shoulders to each other. If Baradi was on his feet
he would have a sort of aerial survey of their backs. If
he was seated on the divan he would have a still less
rewarding view. Alleyn reached out for a cigarette, hid
it inside his robe and produced one of his own. This he
lit with a coal from the brazier. He wondered if it had
occurred to Raoul to employ the same ruse.
Little spires of smoke began to rise from the five points
of the star. The Egyptian had retired to a dark corner
beyond the altar and presently began to strike a drum and
play a meandering air on some reed instrument. To Alleyn
the scene was preposterous and phony. He remembered
Troy's comment on the incident of the train window: hadn't


261


she compared it to bad cinematography? Even the ritual,
for what it was worth, was bogus: a vamped up synthesis,
he thought, of several magic formulae. The reedy phrase
trickled on like a tourist-class advertisement for Cairo, the
drum throbbed and presently he sensed an air of excitement
among the initiates. The Egyptian began to chant and to
increase the pace and volume of his drumming. Drum and
voice achieved a sort of crescendo at the peak of which
a second voice entered with a long vibrant call, startling
in its unexpectedness. It was Baradi's.

From that moment it was impossible altogether to dismiss
the Rites of the Sun as cheap or ridiculous. No doubt they
were both but they were also alarming.

Alleyn supposed that Baradi spoke Egyptian and that
his chant was one of the set invocations of ritual magic.
He thought he recognised the characteristic repetition of
names: 'O Oualbpaga! O Kammara! O Kamalo! O
Karjenmou! O Amagaa! O Thouth! O Anubis!' The drum
thumped imperatively. Small feral noises came from the
points of the pentagram. Behind Alleyn, Carbury Glande
began to beat with his palm on the floor. The other initiates
followed, Alleyn with them. The Egyptian left his drum
and running about the pentagram, threw incense on the
braziers. Columns of heavily scented smoke arose amid
sharp cries from the initiates. A gong crashed and there
was immediate silence.

It was slanting, after the long exhortations in an
incomprehensible tongue to hear Baradi cry in a loud voice:
'Children of the Sun in the Outer, turn inward, now turn
in. Silence, silence, silence, symbol of the imperishable god
protect us, silence. Turn inward now, turn in.'

This injunction was taken literally by the initiates who
reversed their positions on the cushions and thus faced
Baradi and the centre of the pentagram. Looking across,
diagonally, to the Black Robe, Alleyn saw that Raoul had
not moved. The exhortations, being in English, had meant
nothing to him. Alleyn dared not look up at Baradi. He


262


could see his feet and his white robe, up to his knees.
Between drifts of incense he caught sight of the other
initiates, all waiting. It seemed as if an age went by before
the Black Robe rose, turned and reseated itself. He saw
Baradi's feet shift and his robe swing as he faced the altar.

Baradi intoned in a loud voice: 'Here is the Names of
Ra and the sons of Ra - '

It was the oath Alleyn had read. Baradi gave it out phrase
by phrase and the initiates repeated it after him. Alleyn
spoke on the top register of his deep voice. Raoul, of course, said nothing. Miss Garbel's thin pipe was unmistakable.
Annabella's trained and vibrant voice rang out loudly.
Carbury Glande's sounded unco-ordinated and hysterical.

'If I break this oath in the least degree,' Baradi dictated
and was echoed, 'may my lips be burnt with the fire that
is now set before them.' He gestured over his brazier. A
tongue of flame darted up from'it.

'May my eyes be put out by the knife that is now set
before them.'

With a suddenness that was extraordinarily unnerving,
five daggers dropped from the ceiling and checked with
a jerk before the five initiates' faces. A sixth, bigger, fell
in front of Baradi who seized and flourished it. The others
hung glittering in the flame-light of the brazier. The women
gave little whimpering febrile cries.

The oath of silence was taken through to its abominable
conclusion. The flame subsided, the smaller daggers were
drawn up to the ceiling, presumably by the Egyptian. The
initiates turned outward again and Baradi settled down
to a further exhortation, this time in English.

It was the blackest possible kind of affair, quite short
and entirely infamous. Baradi demanded darkness and the
initiates put out their candles. Alleyn dared not look at
Raoul but knew by the delayed flicker of light that he
was a little slow with his. Then Baradi urged first of all
the necessity of experiencing something called 'The caress
of the left hand of perfection* and went on to particularise


263

in terms that would have appalled anyone who was not
an alienist or a member of Mr Oberon's chosen circle.
The Egyptian had returned to his reed and drum and the
merciless repetition of a single phrase had its own effect.
Baradi began to pour out a stream of names: Greek, Jewish,
Egyptian: - Pan, Enlil, Elohim, Ra, Anubis, Seti, Adonis,
Ra, Silenus, Ereschigal, Tetragramatom, Ra. The recurrent
'Ra' was presently taken up by the initiates who began
to bark it out with an enthusiasm; Alleyn thought, only
to be equalled by.the organised cheers of an American
ball game.

'There are two signs,' Baradi intoned. 'There is the Sign
of the Sun, Ra' ('Ra,' barked the initiates), 'and there is
the sign of the Goat, Pan. And between the Sun and the
Goat runs the endless cycle of the senses. Ra!'

'Ra!'

'We demand a sign.'

' We demand a sign.'

'What shall the sign be?'

"The sign of the goat which is also the sign of the Sun
which is also the sign ofRa.'

'Let the goat come forth which is the Sun which is Ra.'

'Rat'

The drumming was increased to a frenzy. The initiates
beat on the floor and clapped. Baradi must have thrown
more incense on the brazier: the air was thick with billowing
fumes. Alleyn could scarcely make out the shape of the
altar. Now Baradi must be striking cymbals together.

The din was intolerable. The initiates, antic figures, half
masked by whorls of smoke, seemed to have gone down
on all-fours and to be flinging their hands high as they
slapped the floor and cried out. Baradi broke into a chant,
possibly in his own language, interspersed with further
strings of names - Pan, Hylaesos, Lupercus, Silenos,
Faunus - names that were caught up and shouted in fury
of abandon by the other voices. Alleyn, shouting with the
rest, edged round on his knees, until he could look across


264


	the pentagram to Raoul. In the glow of the braziers he
could just make out the black crouching figure and the
black gloved hands rising and falling like drumsticks.

'A Sign, a Sign, let there be a Sign!'

7f comes.'

'It comes.'

7/ is here.'

Again the well-staged crescendo that ended, this time,
in a deafening crash of cymbals followed by a dead silence.

And across that silence: pathetic, ridiculous and
disturbing, broke the unmistakable bleat of a billy-goat.

The smoke eddied and swirled, and there, on the altar
for all the world like one of old Marie's statuettes, it
appeared, horned and shining, a silver goat whose hide
glittered through the smoke. It opened its mouth sideways
and superciliously bleated. Its pale eyes stared and it
stamped and tossed its head.

'It's been shoved up there from the back,' Alleyn thought.
'They've treated it with fluorescent paint. (to s'illumine."

Baradi was speaking again.

'Prepare, prepare,' he chanted. 'The Sign is the Shadow
of the Substance. The Goat-god is the precursor of the
Man-god. The Man-god is the Bridegroom. He is the
Spouse. He is Life. He is the Sun. Ra!'

There was a blare of light, for perhaps a second literally
blinding in its intensity. 'Flash-powder,' thought Alleyn.
'The Egyptian must be remarkably busy.' When his eyes
had adjusted themselves, the goat had disappeared and
in its place the sun-burst blazed on the altar. 'Car batteries,'
thought Alleyn, 'perhaps. Flex soldered at the terminals.
Well done, Mahomet or somebody.'

'Ra! Ra! Ra!' the initiates ejaculated, with Baradi as
their cheerleader.

The door to the left of the altar had opened. It admitted
a naked man.

He advanced through wreaths of incense and stood before
the blazing sun-burst. It was, of course, Mr Oberon.


265


Ill


Of the remainder of the ceremony, as far as-he witnessed
it, Alleyn afterwards prepared an official report. Neither
this, nor a manual called The Book ofRa, which contained
the text of the ritual, has ever been made public. Indeed,
they have been stowed away in the archives of Scotland
Yard where they occupy a place of infamy rivalling that
of the Book of Horus and the Swami Viva Ananda. There
are duplicates at the Surete. In the trial they were not put
in as primary evidence and the judge, after a distasteful
glance, said that he saw no reason why the jury should
be troubled to look at them.

For purpose of this narrative it need only be said that
with the appearance of Oberon, naked, in the role of Ra
or Horus, or both, the Rites took on the character of
unbridled phallicism. He stood on some raised place before
the blazing sun-burst, holding a dagger in both hands. More
incense burners were set reeking at his feet, and there he
was, the nearest approach, Alleyn afterwards maintained,
that he had ever seen, to a purely evil being.

His entry stung the initiates into their last pitch of frenzy.
Incredible phrases were chanted, indescribable gestures
were performed. The final crescendo of that scandalous
affair rocketed up to its point of climax. For the last time
the Egyptian's drum rolled and Baradi clashed his cymbals.
For the last time pandemonium gave place to silence.

Oberon came down from his eminence and walked
towards the encircled pentagram. His feet slapped the
tessellated pavement. His hair, lit from behind, was a
nimbus about his head. He entered the pentagram and
the initiates turned inwards, crouching beastily at the
points. Oberon placed himself at the centre. Baradi spoke.

'Horus who is Savitar who is Baldur who is Ra. The


266


Light, The Beginning and The End, The Life, The Source
and The Fulfilment. Choose, now, Lord, O choose.'

Oberon extended his arm and pointed his dagger at
Raoul. ^

Baradi went to Raoul. He held out his hand. In the
capricious glare from he sunburst Alleyn could see Raoul
on his knees, his shadow thrown before him towards
Oberon's feet. His face was deeply hidden in his hood.
Alleyn saw the gloved hand and arm reach out. Baradi
took the hand. He passed Raoul across him with a dancer's
gesture.

Raoul now faced Oberon.

Somewhere in the shadows the Egyptian servant cried
out shrilly.

Baradi's dark hands, themselves seeming gloved, closed
on the shoulders of Raoul's robe. Suddenly, with a flourish,
and to a roll of the drum, he swept it free of its wearer.
'Behold!' he shouted: 'The Bride!'

And then, in the glare from the sun-burst, where, like
an illustration from La Vie Parisienne, Mr Oberon's victim
should have been discovered - there stood Raoul in his
underpants, black slippers and Ginny Taylor's gloves.

A complete surprise is often something of an anticlimax
and so, for a moment or two, was this. It is possible that
Annabella Wells and Carbury Glande were too fuddled
with marihuana to get an immediate reaction. Miss Garbel,
of course, had been prepared. As for Oberon and Baradi,
they faced each other across the preposterous Thing they
had unveiled and their respective jaws dropped like those
of a pair of simultaneous comedians. Raoul himself merely
cast a scandalised glance at Oberon and uttered in a loud
apocalyptic voice the single word: 'Anathema!'

It was then that Miss Garbel erupted in a single hoot
of hysteria. It escaped from her and was at once cut off
by her own hand clapped across her mouth. She squatted,
heaving, in the corner of the pentacle, her terrified eyes
staring over her knuckles at Baradi.


267


Baradi, in an unrecognisable voice and an unconscious
quotation, said: 'Which of you has done this?'

Oberon gave a bubbling cry: 'I am betrayed!'

Raoul, hearing his voice, repeated: 'Anathema!' and
made the sign of the cross.

Oberon dragged Miss Garbel to her feet. He held her
with his right hand; in his left was the dagger. She chattered
in his face: 'You can't! You can't! I'm protected. You can't!'

Alleyn advanced until he was quite close to them. Glande
and Annabella Wells were on their feet.

'Is this your doing?' Oberon demanded, lowering his face
to Miss Garbel's.

'Not mine!' she chattered. 'Not this time. Not mine!'

He flung her off. Baradi turned to Raoul.

'Well!' Baradi said in French, 'so I know you, now.
Where's your master?'

'Occupy yourself with your own affairs, Monsieur.' __

'We are lost!' Oberon cried out in English.

His hand moved. The knife glinted.

'Alors, Raoul!' said Alleyn.

Raoul stooped and ran. He ran out of the pentacle and
across, the floor. The Egyptian darted out and was knocked
sideways. His head struck the corner of the altar and he
lay still. Raoul sped through the open door into Oberon's
room. Oberon followed him. Alleyn followed Oberon and
caught him up on the far side of the great looking-glass.
He seized his right hand as it was raised. 'Not this time,'
Alleyn grunted and jerked his arm. The dagger flew from
Oberon's hand and splintered the great glass. At the same
moment Raoul kicked. Oberon gave a scream of pain,
staggered across the room and lurched against the window.
With a whirr and a clatter the blind flew up and Oberon
sank on the floor moaning. Alleyn turned to find Baradi
facing him with the knife in his hand.

'You,' Baradi said. 'I might have guessed. You!'


268


IV


From the moment that the affair began, as it were, to
wind itself up in Oberon's room, it became a straightout
conflict between Alleyn and Baradi. Alleyn had guessed
that it would be so. Even while he sweated to remember
his police training in unarmed combat he found time to
consider that Oberon, naked and despicable, had at last
become a negligible element. Alleyn was even aware of
Carbury Glande and Annabella Wells teetering uncertainly
in the doorway, and of Miss Garbel who hovered like a
spinsterly half-back on the edge of the scrimmage.

But chiefly he was aware of Baradi's dark infuriated
body, smelling of sandalwood.and sweat, and of the
knowledge that he himself was the fitter man. They
struggled together ridiculously and ominously, looking in
their white robes, like a couple of frenzied monks. There
was, for Alleyn, a sort of pleasure in this fight. 'I needn't
worry. For once, I needn't worry,' he thought. 'For once
the final arbitrament is as simple as this. I'm fitter than
he is.'

And when Raoul, absurd in his underpants and long
gloves, suddenly hurled himself at Baradi and brought him
down with a crash, Alleyn was conscious of a sort of
irritation. He looked across the floor and saw that Raoul's
foot, in its ridiculous sandal, had pinned down Baradi's
left wrist. He saw Baradi's fingers uncurl from the knife
handle. He shoved free, landed a short-arm jab on the
point of Baradi's jaw and felt him go soft. They had brought
down the prayer-wheel in their struggle. Alleyn reached
for it and flung it at the window. It crashed through and
he heard it fall with the broken glass on the railway line
below. Oberon screamed out an oath. Alleyn fetched his
breath and blew with all the wind he had on M. Dupont's
police whistle. It trilled shrilly, like a toy, and was answered
and echoed and answered again outside.

'The house is surrounded,' Alleyn said, looking at Glande


269


and Oberon. 'I have a police authority. Anyone trying
violence or flight will be dealt with out-of-hand. Stay where
you are, all of you.'

The glare from the sun-burst streamed through the
doorway on clouds of incense. Alleyn bound Baradi's arms
behind his back with the cord of his gown. Raoul tied
his ankles together with the long gloves. Baradi's head lolled
drunkenly and he made uncouth noises.

'I want to make a statement,' Oberon said shrilly. 'I
am a British subject. I have my passport. I offer myself
for Queen's evidence. I have my passport.'

Annabella Wells, standing in the doorway, began to
laugh. Carbury Glande said: 'Shut up, for God's sake. This
is IT.'

Abruptly the room was lit. Wall-lamps, a bedside lamp
and a standard lamp all came to life. By normal standards
it was not a brilliant illumination but it had the effect
of reducing that unlikely interior to an embarrassing state
of anti-climax. Glande, Annabella Wells and poor Miss
Garbel, huddled in their robes, looked dishevelled and
ineffectual. Baradi had a trickle of blood running from
his nose into his moustache. The Egyptian servant staggered
into the doorway holding his head in his hands and wearing
the foolish expression of a punch-happy pugilist. Oberon,
standing before the cracked looking-glass as no doubt he
had often done before: Oberon, naked, untactfully lit, was
so repellent a sight that Alleyn threw the cover of the divan
at him.

'You unspeakable monstrosity,' he said, 'get behind that.'

'I offer a full statement. I am the victim of Dr Baradi.
I claim protection.'

Baradi opened his eyes and shook the blood from his
moustache.

'I challenge your authority,' he said, blinking at Alleyn.

'Alleyn, Chief Detective-Inspector, C.I.D., New Scotland
Yard. On loan to the Surete. My card and my authority


270


are in my coat-pocket and my coat's in young Herrington's
room.'

Baradi twisted his head to look at Annabella. 'Did you
know this?' he demanded.

'Yes, darling,' she said.

'You little - '

'Is that Gyppo for what, darling?'

'In a moment,' Alleyn said, 'the Commissioner of Police
will be here and you will be formally arrested and charged.
I don't know that I'm obliged to give you the customary
warning, but the habit's irresistible. Anything you say -'

Baradi and Annabella entirely disregarded him.

"Why didn't you tell me who he was?' Baradi said. 'Why?'

'He asked me not to. He's got something. I didn't know
he was here to-night. I didn't know he'd come back.'

'Liar!'

'As you choose, my sweet.'

'- May be used in evidence.'

'You can't charge me with anything,' Carbury Glande
said. 'I am an artist. I've formed the habit of smoking
and I come to France to do it. I'm not mixed up in anything.
If I hadn't had my smokes to-night I'd bloody well fight
you.'

'Nonsense,' said Alleyn.

'I desire to make a statement,' said Oberon, who was
now wrapped in crimson satin and sitting on the divan.

'I wish to speak to you alone, Mr Alleyn,' said Baradi.

'All in good time.'

'Garbel!' Baradi ejaculated.

'Shall I answer him, Roddy dear?'

'If you want to, Cousin Penelope.'

'Cousin!' Mr Oberon shouted.

'Only by marriage. I informed you,' Miss Garbel
reminded him, 'of the relationship. And I think it only
right to tell you that if it hadn't been for all the Ginnys '

'My God,' Carbury Glande shouted, 'where are Ginny
and Robin?'


271


'Ginny!' Oberon cried out, 'where is Ginny?'

'I hope,' rejoined Miss Garbel, 'In no place so
unsanctified where such as thou mayst find her.' The
quotation, cousin, is from Macbeth.'

'And couldn't be more appropriate,' murmured Alleyn,
bowing to her. He sat down at Mr Oberon's desk and
drew a sheet of paper towards him.

'This woman,' Baradi said to Alleyn, 'is not in her right
mind. I tell you this professionally. She has been under
my observation for some time. In my considered opinion
she is unable to distinguish between fact and fantasy. If
you base your preposterous behaviour on any statement
of hers - '

'Which I don't, you know.'

'I am an Egyptian subject. I claim privilege. And I warn
you, that if you hold me, you'll precipitate a political
incident.'

'My dear M. FInspecteur-en-chef,' said M. Dupont
coming in from the passage, 'do forgive me if I am a little
unpunctual.'

'On the contrary, my dear M. le Commisssaire, you come
most punctually upon your cue.'

M. Dupont shook hands with Alleyn. He was in
tremendous form, shining with leather and wax and metal:
gloved, bolstered and batoned. Three lesser officers
appeared inside the door.

'And these,' said M. Dupont touching his moustache
and glancing round the room, 'are the personages. You
charge them?'

'For the moment, with conspiracy.'

'I am a naturalised British subject. I offer myself as
Queen's Evidence. I charge Dr All Baradi with murder.'

Baradi turned his head and in his own language shot
a stream of raw-sounding phrases at his late partner.

'All these matters,' said Dupont, 'will be dealt with in
an appropriate manner. In the meantime, Messieurs et
Dames, it is required that you accompany my offices to


272


the Commissariat de Police in Roqueville where an
accusation will be formally laid.' He nodded to his men
who advanced with a play of handcuffs.

Annabella Wells held her robe about her with one
practised hand and swept back her hair with the other.
She addressed herself in French to Dupont.

*M. le Commissaire, do you recognise me?'

'Perfectly, Madame. Madame is the actress Annabella
Wells.'

'Monsieur, you are a man of the world. You will
understand that I find myself in a predicament.'

'It is not necessary to be a man of the world to discover
your predicament, Madame. It is enough to be a policeman.
If Madame would care to make such adjustment to her
toilette - a walking costume perhaps - I shall be delighted
to arrange the facilities. There is a femme-agent de police in attendance.'

She looked at him for a moment, seemed to hesitate,
and then turned to Alleyn.

'What are you going to do with me?' she said. 'You've
trapped me finely, haven't you? What a fool I was!
Yesterday morning I might have guessed. And I kept faith!
I didn't tell them what you were. God, what a fool!'

'It's probably the only really sensible thing you've done
since you came here. Don't regret it.'

'Is it wishful thinking or do I seem to catch the suggestion
that I may be given a chance?'

'Give yourself a chance, why not?'

'Ah,' she said, shaking her head. 'That'll be the day,
won't it?'

She grinned at him and moved over to the door where
Raoul waited. Raoul stared at her with a kind of incredulity.
He had kicked off his sandals and wore only his pants
and his St. Christopher medal and, thus arrayed, contrived
to look godlike.

'What a charmer!' she said in English. 'Aren't you?'

'Madame?'


273


"Quel charmeur vous etes!'

'Madame!'

She asked him how old he was and if he had seen many
of her films. He said he believed he had seen them all.
Was he a cinephile, then? 'Madame,' said Raoul, 'Je suis
un fervent - de vousV

'When they let me out of gaol,' Annabella promised,
'I shall send you a photograph.'

The wreckage of her beauty spoke through the ruin of
her make-up. She made a good exit.

'Ah, Monsieur,' said Raoul. 'What a tragedy! And yet
it is the art that counts and she is still an artist.'

This observation went unregarded. They could hear
Annabella in conversation with the femme-agent in the
passage outside.

'My dear Dupont,' Alleyn murmured, 'may I suggest
that in respect of this woman we make no arrest. I feel
certain that she will be of much greater value as a free
informant. Keep her under observation, of course, but for
the moment, at least - '

'But, of course, my dear Alleyn,' M. Dupont rejoined,
taking the final plunge into intimacy. 'I understand,
perfectly, but perfectly.'

Alleyn was not quite sure what Dupont understood so
perfectly but thought it better merely to thank him. He
said: 'There is a great deal to be explained. May we get
rid of the men first?'

Dupont's policemen had taken charge of the four men.
Oberon, still wrapped in crimson satin, was huddled on
his bed. His floss-like hair hung in strands over his face.
Above the silky divided beard the naked mouth was partly
open. The eyes stared, apparently without curiosity, at
Alleyn.

Dupont's men had lifted Baradi from the floor, seated
him on the divan and pulled his white robe about him.
His legs had been unbound, but he was now handcuffed.


274


He, too, watched Alleyn, but sombrely, with attentiveness
and speculation.

Carbury Glande stood nearby, biting his nails. The
Egyptian servant flashed winning smiles at anybody who
happened to look at him. Miss Garbel sat at the desk with
an air of readiness, like an eccentrically uniformed
secretary.

Dupont glanced at the men. 'You will proceed under
detention to the Commissariat de Police at Roqueville. M.
rinspecteur-en-Chef and I will later conduct an
interrogation. The matter of your nationalities and the
possibility of extradition will be considered. And now forward.'
Oberon said: 'A robe. I demand a robe.'

'Look here, Alleyn,' Glande said, 'what's going to be
done about me? I'm harmless, I tell you. For God's sake
tell him to let me get some clothes on.'

'Your clothes'll be sent after you and you'll get no more
and no less than was coming to you,' Alleyn said. 'In the
interest of decency, my dear Dupont, Mr Oberpn, should,
perhaps, be given a garment of some sort.'

Dupont spoke to one of his men who opened a cupboard
door and brought out a white robe.

'If,' Miss Garbel said delicately, 'I might be excused.
Of course, I don't know - ?' she looked inquiringly from
Alleyn to Dupont.

'This is Miss Garbel, Dupont, of whom I have told you.'

'Truly? Not, as I supposed the Honourable Locke?'

'Miss Locke has been murdered. She was stabbed through
the heart at five thirty-eight yesterday morning in this room.
Her body is in a coffin in a room on the other side of
the passage-of-entry. Dr Baradi was good enough to show
it to me.'

Baradi clasped his manacled hands together and brought
them down savagely on his knees. The steel must have
cut and bruised him but he gave no sign.


275


Glande cried out: 'Murdered! My God, they told us she'd
.given herself an overdose.'

Then the - pardon me, Mademoiselle, if I express it
a little crudely - the third English spinster, my dear
Inspecteur-en-Chef? The Miss Truebody?'

'Is to the best of my belief recovering from her operation
in a room beyond a bridge across the passage-of-entry.'

Baradi got clumsily to his feet. He faced the great cheval
glass. He said something in his own language. As he spoke,
through the broken window, came the effeminate shriek
of a train whistle followed by the labouring-up-hill clank
of the train itself. Alleyn held up his hand and they were
all still and looked through the broken window. Alleyn
himself stood beside Baradi, facing the looking-glass which
was at an angle to the window. Baradi made to move but
Alleyn put his hand on him and he stood still, as if
transfixed. In the great glass they both saw the reflection
of the engine pass by and then the carriages, some of them
lit and some in darkness. The train dragged to a standstill.
In the last carriage a lighted window, which was opposite
to their own window, was unshuttered. They could see
two men playing cards. The men looked up. Their faces
were startled.

Alleyn said: 'Look, Baradi. Look in the glass. The angle
of incidence is always equal to the angle of refraction, isn't
it? We see their reflection and they see ours. They see you
in your white robes. They see your handcuffs. Look,
Baradi!'

He had taken a paperknife from the desk. He raised
it in his left hand as if to stab Baradi.

The men in the carriage were agitated. Their images in
the glass talked excitedly and gestured. Then, suddenly,
they were jerked sideways and in the glass was only the
reflection of the wall and the broken window and the night
outside.

'Yesterday morning, at five thirty-eight, I was in a railway
carriage out there,' Alleyn said. 'I saw Grizel Locke fall


276


against the blind and when the blind shot up I saw a man
with a dark face and a knife in his right hand. He stood
in such a position that the prayer-wheel showed over his
shoulder and I now know that I saw, not a man, but his
reflection in that glass and I know he stood where you
stand and that he was a left-handed man. I know that
he was you, Baradi.'

'And really, my dear Dupont,' Alleyn said a little later,
when the police car had removed the four men and the
two ladies had gone away to change, 'really, this is all
one has to say about the case. When I saw the room
yesterday morning I realised what had happened. There
was this enormous cheval-glass screwed into the floor at
an angle of about forty-five degrees to the window. To
anybody looking in from outside it must completely exclude
the right-hand section of the room. And yet, I saw a man,
apparently in this right-hand section of the room. He must,
therefore, have been an image in the glass of a man in
the left-hand section of the room. To clinch it, I saw part
of the prayer wheel near the right shoulder of the image.
Now, if you sit in a railway carriage outside that window,
you will, I think, see part of the prayer-wheel, or rather,
since I chucked the prayer-wheel through the window, you
will see part of its trace on the faded wall, just to your
left of the glass. The stabber, it was clear, must be a left
handed man and Baradi is the only left-handed man we
have. I was puzzled that his face was more shadowed than
the direction of the light seemed to warrant. It is, of course,
a dark face.'

'It is perfectly clear,' Dupont said, 'though the verdict
is not to be decided in advance. The motive was fear, of
course.'

'Fear of exposure. Miss Garbel believes that Grizel Locke
was horrified when her young niece turned up at the Chevre
d'Argent. It became obvious that Ginny Taylor was
destined to play the major role, opposite Oberon, in these
unspeakable Rites. The day before yesterday it was


277


announced that she would wear the Black Robe tonight.
My guess is that Grizel Locke, herself the victim of the
extremes of mood that agonise all drug-addicts, brooded
on the affair, and became frantic with - with what emotion?
Remorse? Anxiety? Shame?'

'But jealousy? She is, after all, about to become the
supplanted mistress, is she not? Always an unpopular
assignment.'

'Perhaps she was moved by all of these emotions.
Perhaps, after a sleepless night or - God knows - a night
of pleading, she threatened to expose the drug racket if
Oberon persisted with Ginny Taylor. Oberon, finding her
intractable, summoned Baradi. She threatened both of
them. The scene rose to a climax. Perhaps - is it too wild
a guess? - she hears the train coming and threatens to
scream out their infamy from the window. Baradi reverts
to type and uses a knife, probably one of the symbolic
knives with which they frighten the initiates. She falls
against the blind and it flies up. There, outside, is a train
with a dimly lighted compartment opposite their window.
And, between the light and the window of the compartment
is the shape of a man - myself.'

Dupont lightly struck his hands together. 'A pretty
situation, in effect!'

'He no sooner takes it in that it is over. The train enters
the tunnel and Baradi and Oberon are left with Grizel
Locke's body on their hands. And within an hour I ring
up about Miss Truebody. And by the way, I suggest we
visit Miss Truebody. Here comes Miss Garbel, who, I dare
say, will show us to her room.'

Miss Garbel appeared, scarcely recognisable, wearing an
unsmart coat and skirt and no make-up. It was impossible
to believe that this was the woman who, an hour ago,
had lent herself to the Rites of the Children of the Sun
and who, yesterday morning, had appeared in pedal
pushers and a scarf on the roof-garden. Dupont looked
at her with astonishment. She was very tremulous and


278


obviously distressed. She went to the pointj however, with
the odd directness that Alleyn was learning to expect from
her.

'You are yourself again, I see.' he said.

'Alas, yes! Or not, of course altogether, alas. It is nice
not having to pretend to be poor Grizel any more but,
as you noticed, I found it only too easy, at certain times,
to let myself go. I sometimes think it is a peculiar property
of marihuana to reduce all its victims to a common
denominator. When we are 'high' as poor Grizel used to
call it,.we all behave rather in her manner. I am badly
in need of a smoke now, after all the upset, which is why
I'm so shaky, you know.'

'I expect you'd like to go back to your room in the
Rue des Violettes. We'll take you there.'

'I would like it of all things, but I think I should stay
to look after our patient. I've been doing quite a bit of
the nursing - Mahomet and I took it in turns with one
of the maids. Under the doctor's instructions, of course.
Would you like to see her?'

'Indeed, we should. It's going to be difficult to cope
with Miss Truebody. Of course, they never sent for a nurse?'

'No, no! Too dangerous, by far. But I assure you every
care has been taken of the poor thing.'

Til bet it has. They didn't want two bodies on their
hands. M. le Commissaire has arranged for a doctor and
a nurse to come up by the night train from St. Christophe.
In the meantime, shall we visit her?'

Miss Garbel led the way up to the front landing. M.
Dupont indicated the wrought-iron door. 'We discovered
the key, my dear Alleyn,' he said gaily. 'An excellent move!'
They climbed to the roof-garden and thence through a
labyrinth of rooms to one of the bridge-like extensions
that straddled the outside passageway.

They were half-way across this bridge when their
attention was caught by the sound of voices and of boots
on the cobblestones below.


279


From the balustrade they looked down into a scene that
might have been devised by a film director. The sides of
the house fell away from moon-patched shadow into a
deep blackness. At one point a pool of light from an open
door lay across the passageway. Into this light moved an
incongruous company of foreshortened figures: the Egyptian servant, Baradi and Oberon in their white robes,
Carbury Glande bareheaded and in shorts, and six
gendarmes in uniform. They shifted in and out of the light,
a curious pattern of heads and shoulders.

'Alors,' said Dupont, looking down at them: 'Son
debarras!'

His voice echoed stonily in the passage. One of the white
hoods was tilted backwards. The face inside it was thus
exposed to the light but, being itself dark, seemed still to
be in shadow. Alleyn and Baradi looked at each other.
With a peck of his head Baradi spat into the night.

'Pas de fa!' said one of the gendarmes and turned Baradi
about. It was then seen that he was handcuffed to his
companion.

'Mr Oberon,' Alleyn said, 'will be delighted.'

The procession moved off with a hollow clatter down
the passage. Raoul appeared in the doorway, rolling a
cigarette, and watched them go.

Miss Garbel made a curious and desolate sound but
immediately afterwards said brightly: 'Shall we - ?' and
led them indoors.

'Here we are!' she said and tapped. A door was opened
by the woman Alleyn had already seen at Miss Truebody's
bedside.

'These are the friends of Mademoiselle,' said Miss Garbel.
'Is she awake?'

'She is awake but M. le Docteur left orders,
Mademoiselle, that no one - ' She saw Dupont's uniform
and her voice faded.

'M. le Docteur,' said Miss Garbel, 'has reconsidered his
order.'


280


The woman stood aside and they went into the room.
Dupont stayed by the door but Alleyn walked over to the
bed. There, on the pillow, was the smooth blunt and
singularly hairless face he had remembered. She looked
at him and smiled and this time she was wearing her teeth.
They made a great difference.

'Why, it's Mr Alleyn,' she murmured in a threadlike
voice. 'How kind!'

'You're getting along splendidly,' Alleyn said. 'I won't
tire you now but if there is anything you want you'll let
us know.'

'Nothing. Much better. The doctor - too kind.'

'There will be another doctor to-morrow and a new nurse
to help these ones.'

'Not - ? But - Dr Baradi - ?'

'He has been obliged to go away,' Alleyn said, 'on a
case of some urgency.'

'Oh,' she closed her eyes.

Alleyn and Dupont went outside. Miss Garbel came to
the door.

'If you don't want me,' she said, 'I'll stay and take my
turn. I'm all right, you know. Quite reliable until morning.'

'And always,' he rejoined warmly.

'Ah,' she said, shaking her head. 'That's another story.'

She showed them where a staircase ran down to ground
level and she peered after them, smiling and nodding over
the bannister.

'We must pay one more visit,' Alleyn said.

'The third English spinster,' Dupont agreed. He seemed
to have a sort of relish for this phrase.

But when they stood in the white-washed room and the
raw light from an unshaded lamp now shone dreadfully
on what was left of Grizel Locke, he looked thoughtful
and said: 'All three, each after her own fashion, may be
said to have served the cause of justice.'

'This one,' Alleyn said dryly, 'may be said to have died
for it.'


281


It was a quarter-past two when Grizel Locke was carried
in her coffin down to a mortuary van that gshone glossily
in the moonlight. Two hours later Alleyn and Dupont
walked out of the Chafeau de la Chevre d'Argent. They
left two men on guard and with Raoul went down the
passageway to the open platform. It was flooded in
moonlight. The Mediterranean glittered down below and
the hills reared themselves up fabulously against the stars.
Robin Herrington's rakish car was parked at the edge of
the platform.

Alleyn said: These are our chickens come home to roost.'

'Ah!' said M. Dupont cosily, 'it is a night for love.'

'Nevertheless, if you will excuse me - '

'But, of course!'

Alleyn, whistling tunelessly and tactfully, went over to
the car. Robin was in the driver's seat with Ginny beside
him. Her head was on his shoulder. He showed no particular
surprise at seeing Alleyn.

'Good morning,' Alleyn said. 'So you had a breakdown.'

'We did, sir, but we think we're under our own steam
again.'

'I'm glad to hear it. You will find the Chevre d'Argent
rather empty. Here's my card. The gendarme at the door
will let you in. If you'd rather collect your possessions
and come back to Roqueville, I expect we could get rooms
for you both at the Royal.'

He waited for an answer but it was perfectly clear to
him that although they smiled and nodded brightly they
had not taken in a word of his little speech.

Robin said: 'Ginny's going to marry me.'

'I hope you will both be very happy.'

'We think of beginning again in one of the Dominions.'


282


The Dominions are, on the whole, both tolerant and
helpful.'

Ginny, speaking for the first time, said: 'Will you please
thank Mrs Alleyn? She sort of did the trick.'

'I shall. She'll be delighted to hear it.' He looked at
them for a moment and they beamed back at him. 'You'll
be all right,' he said. 'Get a tough job and forget you've
had bad dreams. I'm sure it will work out.'

They smiled and nodded.

Til have to ask you to come and see me later in the
morning. At the Prefecture at eleven?'

'Thank you,' they said vaguely. Ginny said: 'You can't
think how happy we are, all of a sudden. And just imagine,
I was furious when the car broke down! And yet, if it
hadn't, we might never have found out.'
'Strange coincidence,' said Alleyn, looking at Robin. And
seeing that they were incapable of coming out of the
moonlight he said: 'Good morning and good luck to you
both,' and left them to themselves.

On the way down to Roqueville he and Dupont discussed
the probable development of the case. 'Oberon,' Alleyn
said, 'has gone to pieces, as you see. He will try and buy
his way out with information.'

'Callard also is prepared to upset the peas. But thanks
to your admirable handling of the case we shall be able
to dispense with such aids and Oberon, I trust, will be
tried with Baradi.'

'Of the pair, Oberon is undoubtedly the more revolting,'
Alleyn said thoughtfully. 'I wonder how many deaths could
be laid at the door of those two. I don't know how you
feel about it, Dupont, but I put their sort at the top of
the criminal list. If they hadn't directly killed poor Grizel
Locke, by God, they'd still be mass murderers.'

'Undoubtedly,' said Dupont, stifling a yawn. 'I imagine
we take statements from the painter, the actress Wells and
the two young ones and let it go at that. They may be


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