“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 enquiries 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 Number 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, là-là. ” 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 adventure 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 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 tête-à-tête upon a seat. Automobile 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 hundred mille francs at a certain time and at a place outside St. Céleste. 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, no !” 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.”
“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 poste 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 publicized.”
“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 Château de la Chèvre 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 tell 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 enquire 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 Château to take them to St. Céleste. 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 can reach him there the car arrives and he is removed still further.”
“Where?”
“If, following the precedent, they go to St. Céleste, 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. Céleste.”
“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 l’Elaboration de Diacetylmorphine. She is the ‘raquette,’ no doubt, and you have enquired for her.”
“For him. We thought: ‘him.’ ”
“Darling,” Alleyn said, “can you remember the letters pretty clearlyT’
“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, 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 at luncheon? Wasn’t the message about being away a blind? Doesn’t it took 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.”
“I’ll say it for you. Why in Heaven’s name can’t we do something about Ricky instead of sitting here gossiping about Miss Garbel?”
Читать дальше
Конец ознакомительного отрывка
Купить книгу