John Lescroart - Son of Holmes

“That won’t be necessary,” said Lupa. He looked at me.

“It makes no difference. As I’ve said, there’s nothing more to be done.”

When Fritz had finished clearing, I stood to go. “Have you any ideas about the ladies?”

“Yes. I have an idea that they are in no danger. I would not be surprised if they were back in Madame Chessal’s home this very minute.”

“Well, then, à demain .”

Not much mollified, I turned to go. Watkins held the tapestry aside for me. As I walked through the tunnel, I tried to think of what I had missed that made everything so obvious to Lupa, but to no avail.

I skirted the entrance to La Couronne on the way back, since Lupa had asked that I avoid the principals. The road was very dark, and it was beginning to get brisk again, so I walked quickly and was abreast of Tania’s house in under a quarter of an hour. It was still, to all appearances, closed up. Stopping to light a cigarette, I decided, principal or not, I wanted to see Tania, and so I walked up the drive to the front door.

It was still locked. I pushed the button by the door and set off a chorus of chimes. No lights, no sounds. I rang once more to the same effect, then shrugged and went back to the road. Lupa had been wrong there, and if he were wrong once, he could be again. The night seemed to get chillier.

The light was on in the sitting room of my own house, and I entered to find Danielle sitting on the settee by the front window. She smiled weakly when I entered.

“Evening, sir.” She stood, looking much calmer than she had been in the morning. “Have you heard from the madame?”

“Not directly,” I said, “but one of my friends saw her today in St. Etienne, so she’s probably on her way back now.” I wished I could have believed what I was saying, but it would do no good to upset the child. “I’m sure she’ll be home by tomorrow evening and wondering where you are.”

She brought her hands to her face. “Oh, sir. Then I must be off. The madame would be very upset to find me gone.”

“It’s all right, dear, I’ll take care of it. She wasn’t there yet when I passed just a few minutes ago. She’ll be all right without you for one night.”

“You’re sure, sir?”

I smiled. If I could do without Fritz . . . “Yes, yes, I’m sure. But for now, have you eaten?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, come, that won’t do.” I led her into the kitchen and found some eggs, cheese, and a few dried mushrooms. Remembering my promise to Fritz, I decided to cook her dinner myself, though it scandalized her.

“What would people say?” she asked. “Monsieur Giraud cooking my dinner?”

I laughed. “What would people say now? Just sit down and relax. Would you care for some cognac?”

“Oh no, sir, I couldn’t.”

“ Au contraire, you could. I wish you’d join me.”

While the omelette was setting, I went and poured us two snifters. She took a sip and made a face. “I usually have spirits with water.”

I turned the omelette. “Not tonight,” I said. I wanted her to go off to sleep. She ate slowly and carefully. I don’t think she tasted a thing.

When she finished, she was drowsy, and I sent her up to my bed. Fritz would never approve of letting a woman into his room alone. I took down a comforter Tania had made for me, turned out the lights, and lay down on the settee to sleep.

Just before I dozed off I became wide-awake, and swore. After getting up and lighting a candle, I walked over to the table by the hearth. I set the candle down and looked carefully. The only mark was the small depression that the detective had noted the previous Wednesday.

“Sir?”

I started. Danielle stood wrapped in a blanket in the foyer.

“I heard you moving. Are you all right?”

“Perfectly,” I said. “I’d just forgotten something.”

She remained, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Can’t you go to sleep? Would you like some more cognac?”

“No sir, only . . .” she stammered.

“What’s wrong, child? Speak up!”

“Well, sir, I just don’t know why she wouldn’t have left me a note.” She started to sob, then turned and ran up the stairs. I went back to the divan and pulled up the comforter.

Neither do I, I thought. Neither do I.

16

The next day I awoke early, had coffee alone in the arbor, then worked in the garden, weeding. At noon, I sent Danielle over to Tania’s to see if she’d returned, but she hadn’t. It was quite warm. At about two o’clock we took a sparse lunch of tomatoes, pâté, and bread, after which I napped while she did some laundry. Finally, when the sun had just set, she helped me load three cases of beer into the Ford, and I drove to La Couronne.

I entered via the front door and asked Charles if he’d help me unload my cargo. A few of the patrons looked up as we passed. It was certainly irregular to make deliveries through the dining room, but no one complained. I was evidently the first to arrive.

Lupa’s quarters had been rearranged to accommodate a crowd, with chairs brought down from above and set around the walls. Fritz was busy with dinners, and I watched him for a short time until I became restless and moved back to the apartment for a beer. Generally I waited until some of the group arrived before I drank, but tonight I made an exception.

The next to appear were Georges and Henri—together, as they usually were. Henri was more relaxed than I’d seen him in the past week. We shook hands, and his grip was dry and firm.

“Georges tells me they’ve arrested Lupa.”

“I think not yet,” I said.

“But he did it.”

“It appears so.”

He breathed out. “That’s a relief. I was sure they were going to arrest me because I was a foreigner—but then I forgot”—he smiled—“so are Lupa and Paul.”

Georges walked up and laid his arm across Henri’s shoulders. “I kept telling him last week not to worry. If he’d escaped the arrests last August, the authorities didn’t suspect him at all.” Georges was referring to the Carnet B arrests of suspected foreign agents, which took place upon mobilization. “The same went for Paul, but Lupa—aren’t I right, Jules?—came to Valence after August.”

I nodded. “That’s so. Why don’t you have a beer, Henri? And you, too, Georges? I’m sure it’s been a hard week for all of us.”

We sat, and they began to drink. Henri wiped the foam from his drooping mustache, letting only a few drops fall onto his old faded frock. Georges was dapper in a blue suit and tie. He drank neatly.

“Did Paul make it to the hotel yesterday?” I asked only to make conversation.

“Oh yes.” Georges smiled. “Tipsy but in fine spirits. Speaking of which . . .”

Outside, there was a slight hubbub, and in a moment, Paul entered, beaming. “A fine howdy-do this is!” he said. “Starting without me again.” He said his hellos all around and picked up a beer. “Good news, friends, my book is sold! Here’s to poetry!”

We drank the toast. He turned to me. “They took the new poems. Isn’t that great?”

We agreed it was, and he insisted we all open more beer. In the middle of passing them out, he stopped. “Hey, where’s the lady?”

I had been worrying about Tania since I’d arrived but was still hoping she would appear. “I don’t know,” I said, “but I’m sure she’ll be around.”

We pulled our chairs into a small circle and began to talk about Paul’s good fortune. No one seemed disposed to discuss Marcel’s death, and since I had no idea of Lupa’s intentions, I decided to wait. Finally, there was a knock on the doorjamb, and I turned to see Tania.