by Anne Morice
‘No, Wednesday. Every Wednesday when she can be in Paris. Would you like to come under the dryer?’
I consented and she slammed the hood down over my head, handed me some battered copies of Paris-Match and tripped away.
Madame Stéfane was more forthcoming, though not so hot with the English. We ran into our first misunderstanding while I was struggling with my purse and she asked if my hand had been blessed. However, she was so uproariously amused to discover that blessé was not one of those words which can be transposed phonetically into English that we became very chummy and she gave me an unlooked-for lead by saying how recognising she was for Madame Müller’s recommendations.
‘Oh, but her hair always looks so marvellous,’ I gushed.
‘But madame also has beautiful hairs,’ Stéfane replied dutifully. ‘Did she find her bag, the poor?’
‘Whose bag?’ I asked sharply.
‘Madame Müller. She is so much deceived to find she is not leaving it here. We are searching upside down, as you may imagine, Madame, but everyone ignored it.’
This was strange, indeed, and I asked again: ‘Her own bag, did you say?’
‘But yes, madame.’
Mireille trotted up and applied herself fussily to the appointments book. Whipping through the pages, she gabbled away in an undertone to her employer. Among the few words I could catch was ‘sac’, which made sense to me, although I had a faint impression that it was not intended to.
I was formulating a new question when Mireille looked up with a dazzling smile and said how much she longed for the pleasure to see me again. She then held the door open for me to pass through and slammed it shut when I had reluctantly done so.
(iii)
‘So I regret to tell you that is the one single note I have for comparison,’ I confessed to Robin, who had arrived home a few minutes ahead of me. ‘And what a note! Admittedly, my extensive knowledge of French informs me that for “deceived” one should read “disappointed”, but such a mild reaction makes it all the more mysterious. Imagine being merely disappointed to find that you’d come out without your bag! One would be more likely to leave one’s head at home.’
‘And yet you took it in your stride that Mrs Baker should be abroad without hers.’
‘That’s different. For one thing, she could obviously conceal a dozen pockets and pouches inside all those layers of sari. Also she seems to have been devoid of personal vanity; but Mrs Müller is the type who wouldn’t move a yard without a battery of make-up within reach. I daresay she could have carried essentials like her purse and keys in a coat pocket, but what about all the other junk one needs a bag for?’
‘So what construction do you put on it?’
‘I simply don’t know, Robin, unless she’d left it in the car or something. The only certainty is that she did keep her regular six o’clock appointment last Wednesday and from personal experience of their methods she wouldn’t have got away much before seven-thirty. Searching around for the bag would have meant even more delay.’
‘Unless, of course, that was simply a device to impress the time on everyone.’
‘I thought of that, naturally, but it’s so far-fetched. If she had purposely dropped a glove or something one could understand it, but a bag is not a thing one could pretend about. Either she was carrying one, or she wasn’t. They’re not easy to conceal.’
‘Specially if they happen to contain very large spanners?’
‘Exactly. She would not only have had to carry the spanner quite openly to the Champ de Mars and bash her friend over the head with it; she would then need to carry it quite openly, and covered with bloodstains, all the way to IDEAS, to dump it in the car park. It’s just not possible.’
‘Except that it occurs to me, Tessa, that she could have had some kind of shopping bag, which would have served the purpose even better.’
I shook my head: ‘Madame Stéfane told me they’d searched the place upside down, and I don’t doubt she meant exactly that. She and Mireille are very tough nuts and I can’t see them being satisfied with any search which didn’t include shopping bags or any other container which she might have been carrying.’
‘So your note does seem to have been worth comparing, after all. You’re sure you’ve got it straight, though? I hate to imply that your French is less than perfect, but could you possibly have misunderstood?’
‘Not possibly,’ I said. ‘And just in case you still doubt me I had better admit that we were speaking English. But if I might put a question of my own, why this fantastic interest? I thought you said this was a local affair and no concern of yours?’
‘One can’t repress a faint curiosity.’
‘Even to the point of pushing me off to the hairdresser’s to check on Thea Müller’s alibi?’
‘Well, it was harmless enough and your hair wasn’t looking all that hot. I didn’t really expect anything to come of it, because the police have doubtless checked it, too. That may be why Mireille was a bit clam-like.’
‘Why don’t you ask?’
‘Ask who what?’
‘Whether they’ve checked her alibi. And don’t look so innocent, Robin. I know perfectly well this isn’t just personal curiosity, whatever you may pretend. You’ve already hinted that you didn’t come prancing over here just because my telephone was engaged. In fact, the only unpremeditated bit was catching an earlier plane, wasn’t it?’
‘But it had nothing to do with Mrs Baker’s death. At least, only indirectly.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Simply that it’s true that I was coming anyway, but on a different job. On the other hand, the murder might conceivably have some part in the general scheme of things, if you follow me.’
‘In other words, there could be some connection with the espionage thing?’
‘It’s possible, but in the meantime, acting on information I received from this side of the Channel, I’ve been following up some leads and there may well be some links in this particular chain right in our own backyard.’
‘You don’t say?’
‘So I am authorised to come here and report, as and when necessary.’
‘I couldn’t be more delighted.’
‘Well, that’s as it should be, because it’s mainly on your account that I can come and go so openly. You have provided me with the best possible excuse for the occasional weekend in Paris.’
‘So even if the film turns out to be a record-breaking flop I shall feel I have done my bit for democracy, which will be some consolation. What’s the set-up, or can’t you tell me?’
‘Well, you’ve heard that there’s this little tiny branch of IDEAS in London. It was formed as a kind of liaison office and also for recruiting staff from England and the Commonwealth, although it’s run, I need hardly add, by an international team. They don’t get half the same privileges as the people in Paris, mainly because the level of jobs is much lower; but they operate on rather the same lines as a foreign consulate, and naturally there’s a good deal of coming and going between the two countries.’
‘Sven was doing some coming and going, when we first met him,’ I suggested.
‘Yes, but one can’t attach much significance to that. I imagine it’s fairly routine.’
‘The only novelty on that occasion being his prankish behaviour with my suitcase. Oh goodness, Robin, can that be the answer? Do you suppose he used it to smuggle in the secret plans?’
‘Why should he bother, when he only had to tuck them in his own brief-case? In the unlikely event of a customs man asking him to open it, he would only have been looking for contraband watches or cameras.’
‘Unless, by any chance, they had been tipped off about him?’
Robin shook his head: ‘No good. It’s a lovely idea, but my old boy told me categorically that they’d never even heard of Carlsen.’
‘But Sven may not know that. He might have got the wind up, for some reason. Whereas, if they’d opened my case and found suspicious-
looking documents, he only had to let out a scream that he’d picked up the wrong case by mistake.’
‘Leaving you to march off with the loot?’
‘Oh, he’d have cooked up some story to get it back, you may be sure. No one could accuse him of lack of inventiveness, and we mustn’t forget that all of it happened before he found out you were a copper. Honestly, Robin, I do think this could account for so much.’
‘Not for everything, though. It wouldn’t explain his cutting you dead in the cinema.’
I considered this and then said tentatively: ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t? I expect you’ll say I’m trying to twist the facts to prove my point, but supposing he’d been there on some spying job? Mightn’t that have induced him to keep quiet about it, even at the cost of being arrested for something he hadn’t done? He might bank on further evidence coming to light to get him off the murder hook, even before he came to trial. Whereas, if the cinema had been the meeting-place with another operator in the spy ring, he couldn’t possibly produce it as an alibi. It might get him into far more serious trouble, not only with the police, but also with the people he was working for. For all we know, it may be loyalty to them which is keeping him so quiet; but I should think it’s more likely that he’s caught between two fires and is gambling on the fact that ultimately he’s less likely to get burned by the murder charge than by the other thing.’
‘There’s some logic in that,’ Robin admitted. ‘The trouble is that he has no known record. But still, you could say that of some of the most successful spies in the business, couldn’t you? Perhaps it would be worth while to contact the Danish authorities, after all. Some little item might turn up.’
‘And, while you’re about it, you could check on his activities in the States. He told me he was posted there for several years, which is how he met Adela. We might get Toby to dig something up. He knows masses of people in New York and it would amuse him.’
‘I would just as soon he found something else to amuse himself with, if you don’t mind. The whole story, with bangles and bells on, would be round New York in a week.’
‘What’s our next move, then? Perhaps you’d like me to go out and buy myself a poodle? Then I could take it over to Marie Claire for a shampoo and set?’
‘No, one at a time. Let’s leave Adela till Monday. Why don’t we just go out and look about us? We haven’t even been up the Eiffel Tower yet, have we?’
‘No, we haven’t, have we?’
‘We ought to do that before they take it away to make room for another car park. And we might try that restaurant across the road for lunch?’
‘Oh, not that one, please, Robin.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing, as far as I know, but it’s where Mademoiselle Pêche goes for her hot chocolate. I’m always seeing her.’
‘Well, why shouldn’t she, poor old girl?’
‘No reason. I just don’t want to be there, if she should turn up. She’s so damn ladylike, for one thing, and I’m sure she’s got a terrific crush on Sven. It would make me feel guilty to be enjoying myself while she suffered. Let’s just go to our usual place. It’s in the right direction for the Eiffel Tower.’
‘Very well. And how about a stroll afterwards, through those Martian Fields?’
(iv)
‘You do realise we’re walking in the wrong direction?’ I asked, an hour or two later.
We had entered the Champ de Mars from the Avenue Joseph Bouvard and, after passing through the semi-enclosed shrubbery where Mrs Baker had been found, had wheeled left and struck out into open territory, towards the Avenue Bourdonnais.
‘Yes, but I think I’d prefer to visit the Invalides instead,’ Robin replied. ‘An equally impressive building in its way, and that lunch has made me disinclined for heights.’
The Maréchal glared over our heads from his pinnacle on our right, and behind him was the Ecole Militaire, the hands on its clock pointing, as we drew level, to ten to three. Robin had checked his watch when we left the Avenue Suffren and I asked him how long the journey had taken, so far.
‘Just on ten minutes. A bit tight, isn’t it?’
‘With another half mile to go, by my reckoning. Allowing a stop of at least five minutes on the way, I don’t see how she could have covered it in less than twenty, even if she’d kept up your pace, which would have been a miracle in itself.’
‘She’s a more athletic type than you, don’t forget. And cheer up; I know a nice café on the corner, not far from here. If you’re very good, I’ll allow you a ten-minute coffee break.’
‘What drives you on in this inexorable fashion?’ I asked, flopping into a chair. The pavement tables were all taken, so we had chosen one inside, as near the window as we could get. ‘I thought we had already disposed of Thea?’
‘Keep your voice down, could you? We’re not a hundred miles from a certain organisation and I have no doubt that various members of it frequent this café.’
‘Not on Saturday afternoon, and you haven’t answered my question.’
‘No harm in making a thorough job of it. I agree that no one in his right mind would carry a spanner through Paris in broad daylight, having just used it to commit murder, but it’s just as well to get the time element sorted out, as well.’
‘What I don’t understand is your reason for making a thorough job of it at all.’
‘Force of habit, I suppose.’ He paused, and after a moment went on: ‘No, it isn’t only that, Tessa. The truth is, I’m a bit hung up on this business of your seeing a certain party at the cinema. You’re still sure of that, by the way? No second thoughts?’
‘None.’
‘No, and that’s what bothers me. I mentioned it at our meeting this morning. They didn’t exactly laugh in my face, but it was touch and go. All of which is perfectly understandable, from their point of view, and yet, as you’ve pointed out, he could be concealing something which he’d rather face a murder charge than have brought to light.’
‘Which means that all the others are lying, too?’
‘One may be; not necessarily all of them.’
‘So who’s next on your list? Adela, I suppose? What do we say to that story about it taking her an hour to get home from Montmartre? It’s a bit steep, isn’t it? On the other hand, Adela seems to be the only one who is lifting a finger to clear him. It was she who convened the conference about the necklace.’
‘There is no guarantee that she expected, or even wished you to come up with the right answer. If she knows more about the necklace than she pretended, she may have wanted to use you to get Sven in even deeper.’
‘Oh, Robin, could any woman be such a monster?’ I asked, a movement at the table just beyond the plate-glass division causing me to glance up as I spoke. Three people had stood up to leave and someone else had snatched the table before they had finished collecting their belongings. The window was sound-proof, so I continued in an ordinary tone: ‘You were right about one thing, though. One of them does come here on Saturday afternoon.’
‘Which one?’
I gestured with my glass: ‘Him with the newspaper. He’s got his back to us now, but there’s no mistaking that head.’
‘Has he spotted us?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, so you’d better stay here and get the bill, in case the waiter thinks we’re welshing.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Not far. Stay here until you’ve paid for the coffee and then follow me round. It’ll look less contrived if I go in first.’
He got up, moving his chair very quietly, and walked towards the interior of the café. Then he turned and made for the side entrance into Avenue Motte Piquet, and I saw him pause for a minute at the newspaper stall on the corner. Then, Times in hand, he came on round again, an anxious searching look on his face, the very picture, as he no doubt fondly imagined, of the harassed British tourist clutching his talisman
of sanity in a demented foreign world. The act continued as he drew level, stopped to scan the crowd on the pavement and, with a delighted start of surprise, lo and behold! espied a table with only one occupant.
It was just about the most overdone performance I had ever witnessed, but at least it had the effect of attracting the startled attention of approximately sixteen people, including the one for whose benefit it had all been designed. Mr Baker looked up.
I could see his face in profile and it did not look particularly cordial, but Robin can be very thick-skinned when he chooses. He had rested both hands on the back of a chair and was talking earnestly, using the shy, diffident approach, and getting absolutely nowhere. Mr Baker’s responses were confined to an occasional nod and his eyes continually strayed back to his newspaper. At one point, still without looking up, he shook his head firmly, which could have meant that he had no objection to this stranger sharing his table, but could also have meant the exact opposite, and I decided it was time to intervene.
I wrapped a five-franc note round the bill, tucked it under the saucer and collected my bag and gloves. Then I swung open the door and, smiling brightly, tapped Robin on the shoulder:
‘Sorry I’m so terribly late, darling, but honestly, the Paris traffic . . . Oh, Mr Baker! I didn’t see you. Have you two already met, then? This is Reg Baker, Robin, a friend of the Carlsens. You remember my telling you . . . I say, would you mind terribly if we sat here until there’s a free table?’
‘It’s a free country, so they tell me,’ Mr Baker said not very graciously. ‘But I’m not promising you’ll find me very good company.’
I said eagerly: ‘No, please. We don’t want to thrust ourselves on you. It’s just that there’s not much room at the moment and all this tramping around makes one feel so absolutely dead; but don’t bother about us if you’d rather just sit and read your paper.’
He showed every indication of taking me at my word and Robin said:
‘All the same, if I may . . . Well, that is, Tessa’s told me about this tragic affair, and I hope you won’t mind my saying that you have our deepest sympathy?’