by David Dodge
Francie nodded. “Just so you’ll know why, if it happens,” she said. “Nothing personal. Good-bye.”
John missed the by-play. He had gone to the window.
Neither the terrace nor the pool was visible to him, but part of the circling road that descended from the hilltop was in sight beyond the gardens of the moat. After Danielle had gone, he watched the road, counting minutes. He feared most of all the bad luck of Lepic’s arrival before they got away. If the Citroën came up the hill before Paul’s car went down—
Francie said, “How are you going to get away yourself?”
“Bellini will buy me out with the jewelry.” He watched the road.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. A hundred and twenty-five million francs is worth more than I am.”
“It would have been easier for you to give her to the police, as you planned.”
“I had to change my plans, Francie. I didn’t know she was the thief.”
“It makes a difference that it was Danielle?”
There was still no sign of a car coming in either direction. He said, “It makes a difference that Paul is in love with her. But right now I’m not sure I could have turned anyone over to the police. Hunting a thief is one thing. Sending him to prison is something else. I know what prison is like.”
“If Bellini can’t do what you expect him to do, you’ll go back. You know that too, don’t you?”
“I know Bellini’s capabilities.”
“I’m glad you have faith in him. Is there anything more you want from me?”
“No. The rest of it is up to Bellini.”
He heard the motor first, then saw the car, Paul’s car, going down the road. It passed quickly out of his sight, but he watched the road for another full minute for signs of pursuit before he turned away from the window.
“They made it,” he said. “Now—”
Francie had gone.
It surprised him only because he had not heard her go. Because he knew the chambermaid would come by soon to make up the room, he got his suitcase out from under Paul’s bed, made sure no one was in the corridor, and took the bag across the hall to his own room, which the maid would not need to visit. There he brought Mr. Burns back to life for his final appearance, put on the padded shoes and harness, touched the roots of his hair with dye for the last time. He was careful not to pass in front of the windows, but he watched the terrace and saw Francie leave the château an hour later.
Somebody’s uniformed chauffeur carried her bags and drove her away. Mrs. Stevens went to the car with her. There seemed to be some kind of an argument going on between them, but Mrs. Stevens came back from the car park alone.
Francie was showing good judgment. Her mother’s innocence would be obvious to anyone who questioned her, but she herself could not safely remain to explain, if it occurred to anyone to ask, who it was that had left the château wearing her beach robe and sandals. He felt better to know that she was gone, free from possible trouble.
He waited for Bellini to bring Mr. Paige. There was never any doubt in his mind about Bellini.
Lepic arrived at the château first. He, Oriol, and George Sanford were talking on the terrace, Oriol pointing to the roof tops, then to the wing, Sanford shaking his head in disagreement at something Oriol said, when Bellini’s heavy old Hispano-Suiza came purring up the hill. Bellini and Mr. Paige got out and came side by side across the lawn toward the three men on the terrace. Even from his window John could see the beaming, happy smile on Bellini’s round face.
Bellini remained unobtrusively in the background, chuckling to himself now and then at some subtlety in Mr. Paige’s words. He had coached Mr. Paige carefully along the general lines of what was to be said, but the phrasing was Mr. Paige’s. Bellini appreciated his delivery. He liked doing business with a man who was not only hard-headed enough to see where his own interests lay but had a sense of humor as well.
Mr. Paige introduced himself to George Sanford.
“Paige,” he said crisply. “I represent the London insurance company. This gentleman is Mr. Bellini. Good morning, Commissioner.”
George Sanford said wearily, “This is all utter nonsense, Mr. Paige. I don’t know what you may have heard, but I assure you there has been no theft of any kind. You’re all making a fuss about nothing at all. If I sound rude, I’m sorry, but you’re also causing me and my guests a great deal of embarrassment.”
Lepic said, “If there wasn’t a theft, it’s only because Oriol was here to prevent it. He saw a man on the roof. And if you can see the hole where he fell, as he says, there’s no argument.”
“A hole on the roof?” Mr. Paige twirled his mustache tip. “I’m afraid my principals will have to assume responsibility for the repairs, then, if for nothing else. I rather fancy it was my own man who caused the damage.”
Lepic said, “Your what?”
Bellini giggled. Mr. Paige twirled the other mustache tip.
“My operative,” he said. Against his expectations, he was enjoying himself. He had not forgotten Lepic’s cold treatment of him at the commissariat. “Mr. Burns.”
Lepic’s face went suddenly gray. George Sanford’s chin dropped. Oriol, who could not follow the conversation in English, said to Lepic, “What is it?”
Lepic paid no attention.
“Where is he?” Mr. Paige asked pleasantly.
Sanford said, “Why, I don’t know. He disappeared last night. We thought—I’m afraid I still don’t understand, Mr. Paige. You say he was your operative?”
“An operative of my company, to be exact.” Mr. Paige twirled both mustache points simultaneously. “He has been working with me and Mr. Bellini”—Bellini bowed, beaming—“for some time to effect a recovery of the jewelry stolen here on the Côte during the last months. Until this morning I confess we were not wholly convinced that Commissioner Lepic had disposed of the thief, and for that reason I thought it wise to put my own man here to protect our interests and those of your guests who are our clients, particularly Mrs. Sanford and the Princess Lila.” Mr. Paige coughed gently. “Had I known that Commissioner Lepic intended to take the same steps himself, my own precautions would not have been required, and the imposition on your hospitality unnecessary, Mr. Sanford. I seem to have misjudged Mr. Lepic in more ways than one.”
Lepic’s face was like a dead man’s. Mr. Paige went on. “Your action in shooting the thief was not as unfortunate as I believed it to be at the time, Commissioner. His death permitted his friends, who held the stolen jewelry for him to take advantage of one of my récompense proportionelle advertisements of which you were so doubtful. The reward was claimed this morning.” He paused long enough to make the effect he wanted. “The stolen jewelry has been recovered. I have already given the news to the papers.”
Oriol said in Lepic’s ear, “What’s going on? What’s he saying?”
“The jewelry came back!”
Oriol was as stunned as Lepic had been. But Lepic, with a few seconds to react, sensed that a game was being played on him. He said flatly, “I don’t believe it.”
“I assure you that I have inspected it myself and found everything in order, including some pieces not insured by my company. Of course I have had no way to verify those against inventory, but I have every reason to trust the good faith of the man who surrendered the jewels to me.
“Who?”
“One of the guarantees explicitly offered in the advertisements, as you will remember, Commissioner—”
“Who was it?” Lepic said fiercely.
“—is that no questions would be asked,” Mr. Paige finished. “The reward has been paid, the jewels will be returned to their owners by me, and you yourself have ended the thief’s potentialities for crime, Commissioner. There seems to be no need now for anything else except to offer apologies for the small deception it was necessary to play on Mr. Sanford and to ask Mr. Burns—ah, here he comes now. Good morning, Burns.”
“Good morning, Mr.
Paige.” John came across the terrace on cue. “Good morning, Mr. Bellini.”
“I’m delighted to see you again, Mr. Burns,” Bellini said, chuckling. “Delighted.”
John did not feel safe until he and Bellini were in the car, on their way down the curving hill road. The strain of the few minutes on the terrace had been enormous. He had not dared to meet Oriol’s eyes. He knew that Oriol had recognized him at once, but Oriol’s mind worked slowly. The return of the stolen jewelry destroyed the whole foundation for his belief in John’s guilt, and without it he did not know what to believe. He retreated to the only safe ground he knew, silence.
Lepic was certain of only two things—that Mr. Burns was not what Mr. Paige said he was, and that he did not know enough of the truth to jeopardize his career by challenging Mr. Paige until he knew more. His uncertainty kept him baffled during the time it took John to apologize to his dazed host for his deception and leave with Bellini before it occurred to Sanford to ask about his disappearance and reappearance. Mr. Paige remained to invent explanations as required.
“I had to persuade him to act as the rear guard, but I think he’s enjoying it,” Bellini said. “Lepic gave him several uncomfortable moments. He’s getting his own back.” He wheezed and giggled. “Did you see Lepic’s expression when you came across the terrace?”
“I was watching Oriol,” John said. “He was the only one who really worried me. He’s a bulldog.”
“Bulldogs are not a breed to take action without being sure of themselves. Lepic is more dangerous to you still.”
“I don’t see how he can be. He’s committed himself to the point where keeping his mouth shut and accepting the credit is the only alternative to exposing his own mistakes. Oriol can still send me away any time he wants to. He’ll have to know the truth before I can go back to the Villa des Bijoux.”
“Telling the flics the truth is always a mistake. However, he is also a maquisard. It can be arranged for him to learn a small part of it, enough to restore your position with him.” Bellini wagged his head, tittering. “Not everything, of course. It is hardly believable. Who would have suspected that our lovely Danielle was so clever? I was dumbfounded when she brought your note.”
“I told you once that she reminded me of myself. She has the same type of mind.”
“Not entirely, luckily for all of us. She suggested a small modification of your scheme which was a great improvement.”
“What was it?”
“Your idea to surrender the jewelry without reward was selfish, in view of the help given us by others. Mr. Paige was prepared to go as high as twenty per cent. I found him willing to cooperate at the level of ten per cent instead. It is not what we could have had, but it will make a nice melon to cut among our night watchers. And ourselves, of course.”
“Give mine to Jean-Pierre, for the damage to his business.”
“Why not a token of appreciation for Miss Stevens as well? A small jewel of some kind would be appropriate in the circumstances—but I forgot that she never wears jewelry. Something else.”
“I’ll try to find out what she’d like as soon as I get rid of these clothes and the hair dye. I didn’t have a chance to thank her before she left the château.”
“She left? When?”
“An hour before you got there.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Her mother wouldn’t miss the gala, naturally, but she couldn’t stay herself after we had smuggled Danielle out in her clothes.”
“She could have remained in her room.” Bellini frowned. “I don’t think you should wait to discard Mr. Burns before calling on her, John. I have a feeling that her raison d’être may be undergoing an adjustment.”
“It’s about time you told me what her raison d’être is.”
“You still don’t know?”
“At a guess, I’d say it was to criticize. She’s done nothing else for three days but point out my shortcomings.”
“Then it is essential that you do not give her further cause to criticize you.”
Bellini picked up the old-fashioned speaking tube that hung at his elbow.
“L’Hôtel Midi. Tout de suite.”
The driver nodded, and increased the speed of the car.
Before Bellini let him off at the hotel, he repeated something he had told John before.
“Yours is not a subtle mind, John. It functions well enough, but the line is single-tracked. You have been preoccupied for a long time by something to which you had necessarily to devote yourself. Now you have time to think of more than the survival of yourself and your friends and a return to what you were before. Consider this question: Do you really want to go back to your old life at the Villa des Bijoux?”
“I don’t have to consider it. I know.”
“Think about it just the same, and let me hear your final answer later. In the meantime, give my regards to Miss Stevens.”
He puzzled over the question while he was crossing the lobby, in the elevator, and during the time it took him to walk down the corridor to Francie’s room. He could not decide exactly what Bellini meant by it. The implication seemed to be that he might find life at the Villa des Bijoux drab after his spell of activity as Mr. Burns; that having once returned to thievery, or pseudo-thievery, he would not be able to go back again to the garden and the dog and the books. But that was nonsense. Thieving had never been more than a business to him, a means to an end, as Mr. Burns had been. The best part of his life was wrapped up in the Villa des Bijoux and what it stood for. There was nothing he wanted that he could not find at the Villa des Bijoux.
Or so he believed until he knocked at Francie’s door, and for an interval afterward, when she had let him in and before he saw the evidence of her hurried packing. But he did not fully understand the significance of Bellini’s question until he had asked his own.
“I’m flying back to the States this afternoon,” she answered.
He knew then, all at once, not with his single-tracked mind alone but in his heart and stomach. Even then, it took time for him to realize that she was running from him and, at long last, why.
He said, “What about your mother?”
“She’s staying. I’ve decided it’s time she learned to take care of herself. If she can’t it’s the insurance company’s worry, not mine. Not any more.”
She faced him, her hands clasped in front of her, unsmiling, waiting for him to go. Her hair was disarranged, and there was a smudge of dust on her cheek. It was the first time he had seen her looking like that, the first time he had seen her at all.
He said, “I got away. It’s all finished.”
“I’m glad.”
“Bellini sent his regards.”
“That’s nice.”
She was still waiting for him to leave. He said bluntly, “Why are you going back to the States?”
“It’s my home.”
“Do I have anything to do with your going?”
“No.”
“Would you stay if I asked you to?”
“No.”
“Will you come back?”
“No.”
“I can follow you.”
“It would be a waste of time.”
“I’ll have to waste it, then.” He pulled up a chair and sat down with his arms crossed on its back. “Go on with your packing, if your mind is made up. Bellini says I’ve got a one-track mind, and I know what I want, even if I’m late in finding it out.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“You can’t have me.”
“Why? Because I’ve been stupid until now?”
“Because you’re still stupid.”
He thought he knew why she said it, and it did not discourage him that she had put up another of her protective barriers between them because he was a good thief and knew how to surmount barriers between him and something he wanted as badly as he had found he wanted Francie Stevens. But he was clumsier than usual. The chair he had been sitt
ing in went over with a bang before he reached her.
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