Not Safe to Be Free [= The Case of the Strangled Starlet]

I

Whenever Joe Kerr came to report on the Cannes Film Festival and this was his third visit, he stayed at the Beau Rivage hotel because it was extremely cheap, because he was allowed to use the bathroom to develop his films and because the owner, Madame Brossette, allowed him from time to time to share her bed.

After so many years as a widower, Joe grasped at any crumb of feminine kindness and although he was a little frightened of this woman because of her size, strength and outbursts of temper, he eagerly looked forward to his yearly visits.

A few minutes after half-past nine a.m., he slid the prints he had finished into the toilet basin for their final wash.

He bent over the toilet basin and examined the prints. There were three of them. One showed Jay Delaney unlocking the door to suite 27; the second one showed Lucille Balu knocking on the same door and the third one showed Sophia Delaney, her hand on the door handle, an impatient frown on her face. The three pictures were linked together by the wall clock that showed plainly in each print. It showed that Jay Delaney had arrived at the door a few minutes to four, that the girl had arrived exactly at four and Sophia had arrived at seven and a half minutes past four.

Joe blew out his cheeks as he studied the prints. If they got into the hands of the public prosecutor, the boy would be a dead duck, he thought and what was more, Delaney’s wife would face an accessory rap.

He changed the water, then, lighting the butt-end of a cigarette, he began to clear up the mess he had made in the bathroom.

As he was tipping the hypo down the W.C., he heard a tap on the door.

A little startled, he went to the door, unlocked it and opened it a few inches.

Madame Brossette stood in the narrow passage, her arms akimbo and looked at him, her green eyes probing, her small red mouth set in a hard line.

Madame Brossette was forty-five. She had buried two husbands and wasn’t anxious now to take on a third. Her last husband had left her the hotel, the main business of which was to let out rooms by the hour to the girls who walked the back streets of Cannes during the early afternoon and far into the night. Apart from this source of income, Madame Brossette worked hand-in-glove with the tobacco smugglers of Tangiers and also she had important connections in Paris for the disposal of stolen jewellery.

Her appearance was impressive. Close on six feet tall and massively built, she always reminded Joe of a character out of a gangster picture. Her face was heart-shaped, her hair was the colour of rust and she was enormously fat.

“Hello,” Joe said feebly. “Did you want me?”

Madame Brossette moved forward like a steam roller and Joe hastily gave ground. She came into the bathroom, closed the door, then settled herself with ominous composure on the toilet seat.

“What have you been up to, Joe?” she demanded, her eyes as hard as emeralds.

“Up to? What do you mean?” Joe said, leaning his back against the toilet basin to hide the prints from her sight. “I’ve been up to nothing. What’s wrong?”

“So long as you haven’t been up to anything, then it’s all right,” she said, settling her massive buttocks more comfortably on the toilet seat. “I’ll tell them then you’re here and they can talk to you.”

Joe felt a tug at his heart. His raddled face lost some of its colour.

“They? Who?”

“Who do you think? The police have just been here asking for you.”

“For me?”

Joe suddenly felt so bad he sat down abruptly on the side of the bath.

“The police? For me?”

“Don’t keep saying that!” There was an impatient note in her voice. She had never been afraid of the police and she had no patience with those who were afraid of them. “I told them you weren’t here, because I thought you might have got yourself into some kind of trouble last night.” Her eyes were accusing. “You were late enough back here.”

Joe ran his fingers through his thinning hair and opened and shut his mouth without saying anything.

“It’s the homicide men on the job,” Madame Brossette went on, watching him closely. “They told me if you did come here, I was to call them. What have you been up to?”

Joe hadn’t been a crime reporter for nothing. He suddenly realized the danger he was in. That damned hotel detective must have told the police he had seen him in the corridor around the time the girl had died. The night clerk must have told them the time he had left the hotel. They would want to know what he had been doing in the hotel all those hours and what he had seen. He felt another tug at his heart. They might be crazy enough to imagine he had killed the girl!

Madame Brossette, watching him, saw his raddled face turn slightly green.

So he had been up to something, she thought and she began to grow anxious, for she liked Joe.

She was a woman who needed a lover. When Joe wasn’t in Cannes, she found a variety of substitutes, but Joe’s love-making was something special. He was the only man who was tender with her and to a woman who had lived hard, who trusted no one and who was becoming sharply aware of her advancing years, tenderness from a man meant a great deal.

“You’d better tell me, Joe,” she said, her harsh voice softening. “Come on: get it off your chest. You know you can trust me. What have you done?”

“I haven’t done a thing,” Joe protested violently. “Don’t look at me like that! I swear I haven’t done a thing!”

She lifted her massive shoulders.

“All right, don’t get so excited. Then it’s all right for me to call the police and tell them you’re here?”

Joe winced.

No, it wouldn’t be all right to tell them he was here. Once they got him down to headquarters and that cold fish Devereaux started to work on him he would either have to tell them the truth and give up the idea of putting the bite on Delaney or he would have to lie and that would make him an accessory to murder.

He had to see Delaney before the police got at him. If Delaney refused to part with the money, then he would go to the police and tell them what he had seen. If Delaney gave him the money, then he would have to risk lying to the police: to have that amount of money would be worth any risk.

He had hoped to have handled this thing himself. He knew that, once Madame Brossette knew about it, she would take charge. She would control the money he got from Delaney. She would buy the villa for him and heaven help him if he invited any other woman to the villa and she got to hear about it.

But he knew enough of her background to be satisfied that she was much more capable of handling this thing than he was, and, weakly, he decided to shift the responsibility onto her fat, massive shoulders.

“There’s nothing wrong,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “but... ”

Then the whole story poured out of him.

Her big red hands in her lap, her emerald-green eyes fixed in a stare of concentration, Madame Brossette listened.

The story told to her made her breathe quickly and when she breathed quickly her enormous bosom was agitated.

She said nothing until he had finished, then she held out her hand and said briefly: “Let’s have a look.”

He gave her the wet prints and watched her examine them. She handed them back, then, scratching the side of her neck, she said: “Give me a cigarette, Joe.”

He gave her one and lit it and one for himself.

“What do you think?” he asked anxiously.

“What do I think?” she repeated and her small, red mouth moved into a smile. “I think we have a gold mine here, Joe. What were you going to ask for the negatives? Five million francs?”

“Something like that,” Joe said. “He can afford it.”

“So you were going to Delaney?”

“Of course. Who else has the money? Of course he’s the one to go to.”

“You’re wrong, Joe. I’ve seen him. A man with a face like his doesn’t pay blackmail. He’d hand you over to the police before you knew where you were. The one way go to is the woman. I know something about her. Do you know where she was born?”

Joe stared at her.

“Born? What does it matter where she was born?”

Madame Brossette showed her even white teeth in a humourless smile.

“A lot, Joe. She was dragged up in the back streets of Naples. She’s not going to lose what she’s gained. She’s the one we’ll deal with. Maybe she hasn’t much cash, but she’s got plenty of jewels. Her diamonds alone are worth fifty million francs I took a look at them when she wore them at the opening night. We’ve got a steady income for life here, Joe. We’ll let her down gently at first. I’ll get her to part with some small stuff around twenty million first, then gradually we’ll put on the pressure. This could be a gold mine if we handle it right.”

Joe moved uneasily.

“I’d rather settle for an outright payment. I don t like this steady income idea. It’s too much like blackmail.”

Madame Brossette patted his knee.

“You leave this to me, Joe. I’ll handle it. You’re going to keep out of it. You’ll have to stay in your room, out of sight until I’ve come to terms with her, then you’ll be able to show yourself. I’ll arrange for you to have a room at a hotel of a friend of mine in Antibes. That way you can explain to the police why they didn’t find you in Cannes. As soon as we know she’s going to part, you’ll have to go to the police and tell them a story. We’ll work that out together later.”

“It’ll make me an accessory,” Joe said feebly.

Madame Brossette continued to smile.

“Just relax, Joe. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. If they find out you’ve told them a lie or two, they’ll also find out I’ve made some money out of her.” Her smile widened. “I don’t look worried, do I? For the money we’re going to collect, the risk is worth it. At least they can’t kill us and that’s more than young Delaney can say.” She stood up. “I’ll go down and telephone her. You get back to your room.”

Ten minutes later, Joe heard her coming slowly up the steep stairs and went to his door, expectant and uneasy.

Madame Brossette smiled reassuringly at him.

“It’s all right. She’s coming to see me. She’ll be round here in half an hour.”

“Coming here?” Joe said, his voice shooting up. “That’s not a good idea, is it?”

“You don’t imagine I want to talk to her at the Plaza, do you, Joe? Here I can get a little rough with her if it is necessary. She’s not a weak one, Joe, I can tell you. She’ll need handling.”

Joe fingered his chin uneasily. He suddenly wished he hadn’t brought her into this and he felt an urgent need for a drink.

“Well, all right. I’ll leave it to you.” He began to back into his tiny bedroom. “You let me know.”

“Don’t worry about anything. Just give me the photographs and I’ll do the rest.”

Joe got the damp prints and handed them to her. He watched her walk heavily down the stairs, then he turned quickly, shut the door of his room and reached for the whisky bottle.

II

Inspector Devereaux waved Jay to a chair and then sat down behind the desk.

He looked searchingly at Jay.

A good-looking young fellow, he thought. He seems nervous. Well, that’s understandable. Everyone is nervous when I talk to them. Possibly he has something on his conscience. Most people have and they usually discover it when they meet me. I don’t want to frighten him.

“I’m sorry to be taking up your time, monsieur,” he said, leaning forward and resting his hands on the blotter, “but I believe you may be able to help me. Let me explain. This morning, a young woman’s body was discovered in an elevator here. She had been murdered. I have reason to believe you are one of the last people to see her alive.”

Jay sank lower in his chair. He was thankful for his dark glasses. They gave him a feeling of protection. He was slightly relieved that Devereaux’s voice and manner seemed suddenly friendly, but he warned himself to be on his guard. This man might be laying a trap for him.

“Murdered?” he said. “Who is she?”

“Lucille Balu,” Devereaux said and picking up his pencil he began to make patterns on the blotter. “I believe you talked to her about half-past three yesterday afternoon?”

“Lucille Balu?” Somehow Jay managed to instill shocked surprise into his voice. “She has been murdered? Who did it?”

Devereaux smiled patiently.

“That is what I am trying to discover, monsieur. You talked to her yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes, that’s right. She had been posing for photographers. I was on the beach. My father was interested in her and I made casual conversation.” He was wondering who had told the police that they had been seen talking together. They certainly found that out fast enough. “I can’t really remember what we talked about. We only talked for a few minutes.”

“She didn’t say where she was going when she left the beach?”

“No. I think I said I hoped my father would give her a contract and I believe I asked her if she wanted to live in Hollywood. It was that kind of conversation,” Jay said, gaining confidence.

It was only because he had been rash enough to come down to the hotel lobby that he had been caught up in this interrogation, he told himself. But he must still be on his guard, although now he was sure this police officer was merely making routine inquiries.

Devereaux tapped with his pencil on the desk as he asked, “You returned to the hotel about four o’clock?”

“Yes. I had been on the beach for some time and I decided to have a swim. I returned to the hotel for my swimming trunks.”

“Mademoiselle Balu wasn’t visiting your father, by any chance?” Devereaux asked.

Jay felt his heart give a little kick against his side.

“My father? Why, no. My father was in the cinema at that time.”

“Perhaps she didn’t know that. She didn’t mention that she intended to visit him?”

“Of course not.” Jay was aware that his voice was unnecessarily loud and he controlled it. “There was no question of her visiting my father.”

Devereaux laid down his pencil.

“The reason why I asked, Mr. Delaney, is because we know for certain that she was visiting someone who had a suite on the second floor. You didn’t see her when you went up to your suite?”

Jay’s mouth suddenly turned dry. How on earth had they discovered she had come to the second floor? Had someone seen her? Was it possible someone had seen her rapping on the door of the suite?

“No, I didn’t. I would have told you if I had.”

“Of course. So you went up to the suite, got your swim-suit and left: is that correct?”

Jay saw the trap. It was possible this man knew more than he was making out.

“I was about to leave when my step-mother came in. We talked. She also had the idea of taking a swim. She collected her costume and then left. I left later. I had a letter to write.”

Devereaux nodded.

“And at no time after you had spoken to the girl on the beach did you see her in the hotel?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you see anyone, apart from Mademoiselle Balu, when you walked down the corridor to your suite, monsieur?”

“No. At that time most of the suites are empty.”

“You didn’t notice a man hanging about in the corridor: a man with a camera?”

“A man with a camera?” Jay stiffened. “Why, no. I didn’t see anyone. Was there a man up there?”

Devereaux nodded.

“Yes He was seen by the hotel detective knocking on the door of your suite after you had left. He is a press photographer. His name is Joe Kerr. We are looking for him now.”

Joe Kerr...

The name sounded familiar, then Jay remembered the red, raddled face: the man who had asked him if he could arrange an interview with his father. He must have come up to the suite in the hope of catching Floyd Delaney after Jay had left.

Jay told Devereaux how he had spoken to Kerr on the beach and how Kerr had asked him to arrange a meeting with his father.

Devereaux listened, disappointment clearly showing on his face.

“So he had a reason to be knocking on your door?”

“I suppose he had. No doubt he wanted to talk to my father.”

Devereaux thought for a moment, then laid down his pencil.

“Well, I think that is all, Mr. Delaney. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

With a feeling of acute relief, Jay got to his feet.

“That’s all right. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“Every scrap of information helps, monsieur,” Devereaux said, standing up. “I wonder if you could describe the bead necklace the girl was wearing?”

“Why, yes,” Jay said, without thinking. “They were big sapphire blue beads... ” Then he could have bitten his tongue out for he remembered that the girl hadn’t been wearing a necklace when she had been on the beach. She had put the necklace on when she had come to the suite!

Devereaux was saying casually: “Sapphire blue? Yes, that was what the hall porter said. The beads must be very distinctive for you to remember them.” He walked round the desk and opened the door. “The necklace is missing. We’re trying to find it. Well, thank you, monsieur.”

Jay walked out of the office and started across the lobby towards the exit. He was feeling cold. What a stupid blunder to have made! he thought. Luckily the police officer hadn’t noticed it. The chances were that he wouldn’t think to check if the girl was wearing the necklace or not when she had been on the beach. If he did he would probably have forgotten that Jay had said he had seen her wearing it. But it was dangerous. By admitting having seen the necklace, he was also admitting having seen the girl when she came to the hotel and this he had denied. A stupid mistake like that could lose a man his life!

“Jay!”

Startled, he looked around.

Sophia was crossing the lobby. She had on a pair of white slacks, a red beach coat and her hair was caught back by a white silk scarf. There was a bony, scraped look about her face that Jay hadn’t seen before. For the first time since he had known her, he realized with a sense of shock, that this girl was as hard as a diamond.

“Why, hello, Sophia,” he said uneasily. “Where are you going?”

“Come with me,” she said curtly and continued across the lobby to the revolving doors.

Then he knew something must be badly wrong and again panic edged into his mind. He followed her out into the hot sunshine.

“Where’s father?” he asked as he fell into step beside her.

“Still sleeping,” she said curtly.

She crossed the road and went down into the Plaza beach enclosure.

At that hour — it was now a few minutes after ten — the enclosure was deserted.

She sat down at one of the tables and waved the waiter who had appeared impatiently away.

Jay sat opposite her. He put his clenched fists between his knees and squeezed them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked huskily.

Sophia opened her bag and took out her cigarette case. She lit a cigarette while she stared at Jay, her dark eyes glittering.

“You might well ask that!” There was a cold fury in her voice that made him flinch. “You contemptible, degenerate fool! You might well ask what’s wrong!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Jay said, feeling blood mount to his face. “What has happened?”

“A woman telephoned,” Sophia said, keeping her voice down with an effort. “She said she wanted to see me and she’s given me the address of some little hotel in Rue Foch. She knows you did it!”

Jay sat very still.

“What do you mean?” he managed to say. “Who is she? How could she know?”

“She said her name was Brossette and she was the owner of the Beau Rivage hotel. She said I would be interested to see some photographs connected with the affair that happened yesterday afternoon in the Plaza hotel. She said she expected me to come to her place within an hour and she hung up.”

“Photographs? What photographs? What are they of?” Jay said, trying to control the panic that seized him.

“That’s all she said and keep your voice down! Could anyone have photographed you as you took the girl to the elevator?”

“Of course not! Not in that light! They would have had to use a flashlight... ” Then he broke off, remembering what Devereaux had said.

You didn’t notice a man hanging about in the corridor: a man with a camera? He was seen by the hotel detective knocking on the door of your suite. He is a press photographer. His name is Joe Kerr.

Jay recalled the shabby, down-at-heel man with his drink-ruined face: a man capable of anything. He remembered the Rolliflex camera that had hung from a strap around his neck.

“I think I know... ” He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and hands. “There was a press photographer seen up there. The police told me.”

“The police?” Sophia stiffened. “Have you been talking to the police?”

“They found out that I had spoken to the girl on the beach. They wanted to know if I could help them,” Jay said. “The Inspector mentioned this man. His name is Joe Kerr. The police are looking for him now.”

Sophia’s hands gripped her handbag until her knuckles turned white.

“You should have persevered with your Russian roulette game, Jay,” she said, her voice seething with anger. “If you had blown your horrible, insane brains out, I wouldn’t be in this position now. How are you enjoying the excitement? You planned to put your life in danger, didn’t you? Well, it certainly is in danger now. You don’t appear to be wildly excited about the prospect. In fact you look like a badly frightened rabbit!”

Jay made an angry gesture.

“You must talk to her. The photographs may be harmless.”

“Do you think so?” She got to her feet. “We’ll soon see. You realize your father will have to know now?”

“That may not be necessary,” Jay said, shifting uneasily. “Find out first what these photographs are and how much she wants for them. Then we can see what to do.”

“It doesn’t bother you, Jay, that you have drawn me into this ghastly thing?” Sophia asked, leaning forward and staring at him.

Jay shrugged his shoulders.

“I didn’t draw you into it, Sophia. You were thinking of yourself. You could have called the police. You preferred taking a risk than facing the publicity. You said so. You had the choice so don’t try to make out I’ve drawn you into anything.”

Sophia made a resigned movement with her hands.

“Yes, I should have told the police.” She got to her feet. “I don’t know how long this will take. You’d better go back to the hotel and tell your father I’ve gone for a swim. He’ll be wondering where I am.”

“All right,” Jay said. “I’ll wait for you in the suite.”

He watched her leave the enclosure, cross to where her Cadillac convertible stood and drive away.

He sat for some minutes, thinking.

He had got over his first feeling of fear and now he began to look for a way out. Before he could solve that problem, he had to know how dangerous the photographs were. They must be pretty dangerous, otherwise this woman wouldn’t have dared to get into touch with Sophia. Obviously, he would have to try to get hold of the photographs and the negatives, then he would have to think of a way to make sure the woman didn’t bother him again.

Where was Kerr? He also had to be taken care of. The chances were he was at this hotel and the woman was acting as his mouth-piece.

The police were hunting for Kerr. It was possible they suspected that he had killed the girl.

Jay suddenly smiled.

Perhaps here was the way out. If he could strengthen this suspicion in some way, if he could convince the police that Kerr was the man they were looking for...

This needed thought.

He got to his feet and walked back to the hotel. By now it was after half-past ten and the activity of the day had begun...

Press photographers had taken up their positions, waiting for someone worthwhile to photograph. Starlets were beginning to show themselves off in their brief beach shorts and halters, moving about the lobby on the off-chance that some producer or casting director would spot them. The hall-porter’s desk was surrounded by people collecting letters, newspapers and asking for information.

Jay paused just inside.the entrance and looked quickly around. There was no sign of any detective. He saw his father come out of the elevator with Harry Stone and he went over to him.

“Sophia’s gone for a swim,” he said, after his father had greeted him. “She’ll be back in an hour.”

Delaney nodded.

“I’m going over to Nice. I’ll be at the Studios. If she wants to come, tell her I’ll be free about midday.” He started to move away, then paused. “What are you doing?”

“I said I’d keep her company. I’m just going up for my swim-suit.”

Delaney frowned, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, okay. See you,” and beckoning to Harry Stone, he went out of the hotel with Stone hurrying after him.

Jay walked up the stairs to the second floor. He paused at the head of the stairs and looked along the deserted corridor, then, moving slowly, he walked towards his suite, paused for a moment outside the door, then continued on down the corridor. He had only taken fifty or so paces when he came upon the concealed alcove and he stopped. He realized then that the alcove he had thought was an entrance to another corridor was a bay window and it offered a convenient hiding place. He guessed this was where Joe Kerr had hidden himself.

His face set in concentrated thought, Jay walked back slowly to the door of suite 27, turned the handle and entered.

He moved over to a lounging chair and sat down.

For an hour he remained motionless, his mind active. He was still sitting there when he heard the door handle turn and he looked up to see Sophia come in.

She shut the door and leaned against it.

Jay saw that she looked pale under her tan and her eyes were very hard.

“Where’s your father?” she asked, keeping her voice down.

“He’s gone to Nice. There’s no one here.” Jay got to his feet. “Well?”

She moved away from the door, opened her handbag and took out a soiled envelope. She handed it to Jay and then walked across the room to the window, turning her back on him.

Jay’s hands were unsteady as he took the three photographs from the envelope.

He studied them for some moments, then laid them on the table.

He had been expecting something much worse than this. Looking at the photographs, he thought they didn’t appear to be anything like as dangerous as he had feared.

Of course the clock told the story, but that wasn’t proof that he had murdered the girl. It was unfortunate that he had had the interview with the Inspector before he had seen these pictures. He would have told the Inspector a different story had he known there was a photograph showing the arrival of the girl at his father’s suite. Now, he was saddled with a lie and if the Inspector obtained further evidence against him, the lie might prove fatal.

On the other hand, he could still withdraw his statement about not seeing the girl after she had left the beach. He could tell the Inspector the same story that he had told Sophia — that the girl invited herself to the suite, that he had been weak enough to agree and then, at the psychological moment, Sophia had walked in. When she had gone, he had got rid of the girl and that was the last he had seen of her. He would hint that Kerr, hanging about outside, in a drunken frenzy, had dragged the girl into an empty room and had strangled her. But before his story made sense, he would have to strengthen the evidence against Kerr.

Turning, Sophia said, “Well?”

“These aren’t so alarming, are they?” Jay said. “Of course the clock establishes that you and the girl and I were together in the suite around the time she was killed. But I should have thought it made things a little safer. No one would imagine that you would assist in a murder, surely?”

Sophia made an impatient movement with her hands.

“That’s interesting,” she said and moved over to a chair and sat down. “I think I would like a drink, Jay. Would you make me a very large martini?”

As Jay crossed over to the cocktail cabinet, he asked, “Who is this woman?”

Sophia rested her head against the chair back and closed her eyes.

The shabby, sordid little hotel made a vivid picture in her mind. It was the kind of hotel she used to take men to when she had been walking the streets in Rome.

Her suspicions had been confirmed when she entered the tiny, evil-smelling lobby and saw the enormously fat woman with rust-coloured hair sitting behind the reception desk: a woman Sophia recognized as a brothel-keeper.

“Madame Delaney?” the woman had said and her thick, glistening red lips had parted to show white teeth. Her eyes had moved over Sophia’s face, probing and curious and her smile had widened. “I thought it would be more convenient for you to come here than for me to come to the Plaza. What a magnificent hotel! How fortunate you are to be able to stay there!” Her great fat evil face seemed to hover before Sophia’s eyes. “You like it there, chйrie?”

“You have something to show me?” Sophia said, her voice flat and cold.

“Yes, I have something to show you.” Madame Brossette got to her feet and she walked with heavy, creaking steps to a door which she opened. “Come with me. In here, we won’t be disturbed.”

Sophia followed her into a small, dingy office. She could smell the rancid smell of stale perspiration on the woman now she was close and she could even feel the heat that came from her great body. Sophia had reacted to this situation as very few women would have done. Her experience in the past stood her now in good stead. She had dealt with women like Madame Brossette in her past and she wasn’t sickened, as most women would have been.

She sat down and watched Madame Brossette heave her body around the small desk, open a drawer and take out three photographs. These she laid in front of Sophia, then she sat down, showing her white teeth in a grin of triumph.

Aware that her heart was beating quickly, Sophia examined the photographs. Her shrewd, quick mind saw that the clock in each photograph was the story-teller.

Her face was expressionless as she looked at Madame Brossette.

“You want to sell these?”

“Yes. The man who took them was curious that the girl didn’t leave your apartment,” Madame Brossette said. “Anything odd interests him. He sat outside the door of your apartment until half-past three in the morning. Then he saw this young man carry the girl to the elevator. She was dead. With these pictures and his evidence, both of you could go for trial. Yes, I would be willing to sell them, providing the price is fair.”

“How much?” Sophia asked as she arranged a loose strand of hair that had escaped from the ribbon around her head.

Madame Brossette regarded her with unconcealed admiration.

“You will appreciate that if my friend doesn’t tell the police what he knows, he will become an accessory to murder?”

Sophia deliberately took out her cigarette case, selected a cigarette and then lit it. Her movements were unhurried, so that Madame Brossette could observe how steady her hands were.

“How much?” she asked, blowing a cloud of smoke into Madame Brossette’s face.

“Shall we say ten million francs now as an immediate payment?”

“And after?”

Madame Brossette lifted her dyed eyebrows.

“For an immediate payment of ten million francs you would have my word of honour that the police wouldn’t be shown the photographs. Later, my friend might need a little more money, but I assure you he isn’t interested in great wealth. He is a man of very simple tastes.”

“How much for the negatives?” Sophia asked.

Madame Brossette shook her rust-coloured hair.

“The negatives are not for sale. I’m sorry, but my friend is anxious to have a sense of security. One never knows: money can be useful from time to time.”

Sophia leaned forward and tapped the ash off her cigarette into the glass bowl on Madame Brossette’s desk.

“I haven’t ten million francs,” she said.

Madame Brossette lifted her fat, massive shoulders.

“That I can understand. You have a very rich husband, but he doesn’t give you much money. The diamond necklace you wore at the opening night of the Festival would do very well. Your husband wouldn’t miss it and I could make use of it. Suppose we agree that the first payment should be the necklace?”

Sophia drew in a lungful of smoke and let the smoke drift down her small, beautifully shaped nostrils.

“That might be arranged.”

Madame Brossette’s smile widened.

“You are not without experience, ma cherie,” she said. “In the past, you have had a hard life. Girls in trouble come to me from time to time. I deal lightly with them because I am sorry for them. I too have been in trouble. I’m willing to wait until to-morrow, but after to-morrow the photographs will go to the police. From now until nine o’clock to-morrow morning I will wait. After then, I must go to the police. Is that understood?”

Sophia got to her feet. She placed her small, beautiful hands on the desk and leaned forward so that her glittering eyes stared fixedly into the small, greedy eyes that looked up into hers.

“Don’t confuse me with the other women you have had to deal with,” she said softly and the viciousness in her voice would have shocked her husband could he have heard it. “Don’t make the mistake that you can dictate to me, you fat old cow! Don’t imagine that, if I get the chance, I won’t make you pay for this!”

Madame Brossette smiled. She had been often threatened in the past, threats had become meaningless.

“I appreciate how you feel,” she said. “I’d feel the same way. Bring the necklace before nine to-morrow morning.” Her white teeth glistened in the sunlight. “After the luxury you have found, you would not like to spend years in prison.” She pushed the photographs across the desk. “Take them and show them to the boy. I have plenty more.”

Sophia picked up the photographs, put them into the soiled envelope and the envelope into her bag. She stared for a long moment at the fat, evil face, then she walked out of the room, through the tiny lobby and into the sunshine.

Without looking at Jay she recounted the story of her meeting with Madame Brossette.

Jay sat opposite her, his hands folded in his lap, his face set and pale.

When she had finished, she said quietly: “Well? This is only the beginning. If I give her the necklace, she will ask for something else. What are you going to do, Jay?”

“We have until nine o’clock to-morrow morning,” Jay said. “I don’t think you will have to give her the necklace.” His pale lips curved into a meaningless smile. “Between now and nine o’clock to-morrow morning I will have arranged something.”

“What?”

Sophia’s voice was suddenly sharp.

“Something. Try not to think about this, Sophia. Don’t worry about it. Thank you for seeing this woman. It was kind of you.”

He made a move to the door.

“Jay!”

He paused, looking at her.

“Wait a moment,” Sophia said. “I must know what you are planning to do.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t think so, Sophia. It is best that no one knows that except myself.”

He opened the door and went out, closing the door behind him.

Sophia sat motionless, her heart beating fast, a sudden sick feeling of fear gripping her.