Epitaph for a Spy

11

I went about the business of concocting the evidence with bitter thoroughness.

I got out my suitcase and locked it. Then I looked round for something with which to force the latches open. I made the first attempt with a pair of nail scissors. The locks were flimsy enough, but it was difficult to get any leverage on the scissors. After five minutes’ unsuccessful labor, I snapped one of the blades. I wasted several more minutes searching idly for a stronger tool. In desperation I took the key from the bedroom door and used the flat steel loop on it as a jimmy. The locks eventually yielded to this treatment, but I bent the key and had to spend more time straightening it. Then I opened the lid, stirred up the contents and, contorting my features into an expression of outraged innocence, hurried downstairs to find Koche.

He was not in his office. By the time I had traced him to the beach where he was lounging about in a bathing suit, my outraged innocence had relaxed into a sort of cringing anxiety. The Skeltons, the French couple, and Monsieur Duclos were down there with him. I played with the idea of awaiting a more opportune moment; but rejected it. I must remember that a robbery had been committed. Objects of value had been stolen from my room. I must behave as any normal person would behave under such circumstances; I must report to the manager even if he was clad only in a pair of bathing trunks. A sleek, black-coated manager would have been more appropriate to the occasion, but I must do the best I could with Koche.

I ran down the steps to the beach and started across the sand towards him. At this point, however, there was a disconcerting interruption. Skelton, hearing my footsteps on the stairs, had looked round the edge of his sunshade and seen me.

“Hey!” he called over. “Haven’t seen you all morning. Are you coming in the water before lunch?”

I hesitated; then, realizing that there was nothing else for it, I went over. Mary Skelton, who was lying face downwards on the sand, turned her head and cocked an eye at me.

“We thought you’d deserted us, Mr. Vadassy. You’ve no right to trifle with the kiddies’ affections like that. Get into your bathing suit and come and give us the dirt on the affair Clandon-Hartley. We saw you talking to him through the writing-room window after breakfast.”

“No finesse!” complained her brother. “I was going to introduce the subject gradually. What about it, Mr. Vadassy?”

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said hurriedly, “I must have a word with Koche. See you later.”

“That’s a deal!” he called over to me.

Koche was talking to Roux and Duclos. Evidently the quarrel of the previous night had been forgotten. I interrupted him in the middle of a disquisition on the virtues of Grenoble. I was tight-lipped and grave.

“Excuse me, Monsieur, but I should like to speak with you privately. It is rather urgent.”

He raised his eyebrows and excused himself to the others. We moved a little away.

“What can I do for you, Monsieur?”

“I regret to disturb you, but I am afraid I must ask you to step up to my room. While I was in the village just now, my suitcase has been broken open and several valuable objects stolen from it.”

The eyebrows went up again. He whistled softly between his teeth and glanced at me quickly. Then with a muttered “excuse me” he walked across the sand, picked up his bathing wrap and sandals, put them on, and rejoined me.

“I will come with you immediately.”

Under the curious eyes of the others we left the beach.

On the way up to my room he asked me what was missing. I gave him Beghin’s grotesque selection and added the tidbit about the films. He nodded and was silent. I began to feel apprehensive. True, there was no possible way of his discovering the whole business was a put-up job; yet, now that I had started the thing moving, I was uneasy. For all his lazy, indolent manner, Koche was no fool and I could not quite forget the fact that it was not impossible for Koche himself to have taken the films and also stunned me in the garden the night before. In that case he would know that I was lying. The consequences might be distinctly unpleasant for me. I cursed Beghin with renewed fervor.

Koche inspected my work on the suitcase locks with gloomy interest. Then he straightened his back and his eyes met mine.

“You say that you left your room at about nine o’clock?”

“Yes.”

“Was the suitcase all right, then?”

“Yes. The last thing I did before I went down was to lock the case and push it under the bed.”

He looked at his watch. “It is now eleven twenty. How long ago did you return?”

“About fifteen minutes ago. But I did not go to the suitcase straight away. As soon as I saw what had happened, I came straight to you. It is disgraceful,” I added lamely.

He nodded and eyed me speculatively. “Do you mind coming down to my office, Monsieur? I should like a detailed description of the missing objects.”

“Certainly. But I must warn you, Monsieur,” I mumbled, “that I shall hold you responsible and that I shall expect the immediate return of the valuables and the punishment of the thief.”

“Naturally,” he said politely. “I have no doubt that I shall be able to return your property to you within a very short time. There is no cause for you to worry.”

Feeling rather like an amateur actor who has forgotten his lines, I followed Koche down to his office. He closed the door carefully, drew up a chair for me and picked up a pen.

“Now, Monsieur. The cigarette-case first, if you please. It is, I think you said, a gold one.”

I looked at him quickly. He was writing something on the paper. I panicked. Had I said that it was a gold one when we were coming up from the beach? For the life of me I could not remember. Or was he trying to trap me? But I had an inspiration.

“No, a silver case, gold lined. It has,” I said, warming to my work, “my initials, ‘J. V.’, engraved in one corner and is machined on the outside. It holds ten cigarettes and the elastic is missing.”

“Thank you, and the chain?”

I remembered a second-hand chain I had seen displayed in a jeweler’s window near the Gare Montparnasse.

“Eighteen-carat gold, thick, old-fashioned links, heavy. It has a small gold medallion on it commemorating the Brussels Exhibition of 1901.”

He wrote it all down carefully.

“And now the pin, Monsieur.”

This was not so easy. “Just a pin, Monsieur. A tie-pin about six centimeters long with a small diamond about three millimeters in diameter in the head.” I gave way to a weak impulse. “The diamond,” I said, with a self-conscious laugh, “is paste.”

“But the pin itself is gold?”

“Rolled gold.”

“And the box in which these objects were left?”

“A tin box. A cigarette box. A German cigarette box. I cannot remember the brand. There was also in it two rolls of film, Contax film. They had been exposed.”

“You have a Contax camera?”

“Yes.”

He looked at me again. “I assume that you made sure that the camera was safe, Monsieur. A thief would get a good price for a camera.”

My heart missed about two beats. I had blundered badly.

“The camera?” I said stupidly. “I did not look. I left it in the drawer.”

He stood up. “Then I suggest, Monsieur, that we go and look immediately.”

“Yes, of course.” I was, I felt, very red in the face.

We went upstairs again and along to my room. I prepared myself carefully for the emission of the suitable cries of dismay and anger that would be necessary.

I rushed anxiously to the chest of drawers, pulled open the top drawer and rummaged feverishly inside it. Then I turned round slowly and dramatically.

“Gone!” I said grimly. “This is too much. That camera is worth nearly five thousand francs. The thief must be found without delay. I demand, Monsieur, that something is done immediately.”

To my surprise and confusion a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Something will certainly be done, Monsieur,” he said calmly, “but in the case of the camera, nothing will be necessary. Look!”

I followed the direction of his nod. There, on the chair beside the bed, was a Contax camera complete with case.

“I must,” I said stupidly, as we went downstairs again, “have forgotten that I had left it on the chair.”

He nodded. “Or the thief removed it from the drawer and then forgot to take it after all.” I thought it was my guilty conscience that detected a faint note of irony in his voice.

“Anyway,” I said, with unaffected gaiety, “I have the camera.”

“We must hope,” he said gravely, “that the other things will reappear as quickly.”

I agreed as enthusiastically as I could. We returned to the office.

“What,” he asked, “is the value of the cigarette-case and the watch-chain?”

I thought carefully. “It is hard to say. About eight hundred francs for the case and about five hundred for the chain, I should think. Both were presents. The pin, though intrinsically worthless, possesses great sentimental value for me. As for the films: well, I should be sorry to lose them, naturally, but-” I shrugged.

“I understand. They were insured, the case and the chain?”

“No.”

He put down his pen. “You will appreciate, Monsieur, that in these affairs suspicion is bound to fall on the servants. I shall question them first. I should prefer to do it alone. I hope you will not think it necessary to call in the police at this stage and will trust me to handle the matter discreetly.”

“Of course.”

“Also, Monsieur, I would personally appreciate it if you would say nothing of this unfortunate affair to the other guests.”

“Naturally not.”

“Thank you. You will realize that considerable damage is done to the reputation of a small hotel such as this by such unpleasant affairs. I will report to you the moment I have completed my inquiries.”

I went, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Koche had asked that the other guests should not be told; and for my part I would have been only too pleased to comply with the request. The less said about the business the better I should have been pleased. But Beghin had insisted on the news being broadcast to the other guests; he had been quite clear on the point. I must make a fuss. And there were the wretched servants to be considered. It was altogether a most unhappy situation; and, as far as I could see, utterly pointless as well: unless there was something going on about which I knew nothing. What cigarette-cases and watch-chains had to do with spies was beyond my comprehension. Did Beghin propose to use the alleged robbery as a pretext on which to arrest the spy? Absurd! Where was the evidence to come from? My two rolls of film were, no doubt, developed and thrown away by now; and the cigarette-case and watch-chain did not exist. There was only one sensible way of tackling the problems. Identify the spy first, then catch him with my camera in his possession. My camera!

I took the last few stairs at a run and dashed for my room. It did not take me more than a few seconds to confirm my fears. This was my camera. The incriminating evidence had been politely returned.

I changed into my swimming trunks miserably. I could, of course, lie to Beghin. I could say that the cameras had been re-exchanged without my knowledge. I could plead ignorance. I could suggest that it had been done when my room had been searched. After all, I couldn’t be expected to examine the number on the camera at hourly intervals throughout the day. If I was careful there was no reason why Beghin should know that for about eighteen hours I had had neither of the cameras. That was unless he caught the spy. Then the fat would be in the fire. Beghin might even have to release the man again. Not that there was the remotest chance of catching him with stories of forced suitcases and stolen watch-chains. Still, that was Beghin’s affair. I was only a pawn in the game, a fly caught in the cog-wheels. A sickly, sticky stream of self-pity welled up into my mind. I stood in my shirt and looked at myself in the mirror. Poor fool! What skinny legs! I finished changing. As I went down the stairs I saw Schimler follow Koche into the office and shut the door. Schimler! I experienced an empty feeling inside my chest. That was another thing. Today I was to search Schimler’s room.

The Vogels had now joined the French couple on the beach. The Americans were in the water. I went over to Monsieur Duclos, drew a deck-chair alongside his and sat down. For a minute or two we exchanged commonplaces. Then I began work.

“You, Monsieur, are a man of the world. I should be grateful for your advice in a delicate matter.”

A look of pure pleasure suffused his face. He stroked his beard gravely. “My experience, such as it is, is at your disposal, Monsieur.” He rolled his eyes archly. “It is, perhaps, concerning the American miss that you wish my advice?”

“I beg your pardon.”

He chuckled roguishly. “You need not be embarrassed, my friend. If I may say so, your glances in her direction have been remarked by all. But the brother and sister are inseparable, eh? Believe me, Monsieur, I have some judgment in these affairs.” He lowered his voice and brought his head nearer mine. “I have noticed that the miss also looks at you.” He dropped his voice still further and sprayed the next sentence right into my ear. “She is especially interested when you are dressed as you are now.” He giggled into his beard.

I stared at him coldly. “What I had to say was nothing to do with Miss Skelton.”

“No?” He looked disappointed.

“I am more concerned at the moment with the fact that several objects of value have been stolen from my room.”

His pince-nez quivered so much that they fell off. He caught them neatly and replaced them on his nose.

“A robbery?”

“Precisely. While I was in the village this morning my locked suitcase was forced open and a cigarette-case, a gold watch-chain, a diamond pin, and two rolls of film were stolen. The value of the property is over two thousand francs.”

“Formidable!”

“I am desolated by the loss. The pin was of great sentimental value.”

“C’est affreux!”

“Indeed it is! I have complained to Koche, and he is questioning the servants. But-and this, Monsieur, is the matter in which I should welcome your guidance-I am not satisfied with the way in which Monsieur Koche is conducting the affair. He does not seem to realize the gravity of the loss. Should I be justified in putting the matter before the police?”

“The police?” Monsieur Duclos wriggled with excitement. “Why, yes! It is without a doubt an affair for the police. I will, if you wish, come with you now myself to the Poste.”

“And yet,” I said hurriedly, “Koche was of the opinion that the police would be well left out of the affair. He is to question the servants. Perhaps it would be better to wait and hear the result of this questioning.”

“Ah, yes. Perhaps that would be better.” He was clearly reluctant to abandon the police so soon. “But…”

“Thank you, Monsieur,” I put in smoothly; “I am grateful for your advice. It has confirmed my own inclinations in the matter.” I saw his eyes straying towards the Vogels and the French people. “Naturally, you will appreciate that I speak in confidence. We must be discreet at this stage.”

He nodded portentously. “Naturally, Monsieur. Please consider my experience as a businessman at your disposal. You may trust me.” He paused, then tweaked the sleeve of my wrap. “Have you any suspicions?”

“None. Suspicions are dangerous things.”

“That is so, but-” He dropped his voice and began to spray into my ear again: “Have you considered this English major? A violent man, that! And what does he do for a living? Nothing. He has been there three months. I will tell you something more. This morning after breakfast he came to me on the lower terrace and requested a loan of two thousand francs. He needs money badly, that one. He offered five per cent interest per month.”

“You refused?”

“Naturally. I was very angry. He said that he required the money to go to Algiers. Why should I pay for him to go to Algiers? Let him work like other men. There was also something about his wife, but I could not understand. His French is incomprehensible. He is certainly a little mad.”

“And you think he stole from my room?”

Monsieur Duclos smiled knowingly and held up a protesting hand. “Ah, no, Monsieur, I do not say that. I merely suggest.” He had the air of negotiating a very tricky legal subtlety. “I point out merely that this man has no occupation, that he needs money, that he is desperate. No man who was not desperate would offer five per cent per month. He said something to me of expecting money that had failed to arrive. I do not accuse this Major. I merely suggest to you.”

I saw that the Americans had come out of the water. I stood up.

“Thank you, Monsieur. I will bear the suggestion in mind. Meanwhile, of course, we must be discreet. Perhaps we could discuss the matter further later in the day.”

“When,” he agreed, “we have heard the results of the preliminary interrogations.”

“Precisely.” I bowed.

By the time I had got across the beach to the Skeltons he was deep in conversation with the French couple and the Vogels. I did not have to guess at the subject of the conversation. Monsieur Duclos could be relied upon to carry out Beghin’s instructions to the letter.

In defiance of the printed notice in the bedrooms, Skelton was drying himself on one of the hotel towels.

“Ah!” was his greeting. “The man with the news!”

His sister made room for me under the sunshade. “Come and sit down, Mr. Vadassy. No more snooping off with Monsieur Koche. We want the truth-all of it.”

I sat down. “I’m sorry I had to run off like that, but something rather nasty has happened.”

“What, again?”

“I’m afraid so. This morning, while I was down in the village, my suitcase was broken open and several things taken from it.”

Skelton sat down beside me as though his legs had given way. “Phew! That is nasty. Anything valuable?”

I repeated the list.

“When did you say it happened?” It was the girl who spoke.

“While I was down in the village. Between about nine and ten thirty.”

“But it was about nine thirty when we saw you talking to the Major.”

“Yes, but I left my room at nine.”

Skelton leaned forward confidentially. “Say, you don’t suppose the Major was engaging you in conversation while his wife did the job, do you?”

“Shut up, Warren. This is serious. It was probably one of the servants.”

Skelton snorted impatiently. “Why should it be? It makes me tired. Whenever anything’s stolen everybody always looks around for a servant or messenger-boy or somebody else who can’t hit back to blame it on. If we’re going to be serious, what was Papa Switzer doing gumshoeing about the corridor this morning?”

“That wasn’t on Mr. Vadassy’s side of the house. What’s the number of your room, Mr. Vadassy?”

“Six.”

She began to rub oil into her arms. “There you are! It was the other side of the house, the room next but one to mine. That friend of Monsieur Koche’s has it.”

I grasped a handful of sand and let it trickle through my fingers. “What number is that?” I said idly.

“Fourteen, I think. But the Switzer wasn’t gumshoeing. He’d dropped a five-franc piece in the corridor.”

“What does Koche say about it, Mr. Vadassy?”

“I’m afraid he suspects the servants.”

“Naturally,” said the girl vigorously. “Warren’s too darn fond of taking up the appropriate attitude. We all know that it ought to be a rich old meany with a touch of kleptomania. The fact of the matter probably is that it’s some poor little underpaid chambermaid with a boy friend in the village she wants to give a cigarette-case to.”

“And a gold watch-chain, and a diamond pin, and a couple of spools of film?” queried her brother sarcastically.

“Maybe it’s a waiter.”

“Or maybe it’s old Duclos or the Major. Incidentally, what about the Major, Mr. Vadassy?”

I decided not to regale them with the Major’s life story. “He merely wanted to offer a general apology for the disturbance down here yesterday. The man from the yacht was his brother-in-law. He had had a quarrel with him over some money matter. The brother-in-law brought the question up again and the Major lost his temper. He explained that his wife was distraught and that she did not really mean that he was mad.”

“Is that all? Why did he tell you about it?”

“I think he was very embarrassed by the whole affair. As I was not here, he picked on me.” I was not going to tell them that Monsieur Duclos had received an abridged apology but the same request for money. “The Major and his wife are, in any case, leaving, and…”

“In other words, Warren,” put in the girl, “we’re to mind our own business and not behave like a couple of nosy kids. Is that right, Mr. Vadassy?”

It was, but I blushed and began to protest. Warren Skelton interrupted me. “I smell drink! Come on. You can’t go swimming now; it’s nearly lunchtime.”

While he had gone to fetch the drinks the girl and I walked up to the tables on the lower terrace.

“You mustn’t take any notice of anything Warren says,” she said, smiling. “This is his first trip abroad.”

“You’ve been before?”

For a moment she did not reply, and I thought she had not heard me. She seemed to hesitate as though she were about to say something important. Then I saw her shrug her shoulders slightly. “Yes, I’ve been before.” As we sat down she smiled at me. “Warren says there’s something mysterious about you.”

“Does he?”

“He says that you look like a man with something to hide. He says, too, that it’s not natural that a man should speak more than one language perfectly. I think he rather hopes you’ll turn out to be a spy or something exciting like that.”

I felt myself reddening again. “A spy?”

“I told you you mustn’t take any notice of what he says.” She smiled again at me. Her eyes, intelligent and amused, met mine across the table. Suddenly I wanted to confide in her, to tell her that I was indeed a man with something to hide, to gain her sympathy, her help. I leaned forward across the table.

“I should like…” I began. But I never told her what I should like, and I have forgotten now what I was going to say, for at that moment her brother reappeared carrying a tray of drinks. It was, no doubt, as well that he did so.

“The waiters were busy on the terrace,” he said, “so I brought them myself.” He raised his glass. “Well, Mr. Vadassy, here’s hoping that the chambermaid’s boy friend doesn’t like your cigarette-case!”

“Or,” the girl added gravely, “the two spools of film. We mustn’t forget them.”