Spinsters in Jeopardy (15 page)

“What Monsieur pleases,” she said, and minced back to the desk.

Alleyn caught Troy up and took her arm in his hand. The commissionaire was several paces ahead. “Either that girl’s given me the tip that Ricky’s here,” Alleyn muttered, “or she’s the smartest job off the skids in the Maritime Alps.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. Just gave the go-ahead signal.”

“Good Lord! Or did it mean Ricky?”

“It’d better mean Ricky,” Alleyn said grimly.

They were in an inner hall, heavily carpeted and furnished with modern wall-tables and chairs. They passed two doors and were led to a third in the end wall. The commissionaire opened it and went in. They heard a murmur of voices. He returned and asked them to enter.

A woman with blue hair and magnificent poise rose from a typewriter. “
Bonjour, Monsieur et Madame,
” she said. “
Entrez, s’il vous plait
.” She opened another door. “
Monsieur et Madame Alleyn,
” she announced.

“Come right in!” invited a voice in hearty American. “C’m on! Come right in.”

v

M. Callard was a fat man with black eyebrows and bluish chops. He was not a particularly evil-looking man: rather one would have said that there was something meretricious about him. His mouth looked as if it had been disciplined by meaningless smiles and his eyes seemed to assume rather than possess an air of concentration. He was handsomely dressed and smelt of expensive cigars. His English was fluent and falsely Americanized with occasional phrases and inflections that made it clear he wasn’t speaking his native tongue.

“Well, well, well,” he said, pulling himself up from his chair and extending his hand. The other held Alleyn’s note. “Very pleased to meet you, Mr. — I just can’t quite get the signature.”

“Alleyn.”

“Mr. Alleyn.”

“This is my wife.”

“Mrs. Alleyn,” said M. Callard, bowing. “Now, let’s sit down, shall we, and get acquainted. What’s all this I hear about Junior?”

Alleyn said: “I wouldn’t have bothered you if we hadn’t by chance heard that our small boy who went missing early this afternoon, had, Heaven knows how, turned up at your works. In your office they didn’t seem to know anything about him and our French doesn’t go very far. It’s a great help that your English is so good. Isn’t it, darling?” he said to Troy.

“Indeed, yes. M. Callard, I can’t tell you how anxious we are. He just disappeared from our hotel. He’s only six and it’s so dreadful—”

To her horror Troy heard her voice tremble. She was silent.

“Now, that’s just too bad,” M. Callard said. “And what makes you think he’s turned up in this part of the world?”

“By an extraordinary chance,” Alleyn said, “the man we’ve engaged to drive us took his car up this road earlier this afternoon and he saw Ricky in another car with a man and woman.. They turned in at the entrance to your works. We don’t pretend to understand all this, but you can imagine how relieved we are to know he’s all right.”

M. Callard sat with a half smile on his mouth, looking at Alleyn’s left ear. “Well,” he said, “I don’t pretend to understand it either. Nobody’s told me anything. But we’ll soon find out.”

He bore down with a pale thumb on his desk bell. The blue-haired secretary came in and he spoke to her in French.

“It appears,” he said, “that Monsieur and Madame have been given information by their chauffeur that their little boy who has disappeared was seen in an auto somewhere on our premises. Please make full enquiries, Mademoiselle, in all departments.”

“At once, Monsieur le Directeur,” said the secretary and went out.

M. Callard offered Troy a cigarette and Alleyn a cigar, both of which were refused. He seemed mysteriously to expand. “Maybe,” he said, “you folks are. not aware there’s a gang of kidnappers at work along this territory. Child-kidnappers.”

Alleyn at once broke into a not too coherent and angry dissertation on child-kidnappers and the inefficiency of the police. M. Callard listened with an air of indulgence. He had taken a cigar and he rolled it continuously between his thumb and fingers, which were flattish and backed with an unusual amount of hair. This movement was curiously disturbing. But he listened with perfect courtesy to Alleyn and every now and then made sympathetic noises. There was, however, a certain quality in his stillness which Alleyn recognized. M. Callard was listening to him with only part of his attention. With far closer concentration he listened for something outside the room: and for this, Alleyn thought, he listened so far in vain.

The secretary came back alone.

She told M. Callard that in no department of the works nor among the gardens outside had anyone seen a small boy. Troy only understood the tenor of this speech. Alleyn, who had perfectly understood the whole of it, asked to have it translated. M. Callard obliged, the secretary withdrew, and the temper of the interview hardened. Alleyn got up and moved to the desk. His hand rested on the top of a sound system apparatus. Troy found herself looking at the row of switches and the loudspeaker and at the good hand above them.

Alleyn said he was not satisfied with the secretary’s report. M. Callard said he was sorry but evidently there had been some mistake. Troy, taking her cue from him, let something of her anxiety and anger escape. M. Callard received her outburst with odious compassion and said it was quite understandable that she was not just 100 per cent reasonable. He rose, but before his thumb could reach the bell-push Alleyn said that he must ask him to listen to the account given by their chauffeur.

“I’m sure that when you hear the man you will understand why we are so insistent,” Alleyn said. And before Callard could do anything to stop him he went out leaving Troy to hold, as it were, the gate open for his return.

Callard made a fat, wholly Latin gesture, and flopped back into his chair. “My dear lady,” he said, “this good man of yours is just a little difficult. Certainly I’ll listen to your chauffeur who is, no doubt, one of the local peasants. I know how they are around here. They say what they figure you want them to say and they don’t worry about facts: it’s not conscious lying, it’s just that they come that way. They’re just naturally obliging. Now, your husband’s French isn’t so hot and my guess is, he’s got this guy a little bit wrong. We’ll soon find out if I’m correct. Pardon me if I make a call. This is a busy time with us and right now I’m snowed under.”

Having done his best to make Troy thoroughly uncomfortable he put through a call on his telephone, speaking such rapid French that she scarcely understood a word of what he said. He had just hung up the receiver when something clicked. This sound was followed by a sense of movement and space beyond the office. M. Callard glanced at the switchboard on his desk and said: “
Ah
?” A disembodied voice spoke in mid-air.

“
Monsieur le Directeur? Le service de transport avise qu’il est incapable d’expédier la marchandise
.”

“
Qu’est ce qu’il se passe
?”

“
Rue barrée
!”

“
Bien. Prenez garde. Remettez la marchandise à sa place.
”

“
Bien. Monsieur,
” said the voice. The box clicked and the outside world was shut off.

“My, oh my,” sighed M. Callard, “the troubles I have!” He opened a ledger on his desk and ran his flattened forefinger down the page.

Troy thought distractedly that perhaps he was right about Raoul and then, catching herself up, remembered that Raoul had in fact never seen the car drive in at the factory gates with Ricky and a man and woman in it, that they were bluffing and that perhaps all Alleyn’s and Dupont’s theories were awry.

Perhaps this inhuman building had never contained her little son. Perhaps it was idle to torture herself by thinking of him: near at hand yet hopelessly withheld.

M. Callard looked at a platinum mounted wristwatch and then at Troy, and sighed again. “He’s trying to shame me out of his office,” she thought and she said boldly: “Please don’t let me interrupt your work.” He glanced at her with a smile from which he seemed to make no effort to exclude the venom.

“My work requires the closest concentration, Madame,” said M. Callard.

“Sickening for you,” said Troy.

Alleyn came back with Raoul at his heels. Through the door Troy caught a glimpse of the blue-haired secretary, half-risen from her desk, expostulation frozen on her face. Raoul shut the door.

“This is Milano, M. Callard,” Alleyn said. “He will tell you what he saw. If I have misunderstood him you will be able to correct me. He doesn’t speak English.”

Raoul stood before the desk and looked about him with the same air of interest and ease that had irritated Dr. Baradi. His gaze fell for a moment on the sound system apparatus and then moved to M. Callard’s face.

“Well, my friend,” said M. Callard in rapid French. “What’s the tarradiddle Monsieur thinks you’ve told him?”

“I think Monsieur understood what I told him,” Raoul said cheerfully and even more rapidly. “I spoke slowly and what I said, with all respect, was no tarradiddle. With Monsieur’s permission I will repeat it. Early this afternoon, I do not know the exact time, I drove my young lady along the road to the factory. I parked my car and we climbed a little way up the hillside opposite the gates. From here we observed a car come up from the main road. In it were a man and a woman and the small son of Madame and Monsieur who is called Riki. This little Monsieur Riki was removed from the car and taken into the factory. That is all, Monsieur le Directeur.”

M. Callard’s eyelids were half-closed. His cigar rolled to and fro between his fingers and thumb.

“So. You see a little boy and a man and a woman. Let me tell you that early this afternoon a friend of my works-superintendent visited the factory with his wife and boy and that undoubtedly it was this boy whom you saw.”

“With respect, what is the make of the car of the friend of Monsieur’s works-superintendent?”

“I do not concern myself with the cars of my employees’ acquaintances.”

“Or with the age and appearance of their children, Monsieur?”

“Precisely.”

“This was a light blue Citroën, 1946, Monsieur, and the boy was Riki, the son of Monsieur and Madame, a young gentleman whom I know well. He was not two hundred yards away and was speaking his bizarre French, the French of an English child. His face was as unmistakable,” said Raoul, looking full into M. Callard’s face, “as Monsieur’s own. It was Riki.”

M. Callard turned to Alleyn: “How much of all that did you get?” he asked.

Alleyn said: “Not a great deal. When he talks to us he talks slowly. But I’m sure—”

“Pardon me,” M. Callard said, and turned smilingly to Raoul.

“My friend,” he said, “You are undoubtedly a conscientious man. But I assure you that you are making a mistake. Mistakes can cost a lot of money. On the other hand, they sometimes yield a profit. As much, for the sake of argument, as five thousand francs. Do you follow me?”

“No, Monsieur.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps—” suggested M. Callard thrusting his unoccupied hand casually into his breast pocket —“when we are alone I may have an opportunity to make my meaning plainer and more acceptable.”

“I regret. I shall still be unable to follow it,” Raoul said.

M. Callard drew a large handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his lips with it. “
Sacré nigaud,
” he said pleasantly and shot a venomous glance at Raoul before turning to Troy and Alleyn.

“My dear good people,” he said expansively, “I’m afraid this boy has kidded you along quite a bit. He admits that he did not get a good look at the child. He was up on the hillside with a dame and his attention was — well, now,” said M. Callard smirking at Troy, “shall we say, kind of semi-detached. It’s what I thought. He’s told you what he figures you’d like to be told and if you ask him again he’ll roll out the same tale all over.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe that,” said Alleyn.

“I’m afraid you don’t have an alternative,” said M. Callard. He turned on Raoul. “
Fichez-moi le camp
,” he said toughly,

“What’s that?” Alleyn demanded.

“I’ve told him to get out.”

“
Vous permettez, Madame, Monsieur
?” Raoul asked and placed himself between the two men with his back to M. Callard.

“What?” Alleyn said. He winked at Raoul. Raoul responded with an ineffable grimace. “What? Oh, all right.
All right. Oui. Allez
.”

With a bow to Troy and another that was rather less respectful than a nod to M. Callard, Raoul went out. Alleyn walked up to the desk and took up his former position.

“I’m not satisfied,” he said.

“That’s too bad.”

“I must ask you to let me search this building.”

“You!” said M. Callard and laughed. “Pardon my mirth but I guess there’d be two of you gone missing if you tried that one. This is quite a building, Mr. — ” he glanced again at Alleyn’s note —“Mr. Alleyn.”

“If it’s as big as all that your secretary’s enquiries were too brief to be effective. I don’t believe any enquiries have been made.”

“
Look
!” M. Callard said, and smacked the top of his desk with a flat palm. “This sound system operates throughout these works. I can speak to every department or all departments together. We don’t have to go round on a hiking trip when we make general enquiries. Now!”

“Thank you,” Alleyn said and his hand darted over the switchboard. There was a click. “
Ricky
!” he shouted, and Troy cried out: “
Ricky
! Are you there?
Ricky
!”

And as if they had conjured it from the outer reaches of space a small voice said excitedly: “They’ve come!
Mummy
!”

A protesting outcry was cut off as M. Callard struck at Alleyn’s hand with a heavy paper knife. At the same moment M. Dupont walked into the room.

i

Troy could scarcely endure the scene that followed and very nearly lost control of herself. She couldn’t understand a word of what was said. Alleyn held her by the arm and kept saying: “In a minute, darling. He’ll be here in a minute. He’s all right. Hold on. He’s all right.”

Dupont and Callard were behaving like Frenchmen in English farces. Callard, especially, kept giving shrugs that began in his middle and surged up to his ears. His synthetic Americanisms fell away and when he threw a sentence in English at Troy or at Alleyn he spoke it like a Frenchman. He shouted to Alleyn: “If I lose my temper it is natural. I apologize. I knew nothing. It was the fault of my staff. There will be extensive dismissals. I am the victim of circumstances. I regret that I struck you.”

He pounded his desk bell and shouted orders into the sound system. Voices from the other places said in mid-air: “
Immédiatement, M. le Directeur
.” “
Tout de suite. Monsieur
.” “
Parfaitement, M. le Directeur
.” The secretary ran in at a high-heeled double and set up a gabble of protest which was cut short by Dupont. She teetered out again and could be heard yelping down her own sound system.

With one part of her mind Troy thought of the door and how it must soon open for Ricky and with another part she thought it was unlucky to anticipate this event and that the door would open for the secretary or a stranger and, so complicated were her thoughts, she also wondered if, when she saw Ricky, he would have a blank look of panic in his eyes, or if he would cry or be casually pleased, or if these speculations too were unlucky and he wouldn’t come at all.

Stifled and terrified, she turned on Dupont and Callard and cried out: “Please speak English. You both can. Where is he? Why doesn’t he come?”

“Madame,” said Dupont gently, “he is here.”

He had come in as she turned away from the door.

The secretary was behind him. She gave his shoulder a little push and he made a fastidious movement away from her and into the room. Troy knew that if she spoke her voice would shake. She held out her hand.

“Hallo, Rick,” Alleyn said. “Sorry we’ve muddled you about.”

“You have, rather,” Ricky said. He saw Dupont and Callard. “How do you do,” he said. He looked at Troy and his lip trembled. He ran savagely into her arms and fastened himself upon her. His fierce hard little body was rammed against hers, his arms gripped her neck and his face burrowed into it. His heart thumped piston-like at her breast.

“We’ll take him out to the car,” Alleyn said.

Troy rose, holding Ricky with his legs locked about her waist. Alleyn steadied her and they went out through the secretary’s room and the lobby and the entrance hall to where Raoul waited in the sunshine.

ii

When they approached the car Ricky released his hold on his mother as abruptly as he had imposed it. She put him down and he walked a little distance from her. He acknowledged Raoul’s greeting with an uncertain nod and stood with his back turned to them, apparently looking at M. Dupont’s car which was occupied by three policemen.

Alleyn murmured: “He’ll get over it all right. Don’t worry.”

“He thinks we’ve let him down. He’s lost his sense of security.”

“We can do something about that. He’s puzzled. Give him a moment and then I’ll try.”

He went over to the police car.

“I suppose,” Ricky said to nobody in particular, “Daddy’s not going away again.”

Troy moved close to him. “No, darling, I don’t think so. Not far anyway. He’s on a job, though, helping the French police.”

“Are those French policemen?”

“Yes. And the man you saw in that place is a French detective.”

“As good as Daddy?”

“I don’t expect quite as good but good all the same. He helped us find you.”

Ricky said: “Why did you let me be got lost?”

“Because,” Troy explained with a dryness in her throat, “Daddy didn’t know about it. As soon as he knew, it was all right, and you weren’t lost any more. We came straight up here and got you.”

The three policemen were out of the car and listening ceremoniously to Alleyn. Ricky watched them. Raoul, standing by his own car, whistled a lively air and rolled a cigarette.

“Let’s go and sit with Raoul, shall we,” Troy suggested, “until Daddy’s ready to come home with us?”

Ricky looked miserably at Raoul and away again. “He might be cross of me,” he muttered.

“
Raoul
cross with you, darling?
No
. Why?”

“Because — because — I—lost — I lost—”

“No, you didn’t!” Troy cried. “We found it. Wait a moment.” She rooted in her bag. “Look.”

She held out the little silver goat. Ricky’s face was transfused with a flush of relief. He took the goat carefully into his square hands. “He’s the nicest thing I’ve ever had,” he said. “He shines in the night.
Il s’illume
. Raoul and the lady said he does.”

“Has he got a name?”

“His name’s Goat,” Ricky said.

He walked over to the car. Raoul opened the door and Ricky got into the front seat casually displaying the goat.

“
C’est ça
,” Raoul said comfortably. He glanced down at Ricky, nodded three times with an air of sagacity, and lit his cigarette. Ricky shoved one hand in the pocket of his shorts and leaned back. “Coming, Mum?” he asked.

Troy got in beside him. Alleyn called Raoul, who swept off his chauffeur’s cap to Troy and excused himself.

“What’s going to happen?” Ricky asked.

“I think Daddy’s got a job for them. He’ll come and tell us in a minute.”

“Could we keep Raoul?”

“While we are here I think we can.”

“I daresay he wouldn’t like to live with us always.”

“Well, his family lives here. I expect he likes being with them.”

“I do think he’s nice, however. Do you?”

“Very,” Troy said warmly. “Look, there he goes with the policemen.”

M. Dupont had appeared in the factory entrance. He made a crisp signal. Raoul and the three policemen walked across and followed him into the factory. Alleyn came to the car and leaned over the door. He pulled Ricky’s forelock and said: “How’s the new policeman?” Ricky blinked at him.

“Why?” he asked.

“I think you’ve helped us to catch up with some bad lots.”

“Why?”

“Well, because they thought we’d be so busy looking for you we wouldn’t have time for them. But, sucks to them, we didn’t lose you and do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you waved from the balcony and dropped your silver goat and that was a clue and because you called out to us and we knew you were there. Pretty good.”

Ricky was silent.

Troy said: “Jolly good, helping Daddy like that.”

Ricky was turned away from her. She could see the charming back of his neck and the curve of his cheek. He hunched his shoulders and tucked in his chin.

“Was the fat, black smelly lady a bad lot?” he asked in a casual tone.

“Not much good,” Alleyn said.

“Where is she?”

“Oh, I shut her up. She’s a silly old thing, really. Better, shut up.”

“Was the other one a bad lot?”

“Which one?”

“The Nanny.”

Alleyn and Troy looked at each other over his head.

“The one who fetched you from the hotel?” Alleyn asked.

“Yes, the new Nanny.”

“Oh,
that
one. Hadn’t she got a red hat or something?”

“She hadn’t got a hat. She’d got a moustache.”

“Really? Was her dress red perhaps?”

“No. Black with kind of whitey blobs.”

“Did you like her?”

“Not extra much. Quite, though. She wasn’t bad. I didn’t think I had to have a Nan over here.”

“Well, you needn’t. She was a mistake. We won’t have her.”

“Anyway, she shouldn’t have left me there with the fat lady, should she, Daddy?”

“No.” Alleyn reached over the door and took the goat. He held it up admiring it. “Nice, isn’t it?” he said. “Did she speak English, that Nanny?”

“Not properly. A bit. The man didn’t.”

“The driver?”

“ ’M.”

“Was he a chauffeur like Raoul?”

“No. He had funny teeth. Sort of black. Funny sort of driver for a person to have. He didn’t have a cap like Raoul or anything. Just a red beret and no coat and he wasn’t very clean either. He’s Mr. Garbel’s driver, only Mr. Garbel’s a
Mademoiselle
and not a Mr.”

“
Is
he? How d’you know?”

“May I have Goat again, please? Because the Nanny said you were waiting for me in Mademoiselle Garbel’s room. Only you weren’t. And because Mademoiselle Garbel rang up. The lady in the goat shop has got other people that light themselves at night too. Saints and shepherds and angels and Jesus. Pretty decent.”

“I’ll have a look next time I’m there. When did Miss Garbel ring up, Rick?”

“When I was in her room. The fat lady told the Nanny. They didn’t know about me understanding which was sucks to them.”

“What did the fat lady say?”

“ ‘
Mademoiselle Garbel a téléphoné
.’ Easy!”

“What did she telephone about, do you know?”

“Me. She said they were to take me away and they told me you would be up here. Only—”

Ricky stopped short and looked wooden. He had turned rather white.

“Only—?” Alleyn said and then after a moment: “Never mind. I think I know. They went away to talk on the telphone and you went out on the balcony. And you saw Mummy and me waving on our balcony and you didn’t know quite what was up with everybody. Was it like that?”

“A bit.”

“Muddly?”

“A bit,” Ricky said tremulously.

“I know. We were muddled too. Then that fat old thing came out and took you away, didn’t she?”

Ricky leaned back against his mother. Troy slipped her arm round him and her hand protected his two hands and the silver goat. He looked at his father and his lip trembled.

“It was beastly,” he said. “She was beastly.” And then in a most desolate voice: “They took me away. I was all by myself for ages in there. They said you’d be up here and you weren’t. You weren’t here at all.” And he burst into a passion of sobs, his tear-drenched face turned in bewilderment to Alleyn. His precocity fell away from him: he was a child who had not long ago been a baby.

“It’s all right, old boy,” Alleyn said, “it was only a sort of have. They’re silly bad lots and we’re going to stop their nonsense. We wouldn’t have been able to if you hadn’t helped.”

Troy said: “Daddy
did
come, darling. He’ll always come. We both will.”

“Well, anyway,” Ricky sobbed, “another time you’d jolly well better be a bit quicker.”

A whistle at the back of the factory gave three short shrieks. Ricky shuddered, covered his ears and flung himself at Troy.

“I’ll have to go in,” Alleyn said. He closed his hand on Ricky’s shoulder and held it for a moment. “You’re safe. Rick,” he said, “you’re safe as houses.”

“O.K.,” Ricky said in a stifled voice. He slewed his head around and looked at his father out of the corner of his eyes.

“Do you think in a minute or two you could help us again? Do you think you could come in with me to the hall in there and tell me if you can see that old Nanny and Mr. Garbel’s driver?”

“Oh,
no,
Rory,” Troy murmured. “Not now!”

“Well, of course, Rick needn’t if he’d hate it, but it’d be helping the police quite a lot.”

Ricky had stopped crying. A dry sob shook him but he said: “Would you be there? And Mummy?”

“We’ll be there.”

Alleyn reached over, picked up Troy’s gloves from the floor of the car and put them in his pocket.

“Hi!” Troy said. “What’s that for?”

“’To be worn in my beaver and borne in the van,’” he quoted, “or something like that. If Raoul or Dupont or I come out and wave will you and Ricky come in? There’ll be a lot of people there, Rick, and I just want you to look at ’em and tell me if you can see that Nanny and the driver. O.K.?”

“O.K.,” Ricky said in a small voice.

“Good for you, old boy.”

He saw the anxious tenderness in Troy’s eyes and added: “Be kind enough, both of you, to look upon me as a tower of dubious strength.”

Troy managed to grin at him. “We have every confidence,” she said, “in our wonderful police.”

“Like hell!” Alleyn said and went back to the factory.

iii

He found a sort of comic-opera scene in full swing in the central hall. Employees of all conditions were swarming down the curved stairs and through the doors: men in working overalls, in the white coat of the laboratory, in the black jacket of bureaucracy; women equally varied in attire and age: all of them looking in veiled annoyance at their watches. A loudspeaker bellowed continually:

“ ’
Allo, ’allo, Messieurs et Dames, faites attention, s’il vous plaît. Tous les employés, ayez la bonté de vous rendre immédiatement au grand vestibule. ’Allo, ’allo
.”

M. Dupont stood in a commanding position on the base of the statue and M. Callard, looking sulky, stood at a little distance below him. A few paces distant, Raoul, composed and god-like in his simplicity, surveyed the milling chorus. The gendarmes were nowhere to be seen.

Alleyn made his way to Dupont, who was obviously in high fettle and, as actors say, well inside the skin of his part. He addressed Alleyn in English with exactly the right mixture of deference and veiled irritability. Callard listened moodily.

“Ah, Monsieur! You see we make great efforts to clear up this little affair. The entire staff is summoned by Monsieur le Directeur. We question everybody. This fellow of yours is invited to examine the persons. You are invited to bring the little boy, also to examine. Monsieur le Directeur is most anxious to assist. He is immeasurably distressed, is it not. Monsieur le directeur?”

“That’s right,” said M. Callard without enthusiasm.

Alleyn said with a show of huffiness that he was glad to hear that they recognized their responsibilities. M. Dupont bent down as if to soothe him and he murmured: “Keep going as long as you can. Spin it out.”