15

Though I moved quickly, the walk back to Anna’s shop seemed interminable. Dusk had settled over the town completely by now, making the unfamiliar section of town even more so. Once again the door was locked, and I quietly slipped the lock and stepped inside. This time I let the alarm sound, though of course I couldn’t hear it.

Lupa was behind his desk again. He was, as usual, dressed in brown and yellow. It was as though he hadn’t moved since the last time I had seen him, except now that he expected me, he was looking at the entrance to the tunnel as I entered his office.

“Getting pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I said. “Suppose that hadn’t been me?”

He smiled. “Then I should have had to shoot you.” So saying, he lifted his hand above the level of the desk. It held his pistol. “Thank you, though, for the warning. I appreciate it.”

With what seemed a great effort, he pushed back the chair and, standing, reached out his hand. It was, I realized, our first handshake. “Where have you been? I was beginning to get worried.”

“I wanted some time for myself,” I said, “and I ran into most of our suspects.”

“Indeed?”

“Paul and Georges. We had a fine time. They’ll both be coming tomorrow night. But I have news.”

He was sitting again. “So have I. Will you have a beer?”

He reached up to his left and pulled a cord which had been newly strung along the ceiling. Two quick pulls. I looked at him questioningly.

“For Fritz,” he explained. “We’ve worked out a code so that I don’t starve or die of thirst. Two pulls for beer. If anyone else is about, he unlatches the bell.”

As he finished speaking, the door opened and Fritz entered with a tray. Seeing me, he smiled. “Hello, sir. Good to see you.”

Lupa spoke. “Fritz, Monsieur Giraud would also like some beer, and he’ll be dining with us. You will, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

When Fritz had brought the other beer and gone, Lupa poured for both of us, waited for the foam to settle in his glass, took a large gulp, then looked at me. “Well?”

“There’s no smoke rising over St. Etienne.”

He sat immobile, his face showing nothing. With his left hand, he drummed his fingertips on the desktop. He sighed deeply.

“So. In that case, we can do nothing about it. Watkins should be here before long with a report. Did you check the table?”

“No. I forgot.”

He drank. “Hmm… well, I have news.”

“So you said.”

“I’ve gotten through to my uncle about your retirement, and he’s persuaded your people to accept your decision, though if you were younger…”

I nodded. “You needn’t say it.” If I were younger, I wouldn’t have to worry very much about my future; it would be very short.

“You said you met Paul and Georges today. I had understood that Georges wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. And what is Paul doing in Valence?”

I reported on my day from the time I reached the police station. He listened without moving, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. He might have been asleep. When I’d finished, he opened his eyes and, seeing his glass empty, poured another beer.

“So they’re all happy to believe me the culprit. Understandable, I suppose. Anything else?”

“Well,” I hesitated, “yes, actually. Tania and Anna are missing.”

He then did something I never thought I’d witness. His glass was on its way to his mouth when I spoke, and he arrested it midway and set it back on the desk.

“When did you find this out?”

“This morning.”

“Why didn’t you report it immediately?”

“What could you have done? You’re effectively a prisoner here.” I began defensively, angry at myself for not having come by sooner, for allowing myself to be lulled by my smaller duties, my social obligations. After I had run into Paul and then Georges, I’d felt as though I might stumble upon some solution. Twice I’d headed to La Couronne to see Lupa, and twice I’d decided against it. My suffering self-esteem had needed-stupidly, I now realized-to present him with answers, not questions. I had wrongly persisted in viewing Tania’s (and Anna’s) disappearance as my own problem, not our common problem.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I retract that.”

“No need to,” he said. “It’s close to the truth.”

“No, I should have come immediately. If anything has happened to them…”

A trace of humanity appeared in the hard eyes. He, too, knew both sides-the concern and the suspicion. “Tell me about it now,” he said, “and we’ll try to make up for the lost time.”

I filled him in on my search of Tania’s house, how there appeared to have been no struggle. The only inexplicable thing was their failure to tell Danielle.

“Don’t you consider that strange?”

“Yes, rather.”

“Everything else was in order?”

“Perfectly. Oh, and one other thing.”

I took out the photograph and handed it to him. He unrolled it and placed it flat on the top of his desk, staring at it intently. “Yes,” he said absently, “satisfactory. Just as I suspected.” So saying, he rerolled the picture and placed it in his desk drawer.

“What?”

“In good time, Jules. In good time.”

He ruminated for a while. Finally, he straightened in his chair, reaching for the nearly forgotten beer. He drank it off in a gulp. “Well, they are women, given to all sorts of odd whims, and there’s nothing to be done at this time. Let’s see if they return this evening. If not…”

He was interrupted by the alarm. He reached for the switch and turned off the sound, and this time got up to check the tunnel himself. “That should be Watkins,” he said. “Would you ring for more beer?”

While I did so, he disappeared. Fritz entered almost immediately, the tray laden this time.

“How do you like it here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “It reminds me of my apprenticeship. The orders are too large, and I spend too much time catering to uneducated palates. Of course, I’m excluding Monsieur Lupa’s. I hope this situation won’t last for too long. What have you eaten today?”

I told him, and he shuddered. “I could arrange to have Charles deliver fresh croissants, and as for coffee…”

“Really, Fritz, that won’t be necessary. I’ll survive, though I also hope this charade doesn’t go on much longer. I suppose you should know that Danielle is now watching over the house.”

“A woman in my kitchen? You’ll have to watch her, sir. Don’t let her use any of-”

I raised a palm. “It’s all right, Fritz. I’ll try to keep her under control.”

One of the conditions I’d met in hiring Fritz was a guarantee that I wouldn’t let a woman meddle in his affairs in the kitchen, but this seemed to be a special case. “She’ll be gone by the time you return.”

Lupa returned with Watkins and told Fritz that we’d now have three for dinner. Watkins looked the same as when I’d first met him, complete with swollen cheek, except that he was dirtier. There were smudges on his clothes and face. Lupa dismissed Fritz and he left.

“Suppose someone sees him going out?” I asked.

He looked at me with impatience. “He locks the outside door before coming in. Ah, more beer.” He sat, and bade us do likewise. After we were settled, he turned to Watkins. “Well?”

He emptied the olive pits into his hand, then dumped them into the wastebasket next to the desk. “It’s blown.”

“Yes. We know. Report.”

He looked at us, surprised. “But how could you know?”

“There was no smoke,” I replied.

“But that’s the funny thing. The stacks stopped smoking nearly an hour before the explosion. I thought at the time-”

“Enough!” Lupa bellowed. “Begin at the beginning.”

“Yes, sir. This morning I got up at dawn, as usual, and when I got to my post, there was already activity around the factory. Evidently today there was a big shipment scheduled. By the way, last night I was followed again, at least back to my hotel.”