Nine Coaches Waiting

The boat-house was a small square two-storeyed building set, of course, over the water, at the head of an artificial bay made by two curving stone jetties. The shore was very narrow here, and from the yard-wide strip of shingle rose the steep bank crowded with trees that edged the grounds of the Villa Mireille. The rear wall of the boat-house was almost built up against this bank, and the beeches hung their branches right over the roof.

Mist and darkness blurred the details, but the general effect of desertion, looming trees, and lapping water was not just exactly what the moment demanded for Philippe and me.

I said briskly: "I want to go up through the garden and take a look at the house. For all we know he's already here. Would you like to stay in the boat-house? You could lock yourself in, and we'd have a secret signal-"

“No," said Philippe again.

"All right. You can scout up the garden with me. Very carefully, mind."

"Madame Vuathoux is deaf," said Philippe.

"Maybe. But Beppo isn't. Come on, petit"

The bank was steep and slippery with clay and wet leaves that lay in drifts between the roots of the beeches. Above it was the rough grass of a small parkland studded with more of the great trees. We crept softly from one huge trunk to the next; the spring grass was soft and damp underfoot, and there was, incongruously, the smell of violets. Elms now, and horse-chestnuts. I could feel the rough bark of the one, and the sticky buds of the other licked at my hand. The hanging fronds of willow brushed us wetly, clung, hindered us. We pushed through into a grove of willows as thick as a tent, and paused. We were almost at the house now. The willows curtained the edges of a formal lawn; the terrace of the house lay beyond this, thirty yards away. Near us was the metallic gleam of a small pool and I could see something that looked like a statue leaning over it.

I took Philippe's hand and we crept softly up behind the plinth of the statue, where the willows hung like an arras down to the water's surface. I pulled the trailing stems aside and sca

I said softly: "The windows on the terrace. What room's that?"

"The salon. It's never used. My Uncle Hippolyte has his study upstairs. The end window. There's no light in it."

I looked up at it, "Then I'm afraid he's not home yet."

"Are we going in?"

I thought for a moment. "Where's the back door?"

"Round the other side, near the lodge."

"And near Beppo? Then that's out. And I doubt if there are any windows open. And there's that light over the front door… No, Philippe, I think we'll wait. What do you think?"

"Yes. I-there's a carl"

His hand gripped mine almost painfully. The road was not more than twenty yards away on our right. A car was coming along it, slowing down rapidly through its gears. Brakes squealed. A door slammed. Footsteps. A bell clanged. Seconds later through the clamour of the dog we heard the chink of iron and the squeak of a hinge, as Madame Vuathoux hastened to open the gates.

Philippe's grip tightened. "My Uncle Hippolyte!" A man's voice said something indistinguishable beyond the banked shrubs. "No," I said on a caught breath. "Raoul."

The cold hand jerked in mine. I heard the concierge say, in the loud toneless voice of the very deaf: "No, monsieur. Nothing, monsieur. And has there been no trace of them found?"

He said curtly: "None. Are you sure they couldn't have got in here? This is where they'll make for, that's certain. Is the back door locked?"

"No, monsieur, but I can see it from my window. Nobody has been there. Or to the front. Of that I am sure."

"The windows?"

"Locked, monsieur."

"No telephone call? Nothing?"

"Nothing, monsieur."

There was a pause. In it I could hear my own heart hammering.

"All the same," he said, "I'll have a look round. Leave the gates open, please. I'm expecting Bernard here any minute.”

Another heart-hammering pause. Then the car started up and the lights turned in slowly off the road, slithering metallically across the sharp leaves of the rhododendrons. He parked it in front of the door, and got out. I heard him run up the steps, and then the door shut behind him. The dog still whimpered and growled a little. Back at the lodge, the concierge called something to it, and after a few moments it fell silent.

I felt the cold hand twitch in mine. I looked down. The child's face was a blur with great dark pools for eyes. I whispered: "Keep close behind the statue. He may put some lights on."

I had hardly spoken before the salon windows blazed to brilliant oblongs, and the light leaped out across the terrace to touch the lawn. We were still in shadow. We waited, tense behind the statue. It was the figure of a boy, naked, leaning over to look at himself in the pool; a poised, exquisite Narcissus, self- absorbed, self-complete…

Room after room leaped into light, was quenched. We followed his progress through the house; light and then black darkness. The windows on the terrace facing us remained lit Finally they were the only ones. He came to one of the long windows, opened it, and stepped out onto the terrace. His shadow leaped across the lawn to the edge of the water. He stood there for a minute or two, very still, staring at the night I put a gentle hand on Philippe's head, pushing it down so that no faint probe of light would touch his face. We were crouching now. My cheek was against the stone of the plinth. It was I cold and smooth and smelt of lichen. I didn't dare lift my head to look at Raoul. I watched the tip of his shadow.

Suddenly it was gone. In the same moment I heard another car came fast along the road. Lights swept in at the gate. The salon windows went black, blank. I lifted my head and waited straining my ears.

Steps on the gravel. Raoul's voice, still on the terrace, saying: "Bernard?"

"Monsieur?" The newcomer came quickly round the corner of the house. I heard Raoul descending the terrace steps. He said in that quick hard voice he had used to Madame Vuathoux "Any sign?"

“None, monsieur, but-"

I heard Raoul curse under his breath. "Did you go back to the hut?"

"Yes. They weren't there. But they'd been, I swear they-"

"Of course they had. The Englishman was up there last night till midnight. I know that. They'd go to find him. Have you found out where he is?"

"He's not back yet. He went out with a party up to the plantation beyond Bois-Roussel early this morning and they're not back yet. But, monsieur, I was trying to tell you. I rang up just now, and they told me she'd telephoned him at the Coq Hardi. She-"

"She telephoned him?" The words flashed. "When?"

"Thirty to forty minutes ago."

"Sacré dieu." I heard his breath go out "Where was she speaking from? Did the fools think to ask?"

"Yes, indeed, m'sieur. They had heard the scandal from Jules, you understand, and-"

“Where was she speaking from?"

"The Cent Fleurs, in Évian. They said-"

"Half-an-hour ago?"

"Or three-quarters. No more."

"Then the Englishman can't have heard anything. He must be still away with the party. She's not with him yet."

He turned away abruptly and Bernard with him. Their voices faded but I heard him say roughly: "Get over to Évian immediately with that car. I'm going myself. We have to find them, and quickly. Do you hear me? Find them."