He hung up the receiver. His face was white.

“He offers every possible help,” he said, “financial and otherwise, and is sure Mr. Oberon will be immeasurably distressed. He has now, no doubt, gone away to enjoy a belly laugh at our expense. It is going to be difficult to keep one’s self-control over Messrs. Oberon and Baradi.”

“I believe you,” said M. Dupont.

“Rory, you’re certain now, in your own mind, aren’t you?”

“Yes. He didn’t utter a word that was inconsistent with genuine concern and helpfulness, but I’m certain in my own mind.”

“Why?”

“One gets a sixth sense about that sort of bluff. And I think he made a slip. He said: ‘Of course you can do nothing definite until those scoundrels ring you up.’ ”

M. Dupont cried, “Ahah!”

“But you said to him,” Troy objected, “that we would be told what to do.”

“’Would be told what to do!’ Exactly. In the other case the kidnappers’ instructions came by letter. Why should Baradi think that this time they would telephone?”

As if in answer, the bedroom telephone buzzed twice.

“This will be it,” said Alleyn and took up the receiver.

i

Alleyn was used to anonymous calls on the telephone. There was a quality of voice that he had learned to recognize as common to them all. Though this new voice spoke in French it held the familiar tang of artifice. He nodded to Dupont, who at once darted out of the room.

The voice said: “M. Allen?”

“C’est Allen qui parle.”

“Bien. Écoutez. A sept heures demain soir, présentez-vous à pied et tout seul, vis-à-vis du pavillon de chasse en ruines, il y a sept kilomètres vers le midi du village St. Céleste-des-Alpes. Apportez avec vous cent mille francs en billets de cent. N’avertissez-pas la police, ou le petit apprendra bien les consequences. Compris?”

Alleyn repeated it in stumbling French, as slowly as possible and with as many mistakes as he dared to introduce. He wanted to give Dupont time. The voice grew impatient in correction. Alleyn, however, repeated his instructions for the third time and began to expostulate in English. “Plus rien à dire,” said the voice and rang off.

Alleyn turned to Troy. “Did you understand?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Well, it’s all right, my dearest. It’s as we thought. Tomorrow evening outside a village called St. Cèleste-des-Alpes with a hundred quid in my hand. The village, no doubt, will be somewhere above St. Céleste.”

“You didn’t recognize the voice?”

“It wasn’t Baradi or Oberon. It wasn’t young Herrington. I wouldn’t swear it wasn’t Carbury Glande, who was croaking with hangover this morning and might have recovered by now. And I would by no means swear that it wasn’t Baradi’s servant, whom I’ve only heard utter about six phrases in Egyptian but who certainly understands French. There was a bit of an accent and I didn’t think it sounded local.”

Dupont tapped and entered. “Any luck?” Alleyn said.

“Of a kind. I rang the centrale and was answered by an imbecile but the call has been traced. And to where do you suppose?”

“Number 16, Rue des Violettes?”

“Precisely!”

“Fair enough,” Alleyn said. “It must be their town office.”

“I also rang the Préfecture. No reports have come in from the patrols. What was the exact telephone message, if you please?”

Alleyn told him in French, wrapping up the threats to Ricky in words that were outside Troy’s vocabulary.

“The same formula,” Dupont said, “as in the reported version of the former affair. My dear Mr. Chief and Madame, it seems that we should now pursue our hunch.”

“To the chemical works?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank God!” Troy ejaculated.

“All the same,” Alleyn said, “it’s tricky. As soon as we get there the gaff is blown. The Château, having been informed that the telephone message went through, will wait for us to go to St. Céleste. When we turn up at the factory, the factory will ring the Château. Tricky! How far away is St. Céleste?”

“About seventy kilometres.”

“Is it possible to start off on the eastern route and come around to the factory by a detour? Behind Roqueville?”

M. Dupont frowned. “There are some mountain lanes,” he said. “Little more than passages for goats and cattle but of a width that is possible.”

“Possible for Raoul who is, I have noticed, a good driver.”

“He will tell us, at least. He is beneath.”

“Good.” Alleyn turned to his wife. “See here, darling. Will you go down and ask Raoul to fill up his tank—faire plein d’essence will be all right-and ask him to come back as soon as he’s done it. Will you then ask for the manager and tell him we’re going to St. Celeste, but would like to leave our heavy luggage here and keep our rooms. Perhaps you should offer to pay a week in advance. Here’s some money. I’ll bring down a couple of suitcases and join you in the hall. All right?”

“All right. Voulez-vous,” Troy said anxiously, “faire plein d’essence et revenez ici. O.K.?”

“O.K.”

When she had gone Alleyn said, “Dupont, I wanted a word with you. You can see what a hellish business this is for me, can’t you? I know damn well how important it is not to let our investigation go off like a damp squib. I realize, nobody better, that a premature inquiry at the factory might prejudice a very big coup. I’m here on a job and my job is with the police of your country and my own. In a way it’s the most critical assignment I’ve ever had.”

“And for me, also.”

“But the boy’s my boy and his mother’s my wife. It looked perfectly safe to bring them here and they gave me admirable cover, but as things have turned out, I shouldn’t have brought them. But for the unfortunate Miss Truebody, of course, it would have been all right.”

“And she, too, provided admirable cover. An unquestioned entrée.”

“Not for long, however. What I’m trying to say is this: I’ve fogged out a scheme of approach. I realize that in suggesting it I’m influenced by an almost overwhelming anxiety about Ricky. I’ll be glad if you tell me at once if you think it impracticable and, from the police angle, unwise.”

Dupont said: “M. l’Inspecteur, I understand the difficulty and respect, very much, your delicacy. I shall be honoured to advise.”

“Thank you. Here goes, then. It’s essential that we arouse no suspicion of our professional interest in the factory. It’s highly probable that the key men up there have already been informed from the Château of my real identity. There’s a chance, I suppose, that Annabella Wells has kept her promise, but it’s a poor chance. After all, if these people don’t know who I am why should they kidnap Ricky? All right. We make a show of leaving this hotel and taking the eastern route for St. Céleste. That will satisfy anybody who may be watching us at this end. We take to the hills and double back to the factory. By this time, you, with a suitable complement of officers, are on your way there. I go in and ask for Ricky. I am excitable and agitated. They say he’s not there. I insist that I’ve unimpeachable evidence that he is there. I demand to see the manager. I produce Raoul, who says he took his girl for a drive and saw a car with Ricky in it turn in at the factory gates. They stick to their guns. I make a hell of a row. I tell them I’ve applied to you. You arrive with a carload of men. You take the manager aside and tell him I am a V.I.P. on holiday.”

“Comment? V.I.P?”

“A very important person. You see it’s extremely awkward. That you think the boy’s been kidnapped and that it’s just possible one of their workmen has been bribed to hide him. You’ll say I’ll make things very hot for you at the Sûreté if you don’t put on a show of searching for Ricky. You produce a mandai de perquisition. You are terribly apologetic and very bored with me, but you say that unfortunately you have no alternative. As a matter of form you must search the factory. Now, what does the manager do?”