“It’s easy to see,” Raoul observed, “that in the matter of intelligence you have not invented the explosive.” But he was visibly affected, nevertheless. “You should have known at once that it was a lot of blague about the nounou. ”

“And when you got to the factory?” Alleyn asked.

“Georges took the little boy inside. He then returned alone and we drove round to the garages at the back. I tried to run away and when he grasped my arms I inflicted some formidable scratches on his face. But he threw me a smack on the ear and told me Monsieur Oberon would put me under a malediction.”

“When he emerges from gaol,” Raoul said thoughtfully, “I shall make a meat pâté of Georges. He is already fried.”

“And then, Teresa?”

“I was frightened again, Monsieur, not of Georges but of what Monsieur Oberon might do to me. And presently the whistle blew and a loud-speaker summoned everybody to the hall. And Georges said we should clear out. He walked a little way and peeped round the corner and came back saying there were gendarmes at the gates and we must conceal ourselves. But one of the gendarmes came into the garage and said we must go into the hall. And when we arrived Georges left me saying: ‘Get out, don’t hang round my heels.’ So I went to some of the girls I knew and when I heard the announcement of Monsieur le Commissaire and saw Raoul and they said Raoul had seen me: Oh, Monsieur, judge of my feelings! Because, say what you will, Raoul is the friend of my heart and if he no longer loves me I am desolate.”

“You are as silly as a foot,” said Raoul, greatly moved, “but it is true that I love you.”

“Ah!” said Teresa simply. “Quelle extase!”

“And upon that note,” said Alleyn, “we may return to Roqueville and make our plans.”

i

On the return journey Alleyn and Troy sat in the back seat with Ricky between them. Teresa, who was to be given a lift to the nearest bus stop, sat in the front by Raoul. She leaned against him in a luxury of reconciliation, every now and then twisting herself sideways in order to gaze into his face. Ricky, who suffered from an emotional hangover and was, therefore, inclined to be querulous and in any case considered Raoul his especial property, looked at these manifestations with distaste.

“Why does she do that?” he asked fretfully. “Isn’t she silly? Does Raoul like her?”

“Yes,” said Troy, hugging him.

“I bet he doesn’t really.”

“They are engaged to be married,” said Troy, “I think.”

“You and Mummy are married, aren’t you, Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Mummy doesn’t do it.”

“True,” said Alleyn, who was in good spirits, “but I should like it if she did.”

“Ooh, Daddy, you would not.”

Teresa wound her arm round Raoul’s neck.

“Je t’adore!” she crooned.

“Oh, gosh!” said Ricky and shut his eyes.

“All the same,” Alleyn said, “we’ll have to call a halt to her raptures.” He leaned forward. “Raoul, shall we stop for a moment? If Teresa misses her bus you may drive her back from Roqueville.”

“Monsieur, may I suggest that we drive direct to Roqueville where, if Monsieur and Madame please, my parents will be enchanted to invite them to an apéritif or, if preferred, a glass of good wine, and perhaps an early but well-considered dinner. The afternoon has been fatiguing. Monsieur has not eaten, I think, since morning and Madam and Monsieur Ricky may be glad to dine early. Teresa is, no doubt, not expected at the house of infamy, being, as they will suppose, engaged in the abduction of Ricky and in any case I do not permit her to return.”

Teresa made a complicated noise, partly protesting but mostly acquiescent. She essayed to tuck one of Raoul’s curls under his cap.

Ricky, with his eyes still shut, said: “Is Raoul asking us to tea. Daddy? May we go? Just us however,” he added pointedly.

“We shall all go,” Alleyn said, “including Teresa. Unless, Troy darling, you’d rather take Ricky straight to the hotel.”

Ricky opened his eyes. “Please not, Mummy. Please let’s go with Raoul.”

“All right, my mammet. How kind of Raoul.”

So Alleyn thanked Raoul and accepted his invitation, and as they had arrived at the only stretch of straight road on their journey Raoul passed his right arm round Teresa and broke into song.

They drove on through an evening drenched in a sunset that dyed their faces and hands crimson and closely resembled the coloured postcards that are sold on the Mediterranean coast. Two police-cars passed them with a great sounding of horns and Alleyn told Troy that M. Dupont had sent for extra men to effect a search of the factory. “It was too good an opening to miss,” he said. “He’ll certainly find enough evidence to throw a spanner through the plate glass and thanks for the greater part, let’s face it, to young Rick.”

“What have I done, Daddy?”

“Well, you mustn’t buck too much about it but by being a good boy and not making a fuss when you were a bit frightened you’ve helped us to shut up that factory back there and stop everybody’s nonsense.”

“Lavish!” said Ricky.

“Not bad. And now you can pipe down for a bit while I talk to Mummy.”

Ricky looked thoughtfully at his father, got down from his seat and placed himself between Alleyn’s knees. He then aimed a blow with his fist at Alleyn’s chest and followed it up with a tackle. Alleyn picked him up. “Pipe down, now,” he said, and Ricky, suddenly quiescent, lay against his father and tried to hide his goat from the light in the hope that it would illuminate itself.

“The next thing,” Alleyn said to Troy, “is to tackle our acquaintance of this morning. And from this point onwards, my girl, you fade, graciously but inexorabley, out. You succour your young, reside in your classy pub, and if your muse grows exigent you go out with Raoul and your young and paint pretty peeps of the bay, glimpsed between sprays of bougainvillea.”

“And do we get any pretty peeps of you?”

“I expect to be busyish. Would you rather move on to St. Céleste or back to St. Christophe? Does this place stink for you, after today?”

“I don’t think so. We know the real kidnappers are in jug, don’t we? And I imagine the last thing Oberon and Co. will try on is another shot at the same game.”

“The very last. After tomorrow night,” Alleyn said, “I hope they will have no chance of trying anything on except the fruitless contemplation of their past infamies and whatever garments they are allowed to wear in the local lock-up.”

“Really? A coup in the offing?”

“With any luck. But see here, Troy, if you’re going to feel at all jumpy we’ll pack you both off to — well, home, if necessary.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Ricky said from inside Alleyn’s jacket. “I think Goat’s beginning to illumine himself, Daddy.”

“Good. What about Troy?”

“I’d rather stay, Rory. Indeed, if it wasn’t for the young, and yet I suppose because of him, I’d rather muck in on the job. I’m getting a first hand look at the criminal classes and it’s surprising how uncivilized it makes one feel.”

Alleyn glanced at the now hazardously entwined couple in the front seat. He adjusted Ricky and flung an arm round Troy.

“A fat lot they know about it,” he muttered.

As the car slipped down the familiar entry into Roqueville he said: “And how would you muck in, may I ask?”

“I might say I wanted to do a portrait of Oberon in the lotus bud position and thus by easy degrees become a Daughter of the Sun.”

“Like hell, you might.”

“Anyway, let’s stay if only to meet Cousin Garbel.”

She felt Alleyn’s arm harden. Like Teresa, she turned to look at her man.

“Rory,” she said, “did you believe Baradi’s story about the charades?”