The Club Dumas

He frowned, then rapped the table with his knuckles like a cardplayer throwing in the towel. But she didn’t respond to that either.

La Ponte grunted reprovingly. “I still don’t understand why you trust her.”

“He’s already told you,” the girl answered at last. She put the straw from her drink in between the pages of her book as a marker. “I look after him.”

Corso nodded, amused, although there wasn’t much in his situation to be amused about. “She’s my guardian angel,” he said.

“Really? Well, she should take better care of you. Where was she when Rochefort stole your bag?”

“You were there.”

“That’s different. I’m just a cowardly bookseller. Peace-loving. The exact opposite of a man of action. If I entered a coward competition, I’m sure I’d be disqualified for being too cowardly.”

Corso wasn’t listening because he’d just made a discovery. The shadow of the church tower was being thrown on the ground near them. The wide, dark shape had been gradually moving away from the sun. He noticed that the cross on the top was at the girl’s feet, very near but not actually touching her. The shadow of the cross maintained a prudent distance.

he phoned lisbon from a post office to find out how the investigation into Victor Fargas’s death was going. The news wasn’t encouraging. Pinto had seen the forensic report: death by forced immersion in the pond. The police in Sintra believed that robbery was the motive. Perpetrator or perpetrators un­known. The good news was that for the time being nobody had linked Corso with the murder. Pinto added that he had put out the description of the man with the scar, just in case. Corso told him to forget about Rochefort, the bird had flown.

It didn’t seem that the situation could get any worse. But at midday it got more complicated. As soon as Corso entered the hotel lobby with La Ponte and the girl, he knew something was wrong. Gruber was at the reception desk, and beneath his usual imperturbable expression there was a warning. As they approached, Corso saw the concierge turn casually to the pi­geonhole with Corso’s key and give his lapel a slight tug, a gesture recognized throughout the world.

“Keep going,” Corso told the others.

He almost had to drag away the perplexed La Ponte. The girl walked ahead of them down the narrow corridor that led to the restaurant-bar, which looked out onto the Place du Palais Royal. Looking back at Gruber, Corso saw him place his hand on the telephone.

When they were outside on the street, La Ponte glanced nervously behind him. “What’s the matter?”

“Police,” explained Corso. “In my room.”

“How do you know?”

The girl didn’t ask any questions. She just looked at Corso, waiting for instructions. He took out the envelope that Gruber had handed him the night before, removed the note informing him of La Ponte’s and Liana Taillefer’s whereabouts, and replaced it with a five-hundred-franc bill. He did it slowly, so the others wouldn’t notice that his hands were trembling. He sealed the envelope, crossed out his own name, and wrote Grub-er’s on it, then handed it to the girl.

“Give this to one of the waiters in the restaurant.” The palms of his hands were sweating. He wiped them on the in-sides of his pockets. He pointed at a phone booth across the square. “Meet me over there.”

“What about me?” asked La Ponte.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Corso almost laughed. “You can do what you like. Although I think you might have just gone underground, Flavio.”

He crossed the square through the traffic, heading for the phone booth without waiting to see whether La Ponte was fol­lowing. When he closed the door and inserted the card in the slot, he saw La Ponte a few meters away, looking around, anx­ious and defenseless.

Corso dialed the hotel number and asked for Reception.

“What’s going on, Gruber?”

“Two policemen came, Mr. Corso,” said the former SS of­ficer in a low voice. “They’re still up in your room.”

“Did they give any explanation?”

“No. They wanted to know the date you checked in and asked if we knew what your movements had been up till two A.M. I said I didn’t and passed them on to my colleague, who was on night duty. They also wanted a description, not knowing what you look like. I told them I would get in touch with them when you returned. I’m about to do so now.”

“What will you tell them?”

“The truth, of course. That you came into the lobby for a moment and went straight out again. That you were accom­panied by a bearded man. As for the young lady, they didn’t ask about her, so I see no reason to mention her.”

“Thanks, Gruber.” He paused and added with a smile. “I’m innocent.”

“Of course you are, Mr. Corso. All the guests at this hotel are innocent.” There was a sound of paper being torn. “Ah. I’ve just been handed your envelope.”

“Be seeing you, Gruber. Keep my room for a couple of days. I’m hoping to come back for my things. If there’s any problem, charge it to my credit card. And thanks again.”

“At your service.”