Page 34 of Marble Hall Murders

He had proved his point. Elmer picked up the book and returned it to the shelf. He was still standing there, watching them silently, as Pünd, Voltaire and Fraser left the room.

‘Are you satisfied?’ Voltaire asked as soon as they were on the other side of the door. His tone was scathing.

‘I think I learned a great deal from both father and son,’ Pünd replied.

‘And what was that?’ Voltaire demanded.

‘Mr Elmer Waysmith was an extremely handsome man when he was young. You only to have to look at young Robert. It is surprising that he is still single. There is a definite tension between the father and son, although they are remarkably similar. In fact, I would say that there is a great deal of anger and hatred here at the Chateau Belmar.’

‘But nobody hated Lady Chalfont,’ Fraser said.

‘Exactly, my friend. So why was she the one who had to die?’

TEN

‘Are you sure you’re up for this, Mr Pünd?’

‘I believe I am.’

‘I just hope you’re not overdoing it. If you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘It is most kind of you to be concerned, James. But we will return to the hotel after this visit and we can rest later in the afternoon.’

‘That’s marvellous. They’ve got this amazing pool I’ve discovered. There’s a funicular railway going down the hillside. Maybe you’ll join me for a dip.’

‘I think I will remain in my room – but please go ahead.’

Pünd and Fraser were once again in the back of the Renault with Voltaire in the front seat and a police driver. They had followed the coast and then turned inland. Now they were climbing up a winding road into the hills. Saint-Paul-de-Vence was a medieval walled town that did not admit traffic. They parked outside the tower gate, which soared above them, its machicolations framed against the sky, and walked through the archway and into the main street. It was now mid-afternoon and the sun was at its hottest. Pünd took care navigating the steep pathway, while this time it was Voltaire who, brisk and impatient, strode ahead.

Jean Lambert’s office was about halfway up. He occupiedjust two rooms, one behind the other, with a discreet sign beside the front door and a bell. Voltaire rang and a moment later they were admitted by a plain-looking young woman with dark hair fastened tightly at the back of her head, pale skin and heavy glasses that did not suit her face. She was wearing a businesslike dress and thick leather shoes. It seemed to Pünd that she was a prisoner of her own wardrobe and perhaps of her job too. She was still in her twenties. He wondered how much time she spent tucked away behind the town walls.

‘I am Frédéric Voltaire. This is Herr Pünd and his assistant.’

‘James Fraser,’ Pünd added. It was clear that Voltaire had felt no need to introduce him by name.

The young woman spoke a few words to Voltaire in French and then continued in perfect English. ‘Do please come in,’ she said. ‘I’m Alice Carling. Monsieur Lambert is just finishing a telephone call, but you can wait here. Can I get you a coffee?’

‘A glass of water, please,’ Pünd said, exhausted from the climb.

‘Of course.’

There was barely enough space for them in the anteroom, which was furnished simply with a desk, an assortment of not very comfortable chairs and a small fridge. She took out a bottle of Evian and poured a glass for Pünd.

‘You are English?’ Pünd asked.

‘Half and half,’ Alice replied. ‘English father, French mother. My father was wounded at Ypres in the First War and she was the nurse who looked after him.’

Pünd smiled. It was a story he had heard before, although it was unusual for a young Englishman to leave his own country. ‘He chose to remain in France?’ he asked.

‘He was very angry about the war. He still talks about it – the incompetence, the waste, the loss of so many young lives. He never wanted to go back to England.’

‘And how many people had he killed before he came to that decision?’ Voltaire asked.

Alice didn’t answer, but Pünd glanced briefly at the French detective, beginning to understand him. ‘How long have you been with Monsieur Lambert?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘Four years. My father knew him because they played boules together in the Place de Gaulle and he said he was looking for an assistant.’

‘Did you know Lady Chalfont well?’

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