TWENTY-THREE

The inside of the pavilion was filled with light from the cupola. A round hall on the first floor, one level up from the street, was open all the way up to the dome, where a large flag of stars and stripes hung. Each of the three levels was edged by white painted wrought iron railings in a scrolling design and they were decorated with ornamental shields of red and blue. The archways on each level were hung with cherry-colored drapes but they were all pulled back to allow the light from the windows to stream in. In the center of the black and white tiled floor was a round sofa of red plush, and other soft seating was scattered around.

I came in from the porch on the second level and peered over the railing to see Inspector Guillaume striding purposely towards Honoré Palmer. At the movement, Bertha Palmer’s head shot up from her perusal of a printed menu and she frowned when she recognized the policeman.

As I hurried down the steps to the converging group of Honoré, Edith, Bertha, and the inspector, I noticed Countess Olga entering from the street. Across the room Mrs. Johnstone was hectoring her daughter Lydia, but I saw her attention was excited by the sight of Inspector Guillaume, like a hound that has picked up a scent. When she noticed the countess, she glared at her.

“M. Palmer, you have not returned my calls,” the large policeman was saying when I reached the group.

Mrs. Palmer answered, “I’ve had my son doing a number of errands for me, Inspector. You may not be aware of it but we are hosting a very important reception this evening.”

He turned towards her slowly. “Yes, I know. It is for the statue that is to be unveiled today. We are very aware of the great honor the ladies of your nation are giving us. I apologize for interrupting. I have no wish to interfere with your preparations. But I must ask your son a few questions. Perhaps you are not aware that the thief has struck again, not once, but twice since the unfortunate affair at the opening of the Worth exhibit.”

“No, I was not aware.”

“It was at a reception at the Italian pavilion and a dinner at the home of the Canadian minister.”

I knew that Bertha had been invited to both affairs but she had refused, instead attending a dinner at the house of an elderly French princess and then a salon of French writers and artists. I had been excused from both events and had picnicked in the Tuileries gardens with my family one night, and attended an outdoor dance with my husband and some of his friends from the Institut Pasteur the other.

“The young M. Palmer was present at both occasions, although he was one of a number of guests who departed before the thefts were discovered. So, I have a need to speak to him.”

Bertha glared at her son and I could see Amelia Johnstone gliding towards us in the background, like a vulture investigating its prey.

“I escorted the Countess Olga and her daughter, Sonya,” Honoré told him.

“Yes, M. Palmer very kindly took us,” the countess said.

Meanwhile, Lord James had also joined the group. “Why, yes, we were all there…at both places,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the Johnstone party.

I noticed Edith Stuart slide up beside the Englishman. “Yes, we were all there. And so were the countess and her daughter, and the House of Worth people were there as well—in the ladies’ retiring room. It’s so helpful of them, don’t you think, Lord James?” She put a gloved hand on the man’s forearm. He regarded it with distaste and quickly shook it off. She batted her eyelashes at him in an all too obvious attempt at flirtation. I thought it very odd, but he had labeled her as desperate and that seemed only too true. I felt sorry for her, but the others ignored her.

Mrs. Johnstone boldly joined the group. “What is it, Inspector? Oh, dear, not another body? Have you found who killed that girl?”

Guillaume pursed his lips, but then he addressed her. “No, madame. It is nothing so grim. However, a very famous diamond worn by an English lady was stolen at the Italian embassy. And, at the Canadian minister’s home, a bracelet of diamonds disappeared from the wrist of a Mlle Leonard of Boston.”

“Oh, my goodness. That is unheard of where I come from. Who is doing this, and why haven’t you caught them? My husband says we’re not to wear anything but costume jewelry for the rest of our time here. Mrs. Palmer, you must warn the guests. Perhaps we should cancel the reception.”

Bertha’s eyes narrowed and she stiffened to her most regal pose. “Nonsense. We will do nothing of the sort. Perhaps there have been such incidents at the festivities you attended, Mrs. Johnstone, but I went to parties on the very same evenings where no such unfortunate occurrences took place and they will not happen here.”

“Well, that’s very optimistic of you, Mrs. Palmer, but I really do feel that we have a responsibility to alert our guests to the possibility of something like this. Forewarned is forearmed, as Mr. Johnstone always says. And you must admit that the fact a woman was found dead on one of these occasions cannot be ignored.”

“No one is ignoring anything, Mrs. Johnstone. I will thank you to remember that I am in charge of these arrangements, not you.” Mrs. Palmer turned from the angry little woman and addressed the policeman. “There will be Marines on guard at every exit and strategically placed on the first floor,” she told him.

“An excellent precaution, Mme Palmer. I will also have men on guard or, if you permit, I will attend with my assistant and the other officers will be on call, in the event of any disturbance. It is true that we are still hunting the thief, but I promise you he will be found.” He was looking straight at Honoré Palmer when he said this.

“There will be no disturbance, I assure you,” Bertha told him. “And I, for one, will not hesitate to wear jewels. In fact, I would be most grateful if you would return my pearls, as they are really a necessary addition to my ensemble this evening. The gown was designed with the pearls in mind.” She boldly looked the policeman in the eye.

“Indeed, madame,” he said, after a pause. “You are very confident to want to risk your valuable pearls, which have been lost once already.”

And returned in such a sensational manner, I couldn’t help thinking, as I remembered the body of the little milliner lying at the foot of the mannequin who wore those very pearls. I had to restrain myself from a shiver and I had an ominous feeling about the reception that evening. But, apparently, Bertha did not.

“There will be no problems,” she said. “And I would very much like to wear my pearls. Is there something I must do to get them back? Please let me know, and Mr. Palmer will have his lawyers attend to it at once.”

“Non, madame. That will not be necessary. But perhaps the young M. Palmer here could accompany me to the prefecture. I could ask a few questions about the evening parties he attended and, after that, we could release the pearls to him to return to you. Unless you think that would not be wise?”

I realized what he was doing. It was a way to achieve his goal of interrogating Honoré but also—if Bertha herself had any doubt about the potential guilt of her son in the earlier disappearance of the pearls—she would expose her doubt if she wouldn’t allow him to bring them back. She knew what the inspector was up to, as well.

“Yes, well, as you wish. But don’t keep him too long. I need those pearls for this evening and I will need sufficient time to dress.” With that, she strode away. I’d been holding my breath, for fear she would let loose one of her more sarcastic remarks, but now I could relax. Until the evening, at least.

I glanced around at the others and was disconcerted to see Edith smiling as she watched Honoré leaving with the police inspector. It seemed especially mean spirited of her to take satisfaction in his uncomfortable position. Perhaps she thought that here, at least, was one person whose lot was worse than her own. I noticed that Lord James was, in turn, frowning at her with disapproval. I hoped there would be no further cause for concern for Mrs. Palmer and knew I would be glad when the reception was over.