Despite all the precautions he had taken, despite his representations to the questura, Julius de Baraglioul was unable to stop the newspapers both divulging his relationship to the victim and identifying the hotel where he was staying.
The previous evening he had, without question, experienced several minutes of extreme apprehension when, returning from the questura around midnight, he had found in his room, clearly visible, the tickets from Thomas Cook issued in his name which he had given to Fleurissoire to use. He had immediately rung the bell and, walking straight back out into the corridor, white and trembling, requested the page to check under his bed because he did not dare check himself. The enquiry he instituted there and then produced no answers, but how could you have confidence in the staff of large hotels? After a good night’s sleep behind a solidly bolted door he had woken up more at ease, remembering that the police were now protecting him. He wrote a number of letters and telegrams and took them to the post office himself.
As he returned, he was informed that a woman had been asking for him. She had not given her name but was waiting for him in the reading room. Julius went to find her, and was more than a little surprised to discover Carola there. Not in the main room, but in another, more private space that was smaller and less well lit. She was sitting at an angle, at the corner of a far table, and distractedly leafing through a photographic album for appearance’s sake. Seeing Julius come in, she stood up, more nervous than glad. The black coat she wore opened to reveal a dark, simple, tailored dress that was almost in good taste, but her exuberant hat, despite also being black, gave the game away.
‘You will think me very forward, Monsieur le comte. I don’t quite know how I found the courage to come to your hotel and ask for you, but you greeted me so nicely yesterday … And what I have to tell you is too important.’
She remained standing, with the table between them. It was Julius who made the first move, going over to her and unceremoniously holding out his hand across the table.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?’
Carola looked down.
‘I know what you must be going through.’
Julius did not understand at first, but as Carola took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes he said, ‘Forgive me! Is this a visit of condolence?’
‘I knew Monsieur Fleurissoire,’ she went on.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Oh, not for very long at all. But I liked him. He was so kind, so good … In fact it was me who gave him those cufflinks: you know, the ones whose description they gave in the newspaper. They were how I knew it was him. But I didn’t know that he was your brother-in-law. I was really surprised to hear that. You can imagine how glad I was … Oh, I’m sorry! That’s not what I wanted to say.’
‘Don’t worry, dear Mademoiselle, what you doubtless wanted to say is that you’re happy to have this opportunity to see me again.’
Without answering, Carola buried her face in her handkerchief. She was racked by sobs, and Julius felt he should hold her hand.
‘I also,’ he said, in a ringing voice, ‘I also, dear lady, believe me when—’
‘That very morning, before he left, I told him to take care. But it wasn’t in his nature … he was too trusting, you know.’
‘A saint, Mademoiselle, he was a saint,’ Julius said feelingly, and took out his own handkerchief.
‘Yes, that was just what I thought,’ Carola exclaimed. ‘At night, when he thought I was asleep, he got up, he knelt at the end of the bed and …’
This unthinking admission added to Julius’s disturbed state. He put his handkerchief back in his pocket and, moving closer, said, ‘Please take your hat off, dear lady.’
‘Thank you, but it’s not bothering me.’
‘But it is bothering me … Allow me …’
But as Carola took a deliberate step backwards, he pulled himself together.
‘Allow me to ask: do you have any particular reason to feel worried?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. When you told my brother-in-law to take care, I’m asking you if you had any reason to suppose … You can speak openly: no one comes here in the mornings and we can’t be overheard. Do you suspect someone?’
Carola lowered her eyes.
‘Understand that it’s of particular interest to me,’ Julius continued excitedly, ‘and put yourself in my position. Yesterday night, coming back from the questura where I had been to give a statement, I found in my bedroom, on the table – right in the middle of the table – the train ticket poor Fleurissoire had used. It was in my name: these return tickets are non-transferable, obviously. I was wrong to lend it to him, but that’s not the point … In that act of cynically taking advantage of a moment when I was out and returning my ticket to me, right to my room, I feel a challenge, a brazen piece of bravado, almost an insult … which would not bother me, needless to say, if I didn’t have good reason to believe myself targeted in turn, and I shall tell you why: poor Fleurissoire, your friend, was in possession of a secret … an outrageous secret … a very dangerous secret … which I didn’t ask him to reveal … which I had absolutely no desire to know … which he, in the most irritatingly reckless manner, confided to me. So now I must ask you: the person who has been perfectly ready to commit murder in order to suppress this secret – do you know who it is?’
‘Set your mind at rest, Monsieur le comte. Yesterday evening I told the police his name.’
‘Mademoiselle Carola, I expected nothing less of you.’
‘He promised me he wouldn’t hurt Monsieur Fleurissoire. All he had to do was keep his promise, and I’d have kept mine. This time I’ve had enough: he can do what he likes to me, I don’t care.’
Carola was flushed with excitement. Julius walked around the table and stood close to her again.
‘We would perhaps be better off talking in my room.’
‘Oh, Monsieur,’ Carola said, ‘I’ve told you everything I had to say to you. I shouldn’t like to hold you up any longer.’
Retreating again, she edged around the table towards the exit.
‘It will be better if we take our leave of each other here, then,’ Julius replied with dignity, determined to claim the credit for her resistance. ‘Oh yes, there is one other thing I wanted to say: if you feel inclined to come to the funeral, which will be the day after tomorrow, it will be better that you don’t know me.’
On these words they went their separate ways, without once having mentioned the name of the unsuspected Lafcadio.