The French Confection Read Online Free PDF Page B

said nothing.
    “It is
your
health that should concern you, my friend,” Bastille replied.
    “I’m perfectly well, thank you,” Tim said.
    “I mean – your health if you fail to tell us what we want to know!” Bastille’s green eyes flared. He was even uglier when he was angry. “You have put us to a great deal of trouble,” he went on. “We’ve searched you and this morning we searched your room. Are you going to tell us where it is?”
    “It’s on the top floor of the hotel!” Tim exclaimed.
    “Not the room!” Bastille swore and choked on his cigarette. “I am talking about the packet that you were given by Marc Chabrol.”
    “The ex-steward,” Lavache added. He giggled, and, looking at his ape-like hands, I suddenly knew how Chabrol had managed to “fall” under a train.
    I’d said nothing throughout all this. I was just glad that I’d decided not to bring the packet with us. The two men must have searched Tim and me while we were unconscious. They had found nothing and it looked like they weren’t going to go back and search the hotel room a second time.
    “He gave us a cup of coffee,” Tim was saying. “But we drank it. Unless you’re talking about … wait a minute…”
    “Who
are
you people?” I cut in. I didn’t want him to say any more. So long as we had the sachet, they wouldn’t kill us. They needed to know where it was. But the moment they heard it was hidden in the toilet, we were dead. That much was certain. I would just have to keep them talking and hope for the best. “Look…” I went on. “The steward didn’t give us anything. We’re just here on holiday.”
    “Non, non, non!”
Bastille shook his head. “Do not try lying to me,
mon petit ami
. I know that your brother is a private detective. I also know that he was sent to Paris by Interpol. I know that he is working on a special assignment.” His face turned ugly, which, with his face, wasn’t difficult. “Now I want you to tell me how much you know and who gave you your information.”
    “But I don’t know anything!” Tim wailed.
    He’d never spoken a truer word in his life. Tim knew nothing about any special assignment. He’d have had trouble telling anyone his own shoe size. And he also hadn’t realized that this was all his fault. If only he’d kept his mouth shut on the train! He’d told Jed Mathis and the old woman that he was working for Interpol. Could one of them have passed it on? Jed Mathis…?
    Beware the mad American…
    It was too late to worry about that. I realized that Tim was still talking. He had told them everything. The competition on the yoghurt pot. The free weekend. The truth.
    “He’s right,” I admitted. “We’re just tourists. We’re not working for anyone.”
    “It was a strawberry yoghurt!” Tim burbled. “Bestlé yoghurts. They’re only eighty calories each…”
    “We don’t know anything!” I said.
    Bastille and Lavache moved closer to each other and began to mutter in low, dark voices. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but somehow I didn’t like the sound of it. I tried to break free from the chair but it was useless. Things weren’t looking good. By now they must have realized that they were wrong about us, that we were exactly what we said. But they weren’t just going to order us a taxi and pretend the whole thing had never happened. As they’re always saying in the old movies … we knew too much. I still had no idea who they were or what they were doing, but we knew their names and had seen their faces. That was enough.
    The two men straightened up. “We have decided that we believe you,” Bastille said.
    “That’s terrific!” Tim exclaimed.
    “So now we are going to kill you.”
    “Oh!” His face fell.
    Lavache walked to the far side of the room and I strained my neck to watch him. He reached out with both hands and suddenly a whole section of the wall slid to one side. I realized now that it wasn’t a wall at all but a set of