The Silver Dragon (4 page)

It was dark when they went out, but the whole world was full of stars. They glittered like tiny elfin lanterns above the peaks, piercingly bright against the dark blue of the heavens, so that they had no difficulty in finding their way.

They had seen the waterfall from the road leading up to the village and they could hear it in the silence of the night as they approached. It was a magic moment, and Adele was not surprised when John took her hand and drew it through his arm.

“We’ll never find a place like this again, not in a thousand years!” he declared enthusiastically, drawing deep breaths of the keen air as they gazed down into the gorge at their feet. “I’m glad we didn’t go on to Brian
c
on after all.”

“It’s a lost enchanted valley,” Adele said above the sound of the falling water. “A place where anything might happen.”

He turned abruptly toward the village.

“You’re tired,” he said. “Shall we go back?”

They drank a nightcap in the small parlor of the inn, which had the dank smell of all unused places. The fire afforded them little warmth, and Adele walked around, examining the cheap lithographs on the wooden walls.

“Do you think we’re going to find anything when we reach Cap Ferrat?” she asked suddenly. “Anything about me?”

He put down his glass and came toward her. “You’re not to worry,” he said, taking her by the shoulders in the way that had become familiar to her now. “Leave that to me. I have so few worries of my own!”

She smiled, walking with him to the door.

“I’m going to sleep tonight as soon as my head touches the pillow,” she said, trying to sound convincing. “No pills or sedatives! I’m just healthily tired.” He waited until she had reached the door of her room.

“Good night, Adele,” he called to her. “Pleasant dreams!”

She opened her bedroom door, switching on the light, and the muffled cry she gave brought him swiftly up the narrow staircase to her side.

“Someone’s been here,” she cried breathlessly. “They’ve turned everything upside down.”

The presence of an intruder was evident. Drawers had been opened and her suitcase searched. John closed the door behind them.

“Before we start making a fuss,” he advised, “let’s find out exactly what’s missing.”

The restraint in his voice calmed her.

“I’m not sure that I can check everything accurately,” she said, “but I’ll try.” She crossed to the wardrobe. “I didn’t unpack because we were only going to stay for one night, so the drawers were empty, and there’s only
my
coat and scarf in here.”

He came across and closed the wardrobe door. In the narrow mirror on the outside panel they saw themselves reflected for a moment before they turned to the suitcase lying on the slatted wooden luggage stool at the foot of the bed. The clothes it had contained were tossed out onto the huge feather
duvet
and into the lid of the case itself, but nothing appeared to be missing.

Adele’s hands shook as she lifted the last woolen sweater from the floor.

“It’s absolutely bewildering,” she said unhappily. “There was the money the professor lent me. They haven’t even touched that.”

“I don’t think they were looking for money,” John said slowly. “I think it was something else.”

“What? What could they have been searching for?”

“I don’t know.” He turned to the door. “I’ll see what they have to say downstairs,” he added as he went out, “but it’s going to be difficult, especially when there’s nothing missing. Try to get some sleep.”

She slept fitfully, waking every now and then to turn restlessly on her pillows, sure that the room had been entered again, although she had barred the door securely.

In the morning John told her that he wanted to get off to a good start.

“We’ve got a fair way to go, and I don’t think we’re going to be too popular here, having virtually accused the host of breaking and entering while we were out last night!”

Adele flushed scarlet.

“John, you don’t think I could have done it?” she asked nervously. “Without knowing, I mean? Tossed the things around and ... searched the drawers, looking for something I imagined I might find?”

He shook his head.

“You would know if you had done that,” he assured her. “No, Adele, you are absolutely normal in every way—except for the fact that the past has been completely wiped from your mind.”

She sighed, allowing him to help her on with her coat. The car was waiting at the door.

“I’m making it all very difficult for you,” she apologized. “I don’t really know why you bother about me.”

“I’ve told you that you’re an interesting case,” he said doggedly. “That will have to be explanation enough for the present.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, I suppose it will.”

They drove for the remainder of the way without mentioning the incident at the inn again. If John connected it with the car that had followed them the day before, he did not say so. It was evident that he wished to spare her any extra emotional strain, and therefore she did not press him with questions. But now she recoiled from thoughts of the past, feeling that she did not want to remember.

Sunshine, sea, firs and fragrant pines lay ahead of them as they crossed the last Alpine barrier to the south and dropped down to the Lower Comiche road toward Villefranche. The Mediterranean was hazily blue as they made their way out along the narrow road to the peninsula, and then, as if it had swung suddenly out to bar their progress, they came on the swinging sign that said Les Rochers Blanches.

A driveway, half-hidden in cypresses and firs, wound up onto a headland like the prow of a ship, and far ahead of them they could see the white line of a harbor and a small fishing village cradled in the rocks behind it.

John put the car into second gear, but soon they had ceased to climb and were dropping down again toward the sea. Then, suddenly, unexpectedly almost, a white house stood before them.

It was closed. The shuttered windows stared back at them like blank uncaring eyes.

“What now?”

Adele’s question seemed to echo and reecho among the waiting pines as John got out from behind the wheel and gazed up at the house, equally disconcerted.

“We should have expected this,” he said. “We were more or less prepared to find it unoccupied.”

“But not so closed up and
...
unfriendly as this.” Bitter disappointment pounded at Adele’s heart. “No one has been here for ages and ages—all winter, perhaps.”

He would not allow her to make such a sweeping statement.

“Houses that have been closed, even for a week, always have the same forsaken look,” he pointed out. “Especially if the windows are shuttered. They’re like a sort of barricade, shutting out even the sun.”

He was still surveying the white imposing facade of the villa, taking in the fact that it probably boasted six
or seven bedrooms on the first floor and three or four large public rooms with French windows leading onto the terrace, which overlooked the sea.

Overhung would have been the better word to use, he reflected, as he noticed how steeply the ground fell away from the last of the terrace steps, leading in tier after tier to the bay
be
low.

The bay itself was a small secret place lying between two tremendous jagged rock promontories, which all but met, leaving the narrowest of sea passages between them. At this late hour of the afternoon the sun had deserted most of it, and the deep shadow of the rocks lay across the water, making it look black in comparison with the sun-flecked Mediterranean beyond.

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in knocking, or even trying to get in,” he said, coming back from the terrace edge. Then, suddenly, he was looking straight at her. “Has it suggested anything to you yet?” he asked.

“No.” Her voice faltered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”

Without laboring the point, he led her back to the car, but suddenly she knew that she could not expect him to stay with her any longer. He must want to press on to Italy to begin his holiday in earnest. She had relied on him all the way from Switzerland, taking advantage of his kindness and understanding, to say nothing of his professional skill, but now she had to stand on her own feet. He had told her often enough that she was perfectly normal, apart from the amnesia. She
had
to let him go.

“I must take over from here, John,” she said. “You didn’t bargain for this, and I can always report to the local hospital if I keep drawing a blank, or go to the police. I have to report to them anyway.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” he cut her short. “How do you think I’m going to feel if I walk off and leave you standing here, or even see you safely into a hotel in
Nice? I’m not going to be able to ‘enjoy’ my holiday in any case, since that seems to be what’s worrying you most, so I would much rather suffer in a good cause!”

“You always make light of it,” she said, turning away, “but I know how irksome it must be. Please, John, do as I say. Take me in to Nice, if you like, and see me settled in a pension or somewhere suitable, and tomorrow I shall go to the police or the hospital.”

He came around to her side.

“Look, Adele,” he said, “I thought we had all this out before. I’m staying put, at least till I know what’s to become of you. Wild horses won’t drive me from that decision, so you needn’t try. Get into the car like a good sensible girl, and we’ll drive along to Nice. I’ll make some inquiries there and we’ll come back here in the morning, if there’s any point in coming back at all.” It was useless to argue, so obediently she got into the car and he drove away. The house seemed to watch them coldly until they were lost to sight among the pines.

CHAPTER THREE

“
What did you do l
ast night after you convinced me that I should go to bed with a couple of sleeping pills?” Adele asked when they met on the bright sun-warmed terrace of the hotel the following morning.

“You didn’t take the pills,” he accused her without answering her question. “I found them on your table when I looked in to see if they had had the desired effect.”

“I managed without them,” she said. “I suppose ... I don’t really believe in that sort of thing,” she added slowly.

“They have their uses.”

He rang for fresh coffee and sat down beside her as she gazed across the deserted promenade to the sparkling blue sea. It was too early yet for the flow of pedestrians and only the odd tricycle pedaled by a tradesman or a hurrying delivery van made their way along the wide expanse of the intervening road.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she pointed out.

“I was waiting till my coffee arrived.”

“Why?” Her gray eyes flew to his. “Have you discovered something? Is it
...
bad news?”

“One question at a time! I have no bad news for you and I haven’t discovered very much.” The waiter came and he watched Adele pouring his coffee, her hands not quite steady as she willed him to continue. “All I have been able to find out is that Les Rochers Blanches once belonged to Sophia Campanelli, the Italian prima donna, but that quite recently it passed into the hands of an Englishman. That doesn’t get us very far,” he admitted, “but it does prove that someone has an interest in the place and that it’s not lying empty.”

The color had risen in her cheeks fpr a moment, but now it faded.

“An Englishman?” she repeated. “But doesn’t that suggest a holiday villa—a very wealthy man who might spend only a few short weeks on the Mediterranean, preferably in winter to escape the English fog?”

“Agreed,” he conceded. “On the other hand, your wealthy Englishman might be lucky enough to be able to live at Les Rochers Blanches most of the year, spending the odd few weeks in England when it is absolutely necessary.”

“Yes.”

“Adele!” He leaned over the table, imprisoning her fingers in his. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be more helpful at this stage. I could have gone to the police right away and enlisted their assistance, of course, but I feel there’s another way to do this. A way that would be easier for you. Will you come back to the villa with me this morning and take another look around? You were desperately tired yesterday after the journey.” She knew that he had been disappointed the day before because their first contact with Les Rochers Blanches had been unproductive, and she could not refuse him this second attempt. If it should also prove unfruitful, perhaps he would then agree to call the whole thing off, hand her over to the proper authorities and continue with his holiday.

“I’ll get my coat,” she said.

He was waiting for her on the steps of the hotel, with the car parked under a handy
pin parasol
nearby. The covered-in terrace was now very busy and she was glad that they had breakfasted early. Somehow, just now,
every interested glance felt like a stare of curiosity. Her amnesia seemed to be written plainly on her pale anxious face for all to see.

She hurried into the car and soon they were threading their way through the thickening traffic of the Lower Co
rn
iche toward Villefranche.

The town at this early hour was not as busy as it had been the afternoon before. The cafes were deserted and only the odd
matelot
wandered idly along the narrow sidewalk toward the harbor and a waiting ship.

The car turned almost abruptly into the road along the headland. It had seemed farther along the coast that first time, when they had been looking out for it in the waning afternoon light, but soon they were turning once more under the swinging sign and driving toward the villa.

This morning there could be little doubt about why Les Rochers Blanches had been given its descriptive name. The entire headland looked white and glittering in the morning sun and even the water of the hidden bay was unbelievably blue.

The villa itself, however, was still wrapped in a remote silence, still closely shuttered, still aloof. Adele’s heart sank as she looked at it.

“I can’t even hope to find anything here,” she said. If I belonged I think I would know.”

They walked slowly to the edge of the terrace, looking down at the-sea. Beneath them lay a narrow strip of beach, its white pebbles dazzlingly bright even where they ran down into the translucent water. A wooden landing wharf on wheels was the only sign that the bay had ever been used by a small craft, which was all it could accommodate.

“It’s just about deep enough for a small yacht to anchor down there,” John reflected, lighting a cigarette. “The entrance isn’t wide enough for anything else
to come through with safety, but it would certainly be a sheltered haven once you were in.”

A sheltered haven! The words tore at Adele’s heart, for that, surely, was what she wanted most at this present moment. To know that she belonged somewhere, that there were people who cared about her— loved her.

An overwhelming desire for love and protection took possession of her and she turned away to hide the sudden tears in her eyes. It was no use feeling sorry for herself, she tried to argue against the almost physical pain in her breast. Self-pity wouldn’t help, and it was not exactly complimentary to John, who had been more than kind to her.

She turned to find him gazing with narrowed eyes toward the entrance to the bay, and suddenly the silence all around them was shattered by the staccato beat of an engine.

A launch came in between the headlands, churning up a broad wake on the still blue water. It made straight for the wooden wharf, cutting
a
direct pathway across the bay. The engine was throttled back and it took a wide sweep to come alongside.

Then, as if some warning had been given, it turned in a close arc past the landing wharf and picked up speed again.

While they watched, it circled the bay and sped back through the gap between the headlands to the wider reaches of the sea.

It was several minutes before John spoke.

“That was a furtive sort of maneuver, if ever I saw one,” he remarked involuntarily. “They were going to land and changed their minds.”

“As soon as they saw us standing here,” Adele said, feeling suddenly cold. “Could they have recognized us, do you think?”

“Not from that distance, and they wouldn’t know me in any case, but they would certainly be able to see us standing here. We would be fairly well silhouetted against the house.”

“Do you think they were ... the owners?”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t think so, or they would have come ashore.” John looked decidedly puzzled. “After all, we are the intruders, aren’t we?”

It was an unfortunate remark. Adele turned sharply toward the villa.

“That’s exactly how I feel,” she confessed stonily.
“
Guilty
of intrusion. John—” she turned to face him “—I’ve no right to be here.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded doggedly, “but I’ve got to prove that to
my own satisfaction. This address is practically all we have to go on, and we’ve got to sift every ounce of evidence we can lay our hands on. We can’t afford to pass up the smallest clue.”

He took her by the arm, leading her around the gable end of the villa to the sheltered garden behind it where a blaze of color greeted them. Flowering shrubs of every description were banked against the dark background of the pines, yellow and pink and delicate mauve blossoms making a living bouquet of color and fragrance against the somber green. Flowers and creepers ran riot along the back of the house in the narrow borders and over the white stucco walls, cascading from trellises and urns and steps in a gay abandonment of natural growth, which suggested that they had been untended for weeks.

Yet there was no definite air of neglect about the garden. The winding pathways had been swept clear of fallen leaves and there were very few weeds visible. The orchard trees had been carefully pruned to produce a heavy harvest
o
f fruit, and along a sh
eltered wall an espalier peach s
pread out its gnarled arms to the sun.