The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(19)

“Madame didn’t know.” He glanced at Tendrell. “And I beg you, Monsieur, not to tell anyone. I’ve no desire to have my holiday ruined by the local police trying to involve me with their unsolved murders.”

Tendrell nodded, sinking into a leather chair. “I quite understand.”

“Then you’re truly not here to solve them?” Jenny asked.

“Certainly not!”

“Pity… It’s been three weeks since Lisette died, and the gendarmes have no idea who killed her. Or, for that matter, the other girl.”

“Do you, Mademoiselle?”

“Do I what?” She pretended not to understand.

“Know the identity of the killer?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion!”

“No suspicion?”

“Why are you asking questions, if you’re not working on the case? And why have you been quizzing Allan! He never knows what’s going on in the village or, for that matter, under his nose. Unless, of course, I tell him.”

“Which you always do!” Tendrell turned to Damiot. “Each evening I’m given a report on everything that’s happened during the day. From the running of our farm—which Jenny does, incredibly well—to the latest chitchat from the village. I get a full account at dinner.”

“That’s not true!” Jenny protested. “There are many things I don’t feel are suitable for your innocent ears.” She frowned as she looked at Damiot again. “You don’t suspect Allan of these murders, do you?”

“Jenny!” Tendrell exclaimed. “What a thing to ask.”

Damiot laughed. “I don’t suspect anyone. I’m asking questions out of curiosity. Until yesterday I had never heard of these Courville murders. Then, tonight, I encountered your father on the hill above the Chateau, and followed him home.”

Jenny looked at her father. “Did you…” She stopped abruptly, as though uncertain how to continue.

“See the monster? No, my dear. I did not. But it seems that Inspector Damiot did.”

She faced the detective. “What did it look like?”

“I saw a dark figure from a distance. It appeared for a moment on a terrace of the Chateau.”

“Was he quite huge?”

“Very tall.”

“Could you see his face?”

“Only the back of the head and that not too clearly. One moment he was there and the next he had vanished.”

“So the monster really does exist!” she exclaimed. “We’ve never been absolutely certain. You’re the first outsider to see him. Until now only the villagers managed to catch a glimpse of the thing, and I, for one, never believed any of them. Allan has watched the Chateau, most clear nights, but he’s never seen anything.”

Tendrell nodded. “We were beginning to wonder if the villagers weren’t imagining their monster.”

“Are you going to tell the police, Monsieur Damiot?” Jenny asked. “That you saw this—this creature?”

“Certainly not! They must have seen—whatever it is.”

“No! They haven’t. They’ve brought in a detective from Arles to handle the case. And he’s completely stupid! Perhaps I shouldn’t say that, but…”

“I’m sure they’re doing their best!” Tendrell interrupted.

“This is their investigation, not mine.” As Damiot’s eyes moved away from Jenny’s face, he noticed the framed paintings on the wall behind her head. One was a portrait. The head appeared to float in a mist, but the face was oddly familiar. Something about the eyes?

“Changed your mind, Monsieur Inspecteur?” Tendrell rose from his chair. “Another whisky…”

“I think not. Merci.”

“Something for you, Jenny?”

“At this hour! Certainly not.”

“I’ll just have another quick one.” He returned to the sideboard and busied himself with a bottle.

Damiot looked from father to daughter. “And what do you think, Mademoiselle, about this monster? Is it real?”

She shrugged. “You saw him, Monsieur. Not I.”

“Which proves nothing. The whole thing may have been some sort of optical illusion caused by a reflection from one of the Chateau windows. I glimpsed a moving light inside. By the way, does anyone live there?”

“A caretaker, I believe. I’ve never actually seen him but I know he’s there because I have heard him, mornings, when I’m exercising the mare and ride past the gates. I suspect he’s one of those strange old men who like to spy on young girls!”

Damiot saw that Tendrell’s glass was half empty again. “Tell me, Monsieur, aren’t you worried about the safety of your daughter?”

The Englishman looked startled. “What do you mean, sir?”

“My safety!” Jenny pushed her hair aside, away from her face.

“If there is, vraiment, some kind of monster hidden in the Chateau de Mohrt,” Damiot continued, “you could be in danger. If the monster walked through those fields down to the village, he could certainly find his way here.”

“So he could… Never thought of that!” Tendrell tossed off the remainder of his drink.