I looked across at Jan. But he didn’t say anything. He was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his head slightly bowed; quite still like a man considering a problem.
Bilvidic, waiting, produced his pack of American cigarettes and lit himself one. ‘Eh bien,’ he said, and sat down on the corner of the desk and inhaled the smoke from his cigarette. ‘Since you do not wish to talk, I will tell you what we have been doing. First we check with Paris and London. There is no Dr Kavan leaving London Airport on the night of the eighteenth. There is no Dr Kavan leaving Orly Airport in Paris for Casablanca on the morning of the nineteenth.’ He glanced at Jan. ‘But you were on that flight from Tangier to Casablanca and you are shown on the list of passengers as having booked through from Paris.’ He made little clicking noises with his tongue and his eyes switched to me. ‘Why did you do it, Monsieur Latham? It was stupid of you. Now you must come to Casablanca for questioning.’ He turned to Jan. ‘Alors, monsieur. Your name is Roland Tregareth Wade, yes? And you are the owner of the yacht that is wrecked near Tangier on the night of the eighteenth.’
I waited for Jan to deny it, but he didn’t speak.
‘What’s the charge?’ I asked and my voice sounded nervous for I thought it would be murder.
But Bilvidic said, ‘There is no charge. He is being held for questioning. That is all. And we have to be in Casablanca by the morning.’
‘By tomorrow morning?’ It was over three hundred miles across the mountains. ‘It means driving all night. If there’s no charge, surely it isn’t as urgent — ‘
‘My headquarters insist that we are there by the morning.’
‘But why?’
‘It is nothing to do with us, monsieur. I do not wish to drive through the night any more than you do. Nor do I enjoy being here in the desert for Christmas Day,’ he added sharply. ‘It is because of the British authorities. This man’ — he nodded towards Jan — ‘has been masquerading as Dr Kavan. They insist that the matter of his identity is resolved immediately. If you do not like it, then you have only your government to blame.’
‘But I tell you he is Dr Kavan.’
‘Non, wow.’ He shook his head. ‘It is no good, monsieur. Undoubtedly he is Wade.’ He tapped a sheaf of notes that lay in front of him on the desk. ‘You see, the body of Dr Jan Kavan was washed up on the coast of Portugal near Cape St Vincent four days ago.’
There was a sudden silence in the room. Jan had moved forward slightly as though to ask a question. But now his eyes were fixed on the floor again. I was conscious of the tenseness of his body.
Bilvidic rose and moved behind the desk. ‘Tell me, monsieur, how much did Kavan tell you about himself when he applied for the post of doctor at your Mission?’
‘Not very much,’ I said. ‘Just that he was a qualified doctor and that — ‘
‘He did not tell you he was a famous scientist? Ah, well then, you would not appreciate the interest this matter has aroused. It is in all the British papers. But now that his body has been discovered his disappearance is no longer a mystery.’
‘If you’re certain the body was from the Gay Juliet, then it is Wade’s body.’ I looked across at Jan. Why the devil didn’t he say something? ‘What makes them think it’s Kavan’s?’ I asked Bilvidic.
‘It is definite, monsieur. We have a full report at headquarters. The state of the body, of course, was not good. But the general description is exact, and he is wearing a windbreaker purchased in Durham, which is where Kavan worked. It even had the name Kavan on it and in the pocket is a watch inscribed in Czech which was given to Kavan by his wife.’ He shook his head. ‘There is absolutely no doubt, monsieur. But the British insist that we check the identity of your friend here, and. also there is the matter of illegal entry into Morocco.’
‘Listen, monsieur,’ I said. ‘I assure you that this man is Kavan. There were two men on the boat — Kavan and Wade. It was Kavan I pulled out of the sea at Jews’ Bay.’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Tell me one thing,’ he said. ‘Did you ever meet this Dr Kavan — when you engaged him to be your doctor, for instance?’
‘No. It was all arranged by letter.’
‘Exactly. In fact, you have never seen the real Dr Kavan. You have no idea what he looks like.’
‘I assure you — ‘
But he cut me short, leaning quickly forward. ‘Have you had occasion to call on this gentleman’s services as a doctor?’
‘No, not personally, but when — ‘
‘So you do not know if he is a doctor or not. Have you ever heard him speak Czech?’ I looked across at Kavan. ‘Well, have you, monsieur? Has he ever spoken one word of Czech since you have known him?’
‘It’s no use, Philip,’ Jan said quietly, speaking in English.
‘Oh, don’t be a fool. All you’ve got to do is talk to him in your own language.’
‘I know.’
‘Don’t you realise what this may lead to?’
He didn’t answer me, but turned away towards the window and stood there, staring out at the drab expanse of rainswept sand. He seemed suddenly to have withdrawn from the room.
I was angry and a little scared. ‘Are you crazy?’ And when he still said nothing, I turned back to Bilvidic. ‘I give you my word that this man is Kavan,’ I told him in French.
He frowned, annoyed at my insistence. ‘You admit, monsieur, that he is the man you rescued from the sea at Tangier?’
I nodded.
‘And he is also the man who shared your room at the Hotel Malabata, the man you put on the plane at Tangier Airport?’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you still insist that he is Kavan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Then we will settle it finally.’ He nodded to the plain-clothes man standing against the door, and he opened it and disappeared. There was a momentary silence as we waited, and then footsteps sounded on the bare concrete of the passage. There was the man’s heavy tread, and also the shorter, lighter tap of a woman’s heels.
We were all of us facing the door as it was thrust open and she entered. It was Karen Kavan and she stopped in the doorway, her face frozen with the shock of seeing us there. Her gaze went straight to Jan. But he made no move. He just stood there, looking at her, his face expressionless. She turned to me then. There was a desperate, bewildered look in her eyes — it was as though she was pleading for me to tell her what to do.
And then Bilvidic’s voice cut the stillness of the room. ‘One question, madame.’ He pointed t6 Jan. ‘Is this man your husband?’
I saw her hesitate. I thought she was going to tell him the truth. But then Jan turned away again towards the window and her face froze so that there was no sign of recognition in it. ‘No.’ She was looking straight at the detective, her face white and strained, just as it had been in the cafe by the waterfront in Tangier, and she was twisting at the gold band of her wedding ring. Her features might have been chiselled out of stone, they were so controlled.
‘Have you ever seen him before?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was scarcely above a whisper.
‘What is his name, please?’
Again the momentary hesitation. ‘So far as I know it is Monsieur Wade.’
‘Thank you.’ Bilvidic nodded and the plain-clothes man opened the door for her. She paused a moment. Then she went quickly out, and Jan made no move to stop her going. He had turned at the sound of her footsteps, that was all, and he stood there, staring at the open doorway through which she had passed, his face empty of all expression. I couldn’t stand it.
‘For God’s sake!’ I cried. ‘Tell them who you are. Have them bring your wife back again. Don’t you see what you’re doing to her?’
I had spoken in English, but he replied in French. ‘It is useless.’ His voice was harsher now, suddenly determined.
I stared at him. If he had just said one word to her, I turned to Bilvidic. ‘Monsieur. I want you to bring the girl back. These two — ‘