“What’s the matter with that?” Pierre said. “Where are you staying, Mr Lepski?”
“The Excelsior hotel,” Lepski said after hesitating. He had been told over and over again by Carroll the name of the hotel, but he still wasn’t sure.
“The Excelsior! That’s where we are staying!” Claudette cried. “You must come with us!”
Then Carroll arrived. Introductions were made. For a brief moment, Carroll regarded Claudette suspiciously. She was so chic and sexy, then seeing Pierre, so glamorous, like a movie star, she relaxed.
Both Pierre and Claudette looked at the vanity box Carroll was carrying. Briefly they exchanged triumphant glances. The box Bradey was so worried about, had come through the customs without fuss. Now, they had only to steer it through the Swiss customs.
With Carroll sitting by Pierre’s side and Lepski sitting with Claudette in the rear seats, Pierre drove on to the autoroute and headed for Paris.
Both Pierre and Claudette turned on their professional charm. Pierre explained they were on vacation. They lived in Deauville, and were spending a few days in Paris, then they were driving down to the South. Their easy charm smothered the Lepskis like a comforting blanket.
Arriving at the Excelsior hotel, Pierre took the burden off Lepski’s shoulders, booking them in, filling up the police card for him, seeing them to their room and tipping the luggage porter while Lepski was wondering what to give him.
“Now you two dears must be exhausted,” Claudette said, “Why not take a nap? Look, suppose we get together around eight tonight?” She smiled at Carroll. “Unless you have something else to do. We would so love to show you Paris at night as this is your first visit. Be our guests!”
“We would love that,” Carroll said. “How nice of you!”
“Then let’s meet in the lobby at eight.”
“Aren’t they darlings?” Carroll said when they were alone. “Oh, Tom! We are lucky to meet such lovely people.”
“He’s pretty smooth,” Lepski said. “Does this happen to everyone coming to Paris?”
“Oh, Tom! Can’t you drop your dreary cop attitude? French men are smooth. Remember Maurice Chevalier?”
“You remember him,” Lepski said, eyeing the double bed. “Let’s sleep,” and he began to undress.
Carroll went to the big window and drew aside the curtain. She looked down at the avenue des Champs-Elysées with its teeming traffic, the Arc de Triomphe, the crowded cafés and the people wandering in the sunshine. She drew in a long breath.
Paris!
All she had dreamed it would be like!
She turned and found Lepski on the bed, reckoning. She unzipped her dress, let it fall to the floor, then threw herself on him.
“Oh, Tom! This is going to be the most marvellous time of our lives!” she exclaimed as Lepski flipped off her bra and slipped off her panties.
After an excellent dinner of lobsters for which Pierre insisted on paying at a small restaurant near the Pont d’Alma, he then insisted they should take a Bateau-Mouche and see Paris from the Seine. They boarded the boat, and getting good seats they relaxed, wonder-eyed at the beauty of the bridges, the Louvre, the Conciergerie and the floodlit Notre Dame.
It was during the return journey that Lepski casually asked Pierre what line of business he was in. Lepski, with his cop training, was always interested in how the other man made a living.
“Antiques,” Pierre said. He did have, as a cover, an antique shop in Deauville, run by two elderly and expert sisters. “I’m what is called an art broker, giving advice to people looking for the good stuff. It pays off.”
“Antiques, huh? How about this stolen Russian icon?” Lepski asked. “Do you think it could be sold?”
Pierre shook his head.
“Most unlikely. It’s too well known. Of course, there are secret collectors, but I think it would be too hot even for them. I understand it is causing some excitement in the States.”
Lepski laughed.
“You can say that again. The President’s flipping his lid. There’s a two hundred thousand dollar reward for its recovery. As soon as the theft was discovered all exits from the States were sealed. Every cop and Fed are searching for it. I’m glad I’m on vacation.”
Pierre felt Claudette’s shoe touch his leg lightly. She and Carroll were sitting behind the two men.
“Pierre, why don’t we take Carroll and Tom to the Crazy Horse?” Claudette asked.
Reacting immediately to her signal, Pierre explained that the Crazy Horse was the best strip-tease in town, and Lepski reacted to this like a bull to a matador’s cape.
The show at the Crazy Horse was everything that Pierre had promised, and the girls were gorgeous. Carroll decided that this was Lepski’s vacation as well as hers, so she let him enjoy himself, only patting his arm warningly when his whistle made heads turn and the girls on the stage giggle.
Around 02.00, the four wandered back to their hotel. It was agreed that they would all meet for a simple lunch, and the girls would go shopping. Pierre, with a sly wink at Lepski, said they would take a drive through the Bois. This Lepski took as a promise of more interesting diversions than driving around the Bois.
In their bedroom, Pierre and Claudette regarded each other.
“Something bothering you, Sugar?” Pierre asked. “That signal you gave me on the boat.”
Claudette kicked off her shoes, then flopped on the bed.
“The Russian icon you were talking about with Tom. Tell me more.”
Pierre sat down and lit a cigarette.
“It’s believed to be the oldest icon known, worth millions. It was brilliantly stolen from the Fine Arts museum in Washington some three days ago. The reaction was fast. As Lepski said there’s no way of getting it to Europe. Some secret collector just might buy it.”
“Suppose you got it, could you sell it?”
Pierre stared at her.
“What’s going on in that smart mind of yours?”
“Could you find a market for it?”
“It’s not in our league, sugar. Of course, there’s always a market for a unique treasure like that, but I haven’t the contacts who could find at least four million dollars. Anyway, I haven’t got it.”
“You said it was brilliantly stolen.”
“It was: a steal of a lifetime.”
Claudette raised herself on her elbows and looked at Pierre.
“Who could have organized a steal like that, my treasure?”
For a long moment, Pierre remained still, then his eyes lit up.
“You marvellous darling! Of course! Ed Haddon! Who else?” He jumped to his feet. “Bradey! The vanity box! My God! I’m willing to bet the icon is right here in this hotel!”
Claudette laughed.
“That’s my bet too, my treasure.”
Pierre began to pace around the room, thumping his fist into the palm of his hand.
“What a beautiful idea! To con a cop to smuggle it out! Haddon! He’s brilliant! Sugar! You’re the cleverest of the clever!”
“Lu wants us to see the vanity box through the Swiss customs. That must mean he has a client in Switzerland. Who?”
“Wait.” Pierre sat down, crushed out his cigarette and lit another.
Claudette flopped back on the bed, closed her eyes and waited.
Finally, Pierre said, “The only man I know of who lives in Switzerland and who has the right money is Herman Radnitz. He could be the client.”
Claudette opened her eyes.
“Isn’t he the horrible man you once sold a picture to?”
“That’s the man.”
“Suppose we had the icon, could you do a deal with him?”
Pierre hesitated.
“Maybe. I do know he’s interested in Russian art. If he is Haddon’s client, it depends how much Haddon is asking. At a guess, eight million. If Radnitz was offered the icon for five million...”