“I’ve been talking to a fellow I met who used to be a big shot in the underground. We’ve got a hunch that there’s some connection with somebody that Rosepierre trusted, who went wrong and went the Nazi way — who may even have betrayed Rosepierre to the Gestapo. But if they tortured him, he must have died before he’d write them a check on that New York bank!”
For the first time Simon saw the crawl of fear beneath Olivant’s sleek surface. It was no more than an infinitesimal twitch, instantly smothered, but it was all that he needed.
“Eet is too ’orrible to sink about,” Olivant said. He turned to the girl. “Your fahzer was such a wonderful man. Everyone love ’im.”
“You can’t think of anyone who might have turned on him?” she managed to ask.
“I could not think of anyone ’oo would be so bad!”
“My Resistance friend thinks he can,” said the Saint. “Anyway, he’s making inquiries.”
Olivant picked up his glass and drained it, and wiped his mouth.
“I ’ope wiz all my ’eart zat ’e succeed,” he said. “But we make Miss North upset again wiz zis talk. I see it. Instead to remind ’er of ’er poor fahzer and ’er poor brozzer, we should try to make ’er forget a leetle... Now, I ’ave ze idea. I ’ave my car. Tonight it would be nice to drive out to St Cloud, to my ’ouse, where we ’ave a nice dinner, and per’aps ’elp ourselves to feel better.”
Valerie looked at the Saint desperately, but Olivant might have been anticipating the glance.
“Of course,” he said, “if Mr Tombs is not engage, I am most ’appy if ’e come also.”