After a few minutes the cop came back. He passed close to where Ferrari was
hiding, and once more disappeared around the bend in the corridor.
Ferrari stepped out from behind the curtains, crossed over to the door of the room the girl had just left, opened it softly and looked in.
The room was in darkness. He took out the key, stepped into the room, closed the door and shot the bolt. Then he snapped on the lights.
The bed had been turned down and the room was tidy, Ferrari decided the floor maid had already visited the room, and with any luck he wouldn’t be disturbed for at least an hour. He turned out the light and went over to the window, drawing back the curtains.
The window overlooked the swimming-pool and the lawn. He could see the bright lights, the crowds still swimming or lounging around the pool while waiters in white jackets hurried to and fro carrying trays of drinks.
Frances’s room, Ferrari knew, was at the back of the hotel, facing the sea. He knew, too, that all the windows on the tenth floor on that side of the hotel were guarded. To reach her window, he would have to climb up the roof, lower himself over the ridge and then climb down the other side.
It would be a dangerous and difficult climb, one of the most dangerous climbs he had ever undertaken, but it didn’t worry him. He had studied the roof for a long time through a pair of powerful field glasses, and had decided on the route to take.
He pulled the curtain and sat on the window ledge and watched the crowd below. It wasn’t dark enough to make an attempt just yet. In another half hour the darkness would hide him from anyone who happened to look up towards the roof.
He sat staring down at the lighted bathing-pool, his mind a blank, his muscles relaxed. The hands of his strap-watch crawled on and the sky slowly darkened. At a few minutes past nine o’clock he decided it was dark enough.