The Toff and the Deep Blue Sea by John Creasey Page A

searched, but nothing has ever been found. Oh, the police suspect.”
    â€œWhat do they suspect?” asked the Toff very softly.
    â€œThat the Nuit Verte goes across to Algiers and to other North African ports, always with a cargo of girls, perhaps with other things. What do you call it?—the white-slave traffic. Some of these girls want to go; it is exciting, it is enthralling. I believe that is where they disappear to. But Morency and the others are too clever. There is a spy in the commissariat de police, who warns them if there is to be a raid. I know that; I have heard them talk of it. So when the Nuit Verte or any other boat is searched—it is empty.”
    â€œDo you know all this?”
    â€œI only guess.”
    Rollison found it easy to believe her.
    They were silent for a few seconds, with the gentle lapping water for company.
    Suddenly:
    â€œViolette,” said the Toff.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThere was a little beggar on the promenade this morning. He followed you. His eyes—”
    She looked as if she could cry, and he was sure that she knew that the beggar was dead.
    â€œI know,” she said. “Sautot saw him, and went to question him. He was frightened, and confessed that he was working for you, that he’d seen this Daphne Myall. Sautot told him to go in front, and—”
    â€œBut why kill?”
    Violette said quietly: “I am not sure, M. Rollison, but I believe that they were terribly afraid you can prove that the English girl has been at the Villa Seblec. That would bring the police, and—they greatly fear that.”
    â€œBut if the body were found—”
    â€œThey would have taken it away. They were going to when I tried to leave the Villa. They stopped me, and began to question me.”
    â€œTell me more about them,” invited Rollison.
    She told him.
    There was Morency, an old Englishman, who seemed to be in charge. Sautot, whom he realised he had shot, a man from the Paris slums who had no scruples. Raoul, whom she hated—
    She touched Rollison’s arm: “This is the truth, m’sieu. I live with fear. I dare not return to Nice. Sautot or one of the other servants will be searching. They would kill me, before I could get to the police. And how could I go to the police? All I have done will be told, all that my sister has done. There would be such shame for my parents.” She paused, but obviously hadn’t finished, and Rollison waited. “I would prefer to die,” she said at last.
    He was sure that she meant it.
    He could tell her that there would be greater shame in letting such men as Chicot, Sautot, Morency, and Raoul go unpunished, free to plunder and kill and spoil.
    Telling her that could wait.
    â€œWe’ll swim ashore when we’re closer in,” said Rollison, “and wade to the beach among the other bathers. They’ll be there in their hundreds. Afterwards we’ll find a spot for you to hide. Game?”
    â€œGame?”
    â€œWilling?”
    She was silent; but her eyes began to glow as with hope.
    â€œYes,” she said at last. “But I should wait a little while,” she advised. “You look as if you are too hot already, and you have been standing for a long time in the sun. If we rest in the saloon first, it will be better.”
    â€œOh, we’re not quite ready to go yet,” agreed the Toff. So she had common sense and a cool head, to help her in her fears for her sister and herself; and of the police.
    He wondered if there was a reason for her fear of the police which she hadn’t told him.
    They turned away, and walked over the hot deck into the welcome coolness of the staircase.
    â€œIs there any medical kit on board?” Rollison asked.
    â€œOh, yes, always. Dr. Morency keeps one case here.”
    â€œHe’s a real doctor?”
    â€œYes. Of all the men I have met while serving Chicot,” announced Violette, “I like Dr.