Murder At The Masque (32 page)

Auguste gave a great sigh. Tatiana loved him. The air was warm, the enchantment of Cannes restored, but it was empty of Tatiana’s presence. As was his life for ever. Yet
she loved him, and he was alive, and there was always hope. He smiled and rose to his feet. ‘Let us go, Egbert.’

They began to walk towards the Rue du Barri and the promise of Madame Didier’s salmagundi for supper.

‘You know, Auguste,’ said Rose presently, judging the moment right, ‘I always knew it couldn’t be Tucker.’

‘Why?’ Auguste asked indignantly.

‘No Englishman would kill another at a cricket match.’

Auguste forced a laugh and then, restored, laughed again. Things were right between himself and Egbert.

‘What about Kallinkova?’ asked Rose as they walked up the Rue St Antoine towards the Suquet Hill.

‘She is a great and rare blossom, Egbert. But not for me. We pass our different ways. For me now always she will be the Man in the Iron Mask.’

Rose was silent for a few minutes as they climbed the steps to the pathway above the Rue du Barri. ‘That reminds me,’ he said suddenly, ‘I’d been meaning to ask. What happened to the other one?’

‘What other one?’ asked Auguste blankly.

‘The other night – we both shouted together. We both spotted the so-called ghost. Yet I was up there chasing – Kallinkova. You were down here going the other way. As soon as you joined me, we both saw Kallinkova on the far side of the hill. She was real enough. But what happened to the other one?’

They caught each other’s eye. The eerie night air took on a sudden chill, and with one accord their footsteps broke into a run.