Chapter Eleven
Christine hid her unease as she looked around the nightclub, knowing they had no other place to go now.
Unless Raoul's contact could and would help them...and if they could meet his price.
The headwaiter showed them to their table, removing the Reserved placard and adjust the small lamp that stood in the center of the pristine white cloth.
"We are meeting someone here this evening," Raoul informed the man, "has Monsieur Andre arrived yet?"
"I believe, sir, that he was at the bar earlier. I will have someone inquire for you."
A waiter came to lay menu cards before them.
"We would be dining. Just bring us some champagne," Raoul told him, "and cavier."
"Very well, sir."
When the waiter left them, Christine turn to her companion.
"Raoul, do you think that's wise," she asked in a hushed voice.
He gave her gloved hand a reassuring pat and smiled at her with a confidence she knew was false.
"We must keep up appearences, dearest. We have enough for now. And if this Andre fellow is willing to bargain, we won't have to stay in Casablanca for long."
"Monsieur de Chagny?"
They looked up to see an auburn-haired man in a policeman's uniform standing before the table.
"I am de Chagny," Raoul said, rising, "are you Monsieur Andre."
"No, sir. But may I join for a moment. I have news of your...friend."
Raoul nodded and the man took a seat at the small, round table.
"I am Inspector Raymond Giry."
Raoul seemed almost startled at the word inspector. He had no trust in these Vichy agents. But he concealed his reaction beneath an amiable facade.
"Inspector, this is Christine."
"Ah, a pleasure to meet you. One sees so many beautiful women here these days. From all corners of the world. But I must be honest with you, ma cherie, you put them all to shame."
As he spoke, he took Christine's hand and kissed in with the air of a practiced dandy.
"You flatter me, Inspector," she said and smiled politely as she drew her hand back.
The Inspector returned his attention to Raoul.
"Forgive me for intruding, sir. But I could not help overhearing. You asked after Monsieur Andre, did you not."
"Yes. I was supposed to meet him here this evening."
"Ah, I see. That is too bad," the Inspector said with mock regret, "you see, Monsieur Andre was arrested not an hour ago."
"Too bad, indeed," Raoul said quite casually, "what in the world is he accused of?"
"Oh, you did not hear about those German couriers? He was suspected in their murder."
"No," Raoul lied. "we had not heard. We arrived in Casablanca only late last night."
"The poor devil denied it, of course. And tried to resist. My men had no choice, but to shoot him. Forgive me, ma cheire. One should not speak of such ugly things in the presence of a lady."
As Raoul carefully maneuvered the conversation away from the demise of his contact and toward mundane subjects, Christine looked around the room once more.
She smiled at sight of a piano against one of the ornately painted columns. Then she stifled a cry of surprise as she recognized the man who had just taken a seat at the instrument.