Quest for Alexis by Nancy Buckingham Page A

couple of seconds we were being shepherded through the private office and out of a door at the rear into a long, dimly lit corridor.
    Brett slid out a second banknote and held it up be tween his finger and thumb.
    “Do you know where Dr. Karel is heading? Where he’s gone?”
    “Monsieur, I know nothing. My instructions were ex actly as I told you. All arrangements must have been made with the manager personally. Perhaps he could—”
    “There’s no time for that,” said Brett. “We’ve got to get out of here before they catch on that we’ve gone.”
    We emerged into a dark courtyard. Brett was still gripping me by the wrist.
    “It must be this way around to the front,” he mut tered. “I hope to God those press boys won’t have come out yet.”
    We were in luck. When we reached the forecourt, we were within a few yards of where the Renault was parked. There were no reporters in sight. We made a quick dash to the car and were away in a moment, swinging out onto the promenade, heading back the way we had come.
    Brett said grimly, “I don’t think anyone saw us. Have a look and see if any car tried to follow.”
    I craned my neck to peer out of the rear window. The only vehicle in sight was a small truck.
    “No, I think we’re in the clear.”
    I felt sick at heart. To think that I’d been so near to Alexis, missing him by just a few minutes. If only, I thought despondently, we’d not had that holdup getting the car out of the garage, then we might have been in time. We might have reached the Hotel des Alpes- Maritimes before the gathering reporters had driven Alexis away.
    I said, puzzled, “I still don’t see how those news papermen could have tracked Alexis down so quickly.”
    “These things happen, Gail—there’s nothing so sur prising about it. The press world is geared to acting fast on information received, and all manner of people give them tipoffs in return for a small handout. Hotel staff, taxi drivers—it could have been anyone.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If only Alexis realized, he’s asking for publicity by staying at these deluxe places. Sitting up and begging for it. If he just had the sense to choose somewhere a shade less flashy, he’d stand a chance of getting by unnoticed. Now he’s had to escape from the press again, and we’re back to square one.”
    “And those reporters know about me,” I said miser ably.
    “That fact hadn’t escaped my notice, either,” Brett said with withering sarcasm. “In the future you’d better watch your tongue.”
    Brett was driving fast along the promenade, and I noticed that he shot past the turn that led back to our hotel.
    “Where are you going?” I asked.
    “Somewhere quiet so we can stop and think out what to do next.”
    “Why not go back to the Etoile?”
    He didn’t try to hide his scorn. “Grow up, Gail. You just said yourself that those newsmen know about you. How long do you imagine it will take them to track down where Gail Fleming is staying in Nice? If some of them aren’t around at the Hôtel de l’Etoile within minutes, waiting to pounce on you, I’d be amazed. It’s the one place we mustn’t go to right now.”
    “But all our things are there.”
    “Hard luck! That’s the least of our worries at the moment. Unless ...” he glanced at me hopefully, “un less you’re ready to drop this half-baked scheme of yours and go back home like a sensible girl.”
    “How can I, now?” I said unhappily. “How could I ever admit to Madeleine that I got so near Alexis and then just gave up?”
    “You needn’t ever tell her.”
    Brett swung away from the seafront by some formally laid-out gardens and headed into the town. As we approached an intersection, the traffic lights changed to red and Brett pulled up. Alongside us, a big black car slid to a halt. Brett was staring straight ahead through the windshield, his fingers impatiently tapping the rim of the steering wheel. In the light of the street- lamp I could