“And what the hell may that mean?” muttered Béchoux, smitten with sudden vague anxiety. He rushed off to Olga’s flat. It was shut up. He rushed on to the Folies Bergère. There he was told that the star had paid a large forfeit to break her contract and had gone off on holiday. “Nom d’un Nom d’un Nom!” spluttered Béchoux when he got out in the street. “Is it possible?... Instead of collaring some cash, can he have used his triumph to ... can he have dared to....” The cloud of suspicion grew bigger and blacker. Bécho…
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