Free Gourmet Detective by Peter King Page B

it.
    â€œHere’s my phone number,” I told him, handing him a card. He had to stop moving long enough to take it. “My answering service can get in touch with me twenty-four hours a day—” I must tell Mrs Shearer about that. She’d be astonished and want more money.
    He didn’t look impressed but I was. Just like a Continental Op.
    â€œIf there are any more incidents—call me at once,” I admonished him. He nodded and we shook hands and I left. With all those papers on his desk, he’d have to sit down now.
    François was on the phone. I waited till he was finished.
    â€œI’d like to pop in from time to time,” I told him. “No schedule, just at random.”
    â€œOf course.” He rummaged in his desk drawer and pulled out a key. “This is to the back door.” I hadn’t meant out of hours but I took it anyway.
    â€œDid you get what you need from Klaus and Larry?”
    â€œVery interesting,” I said sagely.
    He fixed me with his piercing look again. “I’m very worried about this situation, very worried,” he said. “I hope you’re going to get to the bottom of it.”
    â€œI will,” I said confidently. François looked less confident but he nodded, “Good.”
    I was about to take my leave when he said:
    â€œOne other thing—”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThere is a banquet on Friday night for the Circle of Careme. We are hosting it here. You’d better be on hand.”
    I could hardly believe my luck. “Of course.”
    â€œCall me the day before and I’ll give you whatever details you need.”
    When I left Le Trouquet d’Or and stepped out into a blustery wet wind, I was in a euphoric daze. I had just completed my first day as a real private eye … it hadn’t gone too badly and I thought I had asked most of the right questions. Had I made any progress? I’d have to think about that.
    Then a real bonus! The Circle of Careme! And I was going to be there.

Chapter Seven
    T HE CIRCLE OF CAREME .
    The banquet room at Le Trouquet d’Or glittered under countless butter-gold candles. There was already a steady hum of conversation, growing louder as more and more members arrived. There was the occasional clink of a glass or a plate as the waiters put the finishing touches to the huge circular table. Seating was both inside and out, with gaps for access to the inner sections.
    The Circle of Careme.
    The most prestigious, the most celebrated of all gourmet organisations in the country. I felt quite privileged to be there, even under these circumstances. It would also be intriguing to learn something of the Circle for it was an enigma.
    It had no known president, no identifiable secretary and no registered address. At various times, its periodic banquets would get a mention in the press, mainly because of the luminaries who attended. Guests were often invited it seemed but the membership was as nebulous as the panel of officers. One read that so-and-so or what’s-his-name had been present but it was impossible to establish who were members and who were guests.
    The Circle did not make obvious efforts to remain secret but it certainly maintained a cloak of anonymity that would have made Howard Hughes envious. It never sought publicity and probably exercised influence to avoid more than a minimum amount.
    The purposes of the Circle were apparently two in number—the enjoyment of the very best of superb food and an opportunity to meet and talk with friends, colleagues, peers, rivals and competitors.
    That was all I knew about the Circle and it was perhaps more than most. So now I was listening and watching with all the enthusiasm of a child paying his first visit to the circus.
    François had phoned me the day before as promised and we had discussed how to handle this surveillance. I suggested going as a waiter but François thought it would provoke too many