The concierge led Legros down an arched corridor and up a short stone stairway. He stopped in front of a large oak door and fumbled with a key ring chained to his belt. The old fellow tried a key and failed. “No, that’s not it. It’s hard to see in this light,” he muttered. After two more unsuccessful attempts, the lock clicked and the carved oak-paneled door swung open. “Eureka!” he cried, as though he had discovered buried treasure.
Upon entering, Legros smelled the mustiness of a sitting room that had not been aired for several days. He particularly noted the lingering odor of tobacco smoke. He walked to the center of the chamber and scanned the surroundings. He noticed some muddy footprints on the carpet, which he examined closely. He also noticed a coffee table set with a half-emptied decanter and three glasses on a silver platter. Next to the platter, there was a porcelain tray containing two half-smoked cigars and a cigarette butt stained with lip rouge. After several minutes’ inspection he remarked, “This is a well-appointed room. Do the furnishings belong to Mme Behrs?”
“Oh no, Inspector. It’s hired for the term of the lease. I have a complete inventory in my quarters.”
“Very well. I’ll take that with me and have it copied. You’ll get a receipt, and the inventory will be returned to you.”
The concierge sighed. “Yes, Monsieur.”
Legros noticed something in the fireplace. He walked over, knelt by the hearth, and picked through the ashes. “Someone burned papers recently.”
“Pardon, Monsieur?”
Legros brushed off his hands, got up, and eyed the concierge sternly. “I said they burned papers before they left.”
“Oh, they burned papers, did they?” The old man shook his head and frowned as though he shared the detective’s concern, though in fact he had no idea what the burning might signify.
Legros turned his attention to a velvet portière drawn back to disclose the entrance to another room. “Is that Madame’s boudoir?”
“Yes, Inspector.”
As he entered the room, Legros noticed that the bed was made and there were toiletries on the washstand. He examined the wardrobe, chest of drawers, and a trunk in which he found expensive dresses, hats, shoes, lingerie, and some costume jewelry. He recalled something the concierge had said: Mme Behrs is a fashionable lady, Monsieur. Such women never travel without at least one portmanteau.
Legros said, “It’s hard to believe a woman would leave so much if she didn’t intend to return.”
The concierge nodded. “Yes, Monsieur. Perhaps . . . perhaps the landlord might claim some of it in lieu of the unpaid rent?”
“I’m afraid that must wait. My case takes precedence.” Legros continued making a thorough inspection of the room. When he peered under the bed, he saw a dark object that looked like a bag or case. He reached in, pulled it out, and showed it to the concierge. “Is this M. Noiret’s Gladstone bag?”
The concierge came closer and examined the bag. “Yes, Inspector; I believe it is.”
Legros placed the bag on the bed, unfastened the brass latch, and opened it. The case was empty. Did they transfer the money to the suitcases? he wondered.
He closed the latch, turned around, and said, “I’m taking this as evidence.” Legros left the boudoir carrying the Gladstone bag and returned to the sitting room; the old man followed. When they reached the door, Legros stopped and made a severe pronouncement: “This apartment is sealed pending the outcome of the investigation. No one is to enter except on police business. Everything in the apartment is to be left as it is. Moreover, all the movables will be impounded until further notice. A detective will serve a warrant to that effect within the next twenty-four hours.
“In addition, I charge you to report any suspicious activity related to this case, including but not limited to the names and particulars of anyone inquiring about Mme Behrs, M. Noiret, and the yet-unidentified individual. Do you understand?”
The old man looked down and sighed deeply. “Yes, Inspector; I understand.” His face wrinkled in a bitter frown. “I knew that woman would be trouble,” he muttered.
Legros smiled. “You knew she would be trouble, my friend? That’s interesting. Let’s return to your kitchen and discuss Mme Behrs and her associates over a cup of your excellent coffee.”
9
A TANGLED WEB
At five A.M., Achille sat at his desk, sipping coffee and nibbling a brioche while harmonizing his notes with Legros’s reports. Legros sat silently, trying to anticipate his chief’s questions while at the same time formulating intelligent responses to each hypothetical.
Achille finished chewing the last piece of his pastry and washed it down with café au lait. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away a few crumbs from his moustache and beard before commenting on his protégé’s work. “You had a productive day. M. Aubert, the concierge, could make a good witness or at least prove to be a mine of valuable information.”
“I hope so, Chief; although at times he seems senile.”
“Don’t underestimate your elders, Étienne. Sometimes the old folks are much sharper than they let on. At any rate, what you can’t get from Aubert you might pick up elsewhere. Your detectives need to question everyone in the neighborhood. We should at least get some leads.” Lefebvre consulted his notes before continuing: “Aubert corroborates the information you received from the cabdriver. After the driver picked up the baron at the station, he drove to a hotel on the Rue Castex, where his passenger met a man with a bandaged face.
“He then drove the two a short distance to the apartment on the Rue de Turenne. Of course, we’ll need to identify that mysterious individual. You can begin by contacting the Hotel Squad. They can check the registration slips and assist you with questioning the front desk, the porters, the maids, and the bellmen.”
Legros made a note. “Very well, Chief. What do you make of the device on the carriage door?”
“It might be one of the baron’s coaches. You can look into that. On the other hand—” Achille broke off mid-sentence. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and focused on the problem, a habit he had acquired from Chief Féraud. After a moment, he turned his attention back to Legros. “I’m meeting with Captain Duret this morning, and my network is on the case, too.
“I have a theory, but I don’t want you to be distracted by it. If you recall, Orlovsky said Colonel Mukhin was met at the station by an embassy coach. It’s possible the device Aubert saw was the Russian double-headed eagle. You should provide Aubert with pictures of the de Livet coat of arms, the Russian national emblem, and a few others to see if he can make a positive identification.”
“Right, Chief.”
Achille nodded and returned to the report. “Burned papers, cigar and cigarette butts, muddy footprints, glass and decanter,” he muttered. He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know if any of that will be helpful, but we should preserve it all as is, just in case. As for Mme Behrs’s expensive clothing and personal articles, about all that signifies is that she left in a hurry and traveled light. Whether she intended to return is a matter of conjecture. The empty Gladstone bag and the two suitcases are intriguing. What do you think?”
Legros considered the possibilities before saying, “They transferred the money from one container to the others.”
“Why would they do that?”
“We had a good description of the Gladstone bag; it’s quite distinctive. Aubert couldn’t tell me anything about the suitcases beyond the generic description.”
“I agree; that’s our best guess.” He returned to the report before continuing. “Dr. Levasseur remains obstinate. That’s hardly surprising. We have nothing on him. His negligence might have contributed to Otero’s death, but without incriminating evidence, that’s of no consequence to our case.
“It seems the baroness has been quite cooperative, but I’m not surprised. After all, she reported her husband missing within a reasonable period. We must be cautious with our assumptions. So far, the detectives searching the
mansion have turned up no evidence against the baroness, Bonnet, or anyone else. Otero’s death could have been an accident, totally unrelated to the baron’s disappearance. I hope that we’ll know more after your interview with Mignonette Hubert. At any rate, it looks like you’ll have a good day for an airship exhibition.”
“Yes; it should be clear and mild. A perfect autumn afternoon.”
Achille reached for a piece of notepaper and took a pen from its inkwell. “If Mlle Hubert does have important information, I fear she may be in danger.” He handed the letter to Legros. “Use your judgment, Étienne. This note is for my wife. If you think it necessary, take Mlle Hubert to my apartment. She can stay with us for a while.”
“I understand, Chief. What should I say to the baroness?”
“Tell her the truth. Of course, don’t let on where you’ve taken the young woman. Just say she has been placed in protective custody in a location you’re not at liberty to disclose. If the baroness, Bonnet, or anyone else makes a move based on that information, it might lead to something important.”
Legros folded the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket. “Speaking of Bonnet, did you learn anything more about him from M. Leclerc?”
Achille shrugged. “The maître confirmed my suspicions in one regard. Bonnet is a thug. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty of anything, at least not in this case.”
“It’s certainly a tangled web, isn’t it, Chief?”
“Yes, it is; and I hope we untangle it soon.”
Achille and Sergeant Adam waited on a bench located along one of the wide pathways radiating from the central basin in the Tuileries Gardens. Captain Duret would arrive shortly.
A mild breeze rustled the branches of neatly trimmed trees and hedges of many varieties; red, brown and gold leaves floated for an instant before reaching their final resting place on the walkways and broad expanses of clipped, green lawns.
From his vantage point, Achille could see the top of the Eiffel Tower rising above trees, roofs, and spires, its reddish-brown painted ironwork glistening in a bright azure sky. “We might be able to see the airship from here, if it flies high enough, that is.”
“Yes, Chief; if they succeed. It’s not La France this time, is it?”
“No, it’s some rich sportsman flying a machine built with his own funds. Apparently, the army has better things to do with its money than spend it on aeronautic experiments.”
“That’s understandable, Monsieur. They had some success with La France, but those things aren’t practical, at least not for military purposes.”
“Not yet, they aren’t; but I believe they will be someday. Imagine this, Adam. Airships patrolling our city, spotting crimes as they occur and signaling to motorized squads on the ground. At night, we could use electric searchlights to scan the dark alleys and side streets. We’d catch the criminals before they knew what had hit them.”
Adam smiled. “That’s a fantastic idea, Chief. Inspector Legros told me how much you admire Jules Verne.”
“Ah yes, Jules Verne. But everything he writes has a basis in scientific fact. Twenty years from now, his stories won’t seem so fanciful. Nowadays, if I put my futuristic ideas in a proposal to the prefect, he would have me locked up with the lunatics in the Salpêtrière.”
Achille took out his watch. “Duret should be here any minute; he’s very punctual.” He glanced up the pathway toward the Louvre, the direction from which he expected the captain to arrive. The statue of a marble female nude caught his eye. The classical beauty reminded him of Adele. He had neglected her of late, and he missed her. As he gazed at the statue, a sense of sadness came over him, as though the springtime of his marriage had passed into autumn. He shook his head and sighed.
“Are you all right, M. Lefebvre?”
Achille snapped out of it immediately. “Sorry, Adam; it’s nothing. My mind wandered for a moment, that’s all.”
Adam turned his attention to the passersby. “Look there, Chief. That’s Captain Duret, isn’t it?”
Achille looked up the walkway and spotted a tall man dressed in impeccably tailored civilian clothes, marching in their direction as though he were on parade. “That’s Duret, all right. You’d better take a walk, but don’t go too far.”
“Of course, Chief. I’ll be on the watch.” Adam got up and walked toward the captain. They passed each other. Duret glanced at the sergeant and continued on to the bench.
Achille rose to greet the officer. “Good morning, Captain Duret.”
“Good morning, M. Lefebvre. I assume the gentleman who was with you is one of your detectives?”
“Yes, that’s Sergeant Adam, one of my most trusted men. He’s here for added security.”
“I understand, Monsieur.”
Achille and Duret sat and exchanged a few pleasantries before tending to business.
The captain said, “I understand you’re looking for the Baron de Livet. I trust we can work together in this matter, as we did in the Hanged Man case. We’ve taken an interest in the gentleman and his activities and are presently searching for him, too.”
Achille was hardly astounded by this revelation, but he thought it prudent to feign surprise. “Is that so? If I may inquire, why isn’t the baron on the list?” Following the passage of the 1886 Espionage Law, the former minister of war, General Boulanger, had created two lists for purposes of national security and surveillance: Carnet A, which included all foreigners of military age living in France, and Carnet B, aimed at French or foreign nationals suspected of espionage. The police cooperated with Military Intelligence in the enforcement of the law that required the arrest and internment of suspected individuals in time of war or a general mobilization.
Duret removed his bowler and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Unseasonably warm, isn’t it, M. Lefebvre?”
Achille smiled at the officer’s evasive response. “Indeed it is, Captain. Now would you be so kind as to answer my question?”
The captain replaced his hat and fumbled with his handkerchief as though playing for time while deciding on an appropriate answer. Finally he said, “It’s complicated, Monsieur; very complicated. Let me put it to you this way: We’ve kept the baron off the list because we . . . we’ve taken a special interest in him.”
“Please, Captain. If we are to help each other, we must be frank. After all, we’re playing on the same team. Did you try to recruit the baron as an agent?”
Duret winced but he replied directly. “That’s the gist of it, Monsieur.”
“I see. And could you please tell me why?”
“As you may already know, the baron is a recently naturalized citizen, a South African of German extraction. He made a fortune in the diamond and gold mines, but more important, he played a prominent role in negotiating a major deal between a French consortium and M. Cecil Rhodes. The interests of M. Rhodes, and the British government, do not necessarily coincide with our own. The British recently entered into an accommodation over disputed territories with both our government and the Germans.
“However, such agreements are temporary at best. This is especially so in relation to the further colonization and development of Africa, where the competition among the powers is most dynamic. The baron is well-placed to provide us with valuable intelligence concerning our competitors’ intentions.”
Achille nodded. “I understand, Captain. But how do the Russians fit into this picture? As far as I know, they have no great ambitions in Africa.”
“Our country and Russia have already entered into an economic agreement, and we are close to a military alliance. Our Russian friends have their own . . . disagreements with the British in the East.”
“By the ‘East’ do you mean in the vicinity of the Afghan border?”
Duret stared at Achille for a moment before saying, “Please tell me what you suspect, M. Lefebvre.”
Achille smiled and shook his head. “First, I’ll tell you what I know.” Achille summarized the information
he and Legros had obtained from their investigation. He followed with a series of questions.
“What do you know about Valentine Behrs, aka Valentina Berezina?”
“She works for us—and M. Orlovsky.”
“So she’s a double agent?”
“Yes, Monsieur. It’s complicated, as I said. We assigned her to the baron, and she provided information to both the Russians and us. Of course, our department vetted everything she gave to Orlovsky. If anything she received from the baron might be used against our interests, the Okhrana did not get it. We lost track of her last week when she failed to report as usual.”
“I see. And I suppose you have an agent in the embassy monitoring Colonel Mukhin?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Do you know if the Russians have anything to do with the baron’s disappearance?”
“No, we don’t. We were hoping you could help us in that regard.”
“Do you have any information about M. Sims?”
“Nothing more than you’ve already discovered, Monsieur.”
“What about the man with the bandaged face?”
The captain shook his head. “You know as much as we do.”
We could know more when the Hotel Squad gets back to Étienne, he thought. “Very well. We’re investigating, and I’ll let you know what we find out.”
“Thank you, Monsieur. By the way, have you employed your own secret network in the investigation?”
“Yes, I have, and I’m very much concerned for their safety.”
“Of course, Monsieur. But we must exercise the utmost caution when dealing with the Russians. We want to maintain our cordial and cooperative relationship. And we need to be careful about what gets out to the press.”
Achille thought of Fournier; he and the other reporters could not be held off much longer.
“I’m quite aware of that, Captain. Now, as to what I suspect. I suspect what happened in Aix-les-Bains had nothing to do with a game of cards.” Achille consulted his watch and gazed up in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. “The airship should be ascending about this time.”
The Man Upon the Stair Page 11