“Your memory’s faulty. I advised you to pay her to keep quiet.”
He shook his head. “Once you give in to blackmail, it never ends.” He glanced around. “Keep quiet; Jacques is coming.”
The proprietor served them, made some jokes and small talk, and returned to the restaurant.
“All right,” Madame said. “Let’s say we change our plans. How will you manage now that your five thousand is gone?”
“I was counting on you for that.”
“Me? I haven’t any money. The baron’s withdrawn every sou from the bank, and all the property is in his name. Why don’t you go to him?”
Bonnet laughed bitterly. “I would if I could find him. He should have contacted us by now. Anyway, I can’t wait. Why don’t you go to your father?”
“The count? You must be joking. All he had is what my husband gave him, and he spent it on himself. I married to get my father out of debt, and he never came close to thanking me for it.”
“Well then, you’ve got plenty of valuables; jewelry, for instance. My friend will take precious gems in lieu of cash.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will. How much does he want?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“Thirty thousand francs?”
“That’s right. And I’ll need something for myself, say five thousand to make up for what the flics took.”
Madame drank some wine and stubbed out her cigarette. She weighed the cost of complying with his demand against the risk of refusing. “Very well,” she replied. “When would you leave?”
“As soon as my friend and I can work out a plan to get me to the border. In case you haven’t noticed, the flics are watching us day and night.”
They said nothing more of consequence, keeping their thoughts to themselves. They finished the wine and ate some of the bread and cheese. Madame left money for the meal; they got up and returned to the stairway that led to the dock.
The rowers at the other table stopped playing draughts. One turned to the other and nodded. He gestured to Jacques Simon, then took out a pad and pencil and jotted down some notes.
Bonnet had been mistaken about this particular guinguette. The oarsmen were detectives stationed in Joinville. A detective at the Gare de l’Est alerted his suburban partners by wire as soon as the baroness and Bonnet bought their ticket. Moreover, “the friendliest tavern keeper on the river” was one of M. Lefebvre’s paid informers.
Achille met Moïse beneath the medieval Conciergerie clock tower on the Quai de l’Horloge. The chief of detectives translated the Latin inscription on the venerable clock for the chiffonier’s benefit: “This mechanism that divides the hours in twelve exact parts, instructs us to preserve Justice and defend the laws.”
Moïse was duly impressed. “Is that what it says in an ancient language, M. Lefebvre? I would never have known. You certainly have the advantages of a fine education.” The chiffonier handed Delphine’s encrypted note to Achille and gave him a graphic description of the fight in the cemetery.
“Did you teach her those tricks, Monsieur?” the young man asked, his voice filled with admiration for the chief’s fighting skills.
“Yes, I taught her French boxing and canne d’arme. But Delphine’s very tough, as you know. She was an excellent pupil; I didn’t have to teach her much.”
“Would you teach me, Monsieur?” Moïse asked with a hopeful look in his eyes. “I’m good with a razor and I can kick, but I’m not so good with my hands.”
Achille examined the chiffonier’s slight, five-foot frame and thin, short arms. “I suppose I could, but I’m quite busy at the moment.”
Moïse frowned with disappointment. “I understand, Monsieur.”
Achille reached into his pocket and took out two envelopes. He handed them both to Moïse. “This one’s for Delphine, the other’s for you. I’ve added bonuses. You’ve earned it.”
The chiffonier’s face brightened. “Thank you, Monsieur. I’m sure Delphine will be pleased. Do you have a message for her?”
“Yes, I do. Tell her not to worry for herself or Apolline. I take care of my friends. And please give my regards to Le Boudin.”
“Of course, M. Lefebvre. Au revoir.” Moïse tipped his battered hat and bowed; then he turned and walked along the quay in the direction of the Pont au Change.
Achille took a moment to enjoy the mild autumn weather and the fresh river breeze. I’ve been cooped up in the office too long, he thought. A couple of rowers heading for the bridge caught his attention. He knew the strength of the currents running under the bridges on both sides of the islands, both upstream and down. On occasion, he had gone out on grim, early-morning patrols searching for bodies that floated beneath the arches and past the quays. The police fished out the corpses and took them to the nearby Morgue on the Quai de l’Archevêché. Achille had become inured to this detail; it was part of his job. But he could not forget some of the dead, particularly the face of a girl of about ten who looked as though she had just gone to sleep. He shook his head, sighed, and lit a cigarette.
He next turned his attention to the Place du Châtelet, on the right bank across from where he stood. This was the site of the ancient Châtelet prison and the old police headquarters. In a bygone era, the place stank from the slaughterhouse effluent that emptied into the Seine from the mouth of the great sewer. The Emperor Napoleon I ordered the demolition of the medieval fortress; at that time, the area swarmed with beggars, cutthroats, and footpads.
In the vicinity, somewhere between the Pont au Change and the Pont Notre-Dame, Hugo’s detective Javert had his final confrontation with Jean Valjean. The fugitive had spared the police officer’s life, and despite years of tenacious pursuit, Javert let his quarry go. After a lifetime of dedication to strict enforcement of the laws, Javert could not live with the contradiction. In despair, he leaped from the quay to his death in the turbid waters. A bad way to go, Achille thought.
He recalled Moreau; his enigmatic stare in the prison registry the morning of the execution. Achille imagined the condemned man’s unspoken question: You preserve justice and defend the laws, M. Lefebvre. But what if the law itself is unjust? Will you enforce a bad rule or follow a higher principle?
Thankfully, Achille had not yet faced that predicament, and Moreau was a murderer, not a poor man who stole bread to feed his starving family.
Achille tried to shake off his pensive mood by focusing on something pleasant. He was not far from the flower market. I’ll bring Adele a bouquet this evening to thank her for being so hospitable to Mlle Hubert. In fact, after just one evening and a morning together, the whole family had taken an interest in the young woman, and she reciprocated by being cheerful and helping with the household chores. Even Suzanne had overcome her initial reticence.
He finished his cigarette and flicked the butt into the river. Then he glanced at his watch. I’ve been here too long. Time to get back to the office and decrypt the message. Achille turned the corner and walked up the Boulevard du Palais. He felt safe this close to the Palais de Justice and police headquarters and therefore had gone out to meet Moïse without an escort. It suddenly occurred to him that Giraud and Breton might have the brains and the guts to take advantage of the situation.
If they don’t mind sacrificing their lives to assassinate me, they could attack anywhere, even at the entrance to the Cour du Mai. He considered the possibility for a moment, then shrugged it off and continued on to his office.
“I’m glad you chose to meet here, Chief. It’s too fine a day to remain indoors.”
“Thank you, Étienne, but I’m afraid Adam doesn’t share your enthusiasm.” Achille glanced in the direction of the sergeant, who was pacing around a ring of chestnut trees, on the lookout for assassins.
M. Lefebvre and Legros sat at a table outside a café in the Place Dauphine, not far from the entrance to the Pont Neuf. Achille often passed through the quiet, triangular “square” on his way to and from work. Located close to the Palais de Justice, lawy
ers, judges, and police officers deemed it a good place to stop and discuss a case over a glass of wine.
“Adam’s doing his job, Chief. You shouldn’t take too many chances.”
Achille took a sip of wine before answering. “I’m not going to hide in a hole because a couple of thugs want to kill me. Which reminds me: I need to speak to Rousseau. By now, we ought to have enough evidence of an assassination conspiracy to arrest Giraud and Breton. And I need to have a word with my big friend concerning Orlovsky. But that’s another matter. What did you find out at the hotel?”
Legros had just returned from the Rue Castex, where he had questioned the hotel staff about the bandaged man. “The individual wasn’t registered, Chief; the hall porter was the only one who could recall seeing him. The bandages caught the porter’s attention, and of course, they don’t like anyone loitering near the entrance. The porter was keeping an eye on the individual and was about to speak to him when the baron’s cab arrived. The bandaged man left in the cab and the porter thought little of the incident until I questioned him.”
“I see,” Achille said. He took out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Legros. They smoked in silence for a while. Then Achille reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his notes. He studied his jottings before saying, “I just received a wire from Scotland Yard’s Special Branch in response to my inquiry about Sims. They have nothing on him, which doesn’t surprise me. Moreover, even if they did have something, I’m not sure they’d share it with me.”
“I thought you had a good relationship with the London detectives?”
“I did, but things have changed. As you know from our Hanged Man case, our government is cozying up to the Russians. Paris has already replaced Berlin as their banker, and we may be close to a secret Franco-Russian military alliance as well. That relationship is not likely to please our English friends.”
“I understand, Chief. And you believe the shifting alliances have something to do with our case?”
“I do, but first I want you to consider a hypothesis. What if Sims and the bandaged man are one and the same?”
Legros took some wine and pondered a minute before answering. “If that’s true, then the information we got from Bonnet and Inspector Forestier is wrong.”
Achille smiled. “Bonnet is hardly credible. As for M. Forestier, I’m afraid both Bonnet and Prince Papkov duped him. If you recall, the prince told Forestier that Sims left for Monte Carlo on the twenty-fifth, the day before the baroness reported the baron missing. However, no one saw Sims at the station or on the train, and the police in Monaco have no record of M. Sims. But what if he boarded the same train as the baron and Colonel Mukhin and arrived in Paris on the twenty-fifth?”
“With his face bandaged?”
“Yes, with his face bandaged. In my hypothetical, Colonel Mukhin and Sims board the train at Annecy. Upon arrival in Paris, the embassy coach takes them to the Rue Castex. Mukhin leaves Sims at the hotel and returns to the embassy. A short time after that, the baron arrives in a cab and picks up the bandaged man. They then proceed to the apartment on the Rue de Turenne, where they meet Mme Behrs. Later that evening, the baron, Mme Behrs, and Sims leave in the coach old Aubert described, a closed landau with a coat of arms on the door. The coach may have been from the Russian embassy, but we can’t prove it. Have you gone back to Aubert to see if he can identify the coat of arms?”
“Not yet; it’s next on my list. And I’ll check with the Railway Squad and the stationmasters. Someone would have surely noticed a passenger with a bandaged face.”
“Of course. If I’m right, then we have another piece to add to our puzzle. Moreover, Delphine has provided some interesting information. There was a big deal in the works before the parties went to Aix-les-Bains, and I believe something went wrong when they returned to Paris. Now the Okhrana is after the baron and they want to get to him before we do. Orlovsky even tried to recruit Delphine to assist in his search.
“The baron is known for brokering lucrative business transactions that have implications of international significance. In this case, I believe he tricked the Russians, with the help of Mme Behrs, Sims, Bonnet, and Mme de Livet. To add a finishing touch, he’s left his lackey and his wife in the lurch.”
Legros leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Do you have a theory as to the nature of the transaction?”
“Yes, I do; but remember, it’s just a theory based on the facts we’ve gathered thus far and placed within the context of international politics, diplomacy, and intrigue. Our new ally has a vast eastern empire, the riches of which have hardly been tapped. For both economic and strategic reasons, the Russians are pushing their railways eastward, and they’re using French capital for this purpose.
“Sims is purportedly a retired English army officer who served on the North-West Frontier. Prince Papkov and Colonel Mukhin served in a regiment that guarded the Trans-Caspian railway terminus at Samarkand. The railway extensions will enable the Russians to mobilize a vast army near the Afghan border, large enough to invade Afghanistan, move south, and overwhelm the Anglo-Indian army holding the line at the Khyber Pass. Military intelligence of the British forces deployed at the frontier, defenses, and new railway construction would be of great value to the Russians.”
“Do you think the baron arranged for Sims to sell British military secrets to the Russians?”
Achille stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Perhaps; or it could have been a spectacular confidence trick. Let’s hope it was the latter, because the former could precipitate a war.”
Legros was speechless. He stared at the chief while trying to cope with the gravity of the situation. After a moment he asked, “Surely an alliance between our government and Russia is intended as a check on German aggression, not as a provocation to the English?”
“Germany is our mutual adversary, but a Franco-Russian alliance does risk conflict with Great Britain at strategic flashpoints where our national interests collide.” Achille smiled to put Legros at ease. “Your glass is empty. Would you care for another?”
“Yes . . . yes, Chief. Thank you; I would.”
Achille signaled to the waiter and ordered another round. As soon as the waiter returned to the bar, Achille said, “I believe we’re close to making an arrest in the Otero matter. You’ve seen the report from our detectives in Joinville?”
“Yes, I have. The acoustics on the empty terrace at the guinguette allowed them to overhear some of the conversation between the baroness and Bonnet. Have you spoken to Magistrate Leblanc?”
“Not yet. I’m going to drop by his office on our way back to headquarters. I have something to add that will interest you. Do you recall my visit to the salle de boxe?”
“Yes, Chief, I do. Did you get something more from M. Leclerc?”
“Not from the maître, but from one of my former sparring partners, an old boxer named Pasquet.”
“I know Pasquet,” Legros said. “He’s one of Rousseau’s snitches.”
“Yes, and he gives me a good tip, now and then. He tends bar at a bistro in Montmartre. The other night he heard some loose talk from a member of a smuggling ring. It appears M. Bonnet’s going to bolt for Spain, and we’re going to set a nice trap for him and his confederates.
“The gang’s been carrying contraband and an occasional fugitive over the Pyrenees for years. I’ve already wired the police commissary in Pau where the smugglers are on a wanted list. We’ll take Bonnet in custody and send his nefarious travel agents to our colleagues in the south.
“Flight is evidence of guilt, and we’re going to have Bonnet by the balls. We’ll twist them until he squeals. If he believes we have a strong murder case against him, he might tell us all he knows about the baron in an attempt to escape the guillotine.
“As for the baroness, we’ll see how she reacts when her lover’s in prison for investigative detention. I expect he’ll name her as an accomplice, and she might decide to come clean to save her own skin.”
T
he waiter returned with the wine. Achille relaxed and enjoyed the moment. The case was progressing, and he had almost forgotten about Giraud and Breton. He noticed a noisy flight of sparrows circling in the clear sky before settling in the tree branches. When I go to the flower market this afternoon, I’ll buy a canary for Jeanne, he thought. And in addition to the bouquet for Adele, I’ll bring a flower for all the women, including Mignonette. They’ll like that.
“I have an urgent message for M. Lefebvre.”
Achille’s clerk looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. “Good afternoon, M. Duroc. I’m afraid M. Lefebvre has gone for the day.”
“When did he leave?”
“About fifteen minutes ago. He and Detective Bouvier are stopping at the flower market—”
“The flower market?” Duroc broke in. “Where’s Sergeant Adam?”
“In the detectives’ room. He’s—”
Duroc turned, ran up the hallway, and burst into the room. He spotted Adam sipping coffee and chatting with one of the detectives. “Come on, Adam!” Duroc shouted. “Giraud and Breton gave us the slip early this morning. We just got a tip that they’re lying in wait near the Pont au Change.”
Adam grabbed his revolver and followed Duroc. They dashed through hallways and corridors and down two flights of stairs, exiting the building onto the Boulevard du Palais. Dodging traffic, they crossed the street and raced on to the flower market.
Shouting “Make way for the police!” they pushed past vendors and customers shopping at stalls filled with multicolored, fresh-cut blossoms. Halfway across the market Duroc cried, “Look there, Adam. It’s the chief and Bouvier. They’re headed for the bridge.”
M. Lefebvre and Detective Bouvier walked toward the entrance to the Pont au Change on the Quai de la Corse. The chief’s arms were filled with a variety of roses. He sniffed the blossoms’ fragrance and smiled. “There’s nothing like roses, eh, Bouvier? Of course, you must watch out for the thorns.”
“Yes, Chief. I’m sure the ladies will be pleased.”
The Man Upon the Stair Page 15