The Man Upon the Stair

by Gary Inbinder

  Orlovsky glanced at Rousseau, who met the Russian’s look with a barely perceptible nod. “Very well, M. Lefebvre. Ask your questions. I’ll answer truthfully and to the best of my ability.”

  Achille smiled wryly. “The truth, M. Orlovsky, could have saved us all a great deal of trouble. The last time we met to discuss the de Livet case, you told me a false story about a duel over a gambling debt. I heard the same pack of lies from Bonnet. Obviously that fabrication was a prearranged cover-up. Now, Monsieur, tell me who set up the meeting in Aix-les-Bains and to what purpose?”

  Orlovsky looked around and leaned forward toward Achille. The brasserie was nearly empty; they could not be overheard. Nevertheless, the Russian hesitated before speaking, and when he did speak, he kept his voice at a level barely above a whisper. “M. Lefebvre, before I proceed, please let me clarify some issues. First, my assignment in Paris is to maintain surveillance and report on Russian nationals who engage in subversive activities harmful to both our countries. In that regard, I work in close cooperation with your colleague Inspector Rousseau and with the full knowledge of your government.”

  “I’m aware of that, Monsieur,” Achille said. “Please continue.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur. The woman you call Mme Behrs is a Russian. Her name is Valentina Berezina and, until recently, she was one of my most trusted agents. She worked for a time at Le Chabanais, and there she became intimate with M. de Livet. He bought her out of the house and set her up in an apartment in the Marais. I gave you her address, if you recall?”

  “Yes, I recall that, Monsieur. No doubt you expected her to tell us another misleading story. However, when Inspector Legros went to interview her, she was gone. I assume you’ve lost track of her?”

  “Yes, Monsieur. I’ve heard nothing from her since she left the Marais. I had assigned Valentina—Mme Behrs—to report on M. de Livet. We had information that he was financing a Russian expatriate arms dealer who sold weapons to revolutionaries in Russia and other countries, including France. Mme Behrs obtained credible evidence that refuted the accusation. Moreover, she said M. de Livet could be useful to us in certain transactions and asked for permission to recruit him for that purpose.”

  “What do you mean by ‘certain transactions’?”

  “I’m coming to that, Monsieur. The baron has a wide network of international business contacts, including many who are willing to provide valuable intelligence for a price. Major Sims is such an individual. The major had recently arrived in Paris; Mme Behrs made his acquaintance when the baron brought him to the apartment on the Rue de Turenne. She overheard the baron and Sims discussing British military secrets that would be of great interest to Russia. Sims claimed to have in his possession accurate and up-to-date maps and information relating to Anglo-Indian troop deployments, defenses, and logistics in the vicinity of the Khyber Pass.”

  “Pardon me, M. Orlovsky. I was unaware that trading in military secrets came within the scope of your assignment in Paris.”

  “Indeed, it is not my responsibility, M. Lefebvre, which is why I brought the matter to the attention of Colonel Mukhin, who in turn informed Prince Papkov. I played a minor role. The whole scheme involving the sale and transfer of documents was worked out among the baron, the prince, the colonel, and Sims, with the assistance of my agent, Mme Behrs.”

  “And what was the ‘whole scheme’?”

  “The baron came up with the plan. According to Mme Behrs and the colonel, a meeting was arranged at the prince’s villa under the pretext of a card party. Sims brought the maps and documents for the prince’s and the colonel’s inspection, and the baron brought nine hundred thousand francs in banknotes and gold as a sign of good faith. According to plan, the baron would purchase the documents from Sims in Paris later that evening. He would use currency from his bank that was traceable to him rather than to our government. He was willing to assume the risk of the deal for a commission of ninety thousand francs in gold, which Mme Behrs would pay him on completion of the transaction.”

  “Pardon me, Monsieur,” Achille said. “What about the purported duel?”

  “That was also the baron’s idea. If word of the duel got out, it was supposed to give people a false impression that the baron had severed ties with his Russian acquaintances. Under the circumstances, we would not be suspected of working together.”

  “I see. Regarding the transaction, we know the baron bribed Bonnet with five thousand in banknotes. Did you reimburse him for the bribe with gold?”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “We know the baron carried the cash in a Gladstone bag that we found in Mme Behrs’s apartment. We also believe that Sims and Colonel Mukhin boarded the Paris express at Annecy. We assume the Englishman bandaged his face prior to boarding the train, to conceal his identity. Is that correct?”

  Orlovsky frowned. “Yes, that is correct. Sims wanted the bandages, and Colonel Mukhin agreed. Frankly, if they had consulted me I would have insisted on another disguise. A bandaged face attracts attention.”

  “I agree, Monsieur. The choice of disguise was poor. On the evening of the twenty-fifth, a witness saw Sims, the baron, and Mme Behrs leave the apartment in an embassy coach. They carried two suitcases, which we believe contained the gold from the embassy.”

  “How did you know about the coach?”

  “A witness identified the double-eagle coat of arms.”

  The Russian shook his head. “Unbelievable. They didn’t cover it?”

  “Apparently not. Please address the question of the transaction. What was the original plan?”

  “If things had gone as agreed, the baron would have used the cash in his bag to pay Sims, Mme Behrs would have reimbursed the baron and paid his commission with our gold, and Sims would have turned the papers and maps over to Mme Behrs. She would have taken the documents to the embassy, and the gentlemen would have gone their separate ways.”

  “Who drove the coach?”

  “Lieutenant Denisov, Colonel Mukhin’s aide-de-camp. Mukhin trusted the man implicitly.”

  “Where is Lieutenant Denisov?”

  “We don’t know, Monsieur.”

  “Was there anyone else in the coach?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  Achille paused and took a drink of beer before saying, “Well, M. Orlovsky, it appears that your government is out almost one million francs and you have nothing to show for it.”

  Orlovsky frowned and stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “Yes, M. Lefebvre.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me regarding this matter?”

  “No, Monsieur. I swear I’ve told you everything I know. We’ve been searching for the parties in question without any success.”

  “Very well, M. Orlovsky. The last time we met, you said you owed me a debt of gratitude and that a gentleman always pays his debts. Do you remember?”

  Orlovsky looked down at his hands. “Yes, Monsieur; I recall saying that.”

  “It looks like you’re going deeper into my debt. I will release you provided you give me your word of honor that you will not leave Paris without my permission. Leaving Paris includes entering your embassy grounds. Moreover, you’ll continue to cooperate with the investigation. These conditions remain in force pending the outcome of the case. If you violate the terms of your parole, my detectives will arrest you and take you to the Dépôt like a common criminal. Do you understand?”

  The Russian looked up with a faint smile of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, M. Lefebvre; I understand.”

  “Good. We’re going to pursue the theft of your embassy’s property. The baron, Sims, Mme Behrs, and Lieutenant Denisov are suspects. We will issue bulletins with reference to the stolen gold and descriptions of the individuals and the embassy coach. We’ll say nothing about the documents. You’ll inform Prince Papkov and Colonel Mukhin to that effect.”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “Regarding the military secrets: The British government would certainly con
sider the transaction an unfriendly act. We should hope they never learn of it; they already view our ‘secret’ alliance with alarm. I must report this incident to my superiors, and they will determine how best to deal with it from the diplomatic angle. From my perspective, I think it best to pursue the case as a confidence trick. There will be a stink in the newspapers, but it’s better for the public to think the baron and company are thieves than to open up a scandal involving espionage.

  “If we recover the stolen property, namely the gold and the coach, we’ll impound it until it can be returned to the lawful owner, which in this case appears to be the Russian government. Charging and trying the thieves without revealing the true nature of the scheme will be problematic, but we can deal with that difficulty if or when we catch them. The documents are a matter that will require special handling. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, M. Lefebvre. I’ll notify my superiors of all you have said.”

  “Very well. You may go, Monsieur.”

  The Russian got up from the table. He bowed and said, “Thank you, M. Lefebvre. Au revoir.”

  “Au revoir, M. Orlovsky,” Achille replied.

  The officers watched silently as Orlovsky left the brasserie. Rousseau spoke first:

  “Looks like our Russian friends have pulled us into another bucket of shit.”

  “You have a knack for understatement, my friend,” Achille replied. “I’d say we’re in an ocean of ordure. But at least we’re all practiced swimmers.” He smiled and looked at their empty glasses. “Gentlemen, we’ve plenty of work ahead of us, but I suggest another round before we go.”

  13

  UNTANGLING KNOTS

  A stone wall dating back to the reign of Louis XIV, when the Avenue Montaigne was called the Allée des Veuves, separated the Baron de Livet’s property from its neighbor. A section of the wall, partially hidden behind a massive chestnut tree, was the subject of an amusing story. Toward the end of the ancien régime, the owner had kept his mistress in the house next door. To evade the eyes of prying neighbors and a jealous wife, the gentleman had loosened some stones near the base, making a breach in the wall through which a man of average height and weight could pass. According to the tale, the lovers enjoyed many midnight trysts without being discovered.

  For more than a century, subsequent owners had told the story and maintained the old wall with its loosened stones. The baron was no exception, and he had made a point of passing the tale on to his manservant. “Remember this spot, Bonnet,” he had said, as he removed one of the stones to illustrate his point. “If we ever get into a tight corner, here’s a clever way out.”

  About three hours before daybreak, Bonnet reconnoitered the garden through the panes of a cellar window. The drizzle had stopped several hours earlier, but the predawn sky was covered in clouds that dimmed the moon and the stars. He could barely make out the shadowy forms of the wall and the ancient tree, the guideposts of his escape route.

  Years earlier, Bonnet had learned some burglar’s tricks. He wore a tight-fitting black sweater, sturdy black twill trousers, and rubber-soled shoes; he darkened his face with a mixture of grease and soot. In addition, he wore gloves to protect his hands, since he planned to climb the wall next door and might need to do more climbing before he was in the clear.

  Bonnet raised the window and propped it open with a stick. He grasped the brickwork sill, boosted himself up, and slithered out into the damp grass fringing the mansion’s foundation.

  He remained prone and motionless, listening and searching the area for signs of detectives: a few muffled words or the telltale beam of a lantern. All he heard was the chirring of insects and the croaking of frogs; he saw no light except the pale rays streaming down from a cloud-screened moon. The earthy garden odor was like a whiff of freedom, somewhere far from the urban confines of Paris.

  Convinced there was no immediate threat, he scampered across the lawn to the wall. As soon as he reached his objective, he crouched and felt his way along the stones until he came to the chestnut tree. There, at the angle where the old wall running along the property line converged with a modern segment bordering on the back alley, he discovered a loose stone near the base.

  He removed the stones and wriggled through the hole. On the other side, Bonnet hunkered down, on the watch for the neighbor’s dog, a black Beauceron. He believed they kept the dog chained at night, in an outbuilding closer to the house than the wall. The Beauceron could not reach him, but if aroused, its barking would wake the neighborhood.

  Bonnet crept along the wall as quietly as possible, intending to make his climb at the far angle near the entrance to the alley.

  He avoided stepping on twigs, crunching leaves, or making any noise that might alert the guard dog. Proceeding slowly and carefully, he reached his goal without incident. The wall confronting him was no taller than the top of his head, and there were protruding stones and a vine to aid his climb.

  Prior to scaling the wall, he reached under his shirt and felt the pouch that held Madame de Livet’s diamonds to make sure it was securely tucked under his belt. He made the ascent without difficulty until he grasped the crown of the wall with his right hand. A large glass shard penetrated the glove and pierced his palm. The sharp shock of the cut caused Bonnet to flinch and lose his foothold. He fell backward onto the lawn.

  Though cushioned by fallen leaves and grass, the sound of Bonnet’s fall was still loud enough to wake the dog; its howling and barking roused the household. A light appeared in an upstairs window. Bonnet quickly drew the glass from his palm and climbed again, this time sweeping the top clean before grabbing hold and pulling himself up and over. In his haste, he landed awkwardly, twisting an ankle.

  He hobbled up the alley until the light from two lanterns flashed in his eyes, temporarily blinding him.

  “Stop in the name of the law!”

  “Give up, Bonnet. You’re under arrest.”

  The seasoned boxer lashed out at his unseen opponents; a kick from his good leg caught one of the detectives in the shin. The other dropped his lantern and began a scuffle that might have ended badly for the police had it not been for Sergeant Marechal’s timely blow to the back of the fugitive’s head. The crack from the sergeant’s truncheon stunned Bonnet. He dropped to his knees and fell face forward into the muck.

  Marechal knelt, took out a ligature, and bound the semiconscious man’s hands. Then he said to one of the detectives, “Hey, Vincent, help me lift this bugger to his feet.”

  Marechal and Vincent lifted Bonnet and kept him steady. The sergeant searched Bonnet and discovered the pouch containing the diamonds. “Well, my lad,” he said to Bonnet with a sly grin, “what have we here? Not talking, eh? Guess you’re a bit woozy from that knock on your head. Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time for talk down at headquarters.” Then Sergeant Marechal turned to the other detective who was standing aside, rubbing his sore leg. “Are you all right, Allard?”

  “I think so, Sergeant, but I’ll have one hell of a bruise. I’d like to pay the bastard back, here and now.”

  Marechal shook his head. “There’s been enough rough stuff this morning. We have a nice cell waiting for M. Bonnet back at the Dépôt. Later, when his head clears, he can have a friendly chat with the chief.”

  The detectives had a good laugh about M. Lefebvre’s “friendly chats.” They dragged Bonnet to a police van parked nearby on the Rue Montaigne.

  At eight A.M. Achille entered Magistrate Leblanc’s office in the Palais de Justice. The examining magistrate greeted his colleague with a warm handshake and a smile. Now nearing the end of his public service, the magistrate had observed the career of the still-youthful chief of detectives with interest. He admired the younger man’s tenacious approach to complex cases, his progressive ideas, his compassion, and his commitment to justice. However, Achille’s pragmatism and an audacity that at times verged on ruthlessness also made an impression on the seasoned juge.

  Years earlier, in a conversation with
the former chief, M. Leblanc summed up his estimation of Achille’s qualities as follows: “Keep an eye on him, Paul. That young fellow is a comer. I like working with him. He’s smart, dedicated to the law, full of surprises, and frightening at times. But that makes for a good play, and his unpredictability enhances the performance.”

  “Good morning, Chief Inspector. I understand your men arrested Bonnet. I assume that’s why you are here?”

  “Yes, Monsieur le juge; to discuss Bonnet in connection with the de Livet case and the Otero poisoning.”

  “Very well. A most interesting matter. Please be seated. Would you care for some coffee?”

  “Thank you, Monsieur; yes, I would.”

  M. Leblanc rang for his clerk and ordered a fresh pot of coffee. After the coffee was served and the clerk returned to his desk, the magistrate said, “It’s a complicated case, M. Lefebvre, and I’ll admit you have a much better understanding of it than I do.”

  “Pardon me, Monsieur le juge. I may have been remiss in my duty to keep you informed.”

  “Nonsense, Chief Inspector. In such cases, I’m pleased to defer to your professional judgment, as I did with M. Féraud during our long association.”

  Achille smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, M. Leblanc. Now, to bring you up-to-date: Bonnet paid a gang of smugglers to take him across the Spanish border. He was carrying a quantity of diamonds when we took him into custody. My detectives had arrested Bonnet’s gang contact around midnight this morning. The smuggler confessed, and he will testify against Bonnet. The examining magistrate in Pau believes these arrests will lead to a prosecution against the entire smuggling ring.”

  “That’s excellent, M. Lefebvre. Please remind me how this relates to the cases of the missing baron and his poisoned servant?”

  Achille gave a detailed account of the information he had obtained from Orlovsky. Once the magistrate had a good grasp of the baron’s scheme, Achille elaborated on the roles he believed Bonnet and Mme de Livet might have played in the matter, including their culpability in Manuela Otero’s death.