The Man Upon the Stair

by Gary Inbinder

“Yes, Monsieur. The baron hired a double.”

  Achille thought of the body in the Morgue, but for the present, he kept that information from Bonnet. “Tell us about the double. Who is he, and how and where did the baron find him?”

  “The baron put out discreet feelers and we located a man, a notary’s clerk in Rouen named Rivière—Louis Rivière. The resemblance was remarkable; they looked like twin brothers. The baron made an attractive offer—good pay, a new wardrobe, a Paris apartment. Rivière was stuck in a low-paying job; he was bored. He jumped at the chance.

  “The baron has a foreign accent and a deeper voice, but Rivière picked up on it fast. He’s clever and a good mimic. And he copied the baron’s signature like a master forger. To a casual acquaintance, the only noticeable difference is a scar on Rivière’s chin, but that was covered when he grew a beard like the baron’s.”

  “Did Rivière go to Aix-les-Bains in the baron’s place?”

  “Yes, Monsieur. The baron worked out the plan with his mistress, Mme Behrs, the Englishman Sims, and Lieutenant Denisov, a Russian officer who works at the embassy. They duped Denisov’s superior, Colonel Mukhin, into buying fake military secrets. The swindle was set up at the spa and concluded in Paris. The baron was supposed to meet the others, including Rivière, at an inn in Harfleur, where they’d divvy the swag. Then they’d use forged passports provided by Denisov to get out of the country.”

  “And the baron paid you five thousand francs to lie to the police?”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “What role did Mme de Livet play?”

  Bonnet finished his cigarette. He looked down at the floor and said, “She was to go to you with the same false story and act like a worried wife.”

  “Is that all?”

  Bonnet sighed. “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “What was in it for her?”

  “She’d be provided for, and rid of the baron.”

  “And free to go off with you?”

  Bonnet looked up with a wistful smile. “That’s what I hoped.”

  Achille stared at the prisoner for a moment before saying, “Sims, Denisov, and Rivière are dead. Are you surprised?”

  Bonnet hesitated before saying, “The baron never told me . . . he never said—”

  “Let me help you,” Achille broke in. “You said the baron was being stalked by an assassin working for M. Rhodes. If Rivière’s body was discovered and identified as M. de Livet, the stalker would give up the hunt.”

  “Yes, Monsieur. But what about the others?”

  Achille smiled. “You know your former master. Is he the sort to share his loot and leave loose ends when there’s a simpler alternative? He disposed of everyone involved in the swindle, everyone who could talk and betray him, except for Mme Behrs, you, and his wife. Of course, you and Madame would believe the baron was dead, and you’d be left behind to face justice while the baron and his mistress enjoyed their ill-gotten gains in Buenos Aires.”

  “That’s not true, M. Lefebvre.”

  “What isn’t true?”

  “The baron told me . . . he said if things got too hot for me in Paris, I was to get out of the country and go to Buenos Aires. The lawyer Ricci would take care of me.”

  “What about Madame de Livet?”

  “He said . . . he said he’d take care of her, too.”

  “Come on, Bonnet. This is your confession, your chance to come clean. You never really believed him, did you?”

  Bonnet looked down, defeated. “No, Monsieur, I didn’t. I . . . I wanted to take care of her myself. I thought if I could make it to Buenos Aires, I’d get the money from Ricci—one way or another. Then I’d send for her.”

  “A nice fantasy, but you never made it out of the alley behind the Avenue Montaigne.”

  “No, Monsieur.”

  “As for things getting hot for you in Paris, they certainly heated up after you poisoned Manuela Otero. She discovered the baron’s scheme and tried to blackmail you, so you killed her. Didn’t you promise Madame that you wouldn’t harm the girl?”

  Bonnet did not raise his eyes. “Yes, I promised.”

  “What made you break your promise?”

  “You already know. She wanted money to keep her mouth shut.”

  “But didn’t Madame agree to pay her?”

  “I didn’t want Madame to give in to blackmail, and things changed when Otero got sick and Madame called the doctor. He prescribed aconite for la grippe. I knew a large dose would kill her. A friend of mine knows all about poisons. She said aconite injected into the female . . . the private parts couldn’t be traced. The doctor would say she died of natural causes.”

  “Who is your learned ‘friend’?”

  Bonnet hesitated a moment before answering. “Mme Raffin. She sells herbal remedies out of a shop in the Marais.”

  Achille glanced at M. Leblanc, who stared back in shocked disbelief, implying he was familiar with the herbalist.

  Achille turned his attention to the prisoner. “Apparently, we know more about poisons than your friend.”

  “Yes, Monsieur,” Bonnet replied.

  “On the day Manuela was poisoned, you knew the prescribed interval between doses.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “At that time, Inspector Legros was interrogating the household staff. You were no longer needed for questioning and were supposed to be out of the house running errands for Mme de Livet. No one was paying attention to Manuela. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “You took advantage of the situation to come back to the mansion and sneak into Manuela’s room.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do after you entered the room?”

  Bonnet paused and took a deep breath before answering. “Manuela was dead to the world. She slept on her back with her legs spread. I went to the bedside, making as little noise as possible. I took the bottle of tincture of aconite and drew some out into a glass syringe. Then I lifted the bedclothes, pulled up her nightdress, inserted the syringe in her privates, and injected the poison. She woke up. I got on top of her and held her mouth shut. Her arm lashed out and knocked over one of the bottles.”

  “How long did she struggle?”

  “A couple of minutes—no more. Then she lay still, staring at me. I can still see those eyes.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I left the room, closed the door behind me, and went downstairs and out the front door. Then I walked around the block and dropped the syringe into a drain. I stayed out just long enough for the baroness to go up to Manuela’s room to give her the next dose. When I returned, Madame and the servants were already gathered in the hallway. Inspector Legros came out from the kitchen and saw me standing with the rest of them, trying to get Madame to calm down and find out what happened to Manuela.”

  “Are you certain no one saw you leave or return after you poisoned Manuela?”

  “I’m certain, Monsieur; I’m sure.” Bonnet hung his head and covered his face with his hands.

  Achille turned to M. Leblanc. “I have no more questions, Monsieur le juge.”

  M. Leblanc said to Bonnet, “Have you anything further to say before you return to the cells?”

  Bonnet looked directly at the magistrate. “Yes, Monsieur le juge. Please don’t hurt Mme de Livet. She’s suffered enough.”

  “I’ll drop the charges against Mme de Livet. On the other hand, your crime is diabolical and deserving of the severest punishment. Nevertheless, in light of your cooperation, I’m going to recommend transportation for life instead of the death penalty, but I make no promises. The final determination is up to the prosecutor, the trial court, and the jury.”

  “I understand, Monsieur le juge. Thank you.”

  The guards exited with the prisoner. Soon after, the stenographer gathered his paraphernalia, bowed to the magistrate, and left the chambers.

  M. Leblanc frowned and shook his head. “I know Mme Raffin. She deals in homeopathic remedies an
d is in good repute—until now. I assume you’ll bring her in for questioning?”

  “Of course, Monsieur le juge.”

  “What a horrible crime. Did you have any idea beforehand of the method Bonnet used to poison Otero?”

  “Yes, I did. I consulted with Masson. Otero had good reason to fear Bonnet. If she had been awake, she probably would have screamed when he entered the room. Legros and I thought it likely he gave her the poison while she was sleeping. According to Masson, in his Historia Naturalis Pliny the Elder wrote about the deadly effect of aconite when rubbed on the female genitalia. Pliny even mentioned an individual who used this method to murder his wives while they slept. However, Masson was unaware of any modern case where a woman was poisoned in this manner.”

  “How awful; and to think Mme Raffin might be involved in the murder. Why, my wife and I have taken her remedies with no ill effects.”

  “Perhaps she just gave information about aconite and its effects in response to Bonnet’s questions. She may not have known he intended to use that knowledge to commit murder. At any rate, we’ll know more after we’ve questioned her.”

  The magistrate frowned and shook his head. “A very sordid affair, M. Lefebvre. And I’m surprised a brute like Bonnet could show such gallantry toward Mme de Livet.”

  “I’m not; I rather counted on it. It’s all he has left, his illusion of love.”

  “Is it just an illusion? Do you mean Mme de Livet didn’t reciprocate his affection?”

  “Certainly not, Monsieur le juge. What passed between them was, from her perspective, little more than a diversion. She also directed her affections toward one of my paid informers, a young prostitute. That information was vital to my cracking this case.”

  M. Leblanc’s face twisted in disgust, as if a bad odor had entered his chambers. “At least that disposes of Bonnet. Thank goodness we needn’t resort to fingerprint evidence.”

  “Thank goodness indeed, Monsieur le juge. The bottles are a mess; frankly, I can’t distinguish one set of prints from another.”

  “But I thought you said we could use the fingerprints?”

  “Only as a last resort in the interrogation, Monsieur; certainly not as evidence for the trial. I was prepared to trick Bonnet into believing the prints were proof positive of his guilt. Thankfully, I didn’t need that ruse; he sang like a canary.”

  The magistrate narrowed his eyes and leaned forward over his desk. “You didn’t tell me the prints were utterly worthless, Chief Inspector.”

  “Pardon me, Monsieur le juge; I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

  “You’re a lucky man, M. Lefebvre.”

  “Perhaps I am, Monsieur le juge. At any rate, I hope my good fortune continues. We still need to catch the baron and Mme Behrs.”

  “I’ve already issued the warrants for their arrest. Who’s going after them?”

  “I’m sending Legros and Adam. They’ve already booked passage to Las Palmas. We know the name of the ship the fugitives are on, and the Spanish authorities have agreed to hold them for us.”

  “Well then, I wish Adam and Legros good hunting and a bon voyage.” M. Leblanc looked up at the clock. “Where does the time go? Are you working late, M. Lefebvre?”

  “No, Monsieur le juge. I’m dining with my family this evening. And I have an errand to run before I go home.”

  “Oh, and what sort of errand is that, if I may ask?”

  “I’m going to stop at the market to buy some flowers.”

  “Ah yes; I’m certain the women will be pleased.”

  Achille smiled. “I sincerely hope so, Monsieur le juge.”

  16

  AFTERMATH:

  PONTOISE

  Paul Féraud had retired to a country house on the outskirts of Pontoise, about thirty minutes by train from central Paris. The place retained its rural character, for the most part, despite the smoke-belching factories lining the Oise, and the concomitant riverine railway and barge traffic.

  One Sunday afternoon following the conclusion of the de Livet case, Achille, Adele, and Jeanne visited the old chief. Little Olivier remained at the Paris apartment with his grandmother and Suzanne.

  Adele admired the two-story, slate-roofed house, set back from a narrow road and surrounded by a stone wall. The visitors passed through a creaking iron gate and proceeded up a gravel pathway to the residence, which sat on a plot of land that sustained several old apple and pear trees. Jeanne immediately made the enclosure her playground, especially an apple-tree swing. The child charmed her “Uncle Paul” into swinging her and kept him at it almost to the point of exhaustion before Adele prudently intervened.

  In the late afternoon, M. Féraud’s housekeeper, Victorine, a middle-aged widow from a nearby hamlet, began preparing supper. Jeanne asked if she could help. Adele said, “If you’re a good girl and Victorine doesn’t mind.”

  Victorine smiled at Jeanne. “I don’t mind, Madame, as long as the little one behaves.”

  “Oh yes, I’ll be good,” Jeanne promised.

  Achille and Féraud overheard the kitchen conversation. Féraud poked his head into the doorway and announced, “We have a couple of hours until supper. If you ladies will excuse us, the chief and I are going for a walk.”

  “Very well, Monsieur,” Victorine replied, “but please don’t be late.”

  “Don’t worry, Victorine; there’s plenty of time.” The old chief turned around, grabbed Achille by the arm, and urged him toward the front door. As soon as they were outside, Féraud said, “There’s a tavern just up the road, and I’m buying.”

  They passed through the gate and turned onto the winding lane. Pale autumn light filtered down through treetops, highlighting leaves shaded gold, scarlet, yellow, and green. The air was pleasantly crisp and filled with the sharp, smoky scent of burning foliage. The contiguous metropolis seemed in another world. Away from the tall buildings, bustling crowds, and familiar street noise, they heard birdsong, chirring insects, the monotonous rasping of a saw cutting firewood, the intermittent barking of a dog in a neighboring house, and the distant cry of the whistle on a Paris-bound express.

  The old chief paused to light a cigar. He took a few satisfying puffs before saying, “Fill me in on the de Livet case. All I know is what I’ve read in the newspapers.”

  Achille shrugged. “Well then, you know about as much as I do. Bonnet is on his way to Saint-Laurent, Mme de Livet is recovering in the Salpêtrière, Mme Behrs is in custody, the baron is missing at sea, and the Russians got most of their money back.”

  Féraud cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “That’s for public consumption, Achille. This is strictly between you and me.”

  Achille smiled; he had assumed Féraud would want the full story. “All right, Chief. The Russians are asking for more than the money. They want Mme Behrs. She’s a Russian national, you know.”

  “Will they get her?”

  “That’s up to the government. My job is done; M. Leblanc and the prefect are pleased. Behrs or Berezina is charged with several serious crimes, including murder. She duped the Russians and our intelligence service, and she might have killed the baron. For all we know, she could be an assassin hired by Cecil Rhodes.”

  “An assassin working for Rhodes? There’s nothing about that in the newspapers, either.”

  Achille shook his head and laughed. “I should certainly hope not! I got the information about Rhodes and the assassin from Bonnet, but he never suspected Mme Behrs.

  “The baron disappeared in the early-morning hours before the ship docked in Las Palmas. The Spanish authorities arrested Mme Behrs, who was traveling on a forged passport, disguised as a man. When they questioned her about de Livet, she said he had been drinking heavily the previous night. He woke up before dawn with a terrible hangover and went out on deck to get some air. He hasn’t been seen or heard from since. She told the same story to Legros and Adam, and she’s sticking to it.

  “If we hadn’t arrested the woman in Las Palmas, she might
have gone on to South America with the loot from the baron’s swindle. There’s a lawyer in Buenos Aires named Ricci who could know more. He may also have a hundred thousand pounds belonging to Rhodes. I’ve wired an inquiry to the Argentinean authorities, but so far it’s a dead end.”

  “Sounds like a closed case.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, it is. Frankly, I don’t care what happens to Mme Behrs, as long as she’s not on the loose in France. As for Rhodes’s money, that’s his problem.”

  The old chief shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, a hundred thousand is pocket change to M. Rhodes. By the way, what happened to Mme Raffin? I heard you let her go for lack of evidence.”

  “I’m afraid that’s right. She claimed she answered a hypothetical question about poisoning a sleeping woman and that Bonnet put it to her as a joke. She said she had no idea Bonnet was actually going to kill someone. And he corroborated her statement.”

  “Do you believe that story?”

  Achille shrugged. “I don’t know. At any rate, we couldn’t connect her to any other crime, so we hadn’t enough to keep her in custody or charge her. However, we’ll certainly be keeping an eye on her from now on. And I don’t think M. Leblanc and his wife will continue purchasing their herbal remedies from Mme Raffin.”

  They continued their walk. After a moment, Achille stopped suddenly, as though he had forgotten something. He turned to Féraud and said, “Oh, there’s one thing I do need to take care of.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s a young woman staying with us, Mignonette Hubert. She was a witness, one of the de Livet’s servants. I need to find her a position. She’s a nice girl. You wouldn’t happen to know of anyone looking for a maid?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Victorine is leaving at the end of the month. She’s going to live with her sister’s family in Rouen. I’ll miss her. Anyway, you can send the girl on to me.”

  “Thanks, Chief. I’m certain you’ll like her. But I must warn you. Legros is sweet on her, so you might find him hanging around Pontoise. He may even take her off your hands someday.”

  “Well, I expect you’ll help me out by keeping the young man busy.”