‘You’ve rather caught me on the hop, Commissioner. I’ve just learnt about the tragedy that happened at the minister’s house and my brother-in-law Missery’s wound.’
This was not getting them very far.
‘Could you tell me who informed you of these events?’
‘My sister, Hélène, who’s a nun with the Daughters of Saint Michel. But you know that, since you’ve already met her.’
This was said with a kind of bitter irony.
‘So you’re aware of the serious accusations made against your brother-in-law?’ said Nicolas.
‘I find it hard to believe that he could be capable of something so terrible. He can be violent, yes, touchy, difficult, not always very honest, much given to debauchery, but a murderer, no, I don’t really think so.’
As a connoisseur, Nicolas appreciated the man’s skill at appearing to be contemptuous of the major-domo while avoiding directly accusing him. The overall picture, though, was certainly a black one.
‘Has your relationship with him remained close?’
‘We rarely see each other.’
‘When did you see him last?’
‘At the Mass for the anniversary of my sister’s death.’
‘Do you have any joint interests? I should point out to you, before anything else, that I know all about your family affairs. Missery is in possession of your sister’s fortune – correct me if I’m wrong – and it will revert to your family if he should die.’
‘Whether he has remarried or not, Monsieur. That is quite important.’
‘I assume you’re referring to the danger represented by his passionate relationship with a chambermaid in the Saint-Florentin household?’
‘Precisely. Let’s be clear about this: if you’re trying to insinuate that my brother-in-law was nearly murdered on account of the coincidence of our interests, you’re making a big mistake. Didn’t you tell my sister that he was merely grazed?’
He was still expressing himself in a restrained, level-headed manner, staring straight ahead, never looking at the commissioner.
‘That’s all well and good, Monsieur,’ said Nicolas. ‘I’ve heard your answers on your joint interests with your brother-in-law, and we’ve talked about your sister’s fortune. Are you yourself involved in some occupation?’
‘I manage my money. I have a private income, and I also earn revenue from my interests in a number of companies of which I am the administrator.’
‘What companies?’
‘Aren’t you going beyond your prerogatives? I am known and protected by the Prince de Condé.’
‘Do you have a position in his household?’ asked Nicolas with a touch of sarcasm.
‘The prince and I,’ retorted Duchamplan proudly, ‘are in partnership on a project to supply the city with water.’
‘I only know of one such project: that of the Perier brothers, supported by the Duc d’Orléans.’
The man seemed surprised by Nicolas’s knowledge. ‘You are badly informed, there are others.’
‘And are you involved in other enterprises?’
‘A transport company.’
‘And what else?’
‘I am an administrator of the royal hospital of Bicêtre.’
‘I see,’ said Nicolas. ‘I assume that covers everything. Where were you on the night of Sunday to Monday?’
‘Here, with my wife and my sister.’
‘Did you go out?’
‘Not at all. We went to bed about eleven.’
Nicolas noted that the time could be approximate. The contradiction with the sister’s declaration that she had gone to bed at ten was only a small one. Of course, she had ‘forgotten’ to mention that she had visited her family.
‘When you say “we”, are you including your brother, Eudes?’
‘My brother is a young man who has his own amusements, and we don’t interfere with them. He lives on the mezzanine, and has his own entrance.’
‘And did he come home the following day?’
‘I have no idea. He comes and goes. He’s a will-o’-the-wisp … whom I support come what may.’ His mouth tensed in a grimace that was meant to be a smile.
‘I’d like to speak to your wife,’ said Nicolas.
‘She’s gone out to pay a visit.’
The words had come out very quickly. It was better to stop there for the moment. Nicolas was just standing up when Semacgus raised his hand.
‘With your permission, Commissioner. Monsieur Duchamplan mentioned a transport company. What kind of company?’
‘We have a fleet of cabs.’
‘One company has the monopoly on cabs in Paris. Is it that one?’
Duchamplan gave Nicolas a look of commiseration. ‘As I’m sure you know, that monopoly has long since been superseded. There are more than a thousand cabs and more than seven hundred hired coaches in Paris now, and joint-stock companies have proliferated. The vehicles just have to be numbered and registered.’
‘I see. I would be grateful if you could inform me as soon as your brother reappears.’
‘I shall certainly do so, although he is often away a long time.’
In the courtyard, the shelling of beans was still going on. Nicolas offered the caretaker a pinch of snuff, which was gratefully accepted. There followed a vigorous series of sneezes.
‘You’re softening up the customer,’ said Semacgus in Nicolas’s ear.
The commissioner winked, then asked the caretaker a straight question. ‘What time did Madame Duchamplan go out?’
‘Go out? That poor pale thing, who’s always coughing? I’d like to see her go out! You must be joking, Monsieur. She’s been confined to her room for several days now.’
‘Since when?’
‘Monday, I think,’ said the man, sneezing.
‘And what about Monsieur Duchamplan’s sister?’
‘Oh, that one … For a nun, she certainly has a lot of pride. Never a greeting, never a smile. The last time I saw her come here for dinner was Sunday.’
‘What time did she leave?’
‘About ten. I had to run out in the cold to hail a carriage, at my age!’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘At your service. This snuff is good! Not like the sawdust you sometimes find. Count on me whenever you want. The name’s Taqueminet.’
As they were leaving Rue Christine, Nicolas, who was looking in the direction of Rue des Grands-Augustins, suddenly cried out and set off at a run, much to the surprise of Semacgus. He seemed to be trying to catch up with a carriage which was speeding away and which soon disappeared round the corner. Breathless and furious, the commissioner came walking back. He had to catch his breath before explaining what had just happened. He took off his tricorn and wiped his forehead, which was half covered with a bandage. Semacgus noticed blood spreading over the linen and gently reprimanded him.
‘How could you think of getting in such a state? You’ve reopened your wound. We’ll have to find an apothecary and get it seen to. Good Lord, you ran off like the fire of a fuse trying to reach Saint Barbara!’
Nicolas laughed. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not twenty years old any more! Perhaps I was dreaming, and yet I’m sure the person I saw get into that carriage is the very same person who ran away the day before yesterday in the lower gallery of the palace at my approach. I told you about him. Lord Ashbury. I just saw him coming out of a house … The head, or one of the heads, of the British secret service. Is that fever or reality?’
Semacgus grabbed his wrist and took out his watch, then felt his forehead. ‘It’s not fever. Your pulse is fine now that you’ve caught your breath, and your forehead is cool.’
Nicolas tugged at his arm. ‘Let’s take a look at that house, I want to set my mind at rest. How stupid I am! We should have got in our carriage …’
‘There’s no point regretting that, it would have had to make a U turn!’
They walked back up Rue Christine as far as a fine-looking double-fronted bui
lding, which, according to the inscription on its pediment, was the Hôtel de Russie. A well-dressed lady greeted them.
‘Welcome, gentlemen. No doubt you wish to take lodgings in our establishment, which is so well known that the Almanach Parisien draws the attention of foreigners and visitors to it …’
She spoke so quickly it was impossible for Nicolas to interrupt her.
‘We only lodge persons of the first rank, who have carriages. We have richly furnished apartments, bedrooms, wardrobes, reception rooms with damask hangings and other appropriate adornments. There are very clean water closets on every floor. You can use the sheds and stables for your carriage. We don’t provide food, but we allow you to have what you need brought in from the best caterers in the neighbourhood, and we have information on the best inns in the city. I am at your disposal.’
She gave a deep curtsey which would have made a duchess envious.
‘Madame,’ said Nicolas, ‘you misconstrue the reasons for our visit. We simply wish to have some information about a customer of yours who left barely five minutes ago and got into a carriage.’
These words immediately cast a cloud over her welcoming face, and she assumed an inscrutable, almost duplicitous air. ‘Who are you talking about? No one went out as far as I know.’
‘Madame,’ said Nicolas firmly, ‘I would have preferred not to have to remind you of your duties. I am a commissioner of police at the Châtelet. I seem to remember that the owners of hotels and furnished rooms must inform us in good time of all foreigners staying with them. Whenever a foreigner arrives, within twenty-four hours the Lieutenant General of Police needs to know his name, where he comes from, the reason for his visit, where he is staying, with whom he is in correspondence, and whom he receives. That supposes that the said owners are devoted to His Majesty’s interests. Have I made myself quite clear? Do you realise how much at fault you’ve been? I fear you may have to follow us to a less pleasant location to be checked and interrogated.’
This speech seemed to have hit home; the lady burst into tears, and made no further attempt to brazen it out. Nicolas confirmed his resolution by remaining sternly impassive.
‘Alas, alas, Commissioner, do you want to ruin me – me, a poor widow, with a family to support, working myself to death to run this establishment? I am, it is true, guilty of having neglected my duties, but only because of my good heart. The foreign gentleman, an Englishman I think, forbade me to report his presence. The reason he’s in France is because he wants to track down a child he once had with a French lady who’s now married. Think how discreet he needs to be about something like that!’
‘Madame, I fear that is simply a tall tale which you, in your innocence, swallowed whole. Under what name did this gentleman present himself?’
‘He said his name was Francis Sefton – though he asked me in a threatening tone never to mention it – and that he bought and sold racehorses.’
‘A clever story, horse racing is becoming fashionable. When did he arrive?’
‘On 20 September.’
‘Did he have any luggage with him?’
‘Some portmanteaus. The servant girl told me that he had a lot of coats, all very different from each other, with some wigs and even some ladies’ dresses. No doubt to sell them when he returned to his island.’
‘Has he received anyone?’
‘No, nobody.’
‘Did he have a carriage?’
‘A cab came to fetch him.’
‘Has he been regular in his habits?’
‘Definitely not! He often comes back early in the morning and sometimes stays out all night. He’s been paying his weeks regularly. He left in a hurry this morning, after being away for two days, and obligingly paid for an extra week even though the week isn’t yet over. He asked me again not to say anything about his being here, because his old friend’s husband has been informed of his presence in Paris.’
‘All right, Madame. If he comes back, tell the local commissioner immediately to inform Commissioner Le Floch at the Châtelet. For your guidance, I must tell you that you risk the closure of this hotel as well as legal action if you contravene these instructions. Now show me Monsieur Sefton’s apartment.’
She led them to a cosy apartment on the first floor, comprising a bedroom, a bathroom and a small drawing room. The bed had not been slept in. Nicolas noted a bottle of port and two glasses on a pedestal table. He sniffed, then went to the fireplace: a large number of papers had been burnt. In the heap of ashes he discovered part of a sheet that had escaped the destruction. On it were only a few printed letters: ‘elles ne’. A newspaper, an official document, an advertisement? They would have to see.
‘Has he had a visitor?’ Nicolas asked the hostess, pointing to the two glasses.
‘No.’
He sniffed the glasses. ‘Last night, I’d say … No, he wasn’t here …This morning, then. Are you telling me that you’re behind your desk for twenty-four hours a day?’
‘Of course not, but … To tell the truth, I really don’t know what to think any more, it may have happened.’
Once again she burst into tears. Nicolas shrugged, depressed by so much thoughtlessness. Semacgus pointed out the rim of one of the two glasses. There were traces of rouge.
‘Who knows?’ said Nicolas. ‘These days men sometimes make themselves up more heavily than women. They all smear rouge and ceruse on their faces. For the moment, let’s just make a note of it.’
*
As soon as they had got back in the carriage – the hotel-keeper had followed them out, lamenting volubly – Nicolas tried to draw a few conclusions from their visit to Rue Christine.
‘Using a false identity, Lord Ashbury has been in Paris for two weeks. That woman’s stupidity and our own people’s shortcomings – I fear that since Sartine’s departure there has been some laxity – explain the fact that he has managed to evade all police supervision of foreigners. He comes and goes quite freely, meets whoever he likes, and even goes to Versailles for God knows what intrigue. There, he almost comes face to face with me, runs away, but finds the time and the means to have me followed and, I believe, orders me to be killed. An attempt is made outside the Comte d’Arranet’s house, and fails. What’s the reason? He assumes that I’m pursuing him. He hurries back to Paris, says he has business, receives an associate, and then escapes into the big city! But where?’
‘He may simply have set off for Calais,’ said Semacgus.
‘I don’t think so. His mission isn’t over. Somehow, I’ve got in his way. What are his intentions? I’ll tell you this: there’s no such thing as coincidence …’ Nicolas was beating the plush seat with his fist, raising small clouds of dust. ‘No one’s going to make me believe that Lord Ashbury, alias Francis Sefton, has been staying at a hotel a few doors from the Duchamplan house by mere chance. I don’t know why he has, but I’m going to find out!’
‘It is indeed vital to discover why he came to France,’ said Semacgus, ‘especially as it’s a clandestine visit. And there are also these Duchamplans, who seem to me very much involved in all these mysteries.’
‘I didn’t want to take things too far by going back up to see the wife. We must give them the false impression that they’re safe. It won’t hurt them to wait. As for the younger brother, I get the feeling he won’t be back very soon. I find it hard to believe that the motive for the murder in the Saint-Florentin mansion is financial gain. These people are very well off. What is it then?’
‘You must calm down, or the fever will come back.’
‘I fear I’m going to have to start all over again. Lenoir has assigned me to so many different cases they’ve made me lose the thread of the main one. We must question Missery again. Where did he find Marguerite Pindron? I’ll also need to have a conversation with the Duchesse de La Vrillière. The rumour of her good relations with Madame de Maurepas may help me … Last but not least, I need to find the Pindron girl’s young man. He’s the real mystery. The duchesse’s
young Norman maid told me his name is Aide.’
‘Did she have a Norman accent?’ Semacgus suddenly asked, slyly.
‘Indeed she did, a very strong one.’
‘Then we’ve found the lover. Your Aide is quite simply Eudes, the first name of the younger Duchamplan. Missery, if he’s telling the truth, ought to confirm that, and it would explain many things.’
‘Thank you, my dear Guillaume. That’s the second time today you’ve been a great help. And your coachman saved my life. However, even though it opens up some interesting avenues, it doesn’t solve everything. There are elements in this case that are being deliberately hidden from us.’
Semacgus called to the coachman to take them to Rue de la Joaillerie, to the shop of Monsieur Nicaise, the apothecary.
X
BICÊTRE
I was not aware that Bicêtre had been built to
engender disease and give birth to crime.
MIRABEAU
Nicolas recognised the apothecary: Monsieur Nicaise had bandaged him up once before, during his investigation into the disappearance of Commissioner Lardin. Semacgus and he conferred for a short time after examining the wound. They rejected the use of spirits, tinctures and balms: the wound was not serious enough to warrant it. In addition, such remedies, far from speeding up the healing process, delayed it, often turning a simple wound into an ulcer. They stopped the blood from flowing but made the injured parts callous. The two men settled for a common agglutinative plaster to close the wound. As the bullet had burnt and ripped the skin, they cleaned it with calcined alum and placed over it a plaster of breadcrumbs and milk mixed with olive oil, to be changed three times a day. Listening to them, Nicolas thought they were discussing him as if he were a chicken they were getting ready to cook.
Night was falling by the time the carriage dropped them at the entrance to the Grand Châtelet. Bourdeau and Rabouine were waiting for them in the duty office. The inspector was very concerned about the consequences of Nicolas’s wound. He still felt mortified, blaming himself for not having been with his friend at such a dangerous moment.
The Saint-Florentin Murders Page 25