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THE NOSTRADAMUS PROPHECIES

Page 38

by Mario Reading


  As the po­li­ce­men ap­pro­ac­hed, Yo­la pres­sed her­self in­to the gro­und and be­gan to pray.

  The first po­li­ce­man stop­ped three or fo­ur fe­et away from her. ‘Can you see any de­ad tre­es?’

  The se­cond po­li­ce­man switc­hed on his torch and swung it in an arc abo­ve the­ir he­ads. At that exact mo­ment his cel­lpho­ne rang. He tos­sed the torch to his com­pa­ni­on and felt for the pho­ne. As the torch pas­sed ne­ar her he­ad, Yo­la co­uld fe­el the light from its be­am skim­ming ac­ross her body. She stif­fe­ned, su­re of dis­co­very.

  ‘What’s that you say? We’ve got to pull out? What are you tal­king abo­ut?’ The se­cond po­li­ce­man was lis­te­ning in­tently to the vo­ice at the ot­her end of the li­ne. He grun­ted from ti­me to ti­me and Yo­la co­uld al­most sen­se him glan­cing ac­ross at the first po­li­ce­man, who was hol­ding the ligh­ted torch with its be­am fo­cu­sed down along the se­am of his tro­users.

  The se­cond po­li­ce­man snap­ped the cel­lpho­ne shut. ‘That Pa­ri­si­an Cap­ta­in they’ve sic­ced on us thinks he’s fo­und out whe­re the guy li­ves. Rec­kons, if he re­al­ly has slip­ped the net, that he’s su­re to ma­ke for the­re. We’re all wan­ted. This ti­me all we’ve got to do is se­al off the who­le of the St-Tro­pez pe­nin­su­la, from just out­si­de Ca­va­la­ire-sur-Mer, via La Cro­ix-Val­mer and Co­go­lin, to Port Gri­ma­ud. Can you cre­dit it? That’s sixty fuc­king ki­lo­met­res.’

  ‘Mo­re li­ke thirty.’

  ‘What do you ca­re? The­re’s no sle­ep for us to­night.’

  Yo­la tur­ned on to her back, when they even­tu­al­ly wal­ked away and ga­zed up in won­der at the first star of the eve­ning.

  73

  So­mew­hat to his surp­ri­se Cal­que fo­und him­self reg­ret­ting the lack of Mac­ron’s pre­sen­ce as he ma­de his way ac­ross the co­urt­yard and back to­wards the Com­tes­se de Ba­le’s ho­use. Cal­que did not con­si­der him­self a sen­ti­men­tal man and Mac­ron had, af­ter all, lar­gely bro­ught his de­ath upon him­self - but the­re had be­en so­met­hing mag­ni­fi­cently ir­ri­ta­ting abo­ut him as a per­son, an ir­ri­ta­ti­on which had, in its turn, fed Cal­que’s over-empha­tic sen­se of self. He conc­lu­ded that Mac­ron had ac­ted as a kind of stra­ight man to his ico­noc­last and that he was mis­sing ha­ving an ex­cu­se for be­ing grumpy.

  He re­cal­led, too, his de­light when Mac­ron had le­apt to his de­fen­ce when the Co­un­tess had qu­es­ti­oned his know­led­ge abo­ut the Pa­irs de Fran­ce and the French no­bi­lity. You had to hand it to the man - he might ha­ve be­en a bi­got but he had ne­ver be­en pre­dic­tab­le.

  The so­ig­n­ée pri­va­te sec­re­tary in the twe­ed and cash­me­re twin­set emer­ged from the ho­use to gre­et him - this ti­me, tho­ugh, she was we­aring a silk one-pi­ece dress in bur­gundy, which ma­de her lo­ok even mo­re li­ke a co­un­tess than the Co­un­tess her­self. Cal­que se­arc­hed thro­ugh his me­mory banks for her na­me. ‘Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou?’

  ‘Cap­ta­in Cal­que.’ Her eyes ska­ted over his sho­ul­ders to ta­ke in the de­tach­ment of eight po­li­ce of­fi­cers brin­ging up his re­ar. ‘And yo­ur as­sis­tant?’

  ‘De­ad, Ma­da­me. Kil­led by the adop­ted son of yo­ur emp­lo­yer.’

  Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou to­ok an inad­ver­tent pa­ce back­wards. ‘I am su­re that can­not be so.’

  ‘I, too, trust that I ha­ve be­en mi­sin­for­med. I ha­ve a se­arch war­rant, ho­we­ver, for the­se pre­mi­ses, which I in­tend to exer­ci­se im­me­di­ately. The­se of­fi­cers will ac­com­pany me in­si­de. They will ob­vi­o­usly res­pect both Ma­da­me la Com­tes­se’s pro­perty and her pri­vacy. But I must ask that no one in­ter­fe­re with them du­ring the co­ur­se of the­ir du­ti­es.’

  ‘I must go and warn Ma­da­me la Com­tes­se.’

  ‘I shall ac­com­pany you.’

  Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou he­si­ta­ted. ‘May I see the war­rant?’

  ‘Of co­ur­se.’ Cal­que felt in his poc­ket and han­ded her the do­cu­ment.

  ‘May I copy this?’

  ‘No, Ma­da­me. A copy will be ma­de ava­ilab­le to Ma­da­me la Com­tes­se’s law­yers when and if they de­si­re it.’

  ‘Very well then. Ple­ase co­me with me.’

  Cal­que nod­ded to his of­fi­cers. They fan­ned out ac­ross the co­urt­yard. Fo­ur of the of­fi­cers wa­ited pa­ti­ently at the fo­ot of the sta­irs for Cal­que and Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou to en­ter the ho­use, be­fo­re clat­te­ring up the steps be­hind them to be­gin the­ir se­arch.

  ‘Do you se­ri­o­usly in­tend to imp­li­ca­te the Co­unt in the kil­ling of yo­ur as­sis­tant?’

  ‘When did you last see the Co­unt, Ma­da­me?’

  Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou he­si­ta­ted. ‘So­me ye­ars ago now.’

  ‘Then you may ta­ke it from me. He has chan­ged.’

  ***

  ‘I see that you ha­ve dis­car­ded the arm sling, Cap­ta­in Cal­que. And yo­ur no­se. It is he­aling. A gre­at imp­ro­ve­ment.’

  ‘It is kind of you to no­ti­ce, Co­un­tess.’

  The Co­un­tess sat down. Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou fetc­hed a cha­ir and pla­ced it be­hind the Co­un­tess and a lit­tle to one si­de - she se­ated her­self de­mu­rely, both kne­es pres­sed to­get­her, her ank­les tuc­ked be­ne­ath her and lightly cros­sed. Fi­nis­hing scho­ol, tho­ught Cal­que. Swit­zer­land, pro­bably. She sits just li­ke the Qu­e­en of Eng­land.

  This ti­me, the Co­un­tess wa­ved the fo­ot­man away wit­ho­ut bot­he­ring to or­der cof­fee. ‘It is non­sen­se, of co­ur­se, to sus­pect my son of vi­olen­ce.’

  ‘I don’t sus­pect yo­ur son of vi­olen­ce, Co­un­tess. I for­mal­ly ac­cu­se him of it. We ha­ve wit­nes­ses. In fact I am one myself. Thanks to the con­di­ti­on of his eyes, he do­es, af­ter all, stand out from the crowd, do­es he not?’ He glan­ced ac­ross at her, his he­ad til­ted to one si­de in po­li­te en­qu­iry. With no ans­wer forth­co­ming, Cal­que de­ci­ded to press his luck. ‘The qu­es­ti­on I must ask - the qu­es­ti­on that re­al­ly tro­ub­les me - is not whet­her he has do­ne the­se things, but why?’

  ‘Wha­te­ver he has do­ne he has do­ne for the best.’

  Cal­que sat up stra­igh­ter, his an­ten­nae fla­ring. ‘You can­not be se­ri­o­us, Ma­da­me. He has tor­tu­red and kil­led a gypsy in Pa­ris. Com­mit­ted gri­evo­us bo­dily harm on three pe­op­le, inc­lu­ding a Spa­nish po­li­ce­man and two ca­su­al pas­sers-by. He has kil­led a se­cu­rity gu­ard at the shri­ne at Ro­ca­ma­do­ur. Tor­tu­red and kil­led anot­her gypsy in the Ca­mar­gu­es. And two days ago he shot de­ad my as­sis­tant du­ring a si­ege in which he was thre­ate­ning to hang the sis­ter of the man he kil­led in Pa­ris. And all this to dis­co­ver so­me prop­he­ci­es that may or may not be true - that may or may not be by the prop­het Nost­ra­da­mus. I sus­pect, Ma­da­me, that you are not as una­wa­re as you wo­uld ha­ve me be­li­eve of the true re­asons be­hind this hor­ren­do­us cha­in of events.’

  ‘Is that anot­her of yo­ur for­mal ac­cu­sa­ti­ons, Cap­ta­in?

  If so, I wo­uld re­mind you that the­re is a third party pre­sent.’

  ‘That was not a for­mal ac­cu­sa­ti­on, Ma­da­me. For­mal ac­cu­sa­ti­ons are for the co­urts. I am con­duc­ting an in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on. I ne­ed to stop yo­ur son be­fo­re he can do any mo­re harm.’

  ‘What you say abo­ut my son is gro­tes­que. Yo­ur ac­cu­sa­ti­ons are en­ti­rely wit­ho­ut fo­un­da­ti­on.’

  ‘And you, Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou? Ha­ve you anyt­hing at all to add?’

  ‘Not­hing, Cap­ta­in. Ma­da­me la Com­tes­se is not well. I con­si­der it in the worst pos­sib­le tas­te that you con­ti­nue this in­ves­ti­ga
­ti­on un­der such con­di­ti­ons.’

  The Co­un­tess sto­od up. ‘I ha­ve de­ci­ded what I shall do, Mat­hil­de. I shall te­lep­ho­ne the Mi­nis­ter of the In­te­ri­or. He is a co­usin of my fri­end, Ba­bet­te de Mont­mo­rigny. We shall so­on ha­ve this sta­te of af­fa­irs rec­ti­fi­ed.’

  Cal­que al­so sto­od up. ‘You must do as you see fit, Ma­da­me.’

  One of the uni­for­med of­fi­cers burst in­to the ro­om. ‘Cap­ta­in, I think you sho­uld see this.’

  Cal­que shot the man a scowl. ‘See what? I am con­duc­ting an in­ter­vi­ew.’

  ‘A ro­om, Sir. A sec­ret ro­om. Mon­ce­au fo­und it by ac­ci­dent when he was in­ves­ti­ga­ting the lib­rary.’

  Cal­que tur­ned to the Co­un­tess, his eyes glit­te­ring.

  ‘It is not a sec­ret ro­om, Cap­ta­in Cal­que. Ever­yo­ne in my ho­use­hold knows abo­ut it. Had you as­ked me, I wo­uld ha­ve di­rec­ted you to it.’

  ‘Of co­ur­se, Co­un­tess. I un­ders­tand that.’ With both hands anc­ho­red firmly be­hind his back, Cal­que fol­lo­wed his su­bor­di­na­te out of the do­or.

  74

  The ro­om was ap­pro­ac­hed thro­ugh a ta­ilo­red ent­ran­ce, mas­ter­ful­ly con­ce­aled wit­hin the lib­rary shel­ving.

  ‘Who dis­co­ve­red this?’

  ‘I did, Sir.’

  ‘How do­es it open?’

  The of­fi­cer swung the do­or shut. It se­aled it­self flush aga­inst the stacks. The of­fi­cer then bent for­wards and pres­sed aga­inst the rib­bed spi­ne of three bo­oks, si­tu­ated ne­ar the flo­or. The do­or sprung back open aga­in.

  ‘How did you know which bo­oks to press?’

  ‘I watc­hed the fo­ot­man, Sir. He ca­me in he­re when he tho­ught we we­ren’t lo­oking and fid­dled with the catch. I think he was trying to lock it so that no one co­uld inad­ver­tently trig­ger the mec­ha­nism. At le­ast that’s what he told me.’

  ‘Do you me­an he was wor­ri­ed for our sa­fety? That the do­or might spring back and stri­ke one of us unex­pec­tedly?’

  ‘That was most li­kely it, Sir.’

  Cal­que smi­led. If he had re­ad the Co­un­tess’s cha­rac­ter rightly, that fo­ot­man was for the chop. It was al­ways a go­od thing to ha­ve a disg­runt­led emp­lo­yee can­no­ning aro­und. Va­lu­ab­le in­for­ma­ti­on co­uld be gle­aned. Backs might be stab­bed.

  Cal­que duc­ked thro­ugh the ent­ran­ce­way. He stra­igh­te­ned up in­si­de the ro­om, then ga­ve a low, ap­pre­ci­ati­ve whist­le.

  A lar­ge rec­tan­gu­lar tab­le for­med the cent­re­pi­ece of the ro­om. Thir­te­en cha­irs we­re col­lec­ted aro­und it. On the wall be­hind each cha­ir was a co­at of arms and a se­ri­es of qu­ar­te­rings. Cal­que re­cog­ni­sed so­me of them. But they we­re not tho­se of the twel­ve Pa­irs de Fran­ce one wo­uld ha­ve ex­pec­ted, gi­ven the te­nor of his pre­sent com­pany.

  ‘This ro­om hasn’t be­en ope­ned sin­ce my hus­band’s de­ath. The­re is not­hing in he­re of any in­te­rest to yo­ur pe­op­le.’

  Cal­que ran his hand ac­ross the tab­le. ‘Dus­ted, tho­ugh. So­me­one must ha­ve be­en in he­re a go­od de­al mo­re re­cently than yo­ur hus­band’s de­ath.’

  ‘My fo­ot­man. Of co­ur­se. Ke­eping the ro­om tidy wo­uld form part of his du­ti­es.’

  ‘As wo­uld loc­king the do­ors if stran­gers co­me aro­und?’

  The Co­un­tess lo­oked away. Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou tri­ed to ta­ke hold of her hand but fo­und her­self brus­hed off.

  ‘La­vigny, I want the­se he­ral­dic shi­elds pho­tog­rap­hed.’

  ‘I wo­uld rat­her you didn’t do that, Cap­ta­in. They ha­ve not­hing what­so­ever to do with yo­ur in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on.’

  ‘On the cont­rary, Ma­da­me. I be­li­eve they ha­ve everyt­hing to do with my in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on.’

  ‘This ro­om is a pri­va­te pla­ce, Cap­ta­in. A club ro­om. A pla­ce whe­re pe­op­le of li­ke minds used to me­et to dis­cuss se­ri­o­us is­su­es in disc­re­et and con­du­ci­ve sur­ro­un­dings. As I sa­id, the ro­om has not be­en used sin­ce my hus­band’s de­ath. So­me of the fa­mi­li­es to whom the­se co­ats of arms be­long may even be ig­no­rant of the­ir pre­sen­ce in this ro­om. I wo­uld be gra­te­ful for that sta­te of af­fa­irs to con­ti­nue.’

  ‘I see no bil­li­ard tab­le. No bar. It’s a funny type of club ro­om. What’s this, for ins­tan­ce?’ Cal­que po­in­ted to a cha­li­ce, loc­ked in­si­de its very own tan­ta­lus. ‘And the­se ini­ti­als eng­ra­ved on it? CM.’

  The Co­un­tess lo­oked as tho­ugh she had be­en bit­ten by an ad­der.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The­re’s a roll of parch­ment he­re. With se­als on it. It’s he­avy, too. It must ha­ve wo­oden rol­lers or so­met­hing.’

  Cal­que in­di­ca­ted that the parch­ment sho­uld be spre­ad out on the tab­le.

  ‘Ple­ase don’t to­uch that, Cap­ta­in. It is very va­lu­ab­le.’

  ‘I ha­ve a se­arch war­rant, Ma­da­me. I may to­uch anyt­hing I ple­ase. I will en­de­avo­ur not to sme­ar it with my fin­gers ho­we­ver.’ Cal­que bent for­wards and pe­ru­sed the do­cu­ment.

  The Co­un­tess and Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou sto­od fro­zen aga­inst the in­te­ri­or wall of the sanc­tum.

  ‘La­vigny. Wo­uld you kindly es­cort the Co­un­tess and Ma­da­me Mas­ti­gou out of the ro­om. This may ta­ke so­me ti­me. And fetch me a mag­nif­ying glass.’

  75

  The first thing Sa­bir did when Bo­ubo­ul drop­ped him back at the Ma­set was to light the fi­re for com­fort. The night was cold and he felt an in­de­fi­nab­le fris­son over­ta­ke his body as he glan­ced up the cor­ri­dor to­wards the pla­ce whe­re Mac­ron’s body had la­in. Sha­king his he­ad in dis­gust at his own sus­cep­ti­bi­li­ti­es, he be­gan the se­arch for cand­les.

  The old ho­use se­emed to ec­ho back his fo­ot­fal­ls as he pad­ded ro­und the ro­om - so much so that he fo­und him­self cu­ri­o­usly un­wil­ling to ven­tu­re furt­her up the cor­ri­dor to­wards the kitc­hen. Af­ter a de­sul­tory fi­ve-mi­nu­te se­arch he was re­li­eved to dis­co­ver three cand­les still lying on the flo­or, whe­re they had be­en over­set by the eye-man’s use of the fi­re ex­tin­gu­is­her, two nights be­fo­re.

  Ligh­ting them and then se­e­ing his sha­dow ref­lec­ted aro­und the ro­om li­ke a torch­lit dan­se ma­cab­re, Sa­bir won­de­red, not for the first ti­me, how he had ever al­lo­wed Yo­la to per­su­ade him to co­me back and use the Ma­set? The ra­ti­ona­le was cer­ta­inly the­re - for Les Sa­in­tes-Ma­ri­es re­ma­ined tightly se­aled by the po­li­ce in the­ir se­arch for the eye-man, with eg­ress re­la­ti­vely easy and ing­ress mo­re cont­rol­led.

  But sin­ce he had last be­en he­re the Ma­set se­emed to ha­ve trans­for­med it­self in­to a pla­ce of do­om. Sa­bir now felt dis­tinctly un­com­for­tab­le in using the lo­ca­ti­on of so­me­one’s bru­tal mur­der for what he un­ders­to­od might well turn out to be a flip­pant jo­ur­ney up a no-thro­ugh-ro­ad. In fact it bro­ught ho­me to him, yet aga­in, just how dif­fe­rently the Ma­no­uc­he vi­ewed de­ath when com­pa­red to the rat­her sen­ti­men­tal, post-Vic­to­ri­an way he still vi­ewed it him­self.

  It was all very well for him to sit he­re and fan­ta­si­se abo­ut the na­tu­re of the prop­he­ci­es - in re­ality the­re was a fa­ir chan­ce that the bam­boo tu­be didn’t even con­ta­in them and wo­uld ins­te­ad pro­ve full of dust. What if the we­evils had got in? Fo­ur hund­red and fifty ye­ars was a long ti­me for anyt­hing to sur­vi­ve, much less parch­ment.

  He sat down on the so­fa. Af­ter a mo­ment he stra­igh­te­ned up the French dic­ti­onary which he had bro­ught with him un­til i
ts ed­ges ac­cor­ded with the bor­der of the tab­le. Then he li­ned up his pen and pa­per be­si­de the dic­ti­onary. Bo­ubo­ul had lo­aned him a lar­ge-fa­ced, ga­udy watch and Sa­bir now la­id this on to the tab­le next to the ot­her ac­co­ut­re­ments. The fa­mi­li­ar mo­ve­ments pro­vi­ded him with so­me me­asu­re of com­fort.

  He glan­ced back over his sho­ul­der to­wards the cor­ri­dor. The fi­re was bur­ning well by this ti­me and he be­gan to fe­el a lit­tle mo­re se­cu­re in his iso­la­ti­on. Yo­la wo­uld find the prop­he­ci­es if an­yo­ne co­uld. When she ar­ri­ved at the Ma­set, he wo­uld ta­ke the prop­he­ci­es, from her and send her stra­ight back to Les Sa­in­tes-Ma­ri­es with Res­zo. He was fi­ne alo­ne he­re. He wo­uld ha­ve the rest of the night in which to trans­la­te and copy the prop­he­ci­es. From that mo­ment on he wo­uld not let them out of his sight.

  Co­me mor­ning, he wo­uld send the ori­gi­nals by co­uri­er to his pub­lis­her in New York. Then he wo­uld work on the co­pi­es un­til he had mil­ked out the­ir full me­aning. With the prop­he­ci­es skil­ful­ly in­ter­le­aved with the story of the­ir dis­co­very, he wo­uld ha­ve a su­re-fi­re best­sel­ler on his hands. It wo­uld easily bring in eno­ugh to ma­ke them all rich. Ale­xi co­uld marry Yo­la and end up Bu­li­bas­ha and Sa­bir co­uld wri­te his own tic­ket.

  Twenty mo­re mi­nu­tes. It co­uldn’t ta­ke lon­ger than that. Then he wo­uld ha­ve one of the gre­at un­told sec­rets of the world wit­hin his grasp.

 

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