The Man with the Lead Stomach

by Jean-FranCois Parot

  ‘That is always the problem when servants are led astray,’ said Sartine.

  Nicolas resumed, ‘At the Discalced Carmelites, who was in a position to attack Madame de Ruissec? Not her husband, who was in Versailles. Some doubt remains concerning the vidame. We do not know Lambert’s timetable but we now know that only he and the vidame knew about the meeting and the reasons for it. Up until that point the case might only have been a private matter, a family drama. But from then on everything suddenly changes; other factors come into play and soon the authorities themselves decide or pretend to give up the investigation.’

  Monsieur de Sartine began to cough and he quickened his obsessive pacing about the room.

  ‘You are surely not claiming that the son killed his mother, are you?’

  ‘I ruled out nothing. At that moment I was wondering what to do. Should I let things drift and risk losing the tenuous thread that guided me or should I carry on until the end, working on the basis of the few things I was certain of? Covering up the Comtesse de Ruissec’s murder was simply a tactical ruse. One thing obsessed me: the gruesome way in which the vicomte had been killed. In the Basse-Gêole we discovered for certain that he had been choked with molten lead. Why such a horrible death? Monsieur de Noblecourt happened to mention that this was the punishment meted out to counterfeiters in Russia. This set me thinking. It looked as if the vicomte might have been killed by an accomplice as an example to others, to strike fear into their hearts. I concentrated my enquiries on the trades that use lead.’

  ‘What do you mean by an example to others?’

  ‘To the other conspirators and accomplices I gradually came to believe were involved, as further disturbing evidence emerged that this was not simply a private matter. A second question intrigued me: why execute someone in such an extraordinary way, a way so difficult to organise, so risky, and which at first sight seems excessive? It is thanks to you, sir, that I answered that question. Whilst there is an element of madness in all this, as well as it being the revenge wrought by a secret society on members who have betrayed the cause, there is an additional and, so to speak, a practical explanation too.’

  ‘Why thanks to me?’

  ‘Does the mention of the Minister of Bavaria, whose carriage was intercepted for smuggling at the Porte de la Conférence, mean anything to you, sir?’

  ‘What it means to me is two insistent letters from Monsieur de Choiseul and three extremely tedious conversations with the pompous minister, who’s obsessed with his diplomatic privileges.’

  ‘Statements from various witnesses confirm that two men were caught immersing a body in the water near Pont de Sèvres on the evening of the vicomte’s death. One of the witnesses, the minister’s coachman, was terror-stricken at the sight of the face of the man, who was said to be dead drunk. Well, I maintain that the two men were trying to dispose of the vicomte’s lead-weighted body and that it was the failure of this attempt that then led them to stage the so-called suicide. However, this could only be successfully achieved by someone with perfect knowledge of the layout and habits of the Hôtel de Ruissec.’

  ‘This is all very complicated and unconvincing.’

  ‘The murderers could not dispose of a body in the great park at Versailles. At the first hunt a dog would have discovered it. They wanted to immerse it in the Seine, weighted down with lead, but that failed. This immersion explains the smell of stagnant water clinging to the dead man’s damp clothes.’

  ‘That’s typical of our Nicolas, always an answer for everything.’

  ‘The Comtesse de Ruissec’s death also produced another vital piece of evidence: a ticket for the Comédie-Italienne. The murderer clearly wanted to direct me towards Mademoiselle Bichelière. Why? Was it to point the finger of suspicion at her? No. Everything was intended to attract my attention to her entourage instead. The actress had the reputation of being flighty. Though she was the vicomte’s mistress, she also had other admirers. She displayed, or feigned, a violent jealousy towards Mademoiselle de Sauveté, her lover’s betrothed, but more from self-interest than hurt feelings.’

  ‘So you were still no further forward?’

  ‘No, but another aspect of the case emerged. A lady, a lady of high rank, a lady with influence in the highest quarters …’

  Sartine went nearer, pulled up an armchair and sat down. Nicolas lowered his voice.

  ‘… sent for me. She wanted to tell me her fears concerning you know who and to give me a scurrilous and offensive tract. She also warned me against the Comte de Ruissec’s intrigues. That meeting brought me nothing tangible. However, while at Choisy I spotted a person I had already heard was a friend of the vicomte’s, a certain Truche de La Chaux, a Life Guard at Versailles. He seemed to have ready access to the lady’s chateau. Continuing my investigation, I questioned La Paulet, an old acquaintance of ours, whose establishment, despite the bans, still enjoys the reputation as the best haunt for illegal gambling. That meeting did prove fruitful: I discovered that the vidame betted heavily here with Truche de La Chaux and that he was left-handed. After his companion had lost an excessive amount of money the Life Guard had pledged a jewel that intrigued me by its appearance and which I officially confiscated on the spot. La Paulet also had plenty to say about the looseness of La Bichelière’s morals. That same evening, our undercover visit to Grenelle, apart from providing us with the solution to the problem of the locked bedroom, enabled me to lay my hand on the documents and tracts that confirmed the threats against the King’s life. As a result sir, the minister gave me carte blanche to see the matter through to a successful conclusion.’

  ‘I can assure you that we always approved the very appropriate measures you took and the general conduct of your investigation. I was constantly pestering the minister to authorise you to act officially.’

  Nicolas thought to himself that it would have been nice to know this, when he had been agonising about his superior’s reactions to some of his initiatives.

  ‘In Versailles,’ he went on, ‘I met the vicomte’s betrothed. She was a strange character and the intended marriage was even stranger. I noted that she seemed extremely well informed since she knew that her betrothed had been killed while cleaning his weapon. Who had told her this? Why was she not attending the vicomte’s funeral service, being held that day? Since then Bourdeau has looked into the wedding contract drawn up by the notaries.’

  ‘A one-sided contract,’ said Bourdeau, ‘which bestowed preposterous advantages on the bride-to-be. It looked more like an attempt at blackmail than an arrangement between two families. The Ruissecs were falling into a legal deathtrap. I was told that the dowry was for an excessive amount. If the vicomte happened to die before his wife, or even before the wedding was celebrated, she received a fortune. The agreement had already been signed.’

  ‘My visit to Versailles,’ said Nicolas, ‘also afforded me the opportunity to meet Truche de La Chaux. That swindler tried to spin me a tale about the ring that he’d left as a pledge at the Dauphin Couronné. He seemed sure of his impunity and made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed the protection of the great lady we spoke of earlier. Chance always has a role to play in any investigation and I happened to discover that on the day the vicomte died, someone had had a note sent via a page to Truche de La Chaux: he was to meet a mysterious person near Apollo’s Chariot. However, this note, which was intended for the Life Guard, was intercepted by the Vicomte de Ruissec.’

  ‘How do you think that happened?’ asked Sartine.

  ‘I assume the vicomte knew the sender of the note and that by taking the place of Truche he intended to find out more about the plot. The following day, during the hunt, Madame Adélaïde informed me of the disappearance of several of her jewels. The hunt had just begun when I was knocked unconscious, thrown to the ground, abducted, taken to an unknown place and confronted with one of my former Jesuit teachers, who attempted to make me give up my investigation.’

  Monsieur de Sartine stood up and went to s
it behind his desk, where he began to move the items around, always a sign of puzzlement or annoyance.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I have had that investigated and it has only a distant connection with our case. Someone has been overzealous. Someone has press-ganged an elderly man into an insane scheme. Someone now realises that it’s likely to work against the interests that someone wants to defend. But I guarantee you that the guilty parties have nothing to do with the people I should like you at last to bring before me.’

  Nicolas reflected how this investigation produced surprise after surprise … Faced with the mysterious workings of power he still sometimes felt like an apprentice.

  ‘Now will you finally explain the truth about all this?’

  ‘You must realise that we are confronting not one intrigue but several schemes being carried out at the same time for different reasons. To complicate things further, the protagonists are connected and their actions and movements affect one another. Yes, sir, there are several plots: a private plot that I shall call an act of vengeance against the Comte de Ruissec, a secret plot that I call a political conspiracy against the King’s life and lastly the intrigue of a great lady who, as you know, manipulates individuals of little consequence.’

  ‘There you go again, flying off at tangents!’ exclaimed Sartine. ‘All those tales of chivalry that you once told me had fascinated you as a child have gone to your head. I’m prepared to believe there was a plot but don’t mix everything up.’

  ‘Sir, I’m not mixing anything up,’ Nicolas replied with a hint of annoyance. ‘The Comte de Ruissec was part of the Dauphin’s innermost circle. He was gambling that the Dauphin would soon be king. Of course the heir to the throne knew nothing of these intrigues; people were merely acting in his name. In circumstances that are not as yet clear the comte became involved in a conspiracy intended to eliminate the King. Don’t forget that he hated the King for blocking his career in the army. He succeeded in convincing his son, a lieutenant in the Life Guards, to join the conspiracy. Lastly, though formerly a Protestant, he had adopted, either through conviction or ambition, the views of the pious party, which protected him from the consequences of his past actions that might otherwise have jeopardised his position at Court.’

  ‘There goes your imagination again!’

  ‘Sir, would you like to hear what Vidame Gilles de Ruissec, whom I have had brought from the Bastille, has to say?’

  Without waiting for Sartine’s answer, Bourdeau showed the prisoner in. He was deathly pale, but his whole bearing evinced a certain determination.

  ‘Sir,’ said Nicolas, ‘please repeat to the Lieutenant General of Police what you told me this morning.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. As my father is dead there is no longer any reason for me to conceal the truth.’

  ‘Why did you not speak up earlier?’

  ‘I could only vindicate myself by implicating him. I was suspected of having murdered my brother. In fact, on the day of his death I attempted to see my mother at Versailles. For months Lionel had seemed desperately sad. He eventually told me what was eating away at him, swearing me to secrecy. Our father had dragged him into a conspiracy. Lionel was convinced that it was an act of madness, that it would cost him both his honour and his life and that our family would never recover from it. My mother was preparing to accompany Madame Adélaïde to Paris to the opera; she was unable to see me and arranged to meet me that same evening in her rooms in Grenelle. When she arrived she thought for some reason that I was responsible for my brother’s death. I eventually managed to convince her of my innocence. She decided to seek advice from the police. I had no alibi. Later I did not know what the prevailing theory was. It was Lambert who told me that the police suspected it was murder. I had no reason to distrust him at that point, having no idea he was part of the conspiracy; my brother had not warned me against him.’

  ‘What was your relationship with Mademoiselle Bichelière, the actress at the Comédie-Italienne?’

  ‘She was my brother’s mistress. On Lambert’s advice, after he assured me that she was a decent girl and would do anything to please me, I thought it would be a clever idea to ask her to swear that I had spent the evening with her. She had such a reputation for … She refused. I just didn’t know what to do. When you came to arrest me I couldn’t bring myself to talk. My mother was my only witness and she was dead.’

  ‘I’m going to put to you the decisive question: were you Mademoiselle Bichelière’s lover? You were often seen at her house in Rue de Richelieu.’

  ‘The people who make that allegation are lying. It was the first time I’d been there. And even then it took Lambert to persuade me to go.’

  Sartine intervened. ‘What was the purpose of the conspiracy your father and brother were implicated in? Do you know?’

  ‘For a long time my brother refused to tell me. Its aim was to kill the King, to bring the Dauphin to the throne and create a governing council around him.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. We shall have to see what is to become of you. Your frankness will be taken into account.’

  Bourdeau led the vidame back out of the study.

  ‘So, Nicolas, now where do we stand?’

  ‘I think, sir, that the main actor in this drama is the person best placed to reveal its mysteries. Let me introduce you to an extraordinary couple.’

  At a signal from Nicolas, Bourdeau opened the door of the study and clapped his hands. An officer appeared, followed by Mademoiselle de Sauveté in shackles, wearing a russet dress and dark glasses. Immediately afterwards two other officers put a stretcher on the floor on which a pale-faced man lay, his head resting on a straw bolster. His eyes were bright with fever and his almost shorn head was reminiscent of that of a galley slave or a monk. Nicolas forestalled Sartine’s request for an explanation.

  ‘Sir, you no doubt recognise Lambert, the Vicomte de Ruissec’s manservant. Or rather I should say Yves de Langrémont, the son of Jean de Langrémont, a lieutenant in the dragoons, executed some time ago for cowardice in battle. Before dying from his bullet wound the Comte de Ruissec had time to inflict on him what the doctors consider to be a mortal wound. Monsieur de Langrémont wishes to explain himself before he appears before the Almighty. I should add that he was arrested in Versailles at Mademoiselle de Sauveté’s house.’

  ‘And who is this lady?’ asked the Lieutenant General of Police.

  ‘May I introduce you to Mademoiselle Armande de Sauveté, or rather …’

  He removed her spectacles and her wig to reveal the pert face of Mademoiselle Bichelière.

  ‘Mademoiselle de Langrémont, arrested yesterday as she was leaving Mademoiselle Bichelière’s house in Rue de Richelieu.’

  ‘What is the meaning of this charade?’ asked Sartine indignantly. ‘Are you trying to tell me that La Bichelière is the sister of Langrémont, alias Lambert, and that the vicomte’s betrothed never existed?’

  ‘It is indeed a strange and dreadful tale, sir. Monsieur de Noblecourt advised me to delve into my suspects’ pasts. It’s as well that I took his advice. Many years ago the Comte de Ruissec had one of his officers executed. It was a blatant injustice. For years documents and statements from witnesses have been emerging about the episode. Who was behind this? Until today it has remained a complete mystery. A few days ago I learnt the name of the lieutenant executed: he was called Langrémont and came from the diocese of Auch. The reports from the intendant of the province also enlightened me and I remembered that on two occasions that town had been mentioned in the course of my investigation. It then became clear that various diverse facts in my enquiry were related. The strange Mademoiselle de Sauveté had been brought up in that area. My unexpected visit to her house was illuminating. Beside the fact that she had shoes of different sizes and wigs with various fragrances, there was a coffee cup with a mark that could only have been made by someone who held it in the left hand.’

  ‘There he goes with his obsession again,’ said Sartine.

  �
�Well, it so happened that I knew Mademoiselle Bichelière’s fragrance very well and even the … size of her foot.’

  Nicolas blushed. Bourdeau emerged from the shadows and hurried to his rescue.

  ‘The commissioner, sir, has a very good nose and the gift of recognising smells.’

  ‘Does he indeed?’ said Sartine. ‘And a well-trained eye for recognising ladies’ feet. Strange, strange!’

  His sudden imitation of Monsieur de Saint-Florentin’s quirk of repeating words and the slight involuntary twitching of the eye revealed the magistrate’s barely suppressed amusement.

  ‘Well,’ Nicolas continued unperturbed, ‘the two fragrances were identical …’

  ‘It’s about time you reached your conclusion, Commissioner,’ said Sartine, who appeared weary at having to furnish so many expressions of surprise at Nicolas’s carefully constructed narrative.

  ‘I’m getting there, sir. We are confronted with a machination in which filial piety and perverted ideals were accompanied by a devilish desire for revenge.’

  Suddenly the wounded man coughed and, attempting to clear his throat, began to speak. Lambert’s slightly coarse tone had now given way to another more natural way of speaking which seemed to betray an innate distinction, adding to the mystery surrounding him.

  ‘As I am about to appear before God,’ he began, ‘and submit to His judgement, the only one that matters to me, I do not wish to leave anyone else the task of explaining my actions. Commissioner Le Floch has just used a term that touches me greatly: filial piety. May my actions, however dreadful they seem to most people, be truly represented.’

  These opening words had exhausted him. He attempted to sit up because he was short of breath. Bourdeau helped him to find a more comfortable position. As he had become agitated the blanket had slipped down and his half-open shirt revealed a blood-soaked dressing wrapped right around his chest.