The Dark Secret of Josephine rb-5

by Dennis Wheatley

  chapter XXVI

  BLACKMAIL

  That evening, after Roger had supped, he went to Fouché's little house. The ill-favoured Madame Fouché answered the door and showed him into the poorly furnished sitting-room. Fouché was there working upon some papers. As soon as the two men had greeted one another, she discreetly withdrew and went upstairs.

  Without looking at Roger, Fouché motioned him to a chair and said: "I heard you were back in Paris; but the state of things here has altered little since you left, so I felt that it would be pointless to seek you out."

  "It would have been," Roger agreed. "The time has not yet come to make a move in the matter that we talked of when last we met."

  Fouché sighed. "I feared as much; although your corning here momentarily raised my hopes that I might be wrong. To what, then, do I owe this visit?"

  "I wished to inform myself if your circumstances had improved during my absence."

  "That was considerate of you. The answer, alas, is no." Fouché made a gesture of disgust towards the papers on the table. "Here is fine work for one whose words were once hung upon in the Chamber. These are calculations showing how much it will cost to feed young pigs until they reach a certain weight and can be sold at a few francs profit."

  "Indeed! I had no idea that you had any experience of farming or raising animals."

  "Nor have I. But the ex-Deputy Gerard offered to finance me if I would buy a few litters and fatten them swiftly by forcible feeding, then share the profits with him. So now I spend my days on a farm in the suburbs cleaning out pigsties."

  "You would, then, be glad if I could put you in the way of earning a considerable sum?"

  Fouché gave a quick snuffle. "There are few things you could ask of me that I would not do in order to improve my present wretched situation."

  "The matter depends only on your willingness to do a deal with me. This afternoon Madame de Beauharnais confided to me the gist of some recent conversations she has had with you."

  "Ah!" Fouché's bloodless lips twitched in a faint smile. "So you know about the diary, and have come to try to buy it for her?"

  "Yes. How much do you want for it?"

  "I have not got it."

  "No matter. You know who has, and could get hold of it"

  "Even if I could, I would not sell it"

  "Why not? I am prepared to pay you handsomely."

  Fouché shook his head. "It is worth more to me than money. That diary should prove the means of obtaining for me a new chance in life."

  "In that, I fear you wrong."

  "Why so? Madame de Beauharnais has great influence with Barras. He could easily procure for me an appointment in the Administration, and that would bring me in a regular income. Once back, too, I should soon find opportunities of furthering my fortunes. Such a prospect is much more valuable than a sum of money down."

  "It would be if Barras were agreeable to do as you wish, but he is not."

  "I see no reason why he should refuse. Everyone knows my capa­bilities, and there are plenty of men with far worse records than mine holding office. My enemies in the two Chambers might make some outcry, but they have no power in such matters now. Within twenty-four hours people would be talking of something else; Barras would have done himself no material harm, and I should have the means of supporting my unfortunate family."

  Roger shrugged. "Your reasoning is sound enough; but the fact remains that Barras has refused Madame de Beauharnais's appeal on your behalf."

  "Then she will not get back her diary. The person who has it is no fool, and would not part with it even if I offered the half of as big a sum as I might hope to get from you. The intention is to retain it and keep her bled white through monthly payments of as much as she can afford. That, my own interests apart, is why she should give Barras no peace until he does something for me. I have always wanted a post in the Police. If she could get me one, I could deal with the blackmailer for her in such a way that she would have no more to worry about."

  "Again your reasoning is sound enough, but is made impracticable of application owing to the ill-will that Barras bears you. Therefore some other means must be employed."

  "What have you to suggest?"

  "That you should sell me the blackmailer's name and leave me to handle the matter of getting back the diary."

  Fouché gave an angry snort. "I have already told you that in this lies my only hope of re-establishing myself in the career for which I am best fitted. Is it likely that I would sacrifice such a chance for a hatful of ready money?"

  "You would be well advised to; otherwise you may get nothing."

  "There, you are quite wrong. Even if Barras proves adamant, a steady income can be made out of Madame de Beauharnais; and as the go-between I'll get my share of it."

  "Do not delude yourself. She is far from rich, and you will be lucky if you receive even a first small payment."

  "On the contrary, the prospects of La Belle Creole becoming a good milch cow were never better. A reliable little bird told me that General Buonaparte is pressing her hard to marry him. In her situation she would be mad to refuse such an offer. Once she is Madame Buonaparte, not only will she feel it more necessary than ever to buy our silence, but she will have ample means to do so."

  "You have yourself alluded to the factor which will prove the nigger in your woodpile," Roger announced with a grim little smile. "Madame de Beauharnais opened her heart to me this afternoon. She is shrewd enough to guess that you are banking on General Buonaparte's proposal to her, and knows that should she not give you satisfaction you may attempt to bring about her ruin. But she is a courageous woman, and so prepared to face up to this crisis you have forced upon her. She is also an honest one. She declared to me that nothing would induce her to marry the General with this sword of Damocles hanging over her head. And she went further. Rather than suffer a perpetual drain upon her very limited resources as the only alternative to having her children proclaimed bastards here in Paris she will take them to Martinique. There, her youthful indiscretion is known to most people and already condoned; so the most you can hope to gain is as much as you can screw out of her to buy your silence while she makes her preparations for leaving France."

  Roger had misrepresented matters with considerable ingenuity as Josephine had no idea of returning to Martinique, and the suggestion that Fouché might get a little money from her rather than nothing at all was a touch of genius. It was that, no doubt, which caused him to accept the statement as the truth. His grey, blotchy face twitching with annoyance, he muttered:

  "How cursed am I with misfortune that this bridge to a steady income should have broken under me. I was counting on it to ease the burden that my poor wife has already carried far too long. Since, then, I must do a deal with you, what are you prepared to pay?"

  "Onehundred louis"

  "Such an offer is absurd, and you know it! To this woman the securing of her future, at the very least, be worth a thousand."

  "It might be if she had a thousand, but she has not. It is I who am paying, simply to buy her future goodwill. To me that is worth one hundred, and no more. That is double what you might hope to get from her direct; as did you press her to the limit I doubt if she could raise fifty to keep you quiet. Remember, too, that having settled with you I shall still have to deal with the person who has the diary."

  "What sum do you propose to offer for it?"

  "By adopting your own plan, I hope to get it for nothing. I have no doubt that if I tell Barras a suitable story he will furnish me with a deportation order. The threat to execute it should be enough to ensure the surrender of the diary. But rather than go to extremes, which might result in the story getting about, some payment may be necessary to clinch the matter; so for your part in it I'll go to no more than a hundred."

  Fouché's red-rimmed eyes narrowed slightly as he stared down at his long bony hands, which lay crossed upon the table. Suddenly he spoke again. "You have always stood well with Barras, a
nd the casualness with which you speak of getting a deportation order from him is evidence that you do so still. ‘I’lll make a bargain with you. Get him to give me some post and I'll forgo the hundred louis."

  "I have already told you that he is averse to giving you anything."

  "Tis true that he refused the pretty Creole; but perhaps he feels that he has already done enough for her. If you put in a good word for me he might view the matter differently."

  "I greatly doubt it."

  "I feel sure he would; particularly if the request were a modest one. I will forgo my hopes of a Prefecture, or something of that kind. Let it be only a Commissionership in the Posts, or Customs, or in connection with Supplies. Anything will serve provided it enables me to get back into the service of the Government. Surely you could persuade him to do that much for me."

  Roger considered for a moment After all, it meant nothing to him if there was one rogue more or less in the Directory's Administration; and Fouché was not asking for the moon. If he could be procured a minor post and the British Government be saved a hundred louis in consequence, so much the better.

  "Very well, then." With a nod, Roger stood up. "Mark me, I promise nothing; but I'll do my best for you. Now, what is the name and address of the person who has the diary?"

  Fouché too, stood up, but he shook his head. "I fear you must wait for that until I learn what Barras is prepared to do for me."

  "No." Roger's voice was sharp. "This matter is of no great importance to me, and I've no mind to run back and forth to Barras about it That he will not give me a blank deportation order is certain; so if I am to ask for one I must have the name. Give it me and when I-ask him for the order I will also ask him to do something for you. If that does not content you, then you had best count me out of the matter altogether."

  As Fouché could have no means of knowing the immense importance that Roger actually did attach to the affair, and, from his point of view, the great urgency of settling it, he was taken in by the bluff, and said:

  "I see that I must trust you. The woman's name.."

  "Woman?" Roger echoed in surprise.

  "Yes; woman. She is the sister of a mulatto, who before the Revolu­tion was a footman in the Beauharnais household."

  "I see. Yes; Madame de Beauharnais mentioned him to me. Please go on."

  "Her name is Madame Remy." "And her address?"

  Fouché hesitated, and, Roger guessed, was about to hold it back as a last card, on the pretext that to secure the deportation order it was not necessary; but now he had the name the game was in his hands, and he said quickly:

  "Come! Since you have trusted me so far, there is nought to be gained by hedging. I need only ask Barras to put his police on to her to have her run to earth."

  "True. Very well then. She lives not far from the prison of La Force. You proceed past it down to a row of dwellings that back on to the short stretch of river between the bridge to the Isle St. Louis and the bridge to the Isle Louvier. Her lodging was at one time an artist's studio and lies on the immediate right of a drinking den frequented by the wharf-hands who work in those parts."

  'M3ood. Tomorrow morning there is this big parade of troops returned from La Vendee, at which the Directors are to take the salute; so I shall not be able to secure an interview with Barras until the afternoon at earliest. Be in all the evening, and some time during it I will call to let you know what Barras has decided regarding you."

  With a nod, Fouché followed Roger out into the passage. As he opened the front door for him, he said: "This means a great deal to me. Please remember that and do your utmost to get me something with a salary which will enable me to keep my wife in a little comfort.

  "Everything depends upon how deeply Barras is prejudiced against you," Roger replied, "but I promise you I will do my best." Then he went out into the night

  As soon as he had dined on the following day, Roger went to the Luxemburg. It was a dull, rainy afternoon and the twilight of early March was already falling as he descended from a hired coach outside the Palace. Having paid off the man, he sent up his name, but he had to kick his heels in an ante-chamber for over an hour before M. Bottot came out and said that Barras was free to see him.

  As soon as they were seated, Barras said: "When your name was brought in I was on the point of sending for you, to let you know that our project with regard to Madame de Beauharnais has now become one of the greatest urgency. Since you were last here I have had no opportunity to see her, and if she is still opposed to the match, this evening is our last chance to persuade her to alter her mind. The question of Buonaparte's appointment is the first item on the Comite's agenda for tomorrow morning."

  "Then I am happy to be able to tell you," smiled Roger, "that the matter is settled; and favourably to our designs. Or all but settled."

  "All but?" repeated Barras, with a sharp lift of his eyebrows.

  "Yes. As I told you two days ago she had an appointment to consult Le Normand. Her visit to the sibyl convinced her that by accepting Buonaparte she would ensure both herself and her children a brilliant future. On their account even more than her own she is now anxious to make the match; but one thing still deters her from com­mitting herself. She is being blackmailed."

  "On account of what?"

  "Ah episode in her past which she refuses to disclose. Naturally, once married and with funds at her disposal, she fears that the screw will be turned upon her. That would be bad enough, but should there come a point at which she could no longer pay, the blackmailer might make the matter public."

  Barras shrugged. "Surely she is making a mountain out of a mole­hill. Everyone, including Buonaparte, knows well enough that the life she has led since her husband's death has been far from irreproachable."

  "I agree; and so can only suppose that the episode was of a some­what different nature from a clandestine amour the disclosure of which might do no more than tarnish her reputation."

  "I wonder, then, what the devil it could have been."

  "As far as we are concerned the particulars of it are, surely, quite irrelevant. What does concern us is her fear that, should it be made public subsequent to her marriage, Buonaparte would suffer so greatly m his amour propre, that in one of his well-known furies he might do her a damage. Hence her refusal to accept him, unless this menace to her peace of mind can first be removed."

  " If she will provide us with a lead to the blackmailer, I can put a discreet man in the police on to it," Barras said with a frown: "But the devil of it is that we now have so little time."

  "I already have the lead," Roger replied quietly. "And tonight should be time enough in which to do the job, providing you will give me your assistance."

  "Thank God for that! After first raising my hopes, you had me badly worried. What help do you want from me?"

  "The blackmailer is a woman named Madame Remy. As she lives down by the docks she can be of no social consequence, so her dis­appearance will cause little comment. Give me an order for a squad of troops, so that I may arrest her, and another for her immediate deportation to Cayenne.

  Barras nodded. "You are right. That is the way to deal with this. Few people survive the fevers mere for more than a few months; and even if she did succeed in escaping, with the order still in force against her, she would never again dare to show her face in France."

  Drawing two sheets of paper towards him he quickly wrote out the transportation order, and another empowering Roger to collect a squad of men for duty from the palace guard. As he pushed them across the table, Roger said:

  "There is another matter. Joseph Fouché is involved in this. You will recall that Madame de Beauharnais has several times begged you to give him some post?"

  "And I refused her!" cut in Barras with a frown.

  "So you told me. But you then knew nothing of this affair. In it he has been acting as a go-between. With his usual cleverness when fishing in troubled waters, he hoped first to land himself a post, then use it to obtain a d
eportation order against the blackmailer."

  The corners of Barras's mouth turned down in a sneer. "Why not say that, with his usual treachery, he hoped first to land himself a post, then use it to betray this Madame Remy whose employment of him had enabled him to obtain it?"

  Roger shrugged. "The one statement is as true as the other; and the last thing I would undertake is to defend Fouché's morality. I was thinking of the issue simply as Madame de Beauharnais undoubtedly did when she made her plea for him to you. The question is, what can you do for him?"

  "Do for him? Nothing! Now that you have stepped into his shoes for the eliminating of the blackmailer, why should I do anything?"

  "Because without his help our hands would still be tied. It was he who gave me Madame Remy's name, and her address. In return I promised to do my best to persuade you to find him a place—preferably m the Police."

  "In the Police! God forbid! I would be out of my wits did I give such a knave the chance to spy upon us and learn all our secrets."

  "Very well then; something in the Customs, or, perhaps, Education. He was once a teacher."

  "Nay, I'll not do it!" Barras shook his head. "The, Directory is already unpopular enough, for a score of reasons. During the Terror Fouché made himself one of the worst hated men in France. To give him a post of any importance would arouse howls of protest in both Chambers."

  "Then let it be some minor position to which no one can take any great exception: chief of one of the Supply Depots, or a Prison. At the moment he is keeping pigs for a living; so any place where he could earn a reasonable income at a desk would be counted by him a blessing."

  "No! Let him continue to keep pigs. I'll do nothing for him!"

  "I think in refusing you make a great mistake," Roger said seriously. "The man is near desperate, so might prove a danger to us."