* * * * *
He took a small detour to revisit the church of St. Andr? des Arts as he walked northward toward the Right Bank. The gate to the cemetery hung open and he strolled through, avoiding the ever-present beggar-a man with a withered arm, this time-crouching by the wall. Only a few rusty stains remained on the stones where Saint-Landry's body had lain.
"Were you here the night the gentleman was murdered in the charnels?" he asked the beggar when he returned to the gate, handing over a coin. "Did you hear anything?"
"I sleep over there sometimes," the beggar said. He pointed a dirty finger at the church porch, which provided some slight protection from the elements. "Didn't hear nothing more than usual."
So Saint-Landry must have known and trusted the man who had lured him out, if they had met near the cemetery gate, and gone inside, with only a few soft words exchanged.
Beaupr?au?but where was Beaupr?au? And if he, too, was dead, then who had murdered them both?
Aristide dropped another sou in the beggar's hand and left the cemetery, only to discover that he had, without thinking about it, wandered down Rue St. Andr? des Arts and was nearing Rue de Savoie.
I'm behaving like a smitten schoolboy, he thought, turning his steps toward the house where the Saint-Landrys lived, and I don't really care. He stopped in the courtyard and gazed up at the first-floor windows until the porter finally came outside to inquire his business.
"Police business," he said brazenly, pulling out his card. The man bowed and hastily retreated to his room by the stairs.
Sophie appeared in the window a moment later and caught sight of him. Aristide nodded to her and she smiled down at him, blushing. A moment later she glanced over her shoulder as if someone inside had called her away, then brought her fingertips to her lips, blew him a kiss, and vanished.
He was scarcely aware of the cold, or of anything else, as he turned and made for the gate. Another pedestrian collided with him as he reached the street and he muttered a word of apology without being aware of anything but Sophie's smile.
"My word, you have got it badly," said a familiar voice. "I know I'm no beauty, but I thought at least I'd stand out in a crowd when a friend cannons into me."
"Derville?"
"Visiting the Saint-Landrys again, are you?"
"No, I?I was merely passing by."
Derville looked at him, tapping the head of his walking stick gently into his palm. "You know," he said at last, "you're running the risk of becoming quite the clich?. Somebody'll put you in a third-rate comedy if you're not careful."
"I've been meeting with Brasseur," Aristide snapped. "I was merely on my way back to your lodgings."
"Well, why not come upstairs with me? I felt I ought to pay a call on them and see how they were bearing up. Eug?nie still refuses to go into mourning, I see," he added, with a glance upward at the windows, which were free of any black draperies. "A visit might cheer her up."
Aristide nearly agreed, but thought better of it. Suddenly he knew he did not want to share a half hour in Sophie's company with anyone.
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The Cavalier of the Apocalypse Page 24