The Saint-Florentin Murders

by Jean-FranCois Parot

  ‘The fact that one pair of slippers resembles another pair of slippers,’ said Testard du Lys impatiently, ‘does not convince me.’

  ‘See for yourself,’ said Nicolas, pointing to the two pairs on the chest. ‘I understand the Criminal Lieutenant’s reticence. Fortunately, I have another piece of evidence.’

  He walked towards the chest and unfolded a jade-green coat adorned with imitation gemstones.

  ‘Look at this coat, gentlemen. It was seized, in the proper fashion, from the wardrobe of the younger Duchamplan. Note, beside this buttonhole, a series of imitation gemstones, bluish white in colour, of which one is missing.’

  He took from his pocket a small piece of paper, folded in four, which he placed on the long table and unfolded.

  ‘Here it is. It was found on the river bank, next to the body of the Marot girl.’

  A long silence followed Nicolas’s demonstration.

  ‘Fortunately, heaven sometimes aids the law,’ resumed Nicolas. ‘It allows us to discover the silver thread deliberately abandoned by a killer and then helps us find a stone accidentally lost by the same killer. Heaven also favours the investigator, helped, admittedly, by the skill of doctors able to see what others cannot in the secret depths of the human body. Thanks to an examination of their entrails, it was discovered that both the Marot girl and the young girl found on Île des Cygnes had ingested, not long before their deaths, large quantities of the fruit of the pineapple, an exotic plant from the West Indies which a number of noble houses have been trying, with some difficulty, to acclimatise. I once saw some fine ones in the late King’s hothouse at Trianon.’

  ‘Apart from these loathsome details, you are not claiming, are you,’ said Testard du Lys indignantly, his pale face growing longer at the thought of the prospects this opened up, ‘that these victims frequented royal houses?’

  ‘Certainly not! On the contrary, I carefully avoided sending my investigators there. Our search was confined to civil residences, not too distant from those places beside the river where the corpses were found. Imagine our surprise on discovering that this fruit was cultivated in the Montparnasse house of the Marquis de Chambonas, a person to whom our attention had been drawn by a brothel-keeper well connected with circles in which certain nocturnal parties are held. The bathing establishment where Duchamplan was arrested gave us some idea of the nature of these parties.’

  ‘It should be pointed out,’ Monsieur Lenoir said to the Criminal Lieutenant, ‘that this person is well known to our inspectors for his extravagant behaviour. He is the grand master of a libertine society created by his father. He has many debts and a highly dubious reputation. He married one of the Duc de La Vrillière’s illegitimate children, the daughter of the Marquise de Langeac, the Beautiful Aglaé. It is said that the couple are very ill-matched and that the marquise is beaten repeatedly. Her husband, having seen in this marriage the possibility of both financial gain and social cachet, bears a grudge against the minister for his mother-in-law’s fall from favour and the consequent dishonour of such a misalliance.’

  ‘I understand what you’re saying,’ said Testard du Lys. ‘But all this jumble of information makes me even more confused. What connection can there be between all these crimes?’

  ‘Monseigneur,’ replied Nicolas, ‘I am firmly convinced that someone wanted to implicate Monsieur de La Vrillière in a series of murders. The first, that of Marguerite Pindron, met a number of needs. Drawn by her young lover into attending parties which revolted her with their criminal excesses, I imagine that she became a danger, in that she might either speak out or resort to blackmail. Add to that the advantage for a Duchamplan of getting rid of someone Jean Missery might be thinking of marrying, thus avoiding any squandering of the fortune from which the major-domo had benefited since his wife’s death. Subsequently, since the first attempt seemed to have failed, there needed to be further opportunities to compromise the minister. I fear that the reality of the matter is that Eudes Duchamplan is a monster who used the plot in which he had become involved to satisfy his own perversions. I saw him, with my own eyes, torture a young girl, with a terrifying expression of morbid delight on his face. The madmen at Bicêtre look more human in their frenzy.’

  ‘“I imagine, I think, I believe …”’ The Criminal Lieutenant was hopping on his chair like a doll worked by a spring.

  Nicolas bowed. ‘I must now bring in a new element which directly concerns the interests of the kingdom. This plot is not simply a family affair, the work of a madman, but the culmination of a conspiracy woven in secret by the representatives of a foreign power. Lord Ashbury, a member of the British secret service, whom I know well from having met him in London, was recognised by me in the lower gallery of the palace of Versailles. He fled when I approached. Our investigations led to us seeing him again at the Hôtel de Russie in Rue Christine, near the Duchamplan house. Sought by all the police forces of the kingdom, it is in that house that he goes to earth, doubtless convinced that it is the last place anyone would think of looking for him. When I search it, I discover a fragment of paper mentioning the Tournelles. Eventually, he is arrested in our raid on the bathing establishment in that very place.’

  ‘Why should this plot have targeted the Duc de La Vrillière?’ asked Lenoir, who had been taking notes as he listened to Nicolas’s demonstration and had made him an imperceptible sign of caution when he had mentioned the Tournelles.

  ‘We are at peace with England,’ said the commissioner, ‘but the English fear that we are actively supporting the growing unrest in their American colonies. They suspect us of wanting, in this way, to take our revenge for the treaty of Paris and the loss of New France. The reason Lord Ashbury, alias Francis Sefton, is in Paris is to take personal charge of setting up a plot whose aim is to weaken the kingdom. The Duc de La Vrillière is an ideal prey, because of his private conduct and also because of his family connection with the Comte de Maurepas. Compromising him would eventually bring about the fall of the government and a scandal which would tarnish the circles around the throne.’

  ‘But surely, Nicolas,’ said Lenoir, ‘if that were the case it might also bring about the return of the Duc de Choiseul, who is well known to be hostile to their interests and concerned to wipe out the memory of past setbacks.’

  ‘That’s an eventuality they didn’t take into account, because they’re convinced that the King would never accept Choiseul’s return, given his animosity – despite the Queen’s insinuations – towards a man who gravely offended his father the Dauphin. They are counting on the confusion that would follow the success of their actions. So much for that objection. The English services have done their work well and know the lives of our great men in detail. Lord Ashbury makes contact with the Marquis de Chambonas, and doubtless teams up with the younger Duchamplan. Do you need proof of that? The day after I recognise Ashbury, someone tries to kill me at Versailles. The guilty party? The younger Duchamplan, whose left cheek still bears the trace of the whiplash inflicted by Dr Semacgus’s coachman. Yes, truly, there is a foreign plot, concealed beneath the terrifying disguise of a web of private vengeance and corruption.’

  ‘There remains the last murder,’ said the Criminal Lieutenant, who seemed nonplussed by all this. ‘How do you explain that?’

  ‘It is without doubt the most difficult of these murderous acts to get to the bottom of. Duchamplan recruited young Anselme Vitry, the rejected fiancé of Marguerite Pindron, from among the venereal disease sufferers at Bicêtre, a hospital of which his brother is an administrator, and which he often visits out of an unhealthy fascination with states of madness. He hires him as a driver in his brother’s cab company and uses him at every opportunity. Was it he who drove Duchamplan to the Saint-Florentin mansion on the night of the murder? Be that as it may, it was certainly he who, by an extraordinary coincidence, drove me to Popincourt where I was making enquiries about his fiancée. I was struck by the stains in the interior of the cab, which could only have been blood. Th
e driver seemed to be hiding his face. That is understandable if it was indeed Vitry, who did not want to be recognised in an area where he had lived. The body found in the cab near the pleasure gardens was unquestionably his. The mud on the cab is identical to that on the bank near the Tournelles bathing establishment. What did Vitry’s killer hope to achieve? You have to bear in mind, gentlemen, that he was counting on two possible scenarios. In one, the watch, or ourselves, would take the fake suicide at face value. Then Duchamplan, dead in the eyes of the world, could disappear without encountering any opposition. It is likely, in that case, that the shirt stolen from the Saint-Florentin mansion would have reappeared, implicating Monsieur de La Vrillière in another murder. The most extraordinary thing in this affair is that Duchamplan had also foreseen that we might not be convinced after all, and in that case, too, the shirt would have been used, with the same results. I sense a question coming from the Criminal Lieutenant. Why did Duchamplan kill Vitry? One could say out of pure cruelty and because he needed a young man’s corpse. I fear – but here again I must imagine – that he simply wanted to get rid of an inconvenient witness, or else that he had no wish to describe Marguerite Pindron’s hideous death to the poor boy, thereby provoking an angry reaction that might prove deadly. With that terrible observation, gentlemen, my demonstration is over. I am firmly of the belief that Duchamplan is not only an accomplice in a plot against the State, but is also guilty of four dreadful murders.’

  A great silence fell over the hall. Old Marie entered to stoke the brazier and throw in more pieces of incense. For a long while, the two magistrates did not move, apparently lost in thought. At last, Monsieur Testard du Lys spoke up.

  ‘Commissioner, I have listened to you with great interest. My interventions, untimely as they may have seemed to you, were only intended to gain a better grasp of the truth. But however much I have gone over your words and put your arguments side by side in an attempt to make sense of a story whose elements are scattered like the pieces of a playing card that has been cut up, I remain unconvinced by all this. I need to ask you two vital questions before I make a judgement. If Monsieur de La Vrillière, to whom everything points, is innocent, where are his alibis? And secondly, you have amassed observations, clues, assumptions, suppositions and a whole hotchpotch of details, as if trying to convince us by sheer volume. Give me one piece of evidence, regarding one of these murders, that proves that Eudes Duchamplan is guilty, and I will accept all the accusations you have made as true and legitimate.’

  ‘Monsieur,’ intervened Lenoir, ‘before Commissioner Le Floch defers to your request, I’m going to answer your first question. You have my word, Monsieur, that the Duc de La Vrillière has unimpeachable alibis for the times when the four murders were committed. However, I am unable, on the orders of the King, to communicate them to you. I leave the floor to Monsieur Le Floch.’

  ‘Bring in Eudes Duchamplan,’ said Nicolas simply.

  A young man in chains entered the hall, surrounded by men of the watch. He was wearing a shirt and maroon breeches. Nicolas was struck by his resemblance, in shape and height, to young Vitry. Only his long, thin hands did not belong to a gardener. On his left cheek was a gummed taffeta bandage. He threw the two magistrates a defiant look.

  ‘I protest, gentlemen!’ he cried. ‘I am being held here against my will.’ He indicated Nicolas with his chin. ‘I have been a victim of this gentleman, who tried to drown me during a private party.’

  ‘We shan’t go into those details,’ replied Lenoir curtly. ‘You are accused of a conspiracy against the State and of the murders of Marguerite Pindron, the Marot girl, a young girl who had fled the Low Countries, and the gardener Anselme Vitry. In addition, you are charged with the kidnapping of minors and the attempted murder of a magistrate of the King. Commissioner Le Floch, please continue.’

  The man looked Nicolas in the eye. The commissioner suddenly saw again Brière’s snake-like gaze, the green eyes of Mauval and his brother. He shuddered and made an effort to pull himself together. Evil was still abroad in the land.

  ‘Monsieur Duchamplan,’ he said at last, ‘it would be customary for me to list in detail all the accusations which have been brought against you. That would be tiring for us, and for you, so I am going to present to the magistrates just one piece of evidence concerning one of these murders. If this proof is conclusive, it will mean that not only are you guilty of this one, but also of all the others.’

  Nicolas stood up and walked slowly towards Duchamplan. The dancing light of the torches projected his huge shadow onto the wall. He seized the young man by his shirt collar, lifted him from his seat and, with a great clanking of chains, dragged him towards the coffin. With a blow of his fist, he threw the lid down on the flagstoned floor and forced Duchamplan to lower his head so that it almost touched the head of the corpse.

  ‘Look at your work, that mutilated face, those hollow eyes! Contemplate one of your victims and dare now to claim that you did not kill her!’

  He let go of him, leaving him moaning beside the coffin, and walked quickly back to the long table.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘I ask you to look at that man. During the discovery of the victim on Île des Cygnes, I found in the young girl’s undershirt, in the presence of Inspector Bourdeau, a human fragment. A nail which had got caught on the cloth and been torn off, taking a piece of skin with it. Here it is.’ Nicolas took out his little black notebook and carefully unfolded a piece of silk paper containing a fragment of nail and dried skin.

  ‘Eudes Duchamplan, approach.’

  Bourdeau had to go and get him.

  ‘Remove his chains.’

  As if filled suddenly with an absurd hope, the man rose to his full height, once again as arrogant as ever; he had not even heard what Nicolas had said.

  ‘Show us your hands,’ said Lenoir.

  ‘What reason would I have to show you my hands?’

  ‘Don’t argue.’

  The two magistrates leaned forward. Duchamplan had rather long nails. But the nail on the middle finger of the right hand was broken, and there was a still visible cut on one of its edges. Nicolas approached, and grasped the hand firmly. The fragment in his possession exactly fitted the wound on the finger.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ stammered Duchamplan.

  ‘The meaning, Monsieur,’ said the Criminal Lieutenant, ‘is that the evidence gathered by Commissioner Le Floch confirms the accusations made against you. Take him away.’

  December 1774

  ‘So, Nicolas,’ said Noblecourt, carefully putting down the fine porcelain cup, ‘the year has finished better than it started! What a terrible, unbelievable series of events!’

  It was two months since Nicolas had confounded Duchamplan at the Grand Châtelet. He lifted his head with a sigh.

  ‘Alas, they’re not over yet. I’ve just learnt some surprising news.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Duchamplan, secretly tried by an ad hoc commission, has escaped the death penalty. The galleys for life, that’s not much to pay.’

  ‘I already knew that. Secrets are never well kept … I was told that your brilliant demonstration and the weight of the evidence presented didn’t completely convince the learned assembly. What else did they need? It was only a pretext, I fear, to spare someone who knew too much about certain people.’

  ‘What you don’t yet know is that Duchamplan was discovered to have choked to death on the road to Toulon. His companions on the chain hadn’t noticed a thing. The dust from the straw in the prison at Clamecy is believed to have asphyxiated him!’

  ‘Was there an autopsy?’

  ‘Of course not! He was immediately buried in a common grave.’

  ‘Are we certain it was really him?’

  ‘I dare to hope so. With Mauval and Camusot still at large, not to mention my English friends, that now makes a lot of people after me. I really need to be careful.’

  ‘You’ve been through some difficul
t times: 1774 will remain for you the year of mourning and slander … both against you and against La Vrillière. Did the duc at least show his gratitude for having got him out of trouble?’

  ‘I was hardly expecting him to do so. There’s a kind of embarrassment between us now. I know too much about him. And he still doesn’t know the main thing. He’s still a minister, but it’s been noticed at Court that the King is more distant towards him than before. The duchesse sent me a gracious message through Madame de Maurepas, who is still very besotted with “young Ranreuil”.’

  ‘Now you really are “new Court”! At the home of Philemon and Baucis … In a way, the wife of the gravedigger.’

  Nicolas did not understand the allusion. ‘The gravedigger?’

  ‘Alas, my friend, close as I may be to the parlement and its little schemes, I’ve always supported the rights and prerogatives of the Crown against the encroachments and ravings of a body which has led us, among other things, to chase out the Jesuit fathers, with the consequences I once pointed out to you. Now, on 12 November, the well-chosen day of Saint-René …’

  ‘The first name of the Comte de Maurepas.’

  ‘Precisely! That day, the King presided over a bed of justice ratifying the recall of the parlement and sounding the death knell of the Maupeou reforms.’

  ‘It’s a mistake, when you really look at it.’

  ‘A mistake, yes. A sin, certainly. It will remain vaguely in people’s minds that the parlement is a power that cannot be broken since we are forced to reinstate it. The whole of Paris is repeating the comment of Chancellor Maupeou: “Thanks to me, the King won a trial which had gone on for a hundred and fifty years. If he wants to lose it again, he is the master!”’

  ‘Now I understand what the English ambassador meant,’ remarked Nicolas. ‘Monsieur Lenoir, whose complete trust I now enjoy, asked me to translate for him an extract from a dispatch intercepted from Lord Stormont.’