*
A small crowd had gathered on the second floor balcony outside the hallway to the manager’s office. Pierce gently eased his way to the front before being greeted by a large waiter blocking the way.
Pierre the footman was waiting in the hall and waved to Pierce as soon as he saw him. A quick order to the waiter and the man stepped aside to let the Count pass.
“It was as you feared your Grace,” Pierre began, his ashen face making the words unnecessary. He led him into the large office, where the hotel owner’s body was still draped over the desk and three men were in deep conversation in the corner.
The office blended the aspects of a library and a study, with bookshelves lining two walls and two large desks in the center. There was a lingering smell of gunpowder mixed with that of dust, leather, and alcohol. The room immediately reminded Pierce of his own study at the Manor, eliciting a surprising twinge of homesickness for the comfortable space.
“I returned as you suggested, only to find him like this,” Pierre continued, motioning to the body of the hotel owner. Pierce could make out what appeared to be a messy wound in the chest, which in conjunction with the smell, he deduced that a pistol was the cause.
“I guess it doesn’t matter how crooked the barrel is if you shove it against the target,” Pierce mumbled to himself, figuring that Bufford had finally shot someone.
“Sorry sir?” Pierre inquired in confusion since Pierce had spoken to himself in English.
“Nothing,” he replied as he turned from the body to inspect the rest of the room more closely.
The three men were still conversing in the far corner by a window. From Pierre’s previous description he spotted the hotel manager as one of the men. He was white as a sheet and barely speaking, probably feeling as though he could have easily been the corpse on the desk.
“Clearly a robbery gone wrong,” huffed a tall broad man in a dark uniform covered in gold braid. “Did you keep anything valuable here?”
“Nothing really…” the manager replied slowly, his face contorted in confusion.
“What about in the safe?” Pierce interjected from the opposite side of the room after a quick tour of the space.
“There is no safe,” objected the third man; tall, thin, and as expensively dressed as Pierce. “Who the devil are you and how did you get in here?”
“Pardon, that is my fault,” Pierre apologised, coming to Pierce’s aid. “Gentlemen this is the Count of Monte Cristo. We interrupted the thieves by accident as I gave his Grace a tour of the hotel. He told me to get M. Dubec and gather a group of men together to come back, thinking your brother was in trouble.”
“My thanks for your effort,” the man said, acknowledging Pierce more warmly. “I am Guillaum Lafayette, poor Jean there was my brother. I don’t believe you’ve met the others here; Colonel Dutours, the army garrison commander, and Monsieur Dubec, who manages this hotel for my brother.”
“Now see here, what safe were you talking about?” the Colonel questioned irritably after the introductions were complete.
“That one,” Pierce responded calmly as he pointed to a medium sized painting hanging crookedly on the wall. It was a plain oil painting depicting a rather unimpressive coastal scene. “I imagine the thieves didn’t have time to straighten the painting after they searched the safe behind it.”
“Dubec, did you know of this?” Lafayette demanded as he marched over to the painting and moved it to show a small safe hidden behind.
“I… oh yes, now I remember Jean having it installed,” the manager finally answered, seemingly shocked by the safe’s sudden appearance. “But he didn’t keep anything valuable in there; no money, jewels, or anything like that. Merely some business papers I believe.”
“What kind of business papers?” Pierce prodded gently, trying to appear helpful and concerned.
“The deed for this hotel for one thing, plus some other documents,” Dubec offered as he opened the safe. He then rhymed off the other documents as he lifted them up from a small stack within.
“Is that all?” Lafayette asked suspiciously when Dubec had finished listing the contents. “I seem to recall my brother owning a ship. I think it had an English name, something he’d won gambling.”
“Yes you’re right,” Dubec confirmed after recollecting his former employer’s sudden interest in shipping. “It was named the Anne or Mary or something like that.”
“The Courted Anne!” Lafayette remembered suddenly. “But he might not have kept the ownership here. Besides, who would have killed my brother over a ship?”
“I think you’re right,” the Colonel agreed soberly. “It seems to me as though a gang of thieves entered hoping to steal some money, but when all they found were papers in the safe they shot your brother. My condolences sir.”
“I offer mine as well and must take my leave,” Pierce added solemnly.
“Thank you your Grace,” Lafayette acknowledged gravely.
“Pierre, can you fetch the Countess and have her meet me in the lobby. I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night.” The footman had been loitering by the door and left with a quick nod after receiving the order.
“I appreciate everything you did for my brother tonight,” Lafayette continued as Pierce moved to the door. “I fear we might never be able to track down the bastards and bring them to justice.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, men such as these will have other enemies. I imagine they’ll end up paying one way or another. Good night gentleman.”
“Good night your Grace,” the men replied in unison as Pierce left the room. The crowd had dispersed from the second floor, allowing Pierce to descend to the lobby without any fanfare.
He only had to wait for a few moments in the lobby before Jane appeared, expertly hiding the concern she felt. Pierre trailed in behind her, but then broke off to fetch her wrap and Pierce’s jacket.
“Bufford?” She said shooting him a question look.
“Everything’s fine my dear. Thank you Pierre,” Pierce acknowledged as the footman approached with their outerwear.
“I hope you had an enjoyable evening madame la Comtesse,” Pierre offered sincerely as he draped her shawl over her shoulders. She merely nodded in reply with noble composure.
Pierce shrugged into his overcoat after Jane had been served, flipping another gold coin to Pierre as he led her towards the front door.
“But your Grace, I can’t accept,” Pierre objected after catching the coin in flight. “I didn’t lead you to your meeting.”
“Maybe not directly, but now I know where to find the scoundrel.”
“The ship?” Pierre asked after a moment’s reflection, having listened in on the conversation in the office above. He was rewarded by a knowing wink before the couple turned and left the lobby. “Bon Chance monsieur le Comte.”
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 99
