Bourdeau-Cadilhac quickly left his lookout post and rushed outside to his carriage. Everything had been arranged to throw off any possible pursuers. As for Nicolas, he would melt into the crowd, a beggar amongst beggars. The hardest thing was to be separated from the little cat, which was convinced after their night together that she had found a master. She used all her charms to convince him. Much as he would have liked to take her, her efforts were in vain: Cyrus would never appreciate this young creature in the house. Abandoning the last remains of his pâté, he took advantage of the greedy cat’s inattention to silently withdraw. But when he reached the gate, there she was, looking at him questioningly with a mixture of impishness and puzzlement. He could not resist any longer, seized her quickly by the skin of her neck and put her in his beggar’s pouch where she fell smugly silent.
Nicolas slipped outside, and crouched for a moment in the corner of the entrance, surrounded by a smell of urine so heady that Mouchette, as he had chosen to name her, stuck out her little head and sniffed in disgust at the odour. He set off in the opposite direction to the Châtelet, then, through narrow alleyways, made his way back to Quai des Grands Augustins. There he found a boat which took him to the Apport-Paris, in the stinking silt on the banks of the river. He was pleased to see the usual congestion around the royal prison. The street vendors were folding their umbrellas and putting away their stalls. Despite the dirt and the proximity of the sinister theatre of justice, the animation and gaiety of the place tempered the horrors of the foul-smelling area which began as soon as you got off the Pont au Change.
He made his way through the crowd to the gothic entrance and slipped inside the old fortress. The duty office was empty: ideal for changing his clothes. Mouchette carefully inspected the premises, taking cautious little leaps and looking generally disgusted. Finally, she jumped on the table, stretched herself, rolled into a ball and fell peacefully asleep. Nicolas had many long hours to wait before his men showed themselves.
*
Suddenly, he was struck by a thought. He was even surprised that it had taken so long to occur to him. Had he been so involved in the practical aspects of the meeting at the baths that he had lost his usual ability to analyse? Now, though, it came to him with blinding clarity: the fact that one of the young men who had been invited to Julie’s party had come to the baths as Camusot’s envoy proved for the first time beyond a doubt that there was a connection between the crime in Rue de Verneuil and the political intrigues surrounding the King and the Comtesse du Barry. He immediately placed this basic fact within the overall picture he had recently been building up. It tallied exactly with what he had been thinking, even though he did not yet dare formulate a conclusion.
A commotion drew him from these reflections. An excited Bourdeau appeared, still dressed as Cadilhac, but without the moustache. The corridors were filled with police officers and men of the watch, leading three prisoners.
‘Look what the latest tide has washed up!’ cried the inspector jovially.
‘Tell me everything in detail,’ said Nicolas.
Bourdeau sat down heavily. ‘I left the baths after that little conversation in which our emissary named a price, laid down the conditions and warned against any kind of trickery. My carriage was immediately followed into Rue des Deux-Portes by a cabriolet. Fortunately, the haycart worked wonders, allowing me to get away without my identity being discovered.’
‘And the young man from the baths?’
‘Hold on, you’re going too fast for me! He was duly followed. As for me, I went and took up position beside the Samaritaine fountain, a centrally placed and very busy spot. Messengers kept coming one after the other to inform me of the enemy’s movements. That way, we were able, little by little, to tighten our grip around the part of the city we were interested in. Our man entered Notre Dame just before the doors were closed. He allowed himself to be locked in. Our people had slipped in discreetly after him, and were watching his every move. They were able to signal to us from a gallery. The cathedral was soon surrounded. After half an hour, three men came out through a side door. One of them was Camusot. I ordered him to be followed and, as soon as his destination became known, arrested – which he was, a few yards from the d’Aiguillon mansion. As for the other two, they took a cab, after closing the door leading to the cloister and Rue des Chanoinesses. Locking the door behind them, I should say.’
‘Balbastre?’
‘It seems very likely that he provided them with a key. Who would be more likely than the organist of Notre Dame to have the keys to the cathedral? As for our two customers, they proceeded to Rue du Paon, where they entered a house. Arriving there soon afterwards, I had the two ends of the street leading to Rue Saint-Victor and Rue Traversine closed off. There was no way they could have escaped. They were in a garret at the top of the house. They didn’t put up much resistance when we went in, and we soon had handcuffs on them.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Nicolas.
‘A nameless young man and someone you know.’
‘Müvala?’
Bourdeau gave a kind of hiccup of surprise. ‘Nicolas, you never cease to astonish me!’
‘Did you find any useful evidence?’
‘Less than nothing. They must have been moving from one hiding place to another. Just some pistols, some swords and a ring with a ribbon.’
Bourdeau handed it to him. Nicolas took it and examined it before stuffing it in his pocket.
He went out to examine the prisoners. An older-looking Camusot looked him up and down provocatively. The unknown young man from the baths bowed his head. Müvala stood impassively with his eyes closed and did not even open them at the approach of Nicolas, who looked at him for a long time. It was too late to start the interrogations now. Orders were given to place the three men in solitary confinement. Nicolas gave firm instructions to the jailer. He was obsessed by mysterious deaths in prison, which were not always suicide, as the poisoning of Casimir had recently shown. It was important, therefore, not only to take away any objects they could use to take their own lives, but also to forbid all contact with the outside world. Nicolas went back to Rue Montmartre. In his room, he put the sleeping Mouchette down on the tiled floor, then himself sank into a deep sleep.
Wednesday 18 May 1774
The cat was introduced to the household without Nicolas having to do anything. Cyrus, who had come to see his old friend early in the morning, discovered Mouchette just waking up. Nicolas had to admire the little creature’s seductive skills. She was not at all scared. With a serpentine grace, miaowing softly, she sheathed her claws and stroked the intrigued Cyrus’s nose. After a while, the old dog, becoming aware of his responsibilities to this young creature, took her delicately by the neck. Panting and purring, she let him do it. They left the room together.
Once he had finished washing, Nicolas found them both in the servants’ pantry, where Cyrus was watching attentively as Mouchette lapped up the milk which Marion and Catherine had poured for her. Questioned by the two women, he explained the animal’s presence. They were delighted, having long hoped for feline support in their daily battle with rats and mice. Informed by Nicolas, Monsieur de Noblecourt grudgingly agreed to admit the intruder into his house on the express condition that she did not enter his apartments, in return for which she won herself, after a brave struggle over the hours that followed, a privileged place on the former magistrate’s lap. As for Cyrus, he seemed rejuvenated by this new presence at his side.
The following days were devoted to the reopened investigation. Camusot threatened Nicolas, saying that a powerful person, whom he refused to name, would react angrily to his arrest. The nameless young man refused to say anything, as did Müvula. Nicolas was loath to resort to torture, always preferring to trap the guilty through the subtlety of his reasoning rather than the use of force. Balbastre, who was by now a crushed man, had been arrested and imprisoned. Master Tiphaine, warned by a mysterious party, had been apprehended at the gates of Paris whi
le attempting to flee to an unknown destination. In his statements, he had said as little as possible, merely admitting that he had received a will but had not been especially scrupulous about verifying its authenticity. As for the terrified organist of Notre Dame, it was impossible to get any admission from him at all. The date of the prisoners’ appearance before the commission presided over by Monsieur de Sartine was fixed for 31 May.
Tuesday 24 May 1774
In the carriage taking him back to Paris from Vaugirard, Nicolas thought over the long conversation he had just had over dinner with Semacgus, sitting under a big lime tree whose fragrance filled the night air. He also reflected on the imminent hearing of the commission of inquiry. Three magistrates would be presiding: Monsieur de Sartine, Monsieur Testard du Lys and Monsieur Lenoir, counsellor of State, who was being spoken of for the stewardship of Limousin to replace Monsieur Turgot, now that the latter had been appointed to a government post by Maurepas. His participation in the commission had been decided by the King. Claiming to be a lifelong friend of his, Sartine had confided in Nicolas that Lenoir had enjoyed the trust of the late King, having been asked to deal, not only with the affairs of Brittany, but also with some letters of the monarch’s that had been stolen from an unknown lady. He was accustomed to secret matters. Nicolas did not find that very reassuring: he was convinced that Lenoir was closely connected with Monsieur de Maurepas – a rising power and the cousin of the Duc d’Aiguillon – and with Monsieur de Saint-Florentin, the Duc de La Vrillière.
He would have to play things close to his chest, not reveal too much, attack through suggestion, not mention famous names and reconcile irreconcilables. It would not be an easy task. Nevertheless, he considered himself a match for that learned assembly, in which he had an ally in the form of his chief. Monsieur Testard du Lys also liked him, although he had a tendency to fall in with the decision of the majority. But if his demonstration failed and the hearing did not result in certain defendants being charged, the case might be closed and he would never rid himself of the suspicion that hung over him. Whenever anyone talked about the murder in Rue de Verneuil and the subsequent events, they would revive the rumours about him, which would spread to both the Court and the city.
He still had a few cards up his sleeve, however. What Semacgus had told him about the conversation between his African cook Awa and Madame de Lastérieux’s maid Julia threw an interesting new light on the affair – provided Julia agreed to repeat her confidences before the court. In addition, there was what the navy surgeon, questioned on a specific medical matter which had intrigued Nicolas, had revealed to him. His friend had thought about the question, and had then turned his library upside down until he had found one of the old campaign notebooks, wrapped in oilcloth to protect them from sea water, in which he had jotted down his operations, his ports of call, and his remarks on the flora and fauna of the countries he had visited. According to this particular notebook, he had spent one whole night in Madras in 1755 in conversation with a group of Indian healers, Buddhist monks and an Arab doctor. Nicolas’s question had awakened his memories, especially of a surprising fact that he had learnt in the course of that night. He explained it in detail to Nicolas, who immediately drew his own conclusions from it, though he was not sure how exactly he would be able to use it at the hearing.
XIII
THE SEAL OF SECRECY
Oh, Caesar! these things are beyond all use
And I do fear them.
SHAKESPEARE
Tuesday 31 May 1774
The hearing of the commission having been fixed for ten o’clock in the morning, Nicolas proceeded to the Grand Châtelet on foot: a necessary exercise for him before the ordeal of his appearance in court. On his arrival, Monsieur de Sartine introduced him to Monsieur Lenoir. He was a man of average height, and although he was not excessively corpulent his figure was in marked contrast to Monsieur de Sartine’s leanness. He had a plump, florid face, with a hooked nose and gluttonous lips, but very gentle brown eyes. On closer examination, a curious asymmetry became noticeable: depending on which profile was presented, the face could appear either kindly or stern. His left eye, deep-set and still, seemed to pierce those he looked at. His natural hair had been combed back from the forehead and fell on either side in three rows of curls. He spoke softly, as if holding something back.
The hearing was being held in the same room as the Lieutenant General’s weekly audience. Monsieur Testard du Lys entered and walked towards his colleagues, hugging the wall. He greeted them and threw a friendly glance at Nicolas, whom he had known for a long time. He was naturally shy, and his evident embarrassment was no doubt due to the fact that he now found himself between two of his predecessors in the office of Criminal Lieutenant. Monsieur de Sartine ordered the doors to be closed before he began speaking.
‘I hereby declare open this hearing of the extraordinary royal commission which has been given the task of throwing light on the murders of Madame Julie de Lastérieux, a slave from the West Indies named Casimir, and Monsieur du Maine-Giraud, and on the various attacks committed or attempted on the person of Monsieur Nicolas Le Floch, commissioner at the Châtelet, secretary to the King in his counsels, assigned by us to special investigations. The documents, information, testimonies and other observations gathered by our commissioners, inspectors and officers are and will remain under the seal of the most absolute secrecy, taking into consideration the interests of the Crown. Commissioner, you have the floor. We are listening.’
Nicolas bowed and took a deep breath. In a flash, he relived all the doubts and anxieties of the past few months. He became aware that, for the first time in his career, he was not acting merely as an investigator and prosecutor. In trying to elucidate this case, he hoped not only to avenge the memory of a woman he had loved, but also to defend his own honour and prove his innocence. The cries and noises of the city, coming in through the open window, brought him back to reality.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘it may seem surprising to you that a man so closely involved in an intrigue whose consequences have been highly dramatic and who was suspected from the first of having played a crucial role, should, on the orders of the King, be called upon to present evidence and sum up the case before you. I did not ask for this fearsome honour. It has fallen to me because of the confidence that both His Majesty and the Lieutenant General of Police have in me. That said, let me come to the facts, which I intend to relate to you as fully as possible.’
Monsieur de Sartine was straightening the curls on his wig, Monsieur Lenoir was writing, and Monsieur Testard du Lys was looking attentively at the speaker.
‘On Thursday 6 January 1774,’ Nicolas resumed, ‘after an exchange of words with my friend Madame Julie de Lastérieux, I left her house in Rue de Verneuil at about six thirty in the evening. Present in the house at the time were Julie, her two black servants, Casimir and Julia, Monsieur Balbastre, the organist of Notre Dame, Monsieur von Müvala, a native of Switzerland, and four young men who were unknown to me. I decided to go to the Théâtre-Français: Commissioner Chorrey can testify to the fact that he saw me there. Then, having calmed down, I took a cab at about ten o’clock in order to return to Rue de Verneuil. I gave the coachman such a generous tip, I’m sure he remembers me. Having a key to the house, I let myself in. Let me be clear about what happened at this point. The party was in full flow and, humiliated at being treated as of no account, I decided to leave again but, before I did so, went into the servants’ pantry to recover a bottle of wine. There, I was seen by Monsieur von Müvala and on my way out by Casimir, whom I bumped into. I left the house for the last time and returned to Monsieur de Noblecourt’s house, where, feeling ill, I fainted. That was about midnight. The next day, 7 January, at two o’clock in the afternoon, I woke and learnt the news of Madame de Lastérieux’s death. As for what had happened between ten fifteen and mid night the previous evening, I really do not know what I did or where I went.’
‘So you admit you have no p
roof?’ said Lenoir. ‘That seems strange.’
‘Monsieur, when I got back I was covered in mud, and my clothes stank of brandy. The next day, Monsieur de Sartine advised me to lie low in Monsieur de La Borde’s apartments at Versailles, with the collusion of a page named Gaspard. A double took my place, and I disguised myself and accompanied Inspector Bourdeau on his investigation.’
‘I hope this does not mean,’ said Monsieur Testard du Lys, ‘that the Lieutenant General of Police allowed an officer of his who had been implicated in a murder to participate in this masquerade. That’s something I couldn’t accept.’
‘You will have to, my dear fellow,’ said Sartine. ‘You need to realise that this was the only way to ascertain the veracity and sincerity of our commissioner’s assertions. I wanted Inspector Bourdeau to keep a close eye on him and see what his attitude indicated as to his guilt or innocence.’
‘Ah, I see!’ exclaimed Testard du Lys, raising his arms to heaven.
‘This subterfuge,’ Nicolas resumed, ‘made it possible for me to be present at a preliminary visit to Rue de Verneuil, where the scene of the crime had been left as it was, awaiting further investigation. The corpse presented evidence of a terrible death …’ At these words, he had to break off for a moment. ‘We discovered Julie lying on her bed in her nightdress. Contrary to her custom, the windows were closed. Bourdeau and I found a plate of chicken in a sauce from the West Indies and a half-empty glass containing a whitish liquid. We also found some sticks of green wax and muddy prints on the floor. Bourdeau observed that these prints exactly matched the boots I was wearing.’
‘Are you saying, Monsieur, that the prints came from those boots?’ asked Monsieur Lenoir, sharply.
The Nicolas Le Floch affair Page 33
