“Thank you for inviting me,” she replied, “but it is too soon for me to go to such places yet. There is no reason, though, why Eugénie should not go with you. She needs a little merriment to make her smile again.” She looked at her daughter and I saw tears well into Eugénie’s eyes. She hugged her mother.
“Thank you, Maman.”
“Please bring her back directly after the performance.”
“I will.”
“And thank you for helping her today.”
I went immediately to the Rue de la Loi, in a very different mood from the one I was in when I left the Ministry. I felt happy and excited and would not have changed places with Petit for all the gold his capture would bring him. I had forgotten my job, my prospects and everything else. The last couple of hours had been tinged with a sort of magic, but they had made me long overdue to relieve my friend.
I found Fournier looking strained and tired. “Hello,” he said when he saw me. “I was expecting Petit and he’s late. What are you doing here?”
“Laurent sent me. Petit’s got his mind on other matters. He’s just caught Maitre Chagrin.”
“Has he indeed? Lucky dog,” Fournier murmured when I’d finished, “and I wasn’t even there to share the celebration.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” I did not explain what had kept me because I had a reluctance to discuss Eugénie with anyone, even a friend. Fournier immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion and thought I’d been celebrating too. He shrugged and turned as if to go when I stopped him.
“Laurent said you would brief me about what you want me to do.”
“Watch the house. Make a note of who goes in and out. If von Braun leaves, follow him and find out where he goes,” was all he told me before he hurried off.
Watching a person’s house in the hope of something happening has to be the most boring part of police work. I think it’s worse than reading through piles of rubbish. After Fournier had gone, I spent hours gazing at a doorway which was rarely used. Only twice, in the time I was there, a visitor approached, the door opened and the person was admitted. Both of them looked like tradesmen and one was carrying a parcel, which he left behind him. It was all innocent and unexciting. Then, as I reminded myself, if this Citizen von Braun was indeed an Austrian spy, he would behave innocently most of the time. It was the times he did not which were important and which we wanted to discover. I couldn’t help thinking that von Braun was a lucky man not to be sent to Paris a few years earlier. Then no one would have bothered to watch him and collect evidence to prove his guilt. If he had fallen under the slightest suspicion, he would have been accused, condemned and beheaded within days, guilty or not.
Times have changed since the fall of Robespierre. So here I was, making a note of von Braun’s visitors, with a description of each one. This kept me busy for all of ten minutes. I’d been warned not to approach any of them, so I didn’t even have the chance to speak to them and break the monotony of my vigil. Most of the time I spent peering into the gloom, stamping my feet and trying to keep warm. The hours dragged and it was with great relief I saw Du Chesne coming towards me. He was early, bless him.
“I’ll take over,” he said. “Anything happening?”
“Nothing much. He’s only had a couple of visitors since I’ve been here. I’m glad you’re here, but I didn’t expect you so early.”
“Fournier wants you back at the Ministry.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“He didn’t tell me, but he looked pleased about something. I’d get back there quickly if I were you.”
I had no intention of arguing with him, I was glad of any excuse to get away. I even treated myself to a hackney ride, wasting a little more of my money in the process. I didn’t think I could walk far. The cold had got into my bones and I had acquired the stiff-legged gait of an old man.
Laurent and Fournier were both in the office when I arrived. They looked up at me with quizzical expressions. I was about to say something, when I saw Fournier shake his head. So I waited for one of them to speak. Laurent was opening his mouth to ask what I was doing back so early when we were interrupted. It was a messenger, telling Laurent that Réal wanted him.
“Wait here. I’ll be back. I want a word with you,” Laurent said to me and went out of the room.
As soon as he had gone through the door, I looked at Fournier properly. He still looked tired and drawn, but he had the satisfied air of a cat that had just found the cream jug.
“What’s happened?” I asked him. “Something has, I can see it in your face.”
“The men we arrested have cracked at last.”
“Well done.”
“Not me. Moreau, one of the guards at the prison. I don’t care for the methods he uses, but they’re more effective than mine. I’ll give him that. Once one had told us what he knew, the others did too. They confessed the lot — plot, collaborators and all.”
“All Bretons?”
Fournier nodded. “There were seven of them in it altogether, including five former nobles. I have a list of the names here.” Fournier fumbled on the table and unearthed a folded piece of paper. “The ones we’ve got in prison are Carbon, Saint-Régeant and Saint-Victor. We missed Joyaux d'Assas, de Villeneuve, La Haye-Saint-Hilaire and a man called Limoëlan, whose father was guillotined for treason a few years ago. Apparently he was an enemy of the Republic. Like father, like son, as they say.”
“Wasn’t everybody an enemy of the Republic then, if it suited Robespierre and the other men in power? At least that man — did you say his name was Limoëlan?”
Fournier nodded.
“At least he had a good reason to hate the Revolution and all its leaders,” I murmured.
“True, but hate is one thing, indiscriminate bombing is another. Bonaparte escaped and a lot of innocent people didn’t. Probably some of them might even have been Royalists too.”
“I wasn’t trying to defend him.”
“Pity they didn’t talk before, though. I doubt we’ll find any of the others now. If they’ve any sense, they’re back in Brittany or fled the country. They’d be heroes in Austria, even though they didn’t succeed. We’ve got agents out searching Paris for them and the roads are watched, but it’ll be too late, I’m sure.”
I agreed. It would take a miracle to find them now. Miracles don’t happen in France any more, if they ever did, despite what the priests used to tell us. Then I had a sudden thought.
“One of them might have been still in Paris a few days ago, though,” I said. “Remember my man with the gold in the bread shop? I searched for him, as you know, but I didn’t have any success.”
“He’s probably long gone by now. He could have left right after you saw him. Even then, he was stupid or foolhardy to stay so long.”
Fournier pulled out the roll of sketches. It had been sitting on a shelf, untouched since Gilbert had died. Fournier looked at his list and started to scribble names on the bottom of some of the drawings.
“The man with the scar is Carbon, as you already know. Saint-Régeant has the beard. From the description, this young man must be Limoëlan, the son of the guillotined noble.”
I gasped. Then I snatched the sketch out of his hands.
“What a fool I am. Why didn’t I look at these before! That’s him! That’s where I saw him before — on the night of the bombing! He’s my man in the bread shop; the man with the gold. I thought his behaviour was suspicious! I mustn’t have described him properly when this was drawn. His nose and his eyebrows are wrong. No wonder I didn’t recognise him. I haven’t looked at these sketches for ages.”
“So now you can at least put a name to the face,” Fournier said, taking the sketch and scribbling Limoëlan’s name beneath his picture.
“I can, but I’m not sure it gets us any further forward.”
“It might. I think you’ll have to go back to the hunt in case he is still lurking around the area where you saw him before. Forget von Braun. One of the others
can watch him. Take the sketch. I’ll show the other copy to various people, including my snitches and tell you if anything comes of it. Now that we know who he is, we might be lucky.”
“He’s unlikely to be using his own name.”
“True, but you can show the sketch and describe him better. Go now.”
“Laurent told me to wait for him,” I objected.
“I’ll speak to Laurent. Nothing would please him more than to keep you on routine work, especially if you have a better chance of catching this crook. Watching von Braun is a thankless task. The man has a German accent, which he could have if he comes from Alsace, as he claims. He’s had a couple of packets sent to him from Switzerland as he might, if he’s a clockmaker. The Swiss make fine parts for clocks. He has more money than he should have, if he’s living on his earnings, but he wouldn’t be the first tradesman to have other sources of income. Perhaps he inherited it.”
I was looking astonished at his outburst. “Have you said all this to Laurent?”
Fournier grinned. “Of course I have, but he took no notice of me, as usual. Von Braun was reported to him as being suspicious and so he has to be watched, just in case he’s a spy. Mind you I’d do the same thing in Laurent’s shoes. Better to send us minions out in the cold to keep watch, than let a dangerous spy slip though our hands.”
“I understand.”
“You don’t, but you will. Anyway, whether von Braun is innocent or guilty, it need not concern you for the moment. You’re the only one of us who saw the bombers, so it’s logical for you to finish the chase if you can. Laurent would only be too happy to tie you up on other jobs for weeks. He’d be furious if you found any more of the scélérats. At least he could give the credit for the ones we’ve bagged to Gilbert. This time you’re on your own and everyone would know if you were successful. For some reason he doesn’t seem to like you.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Laurent dislikes most people. You’re just the latest in a long line. Most of us have learned to work round him. You will too, in time. Now go quickly, before he comes back and sends you to von Braun’s or assigns you to find somebody who’s robbed a couple of sous off a whore.”
I laughed, but I took his advice and left. I didn’t like returning to the hunt but, now that I had a name and a drawing, I had a glimmer of hope. At least I might find out where Limoëlan had been. Perhaps even where he had gone to, for I was quite sure he was no longer in Paris.
Chapter 17
I left Fournier and walked down the stairs into the lower entrance hall, when I heard murmurs and movement in front of me. As I turned the corner, my way was blocked by a group of people lining the walls. They looked as if they were waiting for something to happen. I recognised several agents and pushed through to ask one of them, Arnoud, what was going on.
“They’ve been questioning Maître Chagrin upstairs and now they’re bringing him down here to take him to prison. We’ve all heard so much about him and his exploits that everyone wants to find out what he looks like.”
I realised that I did too and I was in no hurry, as long as I avoided Laurent. He wasn’t around and I couldn’t get through the crowd anyway, which grew bigger every moment. So I stayed beside Arnaud.
“What’s going to happen to Chagrin?”
“Prison and further questioning, I expect. The rumour says that Petit’s got nothing from him so far and he’s supposed to have caches of treasure hidden all over Paris. I’d like to get my hands on some of it.”
“Me too. Who wouldn’t?”
The group nearer the stairs started to shuffle and crane their heads.
“He must be coming now.”
I suppose it was some sort of tribute to the man, but he was surrounded by troopers from the National Guard. Both Petit and Laurent followed him. I crouched a little so Laurent would not spot me. Fortunately he never even glanced in my direction.
At first Chagrin was lost among the press of bodies, then the crowd moved and I saw him clearly for the first time. I went rigid with shock. The face I looked at was dirty and a trickle of blood ran down his cheek but I immediately recognised him — the man I knew as Lefebvre!
His eyes looked glazed and blank, as if he was trying to ignore everything happening to him. I must have moved involuntarily and he caught sight of me. His eyes met mine and held them. In that instant, I saw recognition, fear and a terrible mute appeal for help. Then they hustled him out of the door and into a waiting carriage.
I remember standing there like a statue for a long moment, until Arnaud said, “What’s the matter with you?”
“With me? Nothing.”
“ Strange-looking fellow isn’t he?”
“You’d certainly never think he was a master criminal to look at him.”
“That’s probably been the reason for his success all these months.”
“I suppose so, but he’s caught now. Do you know which prison he’s being taken to?”
Arnaud shrugged. “No, but ask the doorman if you’re so interested. He’ll have heard the instructions.”
“Thanks.” I nodded to him and went outside to talk to the doorman. As Arnaud said, the man knew where they had taken Lefebvre.
“To the Chȃtelet.”
My heart sank. The Chȃtelet is one of the worst prisons in Paris. None of them are pleasant but the rumours about this one are vile. It’s in an area well known for crime and it’s said that the most gruesome tortures take place within its walls.
“What’s your interest?” the doorman asked me.
“Nothing really, just curiosity. He won’t be able to buy his way out of that one, even if he does have money stashed away.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said the man. “Money opens most doors and men have to live. We’ll find out later if you’re right. Want to bet on it?” He tapped his nose and gave me a wink.
“Not me. I’m broke.”
“Pity.”
I walked away, down street after street. I have no idea where I went and what I intended to do next. For a long time I couldn’t get my thoughts into order. Any idea of immediately continuing my search for Limoëlan went right out of my mind. I kept remembering the appeal in Lefebvre’s eyes. On the one hand, Lefebvre was a notorious criminal who had been caught in the act. On the other hand, he saved my life and, without him, I would most certainly be dead. Also, he was in some sort of way, my friend.
I thought about the things he was supposed to have done — several large robberies from jewellers and those who lent money for interest. His victims had been rich and none of them had been ruined by the theft, for they remained in business. He did not injure anyone in his burglaries. A couple of night watchmen had been bound and gagged, but neither of them was otherwise harmed. He succeeded by cleverness and waiting for the right opportunity, until this last attempt, which had gone so terribly wrong.
I sighed. If I did nothing, Lefebvre would be tortured until he told everything he knew. He would undoubtedly be convicted and sentenced to the guillotine or the living death of transportation. Doing nothing was what a proper police agent should do, but I had not been a police agent very long. My job had not even been made permanent yet. In the army, if a man saves your life you owe him. If you get the opportunity, you must return the favour. You don’t just leave him to his fate, if you can do anything about it. But what should I do? He would already be at the prison and the torture might be starting. That thought hit me like a blow. I would not be able to live with myself afterwards, if I ignored the whole affair. Perhaps I would be unable to help him, but I must try. I could at least see him, although whether that would do him any good was debatable.
I hurried off to the Chȃtelet, which lived up to its reputation. It looked and smelt foul, dank and drear. I had an argument with the guard at the gate. I thought for a while he would not let me in, despite showing him my pass and mentioning the names of Laurent and Petit. Eventually I resorted to bribery and had no further trouble. The guard told me th
at Lefebvre was here and no one was with him as yet. He pointed to the guardroom and said that one of the men there would take me to him if I greased his palm as well. I did so, figuring the more friends I had in this place the better. The guard said he would wait for me while I talked with Lefebvre and show me the way out.
They had put Lefebvre into a small box-like cell. He was alone, which was unusual. Most cells hold lots of prisoners. Perhaps his notoriety gave him special status or maybe they were afraid he would talk to the wrong people. Then they might lose their share of the loot. I breathed a sigh of relief. It certainly made my job easier.
Lefebvre had been lying on some filthy straw in a corner of the cell. He started to get up as the door opened. The look on his face was one of acute anxiety, but his expression lightened when he saw it was me. Neither of us said a word until the door had been locked and the guard’s footsteps retreated down the corridor.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed.
“I came to get you out of here, you fool,” I replied.
He grinned at that, a bit lopsidedly for his mouth was bruised and sore. “You’ll be lucky. And why should I trust you, mon brave? You’re on their side now.”
“You’ll trust me because you saved my life and I’m a man who pays my debts. We don’t have time to argue about it. Do you want my help or not?”
“All help is welcome, if you mean it?”
“I do, but this place is a fortress. It won’t be easy to spring you from here.”
“It will be, if you can take a message for me. I doubt any of my other friends would be able to get in — even if they bribe everyone in the place and half Paris as well. I was afraid they’d keep me isolated and the guard has orders not to let anyone in. How did you manage it?”
“Bribery and my police permit.”
“Lucky for me you chose this profession, Soldier. Told you I might need your help one day.”
“And here I am. What do you want me to do?”
“A friend of mine lives over an apothecary’s shop on the Rue de Lille. His name is Jacques Martin. Tell him where I am. He’ll know what to do, but hurry. I’d prefer to leave here with a whole skin if possible.” He grinned again, but he looked nervous. Both of us wondered how long he had left before the torturers came. Petit would certainly want to be present when they worked on him, so he probably only had until the celebrations ended. I didn’t have much time.
Napoleon's Police Page 13
