13
"I think," Aristide said, as he and Derville walked northward, buttoning their overcoats against the chill breeze, "that the person I'd most like to talk to right now is Cagliostro."
Derville burst out laughing and stopped in the middle of the narrow street as pedestrians and street vendors pushed past them. "What the devil for?"
"Because he's a high-ranking Freemason, and he must know both Beaupr?au and Saint-Landry, if he has connections to the Lodge of the Sacred Trinity."
"Why would he talk to you and not to the police or the magistrates?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. But if someone, somehow, could pull strings and get me in to see him-"
"Ravel, have you gone mad? People don't just go inside the Bastille on a whim! Unless they're aristocratic friends of the cardinal, of course, but I don't think either of us moves in such exalted circles-"
"You know people." Aristide seized Derville's elbow and steered him to the side of the street. "You have connections, you know everybody."
"I don't know anybody who could get you an interview with a prisoner in the Bastille. Give it up." Derville strolled on, chuckling.
"Where were you around midnight, Monday night?" Aristide said, without moving. Derville stopped short and spun about.
"What the devil?"
"Where were you on Monday night?" Aristide repeated. "Inspector Brasseur's growing curious about that."
"He thinks I murdered Saint-Landry?"
"He doesn't discount the possibility."
"Oh, please. You ought to know me better than that."
"Knowing you at school ten years ago doesn't mean I know you now. Why do you seem to be stalling me?"
"I'm not stalling you. Of course I want the murderer brought to justice. The Saint-Landrys are great friends of mine."
"Then where were you Monday night?"
Derville sighed. "If you must know, I picked up a girl outside the Com?die-Fran?aise and spent the night at her lodgings."
"Her name and address?" said Aristide.
"Lord, you're sounding far too much like a police inspector yourself, Ravel. How should I know?" He grinned, with a shrug. "She called herself M?lisande or Mirabelle or some such nonsense; but those elaborate professional monikers are always just covers for plebeian names like Agn?s or Marthe. I'm sure your inspector can run her to earth, though. She had a ghastly little room on the fifth floor somewhere, a house just north of the Luxembourg, I think it was." He clapped Aristide on the shoulder and strode on, saying, "Now enough of this foolishness. If you want to learn more about Saint-Landry's secret activities with the Masons, I suggest we call at the house, which isn't far, and try to find out if the ladies know anything."
The Cavalier of the Apocalypse Page 19
