* * * * *
Only a girl of twelve was behind the counter when Aristide entered the bookshop. "Papa's in back," she said, curtsying, when he asked for Monsieur Joubert. He went on to the tiny sitting room, where he found Joubert, brow puckered in concentration, jotting annotations in a manuscript beside a comfortable fire.
"Monsieur Ravel!" he exclaimed, upon seeing Aristide. "Don't tell me you have something for me already."
"Actually," Aristide said pleasantly, taking a seat next to the fire and stretching out his hands to the warmth, "I hoped you could tell me who murdered Jean-Lambert Saint-Landry, and what's become of his body."
The shocked stare with which Joubert met Aristide's statement was enough to tell him that the bookseller knew something. "I've no idea what you're talking about," he protested feebly, when he had recovered himself.
"Yes, you do. You're not a very good actor, monsieur."
"I will never trust Derville again," Joubert muttered as he rose to his feet. "You were a spy all along, weren't you?"
"No, Monsieur Joubert, I'm an honest-to-God scribbler, who doesn't think much of our government and who just wants to earn a little money with his pen. But whether I like it or not, I'm stuck investigating this business, and at this point I wouldn't be beyond sending a hint to Inspector Delahaye that you're one of the most prolific clandestine publishers in Paris. But if you'll just tell me what you know about Saint-Landry's murder, I'll keep my mouth shut and be on my way."
With a shaky hand, Joubert poured himself a splash of brandy from a decanter on a side table and drank it off. "I know nothing about his murder."
"No?"
"Word of honor."
"Well? What is it you do know?"
"Monsieur de Beaupr?au unexpectedly turned up at my establishment-not here, at the printing works on the Left Bank-on Wednesday afternoon, and told me that he needed to store a parcel out of sight, in complete secrecy, for some hours. He requested the favor as a brother Mason, and I didn't ask any questions. We scarcely ever need the sub-cellar-all that's stored down there is broken type, until it can be melted down and re-cast-so I gave the workmen a couple of hours off and told Beaupr?au he could hide his parcel there."
"Did you see this 'parcel'?" Aristide inquired.
"I caught a glimpse of it when they were carrying it down the stairs. They had it wrapped in sailcloth, but it was quite obvious to me what it was. I felt I did have to ask questions at that point, so I demanded to know what Beaupr?au was up to. He showed me Saint-Landry's face and the-the marks on his flesh, and said he had been murdered, no one knew by whom, but he feared it was something to do with-" He stopped short, flushing.
"With the matter of Count Cagliostro, and the hundreds of juicy libels and songs you've been cranking out lately about the queen's connection with the diamond necklace," Aristide finished for him. Joubert paled as quickly as he had turned red an instant before.
"Yes-yes."
"And then?"
"We hid the corpse in the subcellar, and some time after midnight, Beaupr?au returned, disguised as a laborer, with his cart and they took it away again."
"That's all?"
Joubert nodded. "Yes-that's all I had to do with it."
"And Beaupr?au said to you that he didn't know who had murdered Saint-Landry?"
"Yes."
"Would you say he was telling the truth?"
"How should I know?" Joubert shrugged and poured himself another brandy. "I've always known Beaupr?au to be an honorable man, though."
"Did he say where he was taking the corpse?"
"He?he said something to one of the others, about his own stables being good enough for a day or two, while he made further arrangements. That's all I know."
"Thanks," Aristide said, rising. "Oh, by the way," he added over his shoulder, as he reached for the door handle, "I hope you don't mind if I'm a little tardy with the manuscripts I owe you."
The Cavalier of the Apocalypse Page 31
