An Officer and a Spy (43 page)

“If only our soldiers were as resourceful.”

“This isn’t funny, Georges.”

The same chorus of questions: “Dreyfus …? Esterhazy …? Search …? Veiled lady …?”

Mercier-Milon pushes them out of the way and opens the door to our carriage. “Jackals!” he mutters.

Over my shoulder I glimpse some of the reporters jumping in taxis to follow us. Our journey is short, barely half a kilometre. We arrive to find a dozen more already lying in wait in the corner of the place Vendôme. They block the huge, worm-eaten old door that leads to the headquarters of the military governor of Paris. Only when Mercier-Milon draws his sword and they hear the scrape of steel do they fall back and let us pass. We enter a chilly vaulted chamber, like the nave of an abandoned church, and climb a staircase lined with plaster statues. In this quasi-religious house I perceive that I have become something beyond a mere dangerous nuisance to my masters: I am a heretic to the faith. We sit in silence in a waiting room for a quarter of an hour until Pellieux’s aide comes to fetch me. As I stand to go, Mercier-Milon’s expression is one of pity mixed with a kind of dread. He says, very quietly, “Good luck, Georges.”

I know Pellieux by reputation only as a monarchist and a strict Catholic. I suspect that he despises me on sight. In response to my salute he simply points to a chair where I may sit. He is in his middle fifties, handsome, vain: his dark hair, which matches the blackness of his tunic, is brushed back carefully into a severe widow’s peak; his moustaches are full and splendid. He presides at a table flanked by a major and a captain whom he does not introduce; a uniformed secretary sits at a separate desk to take notes.

Pellieux says, “The purpose of this inquiry, Colonel, is to establish the facts regarding your investigation of Major Esterhazy. To that end I have already interviewed Major Esterhazy himself, Monsieur Mathieu Dreyfus, and Senator Auguste Scheurer-Kestner and Maître Louis Leblois. At the end of my inquiry I will recommend to the minister what, if any, disciplinary action needs to be taken. Do you understand?”

“Yes, General.” Now I know why they have taken such pains to prevent me speaking to anyone: they have already interviewed Louis and they don’t want me to know how much he has told them.

“Very well, let us begin at the beginning.” Pellieux’s voice is
cold and precise. “When did Major Esterhazy first come to your attention?”

“When the Statistical Section intercepted a
petit bleu
addressed to him from the German Embassy.”

“And this was when?”

“In the spring of last year.”

“Be more precise.”

“I’m not sure of the precise date.”

“You told General Gonse that it was in ‘late April.’ ”

“Then that is when it must have been.”

“No, in fact it was in early March.”

I hesitate. “Was it?”

“Come, Colonel. You know perfectly well it was in March. Major Henry was on compassionate leave at the bedside of his dying mother. He remembers the date. He returned to Paris on a flying visit, met Agent Auguste and received a consignment of documents, which he then handed over to you. So why did you falsify the date in your report?”

The aggression of his manner and the detail of his research catch me off guard. All I can remember is that by the time I came to submit my report I had been investigating Esterhazy for nearly six months without Gonse’s knowledge: an act of insubordination which I thought I might make slightly more palatable by pretending it was only four. At the time the lie didn’t seem important—it
isn’t
important—but suddenly now in this room, under the hostile eye of this Grand Inquisitor, it looks inexplicably suspicious.

Pellieux says sarcastically, “Take all the time you need, Colonel.”

After a long pause I reply, “I must have been confused about the dates.”

“ ‘Confused about the dates’?” Pellieux turns mockingly to his aides. “But I thought you were supposed to be a soldier of scientific precision, Colonel—part of the modern-thinking generation that would replace such reactionary old fossils as me!”

“I’m afraid even scientists occasionally make mistakes, General. But in the end the date is of no significance.”

“On the contrary, dates are always significant. Treason itself is mostly a question of dates, as the saying has it. First you claim Major
Esterhazy only came to your attention in April. Now we have established it was at least March. But there is evidence in your file on Esterhazy indicating it was even earlier.”

He passes the captain a newspaper cutting. The captain dutifully comes round from behind the table and hands it to me. It is an announcement of the death of the marquis de Nettancourt, Esterhazy’s father-in-law, dated 6 January 1896.

“I’ve never seen this before.”

Pellieux affects astonishment. “Well then, where did it come from?”

“I presume it must have been added to the file after I left.”

“But you would agree at first glance that this suggests you were taking an interest in Esterhazy two months before the arrival of the
petit bleu
?”

“At first glance, yes. I think that may be the reason why someone put it there.”

Pellieux makes a note. “Go back to the
petit bleu
. Describe its arrival.”

“Major Henry brought it in as part of a delivery late one afternoon.”

“In what form was this delivery?”

“The material always arrived in small, cone-shaped brown paper sacks. This particular cone was bulkier than usual, because Henry had missed a meeting with our agent due to his mother’s illness.”

“Did you examine the contents with him?”

“No, as I mentioned earlier, he had a train to catch. I put it straight in my safe and gave it to Captain Lauth the following morning.”

“Is it possible that someone could have interfered with the cone between your being handed it by Henry and you giving it to Lauth?”

“No, it was locked up.”

“But
you
could have interfered with it. In fact
you
could have added to it the fragments of the
petit bleu
.”

I feel my face turning red. “That is an outrageous accusation.”

“Your outrage is irrelevant. Answer the question.”

“Very well, the answer is yes. Yes, I could, theoretically, have added the
petit bleu
to the consignment. But I did not.”

“Is this the
petit bleu
?” Pellieux holds it up. “Do you recognise it?”

The light in the chamber is dim. I have to lean forward and half rise from my seat to make it out. It looks more worn than I remember it: I assume it must have been handled many times over the past year. “Yes. That looks like it.”

“Do you realise that under a microscope it is possible to see that the original address has been scratched out and that of Major Esterhazy written over it? And also that chemical analysis has revealed that the ink on the back of the telegram card is different to that on the front? One is iron gall ink while the other contains an ingredient found in the trees of Campeche.”

I jerk my head back slightly in surprise. “Then it’s been tampered with.”

“Indeed it has. It is a forgery.”

“No, General—it has been tampered with since I left Paris. When I was still in the section I swear that was a genuine document—I must have held it in my hands a hundred times. May I examine it more closely? Perhaps it is slightly different …”

“No, you have already identified it. I don’t want it damaged any further. The
petit bleu
is a fake. And I suggest that the individual most likely to have perpetrated the forgery is you.”

“With respect, General, that is a preposterous allegation.”

“Is it? Then why did you ask Captain Lauth for his assistance in making the
petit bleu
look more genuine?”

“I did not.”

“You did. You ordered him to have it franked by the postal authorities, so that it would look as if it had actually been delivered—deny it if you dare!”

The lies and accusations are flying at me so fast I am finding it difficult to keep track. I grip the armrests of my chair and reply as calmly as I can, “I asked Lauth if he could photograph the
petit bleu
in such a way that it would appear to be a whole document rather than one that had been torn up—exactly the technique he used earlier with the
bordereau
. And my motive was the same: to have a version that could be circulated within the ministry without compromising our source. Lauth pointed out, correctly, that the address side had not been franked, therefore anyone looking at it would deduce that it must have been intercepted before it was posted. That was when
I mused on the possibility of getting it franked. But it was no more than that and the idea was dropped.”

“Captain Lauth gives a different version.”

“Perhaps he does. But why would I go to such lengths to falsely implicate a man I had never even met?”

“That is for you to tell us.”

“The notion is absurd. I had no need to forge any evidence. The
bordereau
alone is proof of Esterhazy’s guilt—and no one can suggest I altered that!”

“Ah yes, the
bordereau
,” says Pellieux, sorting through his papers. “Thank you for bringing that up. Did you, either directly or indirectly, pass a facsimile of the
bordereau
to
Le Matin
in November last year?”

“No, General.”

“Did you, directly or indirectly, pass details of the so-called secret dossier to
L’Éclair
that same September?”

“I did not.”

“Have you passed information, directly or indirectly, to Senator Scheurer-Kestner?”

The question is inevitable; so is my answer. “Yes, I have, indirectly.”

“And the intermediary was your lawyer, Maître Leblois?”

“Yes.”

“And you knew when you gave this information to Leblois that it would be passed to the senator?”

“I wanted the facts placed in the hands of a responsible person who could raise the matter confidentially with the government. I never intended the details to reach the press.”

“Never mind what you intended, Colonel. The fact is, you went behind the backs of your superior officers.”

“Only when it became clear that I had no alternative—that my superiors would not fully investigate this whole affair.”

“You showed Maître Leblois various letters sent to you by General Gonse?”

“Yes.”

“Just as last year you showed Maître Leblois the secret dossier, the existence of which he then leaked to
L’Éclair
?”

“No.”

“But there is a witness who saw you showing the secret file to Leblois.”

“I showed him one file only—it was not secret. It related to carrier pigeons, of all things. Major Henry witnessed that.”

“
Colonel
Henry,” Pellieux corrects me. “He has just been promoted. And I am not interested in pigeons but in the secret dossier about Dreyfus. You showed it to your lawyer last September, who then revealed it either to the Dreyfus family or to
L’Éclair
in order to embarrass the army. That is your modus operandi.”

“I deny that absolutely.”

“Who is Blanche?”

Once again the sudden switch in his angle of attack catches me off balance. I say slowly, “The only Blanche I know is Mademoiselle Blanche de Comminges, the sister of the comte de Comminges.”

“She is a friend of yours?”

“Yes.”

“An intimate friend?”

“I have known her a long time, if that is what you mean. She has a musical salon attended by a number of officers.”

“She sent you this telegram in Tunisia:
We have proof that the bleu was forged by Georges. Blanche
. What are we to make of that?”

“I received a telegram with that wording. But I am sure it was not from her.”

“Why?”

“Because she knows nothing of the secret details of the Dreyfus case nor of my involvement in it.”

“Even though she has gone around Paris quite openly, I understand, for several years now, telling people of her conviction that Dreyfus is innocent?”

“She has her opinion. That has nothing to do with me.”

“This salon of hers—does it include many Jews?”

“A few perhaps—among the musicians.”

Pellieux makes another note, as if I have just conceded something highly significant. He searches through his file. “Here is another coded telegram sent to you in Tunisia:
Stop the Demigod. Everything is discovered. Extremely serious matter. Speranza
. Who is Speranza?”

“I have no idea.”

“And yet this person wrote to you a year ago, shortly after you left the Statistical Section.”

“No.”

“Yes, they did. I have the letter here.” Pellieux gives it to the captain, who once again walks round to hand it to me:

Pellieux stares at me. “What do you say to that?”

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen it before.”

“No, you wouldn’t have done. It was intercepted by the Statistical Section last December and a decision was taken not to forward it to you, due to the highly suspicious nature of the language. But still your position remains that none of it means anything to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then what do you make of this, which
was
allowed to be delivered to you after you left Paris but before you went to Tunisia?”