The Hanged Man (32 page)

The crimson-faced detective nodded in the affirmative and held up his hand to signal:
One moment, please.
Rousseau took a long swig of beer to clear his throat. Then he turned to Achille. “How did you learn about ‘Guest'?”

“We recently intercepted a message from de Gournay to his cell. They're meeting tomorrow morning at four to discuss ‘Guest.'”

Rousseau lowered his voice. “‘Guest' is a code name for the Russian foreign minister. He arrives in Paris tomorrow evening for a secret meeting with his French counterpart.”

Now it was the commandant's turn to be surprised. “I knew nothing of this. My bureau should have been informed.”

“With all due respect, Commandant,” Rousseau replied, “this matter is in my brigade's jurisdiction.”

Bazeries was about to make a sharp retort when Achille intervened. “Gentlemen, please. Let's not squabble over jurisdiction. From now on, we must coordinate closely and efficiently. Agreed?”

Bazeries and Rousseau concurred. Achille continued with reference to the cat burglar.

“One of the individuals we're investigating may be a common criminal, a burglar named Guy Renard.”

“The Porter?” Rousseau interjected. “I thought he was safely locked up in a Belgian prison.”

“Perhaps not,” Achille replied. “We have photographs and a description that matches. Inspector Legros is wiring our Belgian contact for more information. At any rate, I have reason to believe there will be a burglary within the next twenty-four hours at Nazimova's bookstore.”

“Why do you think that?” the commandant inquired.

“I believe Mme Nazimova kept some papers that belonged to her late husband, and it's likely the high-explosives formula was among the documents. Nazimova burned the papers just before she died, but de Gournay wouldn't know that. Perhaps she hid something more than copies of Boguslavsky's notes. Regardless, the papers would be something de Gournay would not want us to find. And here's another twist. It's possible de Gournay worked as Nazimova's shop assistant under the name Marie Léglise, to spy on Nazimova and gain access to the documents.

“My detectives will arrest anyone who enters the shop. If it's Renard, I believe we can persuade him to rat on the others to save his neck. He's a professional thief, not a committed ideologue like the other members of de Gournay's cell. And I don't believe he was in on the murders, though we can still charge him as an accessory and co-conspirator if he doesn't cooperate.”

“Will you take him to the Conciergerie and turn him over to the
juge
for interrogation?” Rousseau asked.

Achille frowned and shook his head. “No time for that, I'm afraid. I suggest you detail one of your men at the stakeout. We can turn the prisoner over to you, let your brigade handle the interrogation.”

Rousseau grinned. “Don't worry, Achille. If we get him, we'll make him talk.”

“Oh, I'm sure.”

Rousseau shrugged and returned to his croque monsieur.

“Now,” Achille continued, “we must take extra precautions to protect the Russian minister. Even if we make our arrests before he arrives, we can't take any chances. They may have planned for that contingency. What's his itinerary?”

Rousseau put down the remains of his sandwich and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He arrives at Saint-Lazare station tomorrow evening, on an eight o'clock express from Le Havre. The meeting will be held in a suite at the Hotel Terminus.”

Achille thought for a moment. “I'm afraid the express will have to make an unscheduled stop. The minister could detrain at Asnières and proceed to the hotel by coach, where we would escort him through the tradesmen's entrance and up to his suite. Orlovsky should be present to reassure the minister that it's a routine precaution. Can you arrange it?”

“I can,” Rousseau replied.

“I have another question. If you were de Gournay, planning an assassination along the minister's travel route, what would be the most likely place for an ambush?”

Rousseau drummed his fingers on the table, and looked away as if in deep thought. After a moment, he answered with conviction, “The pedestrian overpass between the station and hotel would be a good spot. It's an enclosed space, about twenty meters from end to end, and narrow. A bomb would be devastating. Of course, the assassin would have to be fanatically devoted to his cause, since his chances of escape would be slim. But he'd certainly get publicity and set off a panic, which is what these terrorists want. Moreau and Wroblewski are mad enough to do the deed, but I'd say Moreau's the steadier of the two for a job like that.”

“Thank you, Inspector. That's my thinking, too.” Achille paused, then moved on to the next item on the agenda. “One problem is the timing of the arrests. Do we try to take them piecemeal to forestall further action on their part? Picking them up now would save us a lot of time and trouble, but what happens if we lose one or two of them?

“I believe it may be best to wait for their four
A.M.
meeting, when all the rotten eggs are in one basket, so to speak. We'll set up a cordon on the Rue Ronsard, then enter the house and wait for them. We'll arm ourselves in case they put up a fight. What's more, the place might be a bomb factory, so we should alert the Fire Brigade and keep an explosives expert on hand. In the meantime, we'll maintain our surveillance on all the suspects. Are we in agreement?”

Bazeries frowned and said, “I'm a cryptographer, not a policeman or a spymaster. There's not much more I can do personally, but I'll inform the appropriate parties in my organization. I agree, Inspector.”

Rousseau grunted and nodded in the affirmative.

“Two thoughts occurred to me that are worth considering,” Achille said. “If de Gournay comes to trial, the facts of the case would raise an awful stink. Moreover, if the Germans will not pay full price for the explosives formula, I wonder what they would pay for the assassination of a Russian foreign minister traveling incognito on French soil, especially if we were to be blamed for lax security. That might nip our prospective alliance in the bud, don't you think?”

After a moment, Bazeries said gravely, “It might precipitate a war.”

Rousseau drained the last drop of beer. He put down his glass and grinned at Achille. “It's a festival of shit, isn't it, Professor?”

“Are you speaking of life in general, or our particular situation?” Achille replied.

Achille had invited Bazeries and Rousseau to join him for his meeting with Féraud. Now, they sat in his office, watching as the chief paced around, his hands clasped behind his back, his teeth grinding away at an unlit cigar. After a few tense minutes, the chief stopped near his desk, took the chewed-up cigar out of his mouth, and stared at the small group of officers assembled before him, which now included Inspector Legros.

“Gentlemen, our duty is clear in this matter. The honor of France is at stake. I agree to Inspector Lefebvre's plan. The Russian minister will detrain at Asnières and I will greet him, along with a group of picked men and M. Orlovsky. If necessary, I'll defend our distinguished guest with my life.”

Achille thought his chief's declaration overly dramatic, though it was not far from the truth. If the anarchists assassinated the Russian minister on Féraud's watch, he would be in the same position as General Ducrot at the Battle of Sedan:
Nous sommes dans un pot de chambre, et nous y serons emmerdés.

The chief looked directly at Achille. “Inspector Lefebvre, I leave the matter of the arrests to you and Inspector Rousseau. My preference would be to bring them in now, but I understand that's impossible.”

“That's correct, Chief,” Achille replied. “We could arrest Moreau and Wroblewski immediately, but we're not sure about Renard. Unfortunately, after he delivered his message our detectives lost track of him. Moreover, I'm afraid as of this morning, de Gournay's given us the slip. Fortunately, the Deuxième Bureau has him under close surveillance.”

The chief scowled and turned to Bazeries. “Do your agents know de Gournay's present whereabouts, Commandant?”

Bazeries hesitated before answering, “I can't be certain, Chief Féraud. I haven't seen the latest report.”

The chief pointed to the telephone on his desk. “Can you use this thing to communicate with your office?”

“I believe so,” the commandant replied, somewhat dubiously, and went to the telephone. Bazeries began fidgeting with a pencil on the chief's desktop.

Rousseau rolled his eyes and tapped his foot in synchronization with the commandant's pencil. After a while, he began whistling a popular cabaret tune. The chief's icy glare stifled the impromptu performance. Rousseau looked down and twiddled his thumbs.

“Hello … hello. Am I connected with the Deuxième Bureau? Good. This is Commandant Bazeries. Ba-zeh-ree! Yes. Could you please connect me to Captain Duret? Yes, I'll wait.” A few moments passed. “Good afternoon, Captain. Bazeries here. This matter is urgent. Do you have the de Gournay file at hand? Goor-nay! Yes, yes, of course I'll wait.” A minute passed. “I'm here. Do you have the most recent report from our agent?” Bazeries sighed and glanced at the ceiling. Another minute passed. “Of course I'm still here. If I weren't here, I wouldn't be shouting into this damned contraption!” Bazeries frowned. “Yes, yes. Is that all? I see. Very well, Captain. Thank you. Good afternoon.” Bazeries put down the receiver.

“Gentlemen, we've had no contact with our agent since yesterday,” he announced to the assembled group with a downcast look. “He should have reported this morning, and he's punctual. Moreover, the house on the Rue de la Mire is empty. We've lost de Gournay.”

“Sacristi!”
the chief sputtered. “He's a slippery devil, and too clever by half. Achille, you'd better pray this bastard walks into your early-morning trap. In the meantime, don't lose sight of Moreau and Wroblewski and do your best to catch Renard.”

Then the chief turned to Rousseau. “Inspector, I want to meet with Orlovsky to make arrangements for the minister's arrival. We must notify the railway management and hotel immediately. As soon as our preparations are made, I'll report to the prefect.” Finally, he thanked Bazeries. “Commandant, as always I appreciate your assistance. I leave the business with the Germans to you and your bureau. I've enough on my plate for now.”

The officers dispersed without further comment, each among them thinking that this case was indeed a “festival of shit.” Whether or not that sad state of affairs applied to life in general was a problem best left to the philosophers.

11

ENDGAME

P
lease permit me to escort you to your apartment.” Lautrec made this gentlemanly offer to Delphine following her performance at the Divan Japonais. His gesture was more than mere politeness; it reflected his genuine concern for her safety.

“That's very kind of you, Monsieur, but I've been walking these streets for years and I know how to take care of myself.” Her reply was not bravado; Delphine carried a razor in her purse and she was quite capable of using it to fend off an attack. Moreover, she knew how Lautrec struggled up the steep winding streets and stairways of the Butte. She did not want to add to his misery without reason.

A light rain fell on the Rue des Martyrs. The crowd had scattered and moved on to their beds,
boîtes
, brothels, or whatever other amusement was obtainable at that late hour. De Gournay, Orlovsky, and the girls were not among the audience that evening, much to Delphine's relief. She hoped never to see de Gournay again, though not because she feared him. Rather, she felt an unwanted attraction to Inspector Lefebvre's adversary.

Delphine turned in the direction of the Rue des Abbesses and Lautrec bid her good evening. He descended the dark street in the direction of the still-lively boulevard, his tapping cane echoing on the pavement, while she trudged upward on strong legs, walking as rapidly as her high-heeled leather boots would permit on the rain-slicked pavement.

She turned the corner and walked on through silent squares, past shuttered houses, shops, and alleys alive with whining cats. When she reached the narrow, unlit passage with its precipitous stairway climbing to the Rue Lepic, she paused. Sensing something ominous in the shadows, she glanced around and then reached into her purse. She drew out the razor and felt for her other weapon, a hatpin that she could resort to as a backup in a tight corner. Having checked her weapons, she raised her skirts halfway to her knees and started up the slippery stairs.

As she reached the summit and turned onto the street, she took comfort from the gas lamps and the glimmering yellow lights in a few unshuttered windows. Her apartment was only two blocks ahead. She recalled how her best friend and lover, Virginie Ménard, had walked this way in the early morning hours, the final moments of her brief, tragic life.