The Orphan's Tale (2 page)

Malet swept a glance over the blood and then said reflectively,
"Martel is my tailor, M. Guerin. I made certain he understood the risks before he agreed to loan the clothing." His voice was quiet and matter-of-fact. "There will be no problem." He turned back to the decoy and said, "You, sir, don't appear to be badly injured, but you'd best go to the Prefecture right away and have those hurts tended, just to be safe."

One of the constables was standing at Malet's elbow, waiting to hand him something.
He turned away to speak with the man.

"
You were a fool to have dropped your gun when you did, Saint-Légère!" Guerin snapped. "You nearly ruined everything!"

Malet speared Guerin with a
look and then frowned down at the object that the constable had just handed him, lying across his palm. "'Junior Inspector Charles de Saint-Légère, age 36'," he read. He handed the decoy the glass-bound card and the billfold. "You may wish to keep this out of your pocketbook from now on," he said.

Saint
-Légère took the card and the billfold. "I am sorry, M'sieur," he said.

Malet's smile reappeared.
"It's a mistake," he said. "Not a crime." He offered the pistol to Saint-Légère, who took it and pocketed it with a grateful smile.

Malet turned toward the knot of prisoners.
"Line them up," he said. "Take off their masks."

He watched as this was done and then, his hands clasped behind him, paced down the line
.  "Well," he said, "I have never seen a more villainous-looking crowd this side of a gibbet. And there are some old friends here."

Several of the prisoners shifted uneasily.

Malet passed back before them and said, "Hello, Bordelon. Aren't you up past your bedtime? Don't you usually assault women in the parks at noon?"

He halted before one fellow who was standing with his face averted.
"And I see you, Favrot," he said. "So it's no use to hunch over. You have gone from picking pockets to cutting throats. So we promote you from prison to the guillotine." He fixed the fellow with a considering stare and then moved on to the man beside him, who was standing at attention.

He stiffened and carefully scrutinized the man.
His gaze, which had been calm, scornful and detached, suddenly had all the narrow, blazing intentness of a tiger's glare.

"
Look what the tide has washed in!" He threw this last over his shoulder at the man standing a little behind him.

The man moistened his lips, but said nothing.

Malet said gently, "Does your master know you have got your hands soiled in this business?"

The man did not answer.

"Does he?" Malet repeated. The intentness of his gaze lessened and he spoke calmly again, "We will speak again."  He turned and looked back at the Police officers behind him. Chief Inspector Guerin was standing with his arms folded and his face expressionless.

Malet drew a deep breath and turned back.
After a moment he smiled at the next man. "Aren't you getting just a little old for this sort of thing, Lanusse?" he asked.

The prisoner,  a white
-haired, paunchy man, shrugged and grinned. "You got me fair and square, Inspector," he said. "I just have one request."

"
And that is-?" said Malet.

"
Let me take my cigars in with me. I will die if I can't smoke, and I am sure you'd hate me to cheat the guillotine."

Malet's teeth showed in an honestly amused smile.
"That's fair enough," he said. "I don't see the harm in it. Constable Severin, make a note of it, if you please: the prisoner Lanusse will be allowed tobacco while he's confined to prison."

Malet turned back to the others.
"Take them to the Conciergerie for holding," he said. "I am certain that several of the Chief Inspectors will wish to speak with them."

"
I have a gift for you, M. Chief Inspector!" cried a merry voice.

"
And about time, M. L'Eveque," said Malet with a sudden smile as a younger man of middling height came toward him followed by six constables guarding three handcuffed prisoners. "What do you have for me?"

"
Some cockroaches that were trying to re-infest the sewers," the man replied. "It only remained to let them get into the 'bag' and then draw the strings shut upon them!"

"
Very good," said Malet. "Put them with the rest and take them to the Conciergerie."

L'Eveque went over to the decoy and frowned at the blood.

Malet watched as the prisoners were hustled away toward the prison. "It was a successful operation in every sense," he said. "M. de Saint-Légère, you are to have your injuries tended at once, as I directed. And I will wish to see your report when it is written. It will be incorporated with my own."

He saw that Saint
-Légère was bowing to him. He returned the courtesy and then turned to the man beside him. "M. Guerin," he said. I would be grateful if you would accompany me to the Prefecture for a moment. I have something urgent to discuss with you."

"
As you please," Guerin said. He favored Saint-Légère with another inimical glare and then turned and followed Malet.

II

AFTER THE HUNT: STALEMATE

The Prefecture of Police for Paris is a tall, square stone building on the Île de la Cité, fronting the flower markets on the Place Louis Lepine, with the grim bulk of the Conciergerie prison along the Boulevard du Palais to one side and the open space of the Place du Parvis Note
-Dame along the Rue de la Cité on the other. It is convenient to the vast complex of the Palais de Justice, the high courts of France, as well as the city morgue in the Square de l'Île de France, where all the miscellaneous suspicious corpses found during the night are brought to be scrutinized by the Police. To the northeast, the flower market lends a touch of color and fragrance to an otherwise forbidding area, while the entire island seems to be dominated by the broad-shouldered silhouette of the ramshackle, decaying cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris.

There is nothing ramshackle about the Prefecture.
The ordinary visitor entering the building is immediately confronted by the confusion of bureaucracy and a noisy cacophony of a perfection achieved only in government offices.

First he must sign in with the officer of the day and state his business.
Someone making a report to a simple constable deals with a plain desk without adornment, with sputtering pens and paper not of the highest quality. A sergeant, reading that report, sits in a more secluded desk, with better supplies. If the report merits the attention of an Inspector, it is brought across a carpet and laid on a desk protected by a sheet of glass.

If that Inspector feels that M. le Prefet would be well
-advised to scan the information contained in the report, then the visitor must speak with the Chamberlain-who is always dressed in full evening attire with a heavy gold chain of office that shames that of a provincial mayor-and, if he is lucky, is admitted to the sanctum sanctorum, a haven of dark, carved paneling, of fine chairs and velvet draperies, of splendid oil paintings and gilded moldings.

Paul Malet
, the ranking Chief Inspector in the Seine et Oise departement, headquartered in Paris, was second only to the Prefect. He was now serving as the Prefect's substitute while the man took a leave of absence. He signed in with the Officer of the Day, offered his identification card, and waited for Chief Inspector Guerin to do the same.

"
All right, Malet," said Guerin when he had handed the pen back and straightened. "What's so urgent that we must discuss it tonight?"

"
Not here," said Malet. "Come back to M. Lamarque's offices, where we can be private."

He fell silent as the Chamberlain came up, led them back to the Prefect's offices, and then left after offering to send refreshments in.

Guerin sat down in one of the gilded armchairs and watched Malet with a sardonic smile. "Well, then?" he said. "Say what you have to say and have done with it. I am tired and my bed's awaiting me."

"
It must be splendid to have so much leisure time," Malet said. "There are those of us who will be up and about for some hours yet. But I didn't bring you here to discuss sleeping habits. Did you look at those prisoners?"

"
I did. They turned my stomach. They're a collection of rabble. Did you wish my agreement on that score? You have it with all my heart. And I will admit that the trick was neatly turned. You have my compliments."

"
It was more valuable to have your cooperation," Malet said.

Guerin bowed, although the sardonic bend of his mouth remained.
"Thank you," he said.

Malet disposed himself in a chair and said,
"There were one or two surprises among the prisoners we bagged."

"
You didn't seem surprised by any of them," Guerin said. "You knew most of them by name. Interesting that you would be so conversant with the names and histories of such criminals." His tone was openly mocking. "But I suppose you have an advantage over those of us poor mortals not blessed with a bastard birth and a prison upbringing."

As
the illegitimate son of a nobleman and the opera dancer who had murdered him in a fit of jealous rage, Malet ignored the insult. "One of them at least was a surprise," he said. "-or should have been to you."

Guerin raised his eyebrows and smoothed the thick line of his side
-whiskers. "And who was that?"

"
Must we fence like this?" Malet demanded. "Ensenat. I know you recognized him."

"
Well?"

"'
Well'?" Malet repeated. "You know as well as I do that he's closely tied with-"

"
-Constant Dracquet," Guerin finished with the air of one sorely tried. "I am not a patient man, and I find monomaniacs particularly tiresome." He speared Malet with a level, half-amused look. "Yes," he said. "The man is employed by Dracquet in a menial position. I believe he's some sort of gardener or stable hand. I don't believe his employment includes cutting throats, or at least trying to, and I suspect that when M. Dracquet hears of his involvement in this venture he will cast him off completely."

"
Like master, like man," said Malet. "I would like to see Dracquet's reaction to this."

"
He will probably find this entire matter an embarrassment and a disgrace," Guerin said. "I would, and so would any honest man."

"
The question is whether Dracquet is an honest man," said Malet. His tone was beginning to lose some of its courtesy. This was a matter that had been discussed too often between them. "I am certain that he's the force behind most of the crime in this departement-"

"
And where's your proof?"

Malet ignored the interruption.
"-in this departement," he said. "His name has come up again and again in every major criminal undertaking that I have investigated or read about. Extortion, bribery, arson, political murder-look at the ones we arrest and you find him behind them like a shadow."

"
I say again: where's your proof?" said Guerin. "Who has seen him shooting the guns? Who has seen him setting the fires? Has he done anything provably wrong? No? Then he's innocent." He added bluntly, "One involved in upholding the Law for as long as you have been shouldn't have to be told that."

"A
nd for most of those years I have been trying to get the proof," exclaimed Malet. "And I have been blocked-for what reason I can't begin to guess!-by you! I need your cooperation in order to get the proof, as I have told you time and again. I have watched and been helpless against him, but things are different now. We have one of his close lieutenants in the Conciergerie at this moment!"

Guerin started to speak but Malet silenced him with an impatient gesture.

"Don't annoy me with your talk of gardeners and stable hands!" Malet exclaimed. "You know as well as I the sort of position Ensenat holds in Dracquet's household. I think it could be a chink in his armor, and with some swift, decisive action-"

Guerin pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door.
"No," he said.

Malet followed him.
"You can't be serious after what you have seen tonight! Don't you understand what we are dealing with? The man is tied in with murder! We must act! We can keep hooking the small fish, we can keep raking in the hired assassins, we can find the arsonists, we can nab the go-betweens, but if we do nothing to stop the man at the very heart of this tangle and pulling the strings, we're wasting our time! I haven't been able to nail him, but with your cooperation-"

Guerin took up his coat and hat.
"It is my time that's being wasted," he said with a yawn.

"
But I tell you he's known to have-"

Guerin set the hat on his head.
"Rumors! Libels! Slanders! You say you haven't been able to 'nail' him-what a term!-has it occurred to you that he can't be 'nailed'? That however much you may lick your chops at the prospect of going after someone you think is the kingpin of crime here, you're aiming the wrong way?" He flashed a scornful look at Malet and then shrugged into his coat and started toward the door.