The Orphan's Tale (35 page)

Malet's eyes dilated.
He made a sudden, convulsive motion, suppressed it, and lifted his chin with an attempt at a smile.

Vaux turned the pistol over in his hand, saw that it was loaded and primed, and then looked up at Malet.
"You had this on you and you didn't use it?" he said. "I don't understand: why not?"

Malet's smile deepened as he squared his shoulders and leaned deliberately back against the tree.
"Go on," he said through his teeth. "Do your part: I have done mine. I may have regrets, but I did the best I could. Now finish it."

His tone of voice made Vaux look up sharply.
"Good God!" he exclaimed. "You think I am going to kill you! You fool! How could you believe such a thing of me? We're friends! Didn't you listen to me? I said I meant you no harm! Did you think I was lying?"

He put the pistol back, located Malet's handkerchief, smoothed it, and folded it into a gag.
"This is what I meant," he said. " - though, knowing you as I do, I imagine you'd prefer the pistol."

Malet shrank back against the tree and fought the knots as Vaux leaned toward him.
"You can't run forever," he said. "I am warning you! You're forfeit under the law!"

Vaux smiled and shrugged as he set the gag in place and made certain it was effective but not too tight.
"Leopards don't change their spots," he said at the edge of the wood, "And I don't expect you to change your soul. But first you have to catch me."

INSPECTOR MALET DISCOVERS

THAT DEATH IS PREFERABLE TO NOTORIETY

Malet hated the idea of anyone coming along and finding him. To be overpowered by a man twenty years older than him, thirty pounds fatter and three inches shorter, to be tied with his own necktie, gagged, and tethered to a sapling like a dog, was bad enough. To have someone else witness it was unthinkable!

He relaxed after a moment with as close to a wry smile as he could manage.
He had lost this exchange and his pride would serve as a forfeit. Everything would be well if -

Pierre le Noir.

The name drove all other thoughts from his mind for the space of time it took him to draw a shaking breath.

It was just possible that Dracquet had the man waiting to kill Malet the first chance he could get.
Malet had certainly left Dracquet in no doubt of his intentions, and as d'Anglars had said, a player in a game could have more than one reason for his presence. It would be a stroke of luck for the man to find him like this!

Malet cursed through the gag and wrenched at the cravat with growing panic.
His blasted temper! He could usually keep it under control, but he had slipped disastrously - and after promising Count d'Anglars to be careful for his own safety! And now he couldn't even shout for help. He tried to twist out of the knots, but the silk held more strongly than any chain could.

He froze as he heard someone running along the path.
There were at least three people pounding along toward him. His heart lurched and he thought feverishly that if he could get his hands, tied as they were, to his coat pocket, he could reach his pistol.

He strained at the knots and then gave up, panting, as four young men came pelting into the clearing.
They skidded to a halt amid the leaves and stared at him with wide eyes.

Malet's mouth twisted with annoyance even as he sank back against the tree, dizzy with sudden relief.
Far from being Pierre le Noir or any of Dracquet's murderous toughs, they were obviously students, dressed in such an extreme of last year's fashion as could be achieved among the used clothing merchants at the Carreau du Temple with a limited amount of cash. They blazed with brightly patterned waistcoats and Wellington hats that looked like nothing so much as flowerpots set on their narrow ends. One of them wore a long-tailed frock coat of a pink virulent enough to smite Malet between the eyes.

This young man took in the situation at a glance, went to his knees beside Malet, and untied the gag.

"Can you get up?" asked a student wearing a shaggy beaver hat with the back part forward to disguise the fact that it was very worn.

Malet scowled up at him.
"No," he said gently. "I can't."

"
You're as big a fool as ever, Adrien!" said the young man in the pink coat. "Look at him: he's tied to the tree! Untie his feet while I take care of his hands. Your temple is bruised, sir: are you hurt?"

Malet shook his head.

"Were you robbed?" asked the beaver-hatted student as he bent over Malet's ankles. He had the handkerchief untied after a few seconds.

The pink
-coated sprig had dropped to his knees beside Malet and was working at the knots.

"
What happened?" demanded another, dressed in acid yellow broadcloth. "A bearded old fellow told us he heard someone being attacked!"

Thank you, Vaux!
Malet thought savagely. "I was waylaid by a thief," he said aloud. "Don't bother with the knots, for God's sake! Just cut them!"

The pink sprig said,
"But this is beautiful silk! It must have been expensive!" He sounded wistful. He stopped, pulled off his gloves - Malet noticed a split in the index finger - and worried at the knot.

More people arrived to jostle and stare.
Malet stiffened: a man on the fringe of the crowd, his chin disfigured by the scar of a powder burn, was watching him intently. The space between them was empty. The crowd seemed to fade from sight and hearing in that moment of recognition, and it was as though they were alone and waiting.

Their eyes met and locked.
Le Noir's right hand slid into his pocket and clenched about something the size of a fist. He smiled and slowly started to withdraw his hand, revealing a small pistol. He took a handkerchief and wrapped it around the grip and barrel and started to level the piece just as a lady, cooing solicitously, stepped directly between them and thrust a vinaigrette under Malet's nose.

Pierre le Noir had missed his chance.
Malet caught a quick glimpse of the man's expression as other people clustered around Malet to offer advice. It was full of baffled rage as he turned and slipped away.

Malet closed his eyes for a moment, trembling with reaction.
The lady offered the vinaigrette again as the noise and movement of the growing crowd crashed back into his awareness.

Malet looked up at the woman, a plump, motherly sort with a round, smiling face.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "You saved my life."

She capped the vinaigrette and moved away with a smile.

The knots were beginning to give a little, to Malet's relief. He felt like a lion in a zoo. It only lacked a little boy poking him in the ribs with a stick to make the impression complete.

"
Poor man! What happened?"

"
Attacked by a thief!"

"
Here? Best summon the Police!" And one of the bystanders went running off.

"
There!" said the pink student, "I think I have it! Just a few minutes more!"

A
few minutes? That would be a few minutes too long! Malet suggested once more that they cut the cravat. The suggestion was discussed among the students and then dismissed. Malet took his temper in a stranglehold.

"
How did he manage to overpower you?" demanded one strapping fellow in the garb of a dock worker, fixing Malet with the gaze of one who knows how to fight. His eyes lingered on Malet's shoulders and clearly speculated on his height and weight.

Malet lifted his chin and deliberately lied for the first time in over thirty years:
"He had a gun," he said. There. His cheeks reddened slightly and he looked down, ashamed.

The dock worker misread Malet's emotions.
"A gun, you say!" he exclaimed. "Best not to argue with one of them! No shame to you for that!" he broke off as more people came into the clearing, two of them wearing the uniform and the indefinably officious air of Police constables.

The men elbowed their way through the crowd until they were before Malet.
"What's going on?" demanded the younger. He looked down and recognized Malet for the first time. His eyes widened and he pushed the student in pink aside for a moment. "M. Chief Inspector!"

"
Never mind that!" snapped Malet. "You - " this to the senior constable. " - there's a man in this park with the mark of a powder burn on his chin. I want him! Send out an all points bulletin at once! He hasn't had a chance to go far! Find him and arrest him!"

"
At once!" said the older constable, and hurried off.

"
But be careful!" Malet called after him. "He's armed!"

"
The poor gentleman was robbed at gunpoint!" said the lady with the smelling salts.

"
This is no 'gentleman' - he's a Police Inspector!" objected the younger constable.

"
The two aren't mutually exclusive!" Malet hissed.

The constable met Malet's glare, paled and busied himself with clearing the crowd back.

The knots finally gave way. Malet sprang to his feet, the cravat in his hand, and tried to compose his expression to smiling benignity. "Thank you all for your help," he said through his teeth. "You can't know how truly grateful I am for your concern. I hope your afternoon is as pleasant as you have made mine!"

"
That's right," said the Constable. "Move along! You'll read all about it in the papers tomorrow, I am sure - "

"
No they won't!" said Malet.

"
No?"

"
No!"

"
Oh. Well, move along! Thank you all!"

The crowd began to disperse, some people pausing to wish Malet well and make various suggestions for his recovery from the shock of being attacked.
These ranged from the offer of another whiff at the vinaigrette - which was gently declined - to the consumption of a large glass of cognac.

The dock worker paused and said,
"You probably want to put your fist through something, just now, don't you, Guv'nor?"

"
You never spoke truer word!" Malet said grimly.

The man chuckled.
"Eh, but you never argue with a gun!"

"
A gun?" demanded the Constable.

The pink sprig pushed himself to his feet, dusted off his trousers, and started to join his friends, who were waiting on the edge of the clearing.

Malet halted him with a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't get a chance to thank you for coming to my assistance so promptly," he said, including the rest with a glance.

The young man shrugged and smiled.
"You needed help," he said. "It was the only thing we could do - you might have been hurt."

"W
ell I wasn't, thanks in good part to you." Malet folded the cravat and gave it to the young man. "It's yours, since you admired it. And here - " he gave him a gold Louis, " - I hope you and your friends will drink some champagne with my heartfelt thanks."

The young man looked at the cravat with delighted eyes, and then held out his hand.
"It was my pleasure, Monsieur! And - and who should we toast?"

Malet paused and considered another lie.
What did it matter? "Alexandre Guerin," he said. "Chief Inspector, 18th arrondissement."

"
Very well, M. Guerin: the toast will be to your very good health!" the young man said.

Malet watched them leave.

"Your name is Paul Malet!" said the Constable with a grin.

Malet turned on him.
"I am aware of that," he said. "I have been aware of that for a long time!"

LAROUCHE DISCOVERS THAT

SOMETIMES THE QUARRY IS MORE FORMIDABLE

THAN THE HUNTER

Larouche had spent an enjoyable half
-hour following Dracquet around and throwing stones at him. His tall, shiny beaver hat made a much more satisfactory target than Monseigneur's, and the man himself, being thoroughly detested, was a better target as well.

He had come upon the man as he was speaking quickly and earnestly to a mean
-looking fellow with a mark on his chin like a smear of black paint. He had seen him around Dracquet's house during the past week, and the man made him feel uneasy and vaguely sick, as though a mist of evil surrounded him.

The man had nodded and hurried off in the direction that Dracquet had come from, leaving Dracquet to Larouche's mercy.

Larouche succeeded in knocking Dracquet's hat from his head four times in a row, and then occupied himself with hitting various parts of his anatomy with stones of varying heft and sharpness. He had succeeded in driving him away after hitting him on the left side of the seat of his trousers with a particularly sharp rock.