A man came over to Margont. He was twenty-five or twenty-six, well turned out and fresh-faced with an impatient, slightly aggressive manner. ‘I’m Inspector Martial Sausson.’
‘Delighted to meet you,’ replied Margont without introducing himself.
‘I’ve been told not to ask who you are, why you are investigating or whether you have any information that I don’t—’
‘Exactly.’
Margont thought he could almost see black clouds of anger emanating from Sausson.
‘Here’s my report, Monsieur Unknown. This morning a servant by the name of Keberk comes to work for his employers Monsieur and Madame Gunans, a rich bourgeois couple, well, not so rich now that the Emperor has imposed a blockade on England. The Gunans made a fortune in maritime trading. Keberk tries to open the servants’ door with his key. It doesn’t open, which is very unusual. At night his employers bar the entrance, but early in the morning they remove the bar so that Monsieur Keberk can enter using his key when he arrives. It is the first time he has encountered such a problem in all his fifteen years of service. Keberk is alarmed and knocks at the door, shouts through the windows then runs off to tell the police that his masters have been murdered. As the house is in my area of jurisdiction, I come in person, accompanied by two of my men. I look about and discover that a shutter at the back has been forced open. I take the decision to enter the house with Monsieur Keberk. I find no sign of the Gunans. But I do discover the body of a man whom Monsieur Keberk says was called Monsieur Melansi, a friend of his masters. I use that word “masters” because that’s the word Keberk used. But I recognise
immediately that the victim is Count Kevlokine, who everyone has been searching for and whose description had been circulated to all the police stations in Paris. Monsieur Keberk seems not to understand when I tell him this. I think he was fooled by his employers about the man’s real identity. I follow the procedure required when Count Kevlokine is spotted - I immediately inform the King of Spain, His Majesty Joseph I.’
He finally drew breath. Lord knows he had spoken quickly!
‘Up until that point everything had passed off normally. But then an investigator named Palenier suddenly bursts into my police station. He hands me a letter signed by His Majesty Joseph I himself, giving me the most peculiar orders ...’
He tried to find a more diplomatic way of putting it. The most astonishing orders I have ever received. In summary: I must touch nothing, I must await a mysterious unknown man - you! - whom I must tell everything I know without asking any questions! And -the bitter cherry on the cake - Palenier then takes the letter back out of my hand. When you have gone I am to - by order! - forget everything, as if you never existed!’
Margont could well understand Sausson’s fury; he had felt the same way at his first meeting with Joseph and Talleyrand. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing his image of ten days ago.
The policeman went on even more hurriedly: ‘I interrogated Monsieur Keberk while I was waiting for you. His employers received many visitors: society contacts, friends, clients, relatives, debtors, creditors ... He claims not to know whether the Cunans were in contact with royalists or not. But I’m sure they were; why else would Count Kevlokine be at their house? He had been staying here for a week, never went out, but had streams of visitors. It was a good hiding place. He would have been expected to find refuge with monarchists, or aristocrats ... not with an apparently unobtrusive bourgeois couple. I’m going to do my best to find out who all those visitors were, but it’s not going to be easy. There were several people every day and Monsieur Keberk is giving nothing away. I’m waiting for reinforcements from the Minister of Civilian Police, to help me find out more. My two theories are as follows.
The first is that the Cunans woke up this morning and found that Monsieur Kevlokine had been murdered by someone who had broken into their house during the night. They then took fright, and feared they would be accused of the crime or arrested by the police for consorting with an enemy agent. They fled in disarray, taking their housekeeper and a servant who both lived with them. My second theory is that for some reason I don’t know they were the ones who killed Count Kevlokine. Whatever the case, they are no longer here and nor are their two servants. Some personal belongings are missing: clothes, combs, jewellery, little things the couple were fond of... If you would like to follow me ...’
He led Margont into a large bedroom of unbelievable luxury with paintings in massive golden frames, marquetry furniture, Sevres or Dresden porcelain, and Persian carpets. The count’s body lay near the fireplace, not far from a four-poster bed. He looked about forty-five and had been gagged. He was very fat with reddened cheeks that contrasted with the pallor of his skin. His hair was so grey it was almost luminous. The man’s appearance corresponded closely to Talleyrand’s description of Count Kevlokine. In the heavenly setting, with its gold and other bright colours, his burnt arms formed two horrifying lines of red and black. His hands had been bound with one of the curtain ties, which had in its turn been burnt. He was wearing a nightshirt, a long, white quilted goose-down housecoat and breeches - normally the outfit of a man first thing in the morning, but also used to sleep in by men who worked all the time. It was comfortable enough for sleep, but allowed one to leap out of bed if awoken suddenly in the night, all ready for work without having to get dressed. His feet were bare. Margont went over to get a closer look at Kevlokine’s face. Unlike Colonel Berle’s, it was unscathed. Margont turned round and saw that Sausson was watching him attentively, trying to work out what he was thinking from his gestures.
They forgot to give me the order to close his eyes,’ said the policeman sardonically.
Without asking him to leave, Margont went on with his investigation. The badge of the Swords of the King was pinned to the
count’s nightshirt, on his chest, like a decoration. It was exactly the same as the symbol that Margont had noticed on Colonel Berle. The count’s serene face contrasted with the state of his arms, devoured by fire. Margont could not, however, see any mortal wound.
A brouhaha broke out in the street - there were cries and exclamations. Margont recognised one of the voices and hurried over to the window, completely forgetting he was supposed to keep himself hidden. Jean-Quenin Brémond and the policeman who had gone to find him were surrounded by four men. Jean-Quenin was showering them with invective. Although extremely kind to his patients, colleagues and friends, he was often impatient with everyone else. His guide had been obliged to raise his voice to explain to him that he was from the civilian police. At that point several people who had been lying in wait surged out of the adjacent little streets to come and surround them.
‘Imbeciles! What’re those political oafs getting involved for?’ Sausson cursed. ‘And that other idiot, who came in the front instead of using the back door as usual!’
He opened the window with such force that a pane smashed on the hook for the curtain tie - but it looked as if the glass had been shattered solely by the force of the policeman’s fury.
‘Let them through!’ he yelled.
The assailants scattered like cockroaches surprised by a light. The next instant there was not a sign of them. But Jean-Quenin continued to shout insults: they were cads, louts, yet again they were treating the Health Service disrespectfully, they were lucky he was in a hurry, the Minister of Civilian Police would certainly be hearing all about this ... When they vanished inside the house, he could still be heard uttering imprecations. Sausson forestalled Margont’s question.