‘Co on!’ he said instead.

‘There isn’t anything else! Really, I swear!’

‘Does he suspect one of the members of the group?’

‘What makes you say that? It would make no sense ... one doesn’t fire on one’s own side!’

‘Well, you do!’

Varencourt bristled at that. ‘I really think you should disappear,’ he advised Margont. ‘But not till after tonight’s meeting! If you flee now, by the end of the afternoon they’ll realise you’re gone. And all their suspicions will ricochet onto me, because I’m the one who introduced you. But if you go after the meeting - and I’ll go too -they’ll take longer to notice and we’ll be able to put some distance between them and us. Yes, now I think about it properly, that’s what we should do ...’

He almost took Margont by the arm, but thought better of it. ‘Do as you like, you obstinate blighter. I only ask one thing: that when you do decide to disappear, you’ll let me know! Or else you’ll have my death on your conscience. And I know you have a conscience, very much so. Just swear that you will let me know when you’re withdrawing from the game!’

‘If such a thing were to happen, I’d do my best to let you know.’

Varencourt did not look very reassured. Something had happened to make him nervous. He was an experienced and talented manipulator. The explanations he had given did not seem enough to justify the state he was in. And there was something slightly theatrical about his fear: the way he had almost taken Margont’s arm, and sometimes mumbled his answers, his entreaties. Was he really as afraid as he was making out? Or was he acting fearful to mask his real state of mind? The more Margont had opened up to him, the more Varencourt had seemed to respond with lies.

‘Where were you the night Chatel, Leaume and Nolant turned up unannounced at my lodgings to force me to use my printing press?’

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘Someone searched my room the same day that I met the committee.’

‘That’s hardly surprising. Although it’s a pretty useless precaution to take. Who would be stupid enough to leave anything compromising at home? We’re all searched, followed, watched ... By

others and by other members of the group! You learn to live with it >

‘Who is Catherine de Saltonges’s lover?’

Varencourt reddened. He opened his mouth but found himself incapable of replying. He seemed to be suffocating, like a fish yanked out of the water by a hook and dropped on the riverbank. ‘I don’t... involve myself in such things ...’

He looked very uncomfortable indeed. Was he in love with the woman?

‘Let’s leave her out of this,’ he finally managed. ‘She’s already lived through enough crises, don’t you think?’

He pulled himself together and looked Margont straight in the eye. ‘As we’re taking the gloves off, let’s take them all the way off. You must already know that Jean-Baptiste de Chatel was summoned to appear before the tribunal of the Spanish Inquisition. Well, it wasn’t only because of his heresy and violations of Roman Catholic dogma. He was also accused of acts of sodomy. I learnt that from Louis de Leaume one day when Chatel had yet again

contradicted him and acted as if he were the leader of the group. Leaume exclaimed, “You’re supposed to love me. Although not too much, of course. Didn’t the Inquisition succeed in putting you off such things?” Later, when I asked him about it, Vicomte de Leaume told me that Chatel had had an affair with one of the monks at the Abbey d’Aljanfe. In December 1812, Chatel tried to join the Knights of the Faith. But one of their committee members had emigrated to Madrid in the past and had heard about Chatel. The man revealed what he knew and Chatel was turned down. When Chatel wanted to join the Swords of the King, the Knights of the Faith informed Vicomte de Leaume. But he accepted Chatel nevertheless. And in the beginning they got on extremely well, even though today you would find that hard to believe. Flowever, since the Vicomte’s allusion to Chatel’s habits, they’ve hated each other. Now you know all that, is your investigation any further advanced?’

Oh, yes! thought Margont. He had already suspected that there was something else between Leaume and Chatel besides a mere power struggle. The assured, arrogant stare Jean-Baptiste de Chatel gave Louis de Leaume ... Perhaps Leaume was right and Chatel was attracted to him. His fury with Leaume might be the result of unrequited love. Margont also noted how Charles de Varencourt had eluded his question about Catherine de Saltonges. Varencourt had brandished the new information just as Margont had him in a tight corner. Like the Mongols in the Middle Ages, Varencourt took care never to empty his quiver. So when he was threatened, he always had some arrows to fire off. Margont decided to move in still closer.

‘So you don’t know who is the father of the baby Mademoiselle de Saltonges was carrying?’

A baby? And why was carrying?’

He turned his head away; he had obviously guessed the answer to the second question. When he spoke again, he was on the verge of tears.

‘You are a very skilled investigator. I had counted on always being one step ahead of you. But you have outstripped me without me

even being aware of it.’

He was again trying to steer the conversation away from Mademoiselle de Saltonges - the only subject that rendered him speechless. He was silent and looked off into the distance. He must be in love with her. Margont repeated his questions. In vain. When he took Varencourt’s sleeve to pull him out of his torpor, Varencourt looked at him in surprise, as if it was a stranger who had tugged at him.

‘Do whatever you want,’ he murmured.

‘Armed rebellion, a campaign of murders ... Now tell me about the third plan.’

Varencourt again looked him in the eye. He had dropped his mask of fear and now his eyes were full of suffering. ‘Ah, yes, the third plan. You have guessed that as well. Joseph wasn’t so stupid after all when he took you on as investigator. Yes, the third plan ... They do have one. But I don’t know what it is and, frankly, now I don’t care! No doubt you will find out what it is eventually. You discover everything whilst I’m just a poor blind man!’

His eyes were swimming with tears. But underneath the salty lakes, an angry, desperate light continued to blaze. Margont was seeing another side to Charles de Varencourt, who said, ‘I think we’ve talked enough today.’

All the same, as Margont turned to leave, Varencourt called him back. ‘I’d like to ask you a question. You owe me that. Suppose the Allies win, and Paris falls into their hands. Then imagine that you finally unmask Colonel Berle’s killer. Will you take the risk of going to the royal police to reveal what you’ve discovered?’

‘Of course!’

Varencourt had expected Margont to say that, but he still didn’t understand.

‘But why? Why not keep a low profile? Why risk going to prison?’ Perhaps Margont would not have replied in other circumstances. But he felt sorry for Varencourt.

‘You can’t understand, because we’re so different. I value justice more than my own life. It comes from my philanthropy, which is a quality that’s hard to bear, I can assure you. But that’s the way it is.

The Revolution changed my life, and gave me my love of liberty. And you can’t have liberty without justice. It’s difficult to explain. I can’t really find the words to explain my determination, but I do beg you to believe that it is unfailing. So yes, I will go on to the end of my investigation, even though I have personally nothing to gain from it and even if the sky falls in before then.’

Varencourt thought about his words. Thank you for the sincerity of your reply.’

‘Since we are sharing confidences, and I have never understood card players, I also have a question. Why do you enjoy it so much? What does it bring you?’