He passed his hands through his hair, a familiar mannerism of his.

‘Here’s what I think. First, Charles de Varencourt becomes a police informer, but he’s playing a double game, and acting with the knowledge of the committee members. Secondly, one of them, I don’t know which yet, murders Colonel Berle and leaves the group’s emblem on the body. Their aim is to trigger an inquiry, which they hope will be led by a secret police agent, as is often the case when a murder has political and military implications. Varencourt will, of course, be questioned by the investigator. They hadn’t envisaged that I would insist that Varencourt should arrange for me to become a committee member, but they adapt their plan accordingly. They agree to take risks to allay my suspicions: they meet me — all the committee members are obliged to introduce themselves to me, since I had forced them to admit me to the heart of their committee - they go to my printing press ... At our next meeting Varencourt has to try to assess whether I am

going to advise Joseph to try to arrest everyone or not. He’s forced to give me accurate information about the main committee members because if he feeds me nonsense Joseph’s agents will notice that his information does not tally with what they already know. And the aim of all that was just to get their hands on the letter Joseph had given me! It’s not easy to get close to Napoleon. But if someone passes themselves off as one of Joseph’s secret police, if he obviously has detailed knowledge of the investigation he is talking about and if he presents a letter signed by Joseph I, the Emperor’s own brother, then he would be allowed to speak to Napoleon after being searched. And what guard would notice a needle slipped into a pocket? Jean-Quenin assures me that one simple injection of curare is fatal in a few seconds.’

Lefine was gradually grasping the idea.

‘So one of them really was going to try to assassinate the Emperor »

‘No! I was going to try to assassinate the Emperor! It’s my name written on that letter: Lieutenant-Colonel Quentin Margont!’

He was so furious he seemed on the point of tearing up everything around him, since he could not tear up the damned letter. Lefine was not yet convinced, like a St Thomas demanding further proof. ‘But why the burns? Why kill the Tsar’s envoy?’

Margont brandished the damaged button.

‘The answers are all here! Come with me. I’m going to question Catherine de Saltonges. I’m going to force her to tell me who her lover is. And that, my friend, is our killer.'

CHAPTER 38

PALENIER appeared, with one of his men. They were both scarlet with rage.

'The whore! She’s given us nothing!’ Palenier fumed.

‘Do I have to go on interrogating her, Monsieur?’ asked his subordinate.

Margont noted that the man had not said ‘inspector’ or ‘superintendent’. In the civilian police there were many subdivisions, and there was sometimes rivalry between them. There was the general police division, then each of the Foreign, Business, Finance and War Ministries had their own police; Fouche had run his own police force, as Savary and Joseph did now, and Napoleon himself had several police forces that reported only to him. Almost all the great figures of the Empire had set up their own police, so as not to have to depend on the informers of their rivals and to ensure their rapid rise through the imperial hierarchy by trying to be the best informed. And of course there were countless double and triple agents and it was impossible to tell who was obeying whom and why.

‘I will go and interrogate her,’ announced Margont.

He fully expected Palenier to refuse, but the latter merely gestured graciously for him to go ahead. ‘By all means ... We will wait outside. But no violence! Some interrogators employ violence, but we do not subscribe to such practices.’

‘Nor do I.’

Margont set off down a different corridor, barred by an iron door, which the warder opened for him. Lefine, Palenier and his subordinate followed him. They stopped in front of a heavy door with a spyhole. Margont drew back the bolts and went into the cell alone. Catherine de Saltonges gave a shriek when she saw him come in. She put her fist in her mouth and bit down on it to calm herself. She had thought he was dead.

‘Good evening, Mademoiselle,’ said Margont ironically. ‘Are you being well treated?’

She pulled herself together, took a breath and replied acidly, ‘Of course! Who would be foolish enough to mistreat a royalist three days before the return of the King?’

Margont was hurt by that remark. He saw the interview as a duel. He had barely saluted her with his blade, and she had already delivered a blow and scored a direct hit!

‘Yes, I have even been served chicken,’ she added. ‘It was delicious!’

‘I’m not here to discuss chicken. We have more important things to talk about.’

‘I won’t tell you anything!’

‘But, Mademoiselle, you don’t have to tell me anything; I know all there is to know.’

Catherine de Saltonges frowned at that. She did not believe him, of course. Nevertheless, having just endured almost an hour of questions from Palenier and his subaltern, she was thrown by Margont’s appearance.

‘So what was it you thought you might be able to tell me, Mademoiselle?’ asked Margont, smiling. ‘That you planned to assassinate the Emperor? By poisoning him with a needle soaked in curare? That the murderer is going to pass himself off as me -Lieutenant-Colonel Quentin Margont, to give you my real name -thanks to the intrepid Charles de Varencourt, the fake traitor?’ Catherine de Saltonges was finding it hard to breathe. The ‘secrets’ she had been prepared to defend unto death - that she had easily hidden from that halfwit Palenier - were now being thrown in her face by Margont like so many empty oyster shells.

Margont burst out laughing. ‘Do you think there is a single thing you know that I don’t, Mademoiselle? In fact you’re the one who should be asking me questions!’

‘How long have you known?’

‘That’s not important. Several of your committee members have been arrested.’

He was marching to and fro in the cell. She followed him with her eyes. ‘Several’, so some were still free ...

‘You’re wondering which we have in custody and which are free, aren’t you?’

She almost asked a question, but held herself back, and smiled in her turn.

‘No. And you can’t know everything. There must be something missing, or you wouldn’t be going to all this trouble.'

It must have required astonishing self-control to continue to reason clearly when her world had just collapsed around her ears. She counterattacked immediately.

‘You speak with a great deal of assurance, Monsieur. But beware! I am less a prisoner than you are! In three days, at the very latest, the Allies will free me from this cell, but they will lock you up for thirty years!’

The idea of being locked up was unbearable to Margont. And the fear of it was enough to blow his thoughts off course, like a gust of wind blowing through a game of patience about to be brilliantly completed.

‘If I were you, Monsieur, I would be exerting all my energy in wiping clean some of my debts. You have harmed us. But there’s still time to convince me to speak in your favour when you appear before the King’s court.’

Margont was saying furiously to himself, she’s the one in prison, I should have the upper hand here.

Catherine de Saltonges went on with her attack. ‘It would still be possible to say that you were forced into accepting the mission!’ ‘Which is actually the case ...’ Margont could not prevent himself from saying.

‘It doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not; it just has to be believable! I will testify for you, and I’ll say that you treated me well. In victory, one can afford to be lenient. But no more of your questions now. If you go on tormenting me, you will be treated like an imperialist! And you will pay dearly for that!’