A forceful painting, Joe thought, to have aroused such feelings in the apparently unemotional Commissaire.

‘Those eyes burn with pain,’ Jacquemin added, still enjoying his subject. ‘No wonder he has trouble sleeping. A nice Corot or two—that’s what I’d prescribe for his walls. Much more effective than the laudanum-based sleeping draught—item number six on the list I’ve given you.’

‘Books? What about books? I’ve inspected the lord’s library but it would be interesting to hear what he has by him.’

‘The usual line-up of novels. Hugo … Dumas … Tolstoy. Nothing more recent than Proust whom he seems to have read. A lot of poetry … classics … history … much local history … everything Mistral’s ever written about Provence. A history of the château, privately printed. Numerous photographs of the building including some of the chapel and tomb. I have to say, there’s no element we couldn’t accept in the lad Frederick’s story. He was definitely put up to it,’ his voice curdled with suspicion, ‘whatever it was, by his lordship. The books Ashwell showed us—the blueprint for his designs—were pressed on him by Silmont. The gaps were still to be seen on the shelves between Perrault’s fairy tales and the Almanach de Provence. Martineau measured them.’

‘So, just as Ashwell claims, he was handed his subject, his scene and his model—her services paid for in advance, on the house so to speak. All complete, on a palette, by the man commissioning the work,’ Martineau summarized. ‘And it was the lord who first put into his head the similarity between the statue and the live model, Miss Smeeth. The lord who gave him the keys to the armoury and invited him to study the daggers. The lord who, jokingly, suggested he paint the Devil with his cousin’s features. And—wouldn’t you know it?—who was known to be ten miles away himself at the time of the killing? His lordship! What’s going on, sir? Murder by some sort of hypnotic influence? By proxy? By witchcraft?’ He pursed his lips, uncomfortable with his suggestion. ‘Do you suppose money changed hands?’

‘Ah! Now you’re being fanciful, Lieutenant,’ sneered Jacquemin. ‘The English are known to be unbribable. But it will be entertaining to hear the lord’s version of events when he comes to the surface again. Meanwhile …’ He shuffled his papers and invited the two men to pull their chairs closer. ‘Just in case any further murders by suggestion are being planned, it will be sensible to reduce the number of potential victims. Can we take blonde young females as his preferred prey? I think we must. It’s the only pattern we’ve got—if two attacks constitute a pattern. Taking the smashing of the alabaster image as a statement of intent, it seems reasonable. Accordingly, I’m getting the remaining two possible victims out from under our feet. That little strawberry bonbon … what’s her name?’

‘Clothilde?’

‘Her and her Parisian mother. Blonde woman. Artist. Paints Madonnas and suchlike. I’ve ordered up a taxi to take them into Avignon and from there they can get a train back to Paris. Both very ready to go. I thought we’d take a chance on the redhead. What was she now? … Flower portraitist, she calls herself.’ His lip curled. ‘Big and overblown, like her subjects.’

Joe thought he recognized Cecily. ‘Jacquemin—the other children. I believe Marius Dalbert to be in some danger. When word gets out—and it most likely has by now—that he was hidden in the chapel with a murderer on the loose, steps might be taken to silence him.’

‘Already thought of, Sandilands. The older boy also. I’m sending the pair of them down to the village to the safety of their grandmother’s house in the high street. I’ll post one of the gendarmes they’ve sent us to stand guard at night.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘They’re due to start off after their tea. In about half an hour. Miss Makepeace has volunteered to escort them down and their mother is very agreeable. Nothing much I can do about the Joliffe children. Father Joliffe insists they’ll be safe enough in his orbit. He’s promised to keep them on a tight rein. I’m not letting him leave. Reported to have had a certain relationship with the deceased. He’s on my list.

‘Now, here you are.’ He passed a sheet of paper to Joe. ‘You asked for the names of all those in the castle who have cameras, I believe. Didn’t take long to compile.’

Joe looked at the Commissaire in surprise. ‘I say—I’m impressed. And thank you for taking the trouble. I don’t think you’ll have wasted your time.’

He began to read out: ‘The lord—a two-year-old German one. Zeiss-Tessar lens, quarter plate reflex.’

‘Good but barely used, his valet tells me,’ said Jacquemin. ‘He keeps it to record works of art he’s interested in. Not one for filling the family album. His cousin borrows it occasionally.’

‘Nathan Jacoby. Great heavens! Can the man really own so much photographic gear? Three plate cameras and the Ermanox?’

‘I haven’t had time to check his version yet. A visit to his dark room is called for, I think. And soon. Those powders and chemicals may not be all they’re said to be.’

‘Petrovsky. A large plate camera.’

‘He takes shots of the ballet sets, portraits of the ballerinas for release to the press as well as for his own records. He last used it to photograph Ashwell’s set paintings.’

‘Two Kodak pocket front-folders. One belonging to the Whittlesfords, the other to the Fentons.’

‘Each with an exposed film inside. I’ve asked Jacoby to develop them.’

‘Cecily Somerset. Ah! Sweet Cecily has a brand new Leica. One of those tiny 35 millimetre, thirty-six exposure jobs. Goodness, how smart!’

‘And not much of an idea how to use it. She hardly knows which way up to point the thing. Martineau, who’s sensitive to mechanical devices, had to take it out of her hands to stop her wrecking it. I asked her nicely to remove the film for our inspection and she was nonplussed. No idea where the lever was. “Oh, but I always get a man to do that sort of thing,” she said and batted her eyelashes. “I was going to wait until I got back to London to do that. And Daddy wouldn’t be best pleased if he knew you were opening it up. It was a birthday present.” And then she noticed, in all this argy-bargy, that her lens cap was missing. Flew into a temper and accused me of losing it. “You’ve dropped it! Yes, you have! You were fiddling with it!” Made us both check our turn-ups! What was that English name you called the woman just now? Sweet Cecily?’

‘I was being sarcastic. It’s a shy wayside flower in England. Smells delicately of aniseed.’

Jacquemin chortled with laughter. ‘Nothing delicate about this specimen! We had to take the camera from her hands. But it was worth the effort—it had the bonus of a part-used film in it. With Jacoby’s assistance—he’s as good as a laboratory—we got it wound back and he’s busy developing it. Are you going to tell me why you want to have this information?’

‘Not just yet. Call it an unformed thought. Look—call them all in, will you? These cameras. The whole lot.’

Jacquemin smirked. ‘In the box!’ He gestured towards a large cardboard filing box on the floor, standing next to Estelle’s attaché case. ‘All of ’em except Jacoby’s lot. I let him keep all his equipment in what he calls his laboratory. Too messy and bulky to cart downstairs.’

A tap on the door preceded the appearance of one of the guards. ‘A lady to speak with the Commissaire.’

Jane Makepeace strode in. ‘Jacquemin, the Dalbert children are lined up ready to go down to their granny’s. Shall we set off now?’

Jacquemin gave his permission for the squad to move off and thanked her for her consideration. Joe excused himself and followed her from the room.

‘That’s a kind gesture, Jane. I’ll just watch you start off. I must say, the fewer children there are around the place, the happier I am.’

She smiled back at him. ‘Not entirely altruistic. I’m glad to get out of this place even for a few minutes. And there they are—your efficient niece has rounded them up.’