The Man with the Lead Stomach (18 page)

‘He never comes on his own,’ added La Paulet. ‘He’s always accompanied by a Life Guard, someone called … du Plâtre … No, de La Chaux. Only the other day the little priest was left without a sou and his friend gave him a ring to leave as security on the understanding that he would pay him back afterwards. I was given the job of negotiating  and paying the creditor. And just to show how open I am with you, I have it here and I’m going to show it to you.’

La Paulet rummaged around in her skirt. She carefully took a ring out of a small bag fastened to her bodice and handed it to him. Nicolas was immediately struck by the jewel’s unusual appearance. It was clearly a very fine item. A fleur-de-lis of brilliants was set in a field of turquoises. Judging by the size of the ring it must have been for a woman or man with slender fingers. He gave it back to her.

‘I would like this jewel to remain in your possession for a few days. It may prove important.’

One thing intrigued him. On several occasions he had been told that it was the vicomte who was the gambler. His
manservant, Lambert, had said so first, and this had been corroborated by Monsieur de Noblecourt.

La Paulet looked grim. ‘There’s no hurry, Monsieur Nicolas. I always said that pretty boy would bring me nothing but trouble. A good many of my regulars would no longer play with him.’

‘With Monsieur de La Chaux?’

‘No, the other one, the pretty priest, little Gilles. He plays with his left hand.’

Nicolas shuddered. Gilles … That was the name that had crossed La Bichelière’s lips in the midst of their amorous encounter.

‘Left-handed, you say?’

‘He certainly is! And people don’t like it. They say it brings bad luck in gambling.’

‘But that was not the case in this instance.’

La Paulet was carried away by the speed of their exchange.

‘There was no risk; we had to restore the balance. We certainly saw to that!’

She sniggered, then tried to win him over by winking at him. Nicolas hated her bringing him down to her own level as if they were accomplices.

‘Madam,’ he said disdainfully, ‘cheating has taken place and you dare admit as much to a magistrate in the performance of his duties. This is a different situation altogether. Please hand over the jewel at once. Remember that gambling here is illegal. We tolerate it and you know why we do so. But when the wolves start to fleece the sheep in this establishment, the matter must be taken seriously. Were this sort of crime to be seen as clever and
something
to boast about, that would spell an end to law and order. You
may tell whoever is responsible that police spies have got wind of the affair. But I’m sure you’ll find some explanation without too much trouble.’

‘This is robbery!’ screamed La Paulet. ‘This will be the death of me. Monsieur Nicolas, have you no pity for an old friend?’

‘I wish my old friend would keep to her usual activities,’ said Nicolas, ‘otherwise she might become acquainted with some less pleasant places, which she has so far been spared thanks to Monsieur Nicolas. And she would do well to remember that.’

He left, leaving the madam in a state of collapse. His good humour had evaporated. He needed to digest what he had just learnt. He was also slightly annoyed with himself for having treated La Paulet so roughly. Although he understood the need to blackmail houses of pleasure associated with gambling dens, he disliked being personally involved. Monsieur de Sartine kept repeating that gaming was a threat to society, that it was an unproductive way of diverting money from its use in other areas that were more beneficial to the State.

His visits to the Dauphin Couronné had really never done him much good. It was where he had lost his illusions both of being a police officer and a man of honour. There was no deluding himself: in a world of trickery, bullying, blackmail and the
underhand
use of authority and law, where was the limit, the boundary between right and wrong? The truth was never easily uncovered. What mattered was to succeed and serve the interests of justice by means that would otherwise be considered dishonourable. He wondered, too, if this might explain his refusal to take the
Ranreuil name but then he said to himself that if he had accepted it he would have been barred in any case from entering the police. At best he would have become a soldier, at worst a courtier. For better or for worse he now served the truth. At least that was what he believed.  

Before setting off on their expedition, Nicolas and Bourdeau ate in a little tavern on Rue du Pied-de-Boeuf at the back of the Great Châtelet, where they were regular customers. The
innkeeper
gave Bourdeau special treatment because they both came from Chinon. This way, the inspector pointed out, they would not begin their adventure on empty stomachs. Nicolas recounted to him in detail his visit to the Dauphin Couronné and passed on the information he had obtained. Like him, Bourdeau was struck by the appearance of the ring Nicolas had confiscated. The investigation was constantly uncovering ever more puzzling facts.

They found themselves suddenly focusing on the vidame. He was left-handed and that was the third time they had come upon this physical characteristic. Everything pointed to him being on intimate terms with La Bichelière, his elder brother’s mistress. A possible motive for fratricide was emerging but Nicolas could not bring himself to believe that one brother might kill another for a reason that, although significant, did not in his eyes justify such a
sacrilegious crime. And yet … He now urgently needed to make the acquaintance of the vidame, as everything seemed to lead back to him, despite his low profile. They also needed to meet the brothers’ mutual friend, the Life Guard Truche de La Chaux. So they would have to extend their investigations to Versailles, which was also, according to recent information, where the vicomte’s betrothed, Mademoiselle de Sauveté, lived.

As for Bourdeau, the following day he was to go to the church of the Theatines to observe the funeral mass for the comtesse and her son. The inspector remarked that this was all very well but he did not know how to investigate a crime that had not been officially reported and with no legal authority behind him. He would just have to improvise.

After making sure they were not being watched, Bourdeau took a small box out of his pocket. At first Nicolas thought it was a clock, but on closer inspection it turned out to be a dark-lantern, although a third of the size of a standard one. Bourdeau explained that once again he had called upon the services of the elderly craftsman who had so skilfully made the little pistols for their tricorns. With this, observed the inspector, delighted by his latest acquisition, they would be able to prowl around without being hampered by having to carry a lantern. This model, which was equipped with a clip, could be attached to the front of any garment. It would be particularly useful that night because in order to get into the vicomte’s apartments they would first have to climb up and then heave themselves in, a risky manoeuvre for which they would certainly need both hands free.

They set out at about midnight. Rabouine had been sent on ahead and was already there. They went through the checks at the
tollgate
without incident and soon found themselves on the plain of Grenelle. Nicolas looked out once more at this eerie-looking suburb, where remnants of its rural past stood amongst
demolition
sites, new buildings and a few old farms whose days seemed numbered. They left the carriage in a tree-lined lane with its lights extinguished. The wind had got up, blowing the dead leaves about and whistling in the branches. Its noise covered up the sound of their footsteps as they walked towards the Hôtel de Ruissec.

Everything seemed quiet in the house and all that could be seen from outside was a dim, flickering light coming almost certainly from the mortuary chapel set up in the entrance hall. They made their way stealthily along the path that ran parallel to the outbuildings until they reached the carriage entrance leading into the grounds. A faint whistle alerted them to Rabouine’s presence. He came to reassure themthat all was quiet. No one had entered the property that evening, except for a priest
accompanied
by monks. Rabouine had taken advantage of the
semidarkness
to feel his way along the boundary wall, and to the left of the door had identified some loose stones that would make the wall easy to climb over. They would just need to be careful with the pieces of broken glass stuck into the mortar to keep away thieves. But a piece of sacking would be enough for them to get over without gashing their hands. On the other side they would have only to jump down and on the way back they could use the ladder.

The plan was for Nicolas to go in through the bull’s-eye on his
own, as Bourdeau was too stout. He fastened the little
dark-lantern
on to his chest and checked that he was equipped with matches. Using it outside was out of the question as they would risk being seen. They would benefit from there being just one long gallery running the whole length of the first floor of the main building. It would be extraordinarily bad luck if someone from the mansion happened at that very moment to be looking out at the grounds, which were in total darkness that night.

Nicolas wanted Bourdeau to let him go on alone but the inspector would not hear of it. He needed to be there to help Nicolas carry the ladder and prevent it from slipping, as well as to lend a hand in the event of a hasty retreat. These were very valid reasons but the real one, which he did not mention, was concerned with the young man’s safety. Out of friendship for him and in his role as Sartine’s obedient inspector, Bourdeau would not leave him. He would wait in the shadows until the visit was over and keep the ladder hidden. Rabouine set off again to keep watch.

They found climbing the wall straightforward because it was built of millstone grit, which made it easy to get a hold, though had they not taken the precaution of wearing gloves they would have grazed their hands. Nicolas put the piece of sacking on the top. Fortunately the broken glass barely protruded from the mortar and he was able to hoist himself up without injury. He sat down carefully, then launched himself into the void. He landed softly on a bed of dead leaves and rotting soil. He moved to one side and Bourdeau immediately joined him. Nicolas motioned to him to follow him along the wall.

They reached the corner of the grounds without incident and
found the gardener’s shed. The door was open and Nicolas lit the small dark-lantern after sending Bourdeau inside and then shutting the door. In the dim light they could see tools and potted seedlings. There, leaning against the wall of the shed, was the ladder. They took it and, after extinguishing the lantern, set off again towards the left of the building, making for the wing that housed the stables and the vicomte’s rooms. Nicolas recognised the cobblestones beneath his feet and deduced from the smell that they were walking past the first stable door. He had forgotten the rosebushes growing between the two doors. He stumbled and caught his boot in the thorns, almost falling and taking Bourdeau with him. One end of the ladder struck the wall. The silence was broken by prolonged neighing and the clatter of hoofs: they had woken a horse. They held their breath for a moment, then everything went quiet again. Nicolas thought how fortunate it was that there were no dogs roaming the Hôtel de Ruissec or they would really have been sunk. He avoided the second clump of rosebushes just below the dressing room.

They used guesswork to set up the ladder, leaning it against the wall. Nicolas took the precaution of removing his boots, both for his own comfort and to avoid making a noise and leaving footmarks. At the top of the ladder he found he was at the right height straightaway. He could feel the pane of the bull’s-eye and, after finding its lower moulding, pushed it gently. The opening was not wide and he realised that it would be impossible for him to get through: the top of the ladder was still too low. After a moment’s thought he climbed back down and explained the situation to Bourdeau. The inspector decided to move the bottom of the ladder closer to the wall and further to the left. This way
Nicolas’s feet would be level with the bull’s-eye and he would be able to get into the room sideways.

The second attempt was successful; by clinging on to the frame, which did not give way, he managed to slip through, then move forward until he could feel the top of the dressing table. His touch rolled some items from their position but he decided he would put them back later. The main objective had been achieved and he could set to work.

Precariously perched on this fragile piece of furniture, he cautiously lowered his legs and put his feet on the floor. He gave himself a few minutes for his heart to stop racing. Then he relit the dark-lantern, found his bearings and pushed open the bedroom door. Nothing had been moved since his first visit. Every item was still in its place except that the hurricane lamp on the desk was now in a more natural position. He walked across the room and on the other side of the alcove pushed the door hidden in the panelling that gave access to the little library closet.

Nicolas began a systematic inventory of its contents,
comparing
some of the titles with the list of authors he had noted in Monsieur de Noblecourt’s library. It was a badly organised collection that contained what one would expect to find in the home of a young man, who was also an officer, from a good family – works on fencing and horse-riding, military memoirs, frivolous and even libertine literature, and books of
scholasticism.
Nicolas was interested to note that many of the authors were Jesuits. The regularity with which these religious or polemical works recurred intrigued him. Bookmarks or markings in lead pencil indicated passages justifying the legitimacy of murdering kings. He shuddered with horror as he picked out
incitements to regicide, underlined in a work written in 1599 and entitled
Du roi et de l’éducation
by a certain Mariana, of the Society of Jesus. The reference reminded him of something: this book had been implicated in the murder of Henri IV by Ravaillac. Continuing his investigation, he was intrigued by a licentious work that did not shut properly. On closer examination he discovered that the lining of the binding had been unstuck and then stuck back down again. He felt something thick underneath. With the aid of the small penknife that he always carried with him he carefully cut out the lining paper. Two sheets of very fine paper fell out. One showed a geometrical drawing and the other was written in such tiny characters that it was impossible for him to decipher with the little light he had available and without the help of a magnifying glass. He returned the documents to the book and slipped it into his coat pocket.

Suddenly he heard the sound of floorboards creaking some distance away. Nicolas hurried out of the library, extinguished the lantern, and listened. Someone was walking along the corridor. There was no time to escape. He remembered the large wardrobe near the door to the room. He opened it and ducked into the huge section where the boots were kept. The wooden floor creaked again, then silence. Was it just a false alarm? In the stillness his heart was pounding, making his head throb. Feeling more reassured, he prepared to leave his hiding-place when there was another loud noise, closer this time. There was no mistaking it: someone was trying to pick the door lock. He himself had done the same when the body was discovered. A slight click confirmed that the lock picker had been successful. The sound of creaking floorboards came ever closer, broken intermittently by long
silences. Through gaps in the wooden wardrobe he saw a flash of light, then a flicker. A candle had just been lit. Nicolas slowed his breathing. Straining with all his senses, he followed the visitor’s progress as if he could see him. He heard him go past and then into the library to the right. He could made out the sound of shuffling feet, then the faint, regular noise of things falling onto the floor. Surrounded by darkness once more, he was losing all notion of time and the wait seemed unending. Although he was in a fairly comfortable position, he feared his body would become numb from lack of movement or, worse, that spasms brought on by cramp would betray his presence. In that case he would find himself facing either a legitimate visitor or an intruder like himself. And then what?

Objects were still landing on the floor: the visitor was
searching
through the books, one by one. Perhaps his quest was identical to Nicolas’s own, in which case he was looking for the book already in Nicolas’s possession. After a considerable amount of time, the stranger left the library. His footsteps were hesitant. He banged loudly on the door of the wardrobe and swore under his breath. Nicolas then had the impression that he was moving around the bedroom; the gleam from the candle had broadened. He wanted to look through a chink in the wood, but it was not close enough and the slightest movement would have given him away. The stranger wandered about the room for a few more minutes. Nicolas feared he would look in the dressing room. The open bull’s-eye, along with the untidy table he had stood on, might have aroused his suspicion. Then he heard the door being gently closed and the footsteps faded away. Nicolas waited for a few more moments, then lit his lantern, pushed open
the wardrobe door and emerged back into the bedroom. There was no one there, but the library was in chaos. The books lay in heaps on the floor, with bindings that had been torn off, pulled apart and ripped open. Not a single volume had escaped unscathed. Nicolas’s horror at the sight before him was mingled with the satisfaction of knowing that the intruder had drawn a blank.

He tidied up the dressing case on the dressing table and was preparing to leave through the bull’s-eye when he realised that he would have to go out head first. He was suddenly gripped by anxiety. The weight of his body meant he might easily fall, and a fall from that height – twenty-five to thirty feet – was enough to kill anyone. He had to think quickly. He eventually decided simply to open the window of the adjoining bedroom and call Bourdeau, who would bring him the ladder. At that very moment he heard the inspector’s voice and saw his head appear in the opening of the bull’s-eye. Bourdeau, too, had been thinking about how hard it would be for Nicolas to get out. He explained his solution. Head first, Nicolas grabbed Bourdeau’s shoulder with one hand, drew up his legs, pushed his chest through and, after twisting his whole body, ended up on Bourdeau’s back. This was followed by a difficult descent down the ladder. The combined weight of their two bodies made each rung bend and creak. But at last they reached the ground. Nicolas put his boots back on and removed all traces of footprints in the soil around the rosebushes. They returned the ladder to the lean-to. The frame of the
bull’s-eye
was closed and there was no sign of their intrusion. When the ransacked library was discovered, suspicion was bound to fall on members of the Ruissec household.