Authors: Anne Shaughnessy
The man, a heavyset fellow with pomaded hair and a bright, brocaded waistcoat, started and set down his cup of coffee.
He went over to stand before Malet's table and frown down at him.
Malet, engaged in polishing the crystal of his watch with a silk handkerchief, looked up and nodded to the man, then returned his attention to his watch.
"You're the cop staying here, aren't you?" the man demanded. "The wench called you 'Inspector'."
Malet lifted an eyebrow and subjected the man to a thoughtful scrutiny.
His gaze lingered on the waistcoat while he closed the watch and returned it to his waistcoat pocket.
"
I am employed by the Ministry of Police: yes," he said at last, folding the handkerchief and putting it away as well. "I suppose that might make me a 'cop', though I disagree with the term. And I am currently staying at the Rose d'Or, but that is only a temporary arrangement."
The man's face darkened.
"Then, monsieur," he rasped, "you will kindly explain your rudeness in ignoring the messages that were left for you!"
"
And what is your name, pray?"
"
The messages were left by Constant Dracquet!"
"
Are you Dracquet?" Malet asked calmly.
"
N-no, I am not, but - "
Benoit, sitting at his table, closed his eyes for a moment.
Malet's expression shifted slightly. He regarded the man with a sort of distasteful patience. He accepted a cup of cinnamon coffee from Yvette with a word of thanks, took the small pitcher of milk and added some, put his customary three spoonfuls of sugar in the cup, stirred, and then set the cup down.
When the man started to speak again he raised a finger and then, when the man was silent, reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and took out his notebook.
He opened the notebook, thumbed through it, frowning slightly, then closed it and put it away again.
"
Let us set aside for a moment the question of my rudeness," he said. "These messages: where were they left?"
"
They were left here!"
"
And were they addressed to me, personally?"
"
They certainly were!"
"
I beg to differ. I received no messages addressed to me by name. I doubt that these ladies - " he nodded toward Yvette and Elise, " -or anyone else here would ignore messages left for me. Did you use my name?"
"
I don't know your name, sir!" the man said through his teeth.
Malet stirred his coffee again, set the spoon aside, and sipped the coffee, frowning again.
"I see," he said at last. "You're angry because a message addressed to no one didn't reach me. Really, monsieur, you're being unreasonable and you were asking for any rudeness you and yours may have encountered from me."
He turned away with an air of finality to smile at Yvette, who was waiting with a plate of brioches and a pot of jam.
"Ah, thank you, Mlle. Yvette."
He broke the brioche, spread jam on it, took a bite, took another sip of coffee, chewed, and swallowed, ignoring the man, who was still standing before him, breathing heavily through his nose.
"The message," said the man with an effort, speaking slowly and distinctly, "was directed to Inspector de Saint-Légère's replacement."
Malet took another bite of brioche.
"Which I am not," he said calmly. "No wonder it never reached me. It doesn't concern me. And now, monsieur, if you have nothing further to say to me, I have yesterday's Globe, which I haven't read yet. Good morning."
He unfolded the paper, scanned the front page, and then opened it to the Police section.
After a moment he took out a gold pencil and made a notation beside one of the articles.
Benoit shifted in his chair, trying to get his man's attention.
The man did not see him. "I am not finished with you yet, monsieur!" he said through his teeth.
"
But I am finished with you, sir," Malet said cordially. "You have been a boor. I don't suffer fools gladly, but I am even less inclined to put up with the bad manners of self-important oafs like you. Good morning, sir!"
Benoit was shaking his head.
His men were muttering among themselves.
"
I am certain your commander will be interested in your rudeness!" the man said through his teeth. "I don't think that he will take it kindly when a complaint for disrespect is lodged against you! I will certainly inform M. Rameau - "
"
What has Inspector Rameau to say to anything?" Malet demanded. "He's certainly not my superior!"
"
Then tell me who is!"
"
The man's name is Valery Lamarque," said Malet. "That is, he's my immediate superior. If you like, I can write down his name for you. You'll have trouble reaching him for some time: he's taking the waters at Plombières. I suggest you approach Christien de la Haye, Count d'Anglars, who is his superior." He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the other's face, and added with calm deliberation, "And you may wish to use my name: Malet. That is M-A-L-E-T. Paul V. Malet, to be exact. My rank is Chief Inspector. If you think you need help remembering it, I will be happy to write it on your forehead for you."
Benoit had sat forward as Malet said his name.
He looked to Elise like a man who has drawn a terrible hand of cards after having wagered everything he owned on it. As Elise watched, he whispered something to the man sitting closest to him, which sent the man scurrying from the room.
Malet was still speaking.
"Now if that is all you have to say, then I suggest you leave. You're annoying me, I am certain that you are annoying the ladies, and you have annoyed this gentleman here, from what I heard while I was coming down the stairs."
He looked up, motioned to the other men, and said,
"And that goes for your friends, as well. Out! Or I will call the guard and have you thrown out!"
The man glared down at him, his eyes flashing.
He looked up as Benoit came up beside him, and moved back.
"
Maybe the messages were misdirected," said Benoit. "But I am delivering the message now: M. Constant Dracquet wants you to call upon him tomorrow at noon."
Malet appeared supremely unimpressed by this announcement.
"And what is your name?" he asked.
"
René Benoit," the man answered.
"
Ah," said Malet. "The pimp." He poured himself more coffee and busied himself with creaming and sweetening it to his satisfaction.
"
'Pimp'?" Benoit repeated.
"
Among other things," Malet said, setting the sugar aside. "You had a hand in that series of murders near Reuilly, where the victims were found without their heads. Interesting piece of work, that: how fortunate for you that that one whore enjoyed your company so much - and that she died when she did. But was it wise? Your master is looking for respectability now that he's made his millions, and you nearly made yourself a liability."
Benoit stared at him, shaken.
"What do you mean?" he demanded. His voice had risen a little.
"
I am reciting facts. You and I have nothing to say to each other, and I have nothing to say to your M. Dracquet, either. I suggest you leave now before I lose all patience with you and your friends and have you all thrown out!"
He and Benoit traded glares.
"You will regret this, monsieur!" Benoit snapped at last, and strode from the room.
"
You terrify me!" Malet called after him.
The tallest of Dracquet's men rose and glared down at Malet, who gazed imperturbably back at him.
"You'll regret it, you bastard!" he snarled through his teeth, and followed the rest out.
The patrons in the common room looked at one another in shocked silence.
Malet seemed thoughtful, but he finished his coffee and raised his eyes as Elise came over with his breakfast. Claude was with her, looking a little white about the mouth. Alcide was standing behind them.
"
Whew!" said Claude. "You made him mad!"
"
I meant to."
"
Why?" demanded Claude.
"
Are you really Chief Inspector Malet?" Alcide demanded, wide-eyed.
"
Yes, I am," Malet said, and sipped his coffee.
"
Why didn't you say so at once?" Alcide asked.
"W
ill you shut up?" snapped Claude. "He has better things to do than listen to your impertinence!" He turned back to Malet. "That one fellow meant murder," he said. "Maybe we should tell the Police!"
Malet smiled, speared a piece of beef with his fork and raised it to his mouth.
"You forget that I am the police for the moment," he said after he had finished chewing. "And as for why I made Benoit mad, why, 'Haste makes waste', and I want to make them rather hasty. I think I succeeded." He added more kindly, "Don't worry. I can take care of myself."
"
Was it wise?" asked Elise.
"
It was politic," said Malet.
"
But it was also dangerous. I saw their faces as they left, and especially Benoit's."
"
I am not afraid of him. I am beyond his weight, and he knows it."
"
You shouldn't frighten small men," said Elise. "They'll kill you."
Malet shrugged.
"They're welcome to try," he said. "I don't give much for their chances of success."
Elise was silent for a moment.
Finally she laid an urgent hand on his sleeve and said, "Please be careful, Paul. You could be hurt if you get involved with someone like Constant Dracquet."
Malet took her hand in his for a moment.
"I am a Police officer," he said. "I have to get involved with people like him. Should I resign from the Force and let him continue unchecked? I can't do that. You would think worse of me if I did." He smiled and released her hand. "Never mind. He's the one who will be hurt. Wait and see."
HUNTER AND QUARRY
Constant Dracquet himself arrived the next morning as Elise was sipping a cup of tea with Yvette at breakfast.
He entered the dining room quietly, smiled around at the patrons, and then directed a look at Malet that made Elise feel suddenly cold.
Malet seemed to sense the look, for he raised his head.
His eyes narrowed fractionally and he set down his cup as he saw Dracquet.
Dracquet turned to Elise and bowed.
Elise had only seen Constant Dracquet once, but she recognized him immediately. He seemed to radiate elegance and danger. His garments were cut of the finest cloth available, with a discreet artistry that must have commanded a top price. His hair was impeccably trimmed, his hands well-manicured, and his jewelry just what a gentleman should wear. His voice was quiet and cultured when he spoke.
"
Madame de Clichy?" he asked.
She inclined her head.
"My name is Constant Dracquet," he said with a smile. "You must permit me to apologize for some unpleasantness that occurred yesterday morning. I assure you that I was almost as disturbed by it as you must have been, and perhaps more so because it distressed a lady. That aside, I hope you will permit me to compliment you on the fine reputation enjoyed by your establishment."
"
The first matter is forgotten, monsieur," said Elise. "And I must thank you for the second even as I disclaim."
"
Madame is too modest," Dracquet said. "And now, if I am truly forgiven, might I trouble one of your servants to provide me with some coffee?"
"
It is no trouble, monsieur," said Elise.
Dracquet bowed again and then turned toward Malet, who was engaged in spreading jam on a piece of toasted bread.
Malet looked up as he watched, and their gazes met. The scrutiny was a sober, measuring, unsmiling one.
The silence lengthened until Dracquet suddenly smiled and sat down at Malet's table.
"Please permit me to apologize for my maladroit assistants and introduce myself," he said. "I am Constant Dracquet."
"
How do you do?" said Malet. "I am Paul Malet."
"
I do very well," Dracquet said with undiminished suavity. "And all the better for seeing you at last, though I believe we have encountered each other before. I left those messages for you."
"
I believe it was established yesterday that the messages were left for no one in particular," Malet said gently.
Dracquet's smile broadened slightly.
"Come now, Chief Inspector," he said. "Running rings around a pack of quarter-wits is nothing for a man of your talent. Where's the merit in it? Whatever they thought, I know who you are now."