The Phantom of Rue Royale (26 page)

Miette had regained consciousness, but, according to Semacgus, she had lost her mind. She was unable to speak, let alone answer any questions. It was necessary to decide what to do next, and Nicolas was never more at his ease than at these moments when a semblance of order had to be re-established in a disturbed universe. First, Père Raccard would take Miette back up to her room, as there was nothing that could be done for her at the moment. The exorcism had succeeded, but now the sick girl had to be allowed to rest: only the Lord’s tender mercies could help her now. Perhaps her reason would return. Semacgus would examine the corpse of the child, then it would be taken to the Basse-Geôle, where Sanson would perform an autopsy. They were the only ones aware of this discovery. Two suspicious deaths in one house were too much: the whole household had to be arrested and placed in solitary confinement in the Châtelet prison, all separated from each other. Only the cook and Geneviève, the little girl, would be allowed to stay in the house. Dorsacq, the shop assistant, would be arrested as soon as day broke.

Suddenly, through the basement window that looked out on Rue Saint-Honoré, Nicolas heard a voice calling him and recognised Bourdeau. The inspector had the precious and almost magical quality of always appearing at the very moment when his presence was most needed. Nicolas went back upstairs and ran to greet him. Bourdeau seemed to be in a hurry to tell him various pieces of news, but Nicolas interrupted him and briefly brought
him up to date with the extraordinary events that had taken place in the house. Bourdeau screwed up his eyes mockingly, which somewhat irritated Nicolas. There was no time to lose, and he quickly ordered him to call the watch, to establish a cordon around the house, and to fetch carriages to take the Galaines to the Châtelet. Dorsacq had to be seized as soon as he got out of bed, and taken to join the others immediately. Everything else could wait until later. And anyone who had not seen what he had seen, added Nicolas, would do well not to mock. Nor did he want anyone to come and tell him, all shamefaced, that on top of everything else, one or other of the suspects had committed suicide. They all had to be watched closely. Bourdeau, laughing up his sleeve, remarked with an ingratiating air that some deputies were increasingly adopting the tone of their chief, and that Commissioner Le Floch was starting to
Sartinise
with the greatest ease and pleasure. That had the effect of lightening the mood, and Nicolas was unable to suppress a nervous giggle – much to the alarm of Semacgus, who at that moment walked up to them carrying the little corpse in his arms.

Bourdeau left to carry out his orders. The body of the baby had been entrusted to him for transfer to the Basse-Geôle. Nicolas again thought of Naganda, and felt a gnawing sense of foreboding. Why had the drumming stopped? An inner voice told him not to worry, that it had ceased simply because the ritual which the Indian was performing had come to an end. But he wanted to set his mind at rest, and he gestured to Semacgus to follow him. They went back upstairs to the attic. The key was still in the lock. Nicolas opened the door and lifted the candle he was carrying. Naganda’s inanimate body lay on the floor, a knife in
his back. Semacgus rushed to him, knelt and felt his pulse. He looked up, smiling.

‘He’s still alive! He’s breathing. Let’s get him out of here. The weapon doesn’t seem to have touched any vital organ. It’s been inserted quite clumsily, at an angle. The only danger might be if the tip has punctured the left lung. The resulting loss of blood might lead to asphyxia. Will you help me, Nicolas?’

They lifted the Indian’s large body and laid it on the palliasse. Semacgus was transformed. He took off his coat and waistcoat. ‘Find me a piece of cloth, and some wine or vinegar.’

Nicolas went back downstairs to his room and came back immediately, holding one of the small phials of Carmelite water with which Père Grégoire supplied him with touching regularity. Semacgus washed his hands.

‘We’ll never know exactly how many of our soldiers and sailors have died from being touched by dirty hands. No one can explain it, but there it is.’

The important thing was to remove the weapon without aggravating any possible lesions, and without provoking a haemorrhage that would flood the victim’s lung. By the light of the candle, the operation was performed without difficulty, made easier by the fact that Naganda was unconscious. The blade had gone through a muscle, then hit a rib. One of Nicholas’s clean shirts was torn to make a reasonable temporary bandage. The wound had stopped bleeding. Cradling him in their arms, they turned him over. He was starting to come to his senses. Semacgus poured a few drops of Carmelite water on his lips. He grimaced and woke completely.

‘I …’ he said, stifling a cry. ‘What happened?’

‘We should be asking you that,’ said Nicolas.

‘I remember feeling a strong pain in my back, and then everything went black.’

‘Someone planted a knife between your shoulder blades. You must have been in the middle of one of your strange ceremonies. I heard you stop drumming, which I thought was odd. It was like an intuition …’

‘It was written that you would be the hand of destiny, and that you would save my life. The sacred frog predicted it. I am sure that, although you not aware of it, you are
the son of stone
.’

‘
Here
is your saviour. Dr Semacgus.’

‘I think, Nicolas,’ said the party concerned, ‘that you are underestimating your ability to foresee events. If we hadn’t intervened, Monsieur here would have died. And
the son of stone
fits you like a glove.’

‘In what way?’

‘Didn’t you tell me that Canon Le Floch, your guardian and adoptive father, found you on the tombstone of the lords of Carne, in the collegiate church of Guérande? That’s one mystery neatly solved. We really are living through some inexplicable events. And, what’s worse, we’re getting used to it!’

‘Naganda, do you suspect anyone in particular?’ asked Nicolas.

‘I’ve never met with anything but hostility and threats in this house,’ the Indian replied.

‘Don’t you have anything to add to what you’ve already told me?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘It’s vital that you tell me everything. If you remember any
significant facts, don’t hesitate to send for me. By the way, do you still claim that for nearly a day you were drugged and asleep?’

‘Indeed I do.’

‘Very well. I’m sorry to have to tell you – and this has no connection with our conversation – that the occupants of this house are to be placed in solitary confinement in a State prison.’

Semacgus pointed to the wound and shook his head.

‘Taking your wound into account,’ Nicolas went on, ‘you will be taken to the Hôtel-Dieu hospital to receive the care you require. Very soon, the truth will out. Do you have a shovel?’

Naganda looked him in the eyes. ‘I don’t have one, but you’ll find one in the lean-to in the courtyard, along with the garden tools and a wheelbarrow used for transporting the bundles of hides when they arrive.’

Nicolas left the Indian in Semacgus’s care, and went back downstairs to the shop to think and to wait for Bourdeau, the men of the watch, the police officers and the carriages. It was his first chance to take stock of the night’s events. He had not yet recovered from the shock of what he had seen and, the more he thought about it, the more insane it seemed. He no longer knew what to make of the physical manifestation of Miette’s possession. As the heat of the attack faded, reason came back to him, and with it logic and a degree of scepticism. He had definitely not been dreaming, and nor had his companions, but he had to get back on to firm ground, to a world of facts, evidence and normal life.

The fact remained that Miette’s attack, whatever its cause, had led his investigation in a new direction by revealing what certainly appeared to be an infanticide. It was quite likely that the
attacks had their origin in the uneasy conscience of a young girl in a difficult situation, who may have been an accomplice in the murder of a baby. It was certainly an explanation, and Nicolas was quite prepared to believe that complicity in such a barbaric act could lead to a decay of the soul and that the strange
manifestations
were its consequence. Of course, it still had to be established that the baby was the victim of foul play. Only the opening of the corpse could tell them that. But what seemed certain was that Élodie, a girl of easy virtue, surrounded by many suitors, had reaped the fruit of her wandering ways. Had she decided on the crime herself, or had it been committed without her knowledge? Who could have been the instigators and the accomplices?

Nicolas had dozed off in an armchair in the shop, and was woken an hour later by Bourdeau knocking at the window. The house immediately came to life. Two stretchers were brought, one for Naganda and the other for Miette: Nicolas did not want to leave her behind, and still hoped that she would recover her senses and be able to give testimony. For that to happen, they would have to keep a close watch on her and make sure she had no contact with anyone except the police. The members of the Galaine family, who had all gone to earth in their lairs, were gathered together. A police officer soon arrived with Dorsacq, hastily dressed and with his hair dishevelled. Nicolas gave a little speech without mentioning either the results of the exorcism or the macabre discovery in the cellar. At this stage of his inquiries, he told them,
he considered it vital to their discovery of the truth that they should be separated from one another and placed in solitary confinement in a prison until his investigations were complete. Those who were innocent of any wrongdoing had simply to accept a measure designed to bring the case to a speedy
conclusion
. As for the others … Since her husband seemed unable to say anything, Madame Galaine made herself the family’s
advocate
. This was a denial of justice, she cried. The commissioner, whose bias was clear to everyone involved in the case, was acting in a heavy-handed and arbitrary manner. The magistrates would be on their side, she said, and she urged her family not to give in and to resist being removed from their house. But the police, it was pointed out to her, had the power to do what they liked with them: what she called arbitrariness was simply the will of the King, acting through his commissioner, therefore any argument would amount to sedition.

Their departure took place amid noisy protests. A long file of cabs, along with two police wagons carrying the sick and injured, set off for the Châtelet and the Hôtel-Dieu respectively. Before he, too, left Rue Saint-Honoré, Nicolas went to have a quick word with the cook to ask her to look after Geneviève. She assured him that she was perfectly capable of doing so: after all, she had already brought up the girl’s father and aunts. But she was afraid of staying in a house where the devil had been causing mischief for the past few days. Nicolas, however, managed to convince her that all danger was past, and that one of his men would be on duty close by to deal with any eventuality. She was so anxious to give
vent to her feelings and to delay Nicolas’s departure that he let her ramble on about the past without even dreaming of interrupting her. These reminiscences eventually included a few anecdotes about the early lives of Camille and Charlotte. In their youth, she informed him, there had been a serious conflict between them. They had been rivals in love, and their quarrel had been so fierce that they had ended up frightening off their mutual suitor.

Nicolas then went upstairs to see Geneviève, who was not asleep but sitting up in bed, clasping a rag doll to her breast, tears streaming down her face. He tried to console her, explaining the situation in simple words, without going into details. He tucked her in and she fell asleep almost immediately. Cyrus, who had followed the commissioner, was playing languidly with a screwed-up piece of paper, chewing on it with his aged teeth. Intrigued, Nicolas took it out of the dog’s mouth, unfolded it and moved it closer to the candle. To his surprise, and a kind of glee, he recognised the handwriting: it was that of Élodie’s father, Claude Galaine, who had died in New France. These were his last wishes, written on a small parchment, then folded and refolded. They clearly stated that his entire fortune, listed at the bottom of the document and consisting of a considerable number of investments and properties, was to go to his only child, Élodie. However, she would only have use of it until such time as she gave birth to a male child, who would then become the heir. If she were to die childless, the inheritance would revert to the first male child of Charles Galaine. This opened up some interesting lines of inquiry. The essential thing for the moment was to find out who had possessed this document, and who else knew of it. Nicolas searched among the little girl’s toys and found a necklace
of black pearls identical to the pearl found in Élodie’s hand. There could be no doubt about it: the pearls had come from the necklace that had been stolen from Naganda. Geneviève, delighted with these pearls, must have rethreaded them to form a new necklace.

Nicolas was truly sorry to have to wake the little girl. She made a sullen face and stretched. When he questioned her, she first said nothing, then started crying. Yes, she had found the piece of paper and the pearls in her aunts’ work-box. The box contained a mahogany darning egg, which she loved because it was hollow and you could unscrew it. Usually, her aunts put pins and needles in it. The last time she had opened it, she had found a
much-folded
piece of paper and some black pearls. Nicolas asked her when this had been. In the last day or two – the girl was no longer very sure. Nicolas was intrigued by one thing: when he had searched the sisters’ room, he had not found the box. After digging a little deeper, he learnt that it was not always kept in the bedroom, but was moved about from room to room, wherever Charlotte and Camille happened to be sewing. He calmed the child down, and did not leave her until she was asleep.

Nicolas went back up to his room to get his portmanteau. Semacgus and Père Raccard were nowhere to be found: they must have left with their patients. Bourdeau, far-sighted as ever, had reserved a carriage for him. Nicolas ordered the coachman to drive him to Rue Montmartre. He wanted to take Cyrus home – the old dog, although quite playful and spry, deserved a good meal and a rest – and to wash and change and find out how Monsieur de Noblecourt was faring. By the time he reached the entrance archway of the old mansion, the baker’s shop was giving
off the comforting aroma of the first batch of bread. He asked the coachman to wait for him, and walked in through the carriage entrance. As he did so, he heard a timid voice hailing him. It was the baker’s boy.