‘We’ll die together, is this what you want?’ asked Juliette. ‘I felt certain Étienne wasn’t coming home, Danielle. I had only to look at those sketches that Herr Schlacht had taken from the studio to remind and taunt me, and I knew that something terrible must have happened and would also happen to you. I did not know what to do. Should I add the poison and hope Frau Schlacht’s husband would drink it, should I not do so? And all the while I was so worried about Étienne.’
‘Pneumonia.’
‘Don’t cry. Turn off the burners. You’ve done what you really had to do. You’ve made me see how much my silence has hurt you.’
‘HERR SCHLACHT,’ called out Louis. ‘WILL YOU AGREE TO GET THEM AUSWEISE AND LET THEM ACCOMPANY MADAME VAN DER LYNN TO SPAIN?’
TO SPAIN … TO SPAIN …
Kohler had reached the working floor and would now, thought Schlacht, begin to make his way up behind the two of them. He hadn’t yet drawn his gun, so must be planning to grab the revolver and switch off the burners. But the drums were separated by a good three metres, and while the one began to boil and clouds of heavy white vapour poured from it, the other continued to piss its stream.
‘Oskar, agree! You have to,’ hissed Käthe. ‘If you don’t, and this place goes up, it really will be the end of the Palais d’Eiffel.’
‘Those two to Spain. The Van der Lynn woman stays in Paris,’ called out Schlacht. Father Michel crossed himself; Honoré de Saussine began to slip away, but was held back by Frau Hillebrand.
‘Dieu merci,’ said Louis as the girl handed the revolver to her mother and crouched to switch off the gas ring under the leaking drum, then turned off the other one.
‘The office, I think,’ said Kohler, ‘so that we can clean this mess off our shoes, eh? You’ve nothing else planned, have you?’ he asked Danielle and saw her shake her head.
The morning grew, the rays of feeble sunlight at last finding the streaked and grimy outer windows of the office. Juliette de Bonnevies tried to clean the windowpane in front of her, to stare better at freedom, but it was no use. Behind her, she knew the others sat or stood waiting, too, to hear what the detectives had to say.
Father Michel would be looking inwardly, his gnarled fingers moving the beads of his rosary as he silently recited the decades. Frau Hillebrand was sitting next to Herr Schlacht who, though impatient, would have to let the detectives proceed.
Honoré de Saussine would be pale and silent, nor would his gaze meet hers or anyone else’s, except but briefly.
‘Mesdatnes, Mesdemoiselles et Messieurs,’ said St-Cyr, and there was a watchfulness to him she sensed right away. ‘A bottle sits alone on a desk for but a few hours. We now know how it got there and what happened those few hours later. We also know that the gates to the apiary and the garden, and the door to the study were locked that afternoon and would have had to have been opened had someone other than the immediate family or Father Michel poisoned that bottle. Frau Schlacht wanted our beekeeper to add the oil of mirbane so that she could give the Amaretto to you, Herr Schlacht, but by then you knew what your wife had planned. Using miliciens to question and torture my partner on Saturday only confirmed your worst fears.’
‘Get on with it. Verdammt, I haven’t all day!’
‘Louis, he had the set of keys he and Frau Hillebrand had removed from the studio.’
‘Yes, certainly, mon vieux, but were they used that afternoon by himself, his secretary, or M. de Saussine?’
‘I didn’t do it!’ shrieked de Saussine. ‘I couldn’t! I … I was too afraid Alexandre wouldn’t drink it. Mon Dieu, how the hell did anyone know he would? He didn’t like that stuff. His was always the …’
‘Yes, yes, monsieur, but you had been offered a million francs and I have your signature to this statement as proof!’
‘I signed it under duress. You forced me!’
Schlacht had taken a bottle of cognac from his desk and had set out several glasses which he now filled, laughing as he did and downing one after another. ‘So, bitte, meine lieber Detektivs, will you join me?’ he asked, enjoying his little joke and causing Juliette to shudder as she turned at last to face them.
‘Of course,’ said St-Cyr, and taking two of the glasses, crossed the room to where the ones called Giselle and Oona sat tightly holding each other by the hand. ‘Relax,’ they heard him say gently. ‘I think we can settle this.’
Impulsively the one called Giselle leapt to her feet to kiss and hug him and let her tears spill down his cheek while the one called Oona smiled faintly and said, ‘Spain. It’s not possible for me, Jean-Louis. You know it and so do I.’
‘This murder,’ said St-Cyr, when the two had downed their cognac. ‘Always there has been the problem of its being intended and yet also accidental. Had de Bonnevies not panicked and thought you had done it, madame, he might well have recovered, had he taken only a sip and spat it out. But he downed a good sixty cubic centimetres, and the rest of what he did only speeded up his demise.
‘Mademoiselle Danielle, you were always a suspect. First with my partner, and then myself. You had continually left candles for Father Michel and yet had denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of this factory. You had, I think — and this is crucial — firmly believed for some time that your brother would return.’
‘Back in November of last year, Madame de Trouvelot asked to see me and revealed that she had paid for Étienne’s release but that it would, of necessity, take much time.’
‘Chérie …’
‘Maman, I couldn’t tell you. Madame de Trouvelot made me promise.’
‘You believed,’ said St-Cyr, ‘and Father Michel sensed this and also came to believe that the boy had, or would, return but that, for very good reasons, you hadn’t told your mother.’
‘Papa would have had him arrested. Everyone knew this. He made certain of it and I … I shuddered every time he yelled it at me.’
Oh-oh, thought Kohler, now it’s coming.
‘On Thursday, mademoiselle, you stated that you left at just after curfew, that your father was already at work, and that the bottle was not present.’
‘That is correct.’
‘What was he wearing?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Mademoiselle, you know exactly what I have asked and why.’
The sand, thought Kohler. The kid had realized it, too, or that something she’d done and forgotten about had come to light.
‘A flannel shirt. A waistcoat, jacket, scarf, beret and fingerless gloves. Old tweed trousers, two pairs of socks, the gumboots he used when working with the hives. A laboratory coat also.’
‘And what did he demand of you?’
‘He … he asked for a clean shirt. He … he said, “You know I have to do my rounds and that that woman is coming to see me this evening.”’
‘And your mother, mademoiselle, could she not have done this for him?’
‘She was asleep but would have silently refused as you well know, so why, please, do you ask?’
‘Just tell us, mademoiselle. Leave nothing out.’
Why could he not simply accuse her? wondered Danielle. Why must he insist on making her say it? ‘Though he knew I had to leave very early to get past the controls, my father was too filled with his own concerns and wouldn’t listen. I washed a dress shirt for him and hung it up but he said it wouldn’t dry and that I would have to light a fire in the stove and could use some of our old frames for this. Afterwards, as it was then about six, I … I hesitated to leave the city. One has always to be so very careful. I …’
‘You knew Frau Schlacht was coming that evening to collect the bottle she had yet to give him.’