The monkey, flitting back and forth on its bit of chain, eyed its former master with guilt, suspicion and outright anxiety.
‘What scheme?’ asked Audit.
‘Don’t say anything more, Charles. Let St-Cyr pull all the teeth he wants.’
Rejean had been tough, so tough. One should adopt a tired attitude with these two. ‘A scheme of revenge, my old ones. Revenge so deep and sinister, I myself find it hard to accept, but then, after more than thirty years of crime, very little surprises me.’
Kohler sucked in a breath. Louis had used the familiar ‘my old ones’. He’d got to know them better and damned if he hadn’t let them know it!
‘Clement,’ said St-Cyr, ‘could I ask you to stand by this morning to operate the controls if necessary? Let us show these two a real artiste, eh?’
Cueillard was too smart to be margarined, but knew what was wanted.
‘The turtle and the pig, Inspector. The rabbit and the panda, and the black stallion in the fourth row, that one most of all.’
The monkey stared viciously at its former master, who stared emptily back at it.
‘Louis, what the hell’s Cueillard on about? Black stallions, pigs, turtles?’
‘My nightmares, Hermann. The ups and downs. I only hope they don’t come true.’
‘You’ve heard it then,’ sighed Kohler. Moving swiftly, he shoved Charles Audit and Rejean Tourmel out on to the platform and handcuffed them to one of the brass standards.
The throb of engines grew – a race! ‘Lafont, Louis, and Brandl!’
‘The first of many perhaps,’ snorted Rejean.
‘At least let us help you,’ urged Charles Audit. ‘With the four of us, you might stand a chance. They are no friends of ours.’
Headlamps flung their lights over the darkened carousel and, as a sliver of illumination pierced the inner darkness, it touched the monkey’s cup.
‘Louis, go left. Let them come to me.’
‘Hermann, no! Cueillard, my friend, be ready at the moment’s notice, eh? The roundel lights, the music, the works.’
No sound betrayed the detectives’ sudden disappearance. One moment they were there beside him, the next they were gone, ‘Joujou …’ began Cueillard, nervously wetting his throat. ‘Joujou, we must stay at the controls as ordered.’
A woman screamed in terror, the shrieks lifting the hair and causing the monkey to tug at its chain.
One by one, each pair of headlamps went out, and where once the stallions’ eyes had been bright and flashing in the dusky light, now there was not even the silhouette of the animals poised suspended in their charge.
Kohler crept among them anyway. The rain came down, thrumming on the canvas roof, reminding him that this whole affair had begun with rain. Paris in winter. The merry-go-round of it. They’d be over by the entrance now. Would Lafont have the Schmeisser with him?
‘Hey, Louis, don’t play games, eh?’ shouted Bonny. ‘Just give up the coins and we’ll let the girls go.’
A muffled answer came from off to Kohler’s left. ‘Pierre, you were never one to be trusted. Why should we do so now?’
‘Brandl’s here.’
‘Did he bring the Captain Offenheimer?’ asked Louis.
‘Hey, what is this, eh? You hold no cards, my friend. Nothing!’ shouted Bonny.
‘Me, I know who did the killings and I know where the coins are hidden.’
‘THEN GIVE THEM TO HIM!’ shrieked Gabrielle Arcuri. ‘Jean-Louis, please, I beg it of you. This bitch has a straight razor. She is going to slash my face!’
Nicole de Rainvelle. Ah Mon Dieu …
A burst of firing cut the air, sending shrieks and cries from the prisoners.
Droplets immediately began to fall from the holes in the roof. The smell of cordite mingled with the dampness as St-Cyr got cautiously up from behind one of the gondola cars. ‘Hermann … Hermann, it is -’
‘LOUIS, GET DOWN!’
The Schmeisser fired, the splinters flew. Charles Audit cried out in anger, ‘YOU BASTARDS … BASTARDS … MY CAROUSEL! My carousel …’
Again the place went to silence. Not a thing moved but the patient droplets of rain. St-Cyr could hear them as they hit the turtle’s head. Hermann would hear them too.
Out of the silence came the quavering voice of Otto Brandl. ‘I have the Van der Lynn woman, Hermann, and the concierge from the Hotel of the Silent Life. You should not have left them at the Villa Audit!’
‘YOU HOLD NO CARDS!’ shrilled Lafont, firing rapidly – three bursts … three. More rain, more shrieks! The tortured wailing of Madame Minou, and then:
‘Jean-Louis … Jean-Louis, please tell them,’ pleaded Gabrielle Arcuri. ‘I think I love you, Jean-Louis. I will die gladly, but … but there are others. The hostages also.’
‘Inspector, don’t!’ shouted Rejean Tourmel. ‘Lafont will only kill you.’
‘Yourselves included,’ snapped Pierre Bonny.
More silence, but this was broken by the weeping of Hermann’s little pigeon.
Lafont, Bonny and their hostages would be off to the left of the entrance; Brandl and the other two well off to the right.
The falsetto voice of Henri Lafont rang out. ‘Your guns, Louis. Hurry, hurry, eh? Toss them out and raise the hands. Up! Up! or me, I will chew this place to pieces!’
‘Don’t do it, Inspector,’ shouted Charles Audit. ‘Without the gold and the emeralds that one has nothing.’
‘But we have four murders, monsieur,’ began St-Cyr. ‘Surely their solution is worth more than all your hidden wealth?’
Again there was a pause, and then: ‘Clement, my friend, are you still at the controls?’ hazarded St-Cyr.
Terrified, the monkey raced to freedom, dragging its chain and banging its cup.
‘Clement Cueillard! I have asked you to do your duty!’ shouted St-Cyr tremulously.
From deep inside the workings came the voice of bitterness. ‘Is it that you think I am dead also, eh? You shits, messieurs. You call yourselves detectives! Are you not paid to protect the innocent?’
Ah merde! ‘Just start it up,’ sighed St-Cyr. ‘Let us not have the general strike at a time like this. The lights, eh? and the action.’ Mon Dieu, Paris … Paris these days!
‘For your sake, I hope that one has not shot everything to pieces, Inspector!’ came the cry.
A tragedy, eh? Ah Nom de Jesus-Christ!
The thing began to turn, slowly at first and then with gathering momentum. Punctured, the calliope could offer but reedy wheezings of ‘The Blue Danube’. The roundel lights came on, broken here and there, and in that moment St-Cyr stepped from behind the cage, blinking as he took it all in.
Hermann’s little pigeon had been flung to the earthen floor. Nicole de Rainvelle held a straight razor to Gabrielle’s cheek …
‘Hermann, don’t move!’ he hissed. ‘Please, my old one. I beg it of you. Nothing, eh? Not even a breath. Just leave things in my hands.’
Reluctantly Kohler moved away from Otto Brandl. Madame Van der Lynn ran a trembling hand through her hair; Madame Minou could not find the will to lift her eyes.
There was no sign of Captain Offenheimer and in that moment St-Cyr and Kohler knew Brandl had silenced him for ever.
Kohler tossed his pistol into the gathering mud and went to wrap his overcoat about Giselle le Roy and to brush a tender hand across her battered cheeks.
‘Now yours, Jean-Louis,’ said Lafont, motioning with the Schmeisser.
The carousel went round and round, oblivious to all that was happening. St-Cyr hesitated. Pierre Bonny lifted his pistol to point it at Gabrielle Arcuri’s chest.
Nicole de Rainvelle flicked her lovely eyes over the Surete’s gumshoe and waited tensely for the one movement that would allow her to slash the chanteuse’s beautiful face to pieces.