Mejun erupted into the room, panic-stricken.
The police are coming! You have to leave at once!’
‘Investigators fleeing the police?’ asked Jean-Quenin, astonished. Margont was already dragging him by the arm towards the door. ‘Oh, that’s not the only paradox about this case, I can assure you...'
CHAPTER 5
THEY escaped by the back door and hurried away, plunging into the side streets to avoid the crowds, and talking in low voices. They did not want to be taken for royalist or republican plotters, or partisans of the Allies ... Jean-Quenin left them, after insisting that they call on him again should the need arise.
Margont was having difficulty gathering his thoughts. Ideas were jumbled in his head, refusing to come together to form a coherent theory.
‘We have to separate what the murderer wanted us to find from what he wanted to hide. He didn’t want us to know the real reasons for his burning his victim. And what are we to make of the royalist emblem and those documents that were taken? Are they red herrings and the burns the real clue? Or the opposite? Or perhaps they’re all linked? We’re left with two leads: the royalist emblem, and the fire.’
‘I find both of them rather worrying,’ commented Lefine.
‘Who is supposed to react to the symbol? And the burns?’
‘We are! We’re the ones trapped in this investigation!’
‘Yes, but apart from us?’
Margont had been a bit slow in grasping what Lefine had meant. ‘Fernand, I’m sorry to involve you once again in a complicated case, but I absolutely depend on you.’
‘That’s all right then. I knew that, but it’s always good to hear it said. You can count on me! What use are friends if they don’t help each other out? But if my services are effectively helping the defence of Paris - that’s what all this seems to be about - I would very much like to be properly rewarded.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I want to be restored to the rank of sergeant-major!’
It was a long story. Throughout the last years, losses had been so heavy that veterans, as distinct from the masses of inexperienced conscripts, had benefited from numerous promotions. Since 1812, Margont had gone from captain to lieutenant-colonel, Piquebois from lieutenant to captain, Saber from lieutenant to colonel. Only
Jean-Quenin Brémond and Lefine had kept their ranks. In the medical officer’s case it was a reflection of the lack of respect accorded to the health services of the army. Priority and favours went to combatants. But as for Lefine, he had only himself to blame for his lack of promotion. In 1813 he had effectively been promoted to sergeant-major and the need for officers was so great that he was about to become no less than second lieutenant... when his major discovered that he was involved in a fraud.
He would present a requisition order for provisions for ten soldiers to a farmer or merchant. But afterwards he would falsify the document, and the requisitioner, who was in cahoots with him, would have him reimbursed by the army for an amount corresponding to food for twenty men. The practice was common. And besides, since the disaster in Russia, the soldiers were practically never paid! In fact, Lefine, like tens of thousands of other soldiers, was sliding gradually into poverty and he had used the money he had diverted in that way to feed and clothe himself. However, the major wanted to have him shot to make an example of him! The
affair rapidly became confused. There was abundant proof of his guilt, but because he was facing a death sentence, Lefine maintained that he was innocent. As he had nothing more to lose he used all his devious talents, lying with such aplomb that the elite police, called in by the court martial, were completely taken in. The police were not in a hurry to convict Lefine since they did not understand why a man should be executed for so little, especially at a time when each soldier counted. Margont, Saber and Piquebois, of course, became involved and their respective ranks carried a lot of weight. But the major persisted, relaunching a trial that would have succeeded had it not been interrupted. Inadvertently, Saber had the last word by being transferred against his will to the National Guard and taking his friends with him. Lefine was the only one to dance with joy on hearing the news. However, the affair robbed him of the rank of sergeant-major and raised the prospect of him remaining sergeant ad vitam aeternum.
‘I was the victim of a regrettable judicial error—’ he began.
‘All right! Don’t bring up that business again. I promise you that if
I succeed, I will not forget to ask Joseph personally for a promotion for you.’
Thank you! So what do we do now?’
‘We go and look together at the documents Joseph gave me. Then I will keep the ones I need and you will take the ones from the police and go and find an inn where you will live during this investigation. You’re supposed to be poor, like me, so don’t go and set yourself up in one of the best addresses in Paris at Joseph’s expense. The lodgings they’ve found me are in Faubourg Saint-Marcel at 9 Rue du Pique. I would like you to be nearby. This evening I’ll go and meet Charles de Varencourt, whom I mentioned to you. I’m very suspicious of him. I’ll tell you where and when I’m meeting him. You will also be there and you will spy on us from a distance without getting yourself noticed. You won’t be able to overhear our conversation, but you should observe his expressions and gestures. Tell me later what you think of him. Also, try to spot if anyone is watching us. Maybe the Swords of the King suspect something and are having him followed, or maybe
Varencourt will have had the same idea as I and will come with an accomplice ... Afterwards you should follow him and then meet me at Pont d’lena, where you can report back to me.’
‘Now that you’re mingling with people who see plots everywhere, suddenly you’ve begun to think the same way!’
CHAPTER 6
MARGONT went to Palais-Royal, a district full of restaurants, cafes, sweet shops, gambling houses, moneylenders, theatres and perfumeries. Prostitutes propositioned passers-by under the arcades, trying to drag them up to the lofts above.
In Chez Camille, wine, beer, cider, tea, coffee and waffles were served. You could also ask an errand boy to fetch you a bavaroise from the famous Cafe Corraza; that way you could enjoy it at ease, since it was always packed over there. Margont, ensconced at a table, simultaneously skimmed Le Moniteurand Le Journal de Paris. He hoped to flush out fragments of truth by comparing the two papers. Alas, the first lied because it was the mouthpiece of the Empire, whilst the latter dared not say anything because it was not. Every time irritation gripped Margont, he gulped a mouthful of coffee. How did they dare to print such things? He imagined the progression of the words, which started out revealing the truth, then submitted to the censorship of the editor, the cuts and
rewritings imposed by the owner of the newspaper, and those demanded by the censors and the Ministry of Civilian Police. He imagined lines being crossed out, hands tearing up entire pages, phrases being reworked to produce a text that was a shadow of its original self, with no subtlety, a Manichaean narrative. More passages crossed out. French losses melting away on the paper; Russians and Prussians perishing by the thousand under the pen blows of propaganda. Everything was fine! Better and better, in fact!
‘Yet I’m not allowed to launch my newspaper!’ muttered Margont. But, of course, his determination to tell the truth would never get past the censors, and what sort of paper would that have made?