‘Especially since he voluntarily gave up his title,’ mused Sir Seaton. From his mouth now issued alarming quantities of dark smoke as he fired up his old pipe. ‘I am still curious as to why he moved his base from London to Paris. He was even rumoured to have been seen recently in Berlin. It is as if he were fascinated by our friend Herr Hitler. This is not the first time he and that gentleman have been linked, in various incarnations across the multiverse.’
‘Perhaps he agrees with Hitler’s ideas?’ ventured Lapointe. But Begg shook his head.
‘They are scarcely ‘ideas’. They are the opinions of a beerhall braggart of the kind commonly found throughout the world. They emerge to fill a vacuum. They might appeal to an uneducated and unemployed labourer, a dispossessed shopkeeper or some disenchanted professional soldier like Röhm – even some brainless and inbred titled fool. But Zenith is none of those things. Indeed, he is both well educated and of superior intelligence. His only weakness is his thirst for danger, for the thrill which fills the veins with pounding blood and which takes one’s mind off the dullness of the day-to-day.’ It was as if Begg knew exactly what moved his old adversary. The expression on Dr Sinclair’s face suggested that he thought the metatemporal investigator’s remark might well have been a self-description. ‘And he would only ally himself with such a creature if it somehow suited his own schemes. Years ago, after he was rescued from secret police head-quarters in Belgrade, where he had been imprisoned and tortured for his resistance to the dictator, he gave me his solemn promise that he was renouncing his old ways and from then on would only steal from the thieves, as it were, and contribute most of his gains to excellent causes, some of which would founder completely if he didn’t help. And the Polish military will tell you how he equipped that electric tank division from his own funds!’
‘So you think he is planning a job in Paris?’ asked the commissioner. He allowed a small smile to flicker across his face. ‘After all, we are not short of the undeserving rich…’
‘Perhaps. Or he could be diverting himself here while all the time what he is doing at night is the important thing. Eh?’ From under his lowering, sardonic brow. Sir Seaton returned Lapointe’s smile. ‘Might he be making himself so public that all our attention is drawn to his flaneurism and we ignore his true activities?’
‘What do you suggest? We need to know details of Hitler’s plans soon, Sir Seaton. We must anticipate and counter whatever terror the Nazi insurgents intend to unleash.’
‘Naturally you must. What else can you tell me?’
‘Only that the adventuress Mrs Una Persson recently took rooms above the Arcades, shortly after I contacted you. For the last three days she has been seen in the gardens walking her two cats, a grey and a black Oriental shorthair. She is a known associate of Monsieur Zenith, is she not?’
‘Of him and others,’ agreed Begg, his eyes narrowing in an expression of reminisence. ‘And does she have a female companion, perhaps? A Miss Cornelius?’
‘Not as far as we know.’
Sinclair seemed surprised. His eyes darted from Lapointe to Begg and then to Bardot, who shrugged.
‘Mrs Persson has been seen talking to Zenith,’ Bardot offered. ‘Yesterday she had lunch with him at L’Albertine. We had a lip reader eating at a nearby table. Zenith mentioned Hitler and Rohm. He might have spoken of an explosive charge in Paris. Unfortunately we did not learn where. She said that she had investigated a site where a bomb would create the most damage. So certain of those among our superiors are now convinced they are working together for the Nazi insurgents.’
Lapointe interrupted rapidly. ‘Of course, I find that impossible to believe.’ He shrugged. ‘But I have, as we all have, certain bosses, owing their jobs more to their connections than to their native abilities, who insist on believing Zenith and Mrs Persson are in league with Hitler and his underground army. It could be, perhaps, that they are both working for themselves and that they have plans which Hitler’s activities will facilitate. My guess is that some treasure is involved, for it is not Zenith’s habit to dabble in civilian politics. At least, as far as I know. Not so, of course, Mrs Persson. Is there some way you could find out any more. Sir Seaton? Something I could take to my superiors which will let me get on with the real business Zenith has in Paris? Whatever that may be.’
Sir Seaton finished his café crème, smiling out at a group of little boys and girls running with fixed attention towards the pleasure of the carousel.
‘I could ask him,’ he said.
THE SECOND CHAPTER: A CONVERSATION AT L’ALBERTINE
Inevitably, Seaton Begg met his albino cousin close to the noon hour in the Arcades de L’Opéra where eight galleries branched off a central court, containing a paved piazza and an elaborate fountain. He appeared almost by magic, smiling courteously and lifting his hat in greeting. Impeccably well-mannered, Zenith, of course, was incapable of ignoring him.
‘Bonjour, cher cousin!’ The albino raised his own tall grey hat. ‘What a great pleasure to come upon you like this! We have a great deal to talk about since our last meeting. Perhaps you would be good enough to take a cup of coffee with me at L’Albertine?’
After they had dispensed with their hats and ordered, Count Zenith leaned back in his chair and moved his ebony cane in an elegant, economic gesture in the direction of a beautiful young woman wearing a long, military-style black coat, and with a helmet of raven-black hair, walking two cats, one a grey Oriental, the other a black, in the sunny gardens at the centre of the arcades. He gave no indication that he was already acquainted with the woman who was, of course, Mrs Una Persson, the famous European adventuress. ‘Has anyone, I wonder, ever really tried to imagine what it must be like to have the mind of a beast, even a domesticated beast like one of those exquisite cats? I think to enter such a brain, however small, would be utterly to go mad, don’t you, Sir Seaton?’
‘Quite.’ The Englishman smiled up at a pretty waitress (for which L’Albertine in the morning was famous) and thanked her as she laid out the coffee things. ‘I have heard of certain experiments, in which a beast’s brain has been exchanged with that of a human being, but I don’t believe they have ever been successful. Though,’ and in this he was far more direct than was his usual habit, ‘some say that Adolf Hitler, the deposed Chancellor of Germany, had succeeded and that he did indeed go quite mad as a result. Certainly his insolent folly at attacking three great empires at once would indicate the theory has some substance!’
Only by the slight movement of an eyebrow did Zenith indicate his surprise at Begg’s raising this subject. He said nothing for a moment before murmuring something about the Russo-Polish empire being already at the point of collapse. His own Romanian seat remained part of that sphere of influence, as Begg knew, and the fact was considered a source of some distress to the albino.