‘Of course, Professor. That is exactly it,’ said St-Cyr. ‘You did what you were supposed to do. Mademoiselle Arthaud was the cave artist and she had you right where she wanted you.’
Desperately Courtet looked to the Baron for help. ‘This is crazy. I did not kill that woman.’
‘My dear Eugene, no one has said you did,’ offered von Strade blandly.
Courtet clenched his fists in anger. ‘Apart from a postcard or two, and one visit, I had no further contact with that woman. I had what I wanted from her and needed nothing else she could possibly provide.’
‘YOU KILLED HER!’ shouted Danielle, causing them to turn as she and Hermann, with wrists bound tightly behind their backs, were brutally shoved into the cafe by Herr Oelmann and some others.
‘A grace a Dieu,’ began St-Cyr. ‘Mon vieux.…’
Herman wasn’t happy. He was furious. ‘She tried to kill me, Louis! A handaxe, damn it! She’s confessed to having been at the scenes of both crimes.’
‘I DIDN’T KILL EITHER OF THEM, DAMN YOU!’ she shrieked and tried to kick him. ‘I WAS THERE, YES! BUT … but I … I could not stop things from happening. I really couldn’t. Please, you must believe me. Willi … Willi, can’t you see I need a little? Just a little?’
She was distraught but best ignored for the moment. ‘And you, Professor?’ asked the Surete as she was thrust into a chair by two of the Sonderkommando and held down. ‘What have you to say now?’
‘I didn’t kill anyone. It’s preposterous of you to even think such a thing. I’m a professor of prehistory, a holder of the.…’
‘Professor, please,’ said St-Cyr. ‘Had I a free hand with which to caution you, I would. Two killings …?’
‘Each so vastly different, Louis.’
‘Ah yes, Hermann. Auger’s skull is crushed. There are no signs of the demented slashings, the experimental cuts, the disembowelling, but for a time there was the possibility of two assailants. The one to stalk, chase and make the kill, the other to leap out at the last minute so as to distract the quarry.’
‘Fillioux,’ hissed Danielle. ‘He did it!’
‘But he’s been dead for years, hasn’t he, Louis?’ said Kohler, straining at his handcuffs. ‘Toto Lemieux offered a faint possibility but.…’
‘There were last-minute touches, Hermann. Suggestions of daring, of defiance too, an attitude of catch-me-if-you-can.’
They were all looking at her now and through the tears she could not stop, their images were blurred. ‘What touches, please?’ managed Danielle.
Things must fall as they would, sighed St-Cyr inwardly. ‘The Professor is another suspect, yes, but he had no reason to kill the sous-facteur, mademoiselle. He did not even know Madame Fillioux had sent you the 10,000 francs her husband would need to make the final visit. But you knew. You could not let Monsieur Auger live and the Baron made certain you understood this.’
‘You did it all by your little lonesome,’ said Kohler, breathing in deeply, ‘and afterwards, on impulse perhaps and still high on cocaine, you cut the fishing-line and freed the worms from their prison.’
‘But had, beforehand, found only enough cocaine for one or two hits,’ said Louis. ‘Admit it, Baron. You had Mademoiselle Arthaud dancing on the end of your string.’
It was time for a sip of wine, for a cigar and the careful study of these two from Paris Central who were from so vastly different backgrounds yet got along so well. ‘What of that infernal nuisance, Inspectors? Our Madame Fillioux? Please don’t stint yourselves. Is our Danielle correct or did she commit that killing too?’
‘She was at the cave, Louis.’
‘Yes, but not, I think, in on the killing. You see, Professor, your former student had no fear of Henri-Georges Fillioux. As creator of the illusion, she could by then only wait to see what you would do. Certainly she had originally intended to kill Madame Fillioux – there was no other choice, was there, mademoiselle?’
‘He hated my father,’ spat Danielle. ‘He gloated over that trunk. He had everything now. It was all his at last!’
‘A grant of 5,000,000 francs, Professor,’ sighed Louis, ‘for which Herr Eisner, ever mindful of Herr Himmler’s desires, exacted but one thing in return.’
‘A film,’ breathed Kohler. ‘A swastika at the very start of prehistory even though it was perhaps most professionally doubtful. Cave paintings like no others.’
‘Madame Fillioux did not run,’ said Louis. ‘She knew you from your former visit and from the past, Professor. Admit it, you were afraid to deal with her but once you had the trunk, you took a chance. She paused, she realized that Henri-Georges was not coming, and then she strode out into that little glade to tell you exactly what she was going to do.’
‘Destroy you,’ said Kohler. ‘Admit it.’
Moisture filled Courtet’s eyes. Perhaps the Baron would intervene. ‘For years the location of that cave eluded me. The Dordogne is full of caves and that woman would never tell anyone exactiy where it was. There were the casual visitors she objected to, but never once did she disclose the location. We at the Museum of Culture and the University all thought the cave was near this village and she let us think that until she got what she wanted from us. I … I couldn’t believe Henri-Georges had missed seeing such things yet … yet I was certain he had.’
‘You were a fool!’ hissed Danielle, struggling to lean forward. ‘Even after all those years you were still so eager to get the better of him. I saw it in your lousy lectures, in your conceit. I had no trouble sucking you in. None. Just like a prostitute with her client, Professor, I finished you off in about ten seconds!’
‘Ah damn you,’ swore Courtet. ‘Damn you for doing this to me.’
‘YOU DID IT!’ she shouted. ‘YOU KILLED HER!’
Not a flicker of emotion registered in the faces of Oelmann and the others. ‘You got caught up in the butchering,’ sighed Kohler. ‘You believed Fillioux was alive and that he and his wife had tricked you. You couldn’t let her expose you to ridicule and failure, Professor. Not with the Occupier so keen on the film and Herr Himmler and Dr Goebbels lurking in the background.’
‘You experimented,’ said St-Cyr sadly. ‘You tried to show Fillioux that you, too, could butcher an animal and you knew that others would believe he had betrayed his wife and that the couple must have fought.’
‘The flask, Louis.’
‘Another touch of daring you left for us, Mademoiselle Arthaud. You planned to kill her if the Professor didn’t but … ah but he did. The illusion you had created had taken the turn you wanted most and there, suddenly, it was done. Why, she did not even scream or try to run away.’
‘Why, please, the illusion?’ asked Danielle, defiantly throwing back her shoulders.
‘Why, indeed.’
‘The houses in Paris and in Monfort-l’Amaury, Louis.’
‘And their furnishings. Your grandparents, mademoiselle, they had disinherited you long ago but did they not perhaps make out a new will or say they were going to? Please, for such an illusion, such careful planning, artistry and skill, there has to be a deeper reason than merely your hatred of the Professor or desire to further your film career.’
‘I have nothing further to say.’
‘And the Baroness?’ asked von Strade, raising his glass in a farewell toast perhaps.
‘Very well, Baron,’ said the Surete. ‘Please ask her to join us.’
‘That’s not possible. We must finish the shooting here. She’s distracted enough as it is.’
‘And lonely, Baron,’ he asked. ‘A lover lost is always a distraction particularly if he posed the threat of saying too much and had to be removed. They made love in that second chamber but afterwards I am very afraid the Baroness did something for you she must now regret. I did not hear him fall down one of those shafts in the floor, Baron, since I had left the cave after her last orgasm.’