The Châtelet Apprentice (15 page)

‘Monsieur, may I say very humbly that I do not deserve either your anger or your irony. I am truly sorry about what has just happened. I did not do it willingly or deliberately. The usher showed me in, saying that you were looking for me and had ordered that I should be sent in without delay. Dazed by my injury and almost fainting, I thought your study was empty, and
when I discovered that you were here with your visitor, I felt it inappropriate to show myself. I didn't know what to do.'

The Lieutenant General remained silent, displaying the laconic disposition that Parisians said could make the dumb talk and the most resolute tremble. Nicolas had never been subjected to it before, his master always having been until then talkative and courteous, even if occasionally brusque and impatient.

‘You are misinformed, Monsieur …'

Nicolas waited in vain for a reaction to his rejoinder.

‘I was not with whores, as you say. Yesterday my
investigation
into Commissioner Lardin's disappearance led me to a house of pleasure kept by a madam called La Paulet. I presume you know of the Dauphin Couronné. As I was leaving the establishment a cab attempted to run me over. I was knocked down on the cobblestones and lost consciousness. A girl helped me and took me to her room to dress my wound.'

Nicolas did not feel it necessary to expand and to dwell on details of the story that concerned only him.

‘This morning I came as quickly as possible to the Châtelet where I hoped to have the honour of speaking to you. As I climbed the grand staircase I was attacked once again by a hired ruffian, who threatened and wounded me, and who I have every reason to believe was Monsieur Mauval. This, Monsieur, is the explanation for the dishevelled and confused state I was in when I came into your room.

He was becoming increasingly excited and speaking more and more loudly. Sartine remained inscrutable.

‘This being the case, Monsieur, if I have had the misfortune of displeasing you, or if I no longer enjoy your trust, it only remains for me to return to where I came from. But before
doing so, there is something I wish to say to you. Without family or connections, and after being summarily dismissed from a modest position that suited me, I arrived in Paris without anyone to turn to. You gave me a kind welcome and took me into your service. I owe you a debt of gratitude. You placed me in Lardin's household in circumstances that would suggest even to a fool your desire to keep an eye on him. You entrusted me with an assignment that is in many ways extraordinary:
investigating
Lardin's disappearance. But what I was forced to hear just now has made one thing clear to me: you have not placed any trust in me or shared your ulterior motives with me. I know from what you have taught me that uncertainty is the hallmark of subordination, but you must understand that I was finding my way in the dark, without any information that could have helped me avoid certain pitfalls. Before taking my leave of you, Monsieur, it may be useful for me to give you a final report.'

The Lieutenant General still didn't react.

‘The commissioner had disappeared,' continued Nicolas, ‘and you gave me full powers to find him. What do we know as of now? On the day he disappeared Lardin was due to attend a rout at the Dauphin Couronné, at the same time as his friend Dr Semacgus. An argument took place between the commissioner and Descart, his wife's cousin. By investigating Descart we have also discovered an animosity between him and Semacgus – professional or some other jealousy. Descart disguises his presence at La Paulet's evening entertainment. Then comes old Émilie, the soup seller, whose horrifying story takes us to Montfaucon. The police visit to the knacker's yard is watched over by a mysterious horseman. The examination of human
remains found in the snow proves inconclusive. The corpse is unrecognisable, but Lardin's cane and doublet are found beside it. Our observations give us cause to doubt where the crime took place. In the doublet we found a fragment of a letter and a token from a brothel. These clues may have been snatched during the brawl with Lardin. I continue my investigation, catch La Paulet off her guard and find out that Camusot and Mauval have been blackmailing Lardin over heavy gambling debts. So, Lardin's investigation into Camusot was bound to come to an abrupt end. I discover that Lardin is a regular at the Dauphin Couronné, as is Descart, that he met his wife there when she was one of the “residents”, and that she is ruining him financially and is unfaithful to him: most notably she is the mistress of her cousin, Dr Descart. Finally it is confirmed that Lardin asked La Paulet to invite Descart to the evening event, in the course of which he disappeared. In addition I learn that Dr Semacgus did not spend the night with a girl from the brothel and that his black servant, Saint-Louis, has also disappeared. That, Monsieur, together with two assaults against the person of your representative, is the summary of the investigation I submit for your consideration. Today I discover that I was merely a tool for you: I did not know what I was looking for or what lead to follow. I dare to suppose that you have reasons of the greatest importance for treating me in this way. Monsieur, I take my leave of you, begging you to believe that I remain your very humble, obedient and grateful servant.'

Despite his emotion and the throbbing in his temples, Nicolas felt liberated by his speech. The vice gripping his chest was gradually released as these irrevocable words left his lips. What he experienced just then was not far off jubilation. However
accurate his summary may have been, he had left out certain details. He was not especially proud of the fact; this pettiness did not improve his opinion of himself, but having burnt his boats it was his way of getting his own back, his response to the humiliation he had suffered. He still felt an underlying anger at having been trifled with by a man he respected, who had entrusted him with a task into which he had put his heart and soul. It was all over, he could now let himself go. His future, his destiny, the next day, everything that had made up his life in Paris, none of it mattered at that moment.

He was preparing to leave the room when Monsieur de Sartine made a sudden, improbable gesture. He pulled off his wig and flung it onto the middle of his desk, then ran his hands nervously through his hair. He went towards the fireplace, poked the dying embers and then walked resolutely towards Nicolas, who was taken aback by the speed at which he moved and could not help stepping back a pace. The magistrate seized him by the shoulders and pulled him towards him. The inquisitive eyes stared at him long and hard. The young man withstood this examination without batting an eyelid. Then Sartine led him gently towards an armchair and forced him to sit down. He handed him a fine linen handkerchief.

‘Take this, Nicolas, and press it hard to your wound.'

He stepped aside and went to the door. Nicolas heard him speak to the usher.

‘Marie, old fellow, you have your flask, I assume … Yes, your flask. Stop pretending not to understand and give it to me.'

There were a few vague mutterings. The Lieutenant General came back in and handed Nicolas a small glass bottle that he was already familiar with.

‘Take a sip of this poison. It'll do you good. Old Marie imagines that I'm not aware of his habits.'

Nicolas felt he was going to burst out laughing. The result was that the alcohol went down the wrong way and made him choke. This produced unstoppable hiccups that set off the fit of laughter. Sartine appeared rather worried. He leant against his desk.

‘You can be quite insolent at times for a former notary's clerk who wishes to return to that occupation. What eloquence! What fiery passion! What talent! My compliments.'

Nicolas made as if to leave.

‘Come on. Don't be childish and listen to me. I didn't think, Monsieur, you could rise to the challenge of the assignment I'd given you. A tricky investigation indeed. You have made rapid and effective progress. I am not easily surprised but you have astonished me. Grey areas remain, however … It's true that with me keeping you in the dark you were unlikely to see the light. The secret purpose of all this … Oh! It's so delicate to put …'

Nicolas realised Sartine's feeling of awkwardness and shared it. To this unease was added his continuing fit of hiccups, only made worse by his attempts to control them. He was convulsed with such an infectious laughter that Sartine joined in. Nicolas had never seen him laugh and he noticed that this outburst made his superior look much younger. He remembered that there were only eight or nine years between them, and this fact reassured him. They became serious again. Sartine coughed, embarrassed at having let himself go in this way.

‘It was very wrong of me to underestimate you and to use you as if you were an automaton,' he said, regaining his
seriousness. ‘You have proved your worth. I shall forget about this misunderstanding …'

Nicolas thought that it was a bit rich for Sartine to talk of drawing a line under this ‘misunderstanding'. However, admitting he had been wrong made up for it and the ‘worth' he mentioned healed his many wounds.

‘I see that I must reveal my most secret thoughts to you. You already know many of them. Now listen.'

Nicolas would have listened to anything. Now completely in control of himself, Sartine continued:

‘I had given Lardin the task of investigating Camusot, whom my predecessor, Berryer, suspected of corruption in the Gaming Division. The aim was to clean up an Augean stable. It didn't take me long to realise that the commissioner was fobbing me off and that I no longer had control over him. Ranreuil recommended you to me. I placed you with Lardin and what you reported back to me, innocently or not, convinced me of his disloyalty. But there was worse to come.'

The seriousness of his words encouraged the Lieutenant General to put his wig back on.

‘At the end of August 1760 Lardin, together with Commissioner Chénon, was called upon in the course of his duties to affix the seals and make a record of the papers of the Comte d'Auléon, the former plenipotentiary in Saint Petersburg, who had just died. This is normal practice for all those who have taken part in State negotiations, and the order came from Monsieur de Choiseul. However, we know for sure that Lardin stole several documents, in particular letters in the King's own hand and in the Marquise de Pompadour's. A few days before he disappeared I sent for him. He threatened – I
repeat, threatened – to divulge these items to foreign powers if legal proceedings were taken against him. In the middle of a war, in circumstances that you are aware of …'

‘But, Monsieur, why did you not have him arrested and imprisoned?'

‘I did think about it, but it was a risk I could not take. So I, Gabriel de Sartine, Lieutenant General of Police, had to beg this miserable wretch, who has added treachery to the crime of
lese-majesty,
to attempt no such thing. I was unaware then of what you have now told me, that in addition to all these heinous crimes he had the vile habit of gambling. I imagined that these stolen papers served him just as a safeguard. We now fear that he may sell them for profit to anyone. Hence the importance of finding out whether Lardin really is dead and, if that is the case, what has become of those stolen letters.'

‘Camusot and Mauval must be arrested.'

‘Not so fast, Nicolas. That would mean losing any further trace of them for the sake of a foolhardy and pointless sense of satisfaction. You will learn that the protection of the State can sometimes take some very roundabout routes. In addition, Camusot has been with us for such a long time that he knows a great deal about a lot of people. There are risks that a servant of the King must avoid taking. That's not very moral, is it? But remember the words of Cardinal Richelieu: “He who finds his salvation as a private individual is damned as a public figure …”'

He stopped talking as if at the mere mention of his name the great cardinal's ghost would suddenly enter the room.

‘That is why,' he went on after a moment, ‘we need to find out with the utmost urgency whether Lardin is alive or dead.
Can you tell me for certain that the body found in Montfaucon is his? You seem unsure about this …'

‘The evidence is, indeed, incomplete,' Nicolas replied. ‘The only thing I am sure about is that the remains in question were taken from the scene of the crime to the knacker's yard and that …'

‘That does not satisfy me at all. In such circumstances it …' Monsieur de Sartine was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. It then opened and Inspector Bourdeau appeared, red with embarrassment. The Lieutenant General stood up straight, his eyes blazing with anger.

‘Well! Just bursting in like that! Monsieur Bourdeau, what do you mean by such behaviour?'

‘My sincere apologies, Monsieur. Only something very serious could warrant my interruption. I wanted to inform you and Monsieur Le Floch that yesterday evening Dr Descart was killed and everything points to Guillaume Semacgus being the murderer.' 

I
MPERVIOUS
to Monsieur de Sartine's obsessive pacing around the room and nervous pokes at the fire, Bourdeau began to recount his day. He seemed proud of the opportunity to address such an audience.

Charged by Nicolas with the task of finding Catherine after she had been thrown out of the house in Rue des
Blancs-Manteaux
, he had begun his investigation in that
neighbourhood
. Luck was on his side because a day labourer had come to pick up a bundle of old clothes that the cook had left with her landlady. Bourdeau had not been particularly surprised to discover that Catherine had taken refuge at Dr Semacgus's home. Armed with this precious piece of information, Bourdeau drove to Vaugirard but as he explained, somewhat to his embarrassment, he had stayed too long in a hostelry in the
faubourg
where, to warm himself up, he had had a meal of stewed rabbit accompanied by some table wine that was rather too young for his taste.

Monsieur de Sartine motioned to him to leave these details aside and get on with his report. Red with embarrassment, Bourdeau described how he had met up with Catherine who was full of praise for the kindness of her host – she said he ‘appreciated her cooking and had welcomed her with open arms'. Although the two cooks were both upset, one at having lost her job and her lodging, and the other, Awa, distraught at Saint-Louis's
disappearance
, they soon became close friends. Awa had been won over by Catherine's jovial ways. They even exchanged recipes and as soon as he'd arrived, Bourdeau had been called upon to judge the success of a poultry pie, a piping hot delicacy that gave off a combined aroma of truffles and nutmeg.

The Lieutenant General brought the inspector back to the point once more with a threatening nod of his wig. In short, Dr Semacgus hadn't been there and Bourdeau, who had wanted to speak to him about Catherine's situation, had waited for him for some of the afternoon. He'd taken advantage of the opportunity to get Catherine to talk and she was quite happy to do so.

According to her, she would have left her position in any case. Madame Lardin, whom she described in the most unflattering terms, had simply brought the crisis to a head. It was one thing for someone like Catherine, who'd been at the battle of Fontenoy with the Marshal of Saxony, to be treated like dirt but quite another for her to witness the depravity of a woman totally without morals. What Catherine loathed most of all was the way she treated her stepdaughter, sweet little Marie. For a long time the mutual affection between Catherine and the commissioner's daughter had prevented the cook from leaving her job, and Lardin, though curt with others, had not been so nasty to her.

In the course of the conversation Bourdeau eventually learnt that not only was Louise Lardin having an adulterous relationship with her cousin Descart and with Semacgus, but also that she had taken up with a sinister-looking womaniser who had been hanging around the house in Rue des
Blancs-Manteaux
since Lardin's disappearance.

On the stroke of six Semacgus had finally arrived, dishevelled and unable to speak coherently, surprising behaviour for a man who usually possessed such self-control. Eventually it emerged that Descart had just been murdered.

After consoling him, Bourdeau had begged Semacgus to pull himself together and give a detailed account of events.

The inspector told how Semacgus had received a folded note which had been slipped under his door, with a request from Descart for a meeting. He found the initiative unexpected coming from a man with whom relations were anything but good. However, the pressing tone of the note had convinced him that only a serious matter, perhaps one involving medicine, justified an invitation of this type. It was arranged for half past five. He had spent the day in Paris going about his business, then had taken a cab from the Jardin du Roi to return to Vaugirard in order to be on time for his appointment. He had arrived at Descart's early, at about five o'clock. Surprised to find all the doors open, the one to the garden as well as the front door of the house, he had felt his way inside; it was already dark and no lights had been lit. He had hardly reached the balcony overlooking the stairs and the main room when he had stumbled against something that at first he thought was a sack lying on the floor. It was in fact a lifeless body.

Panic-stricken by the turn of events, Semacgus had gone
down into the room and found a candle which, once lit, enabled him to recognise Descart's corpse. It had been stabbed with a lancet used for bleeding. He had stayed there for some time in a daze, then decided to go back to his house to alert the authorities.

Bourdeau had immediately sent for the watch, left Semacgus under guard and hurried to Descart's to confirm the doctor's death and carry out some initial investigations.

It was pitch dark inside the house, since even the candle stub Semacgus had lit had gone out long before. With some difficulty he had found a source of light and carried out a meticulous examination of the corpse that was lying on its side, stabbed near the heart with a lancet. The body was not yet stiff. The crimson face blotched with blackish marks wore an expression of intense surprise, accentuated by a gaping mouth, as if in his final moments the victim had tried to shout something out or say someone's name.

The ground was covered with wet footprints. Bourdeau had given the scene a quick inspection without noticing anything unusual, then had the body removed and taken to the
Basse-Geôle
, where these gentlemen would be able to see it.

As for Semacgus, Bourdeau had thought it best to have him temporarily imprisoned in a cell in the Châtelet. He was the only witness to the crime and, unfortunately for him, he was also the main suspect, given the stormy relations that everyone knew existed between the two doctors. Finally Bourdeau had left Vaugirard, but not before carefully closing the doors of the house, sealing the exits with sealing wafer and taking the keys with him.

A lengthy silence followed the inspector's account. Monsieur de Sartine had not stopped pacing around the room.
With a wave of the hand he indicated to Bourdeau his desire to be left alone with Nicolas.

‘Thank you, Monsieur Bourdeau. Leave us. I have some instruc-tions to give to your superior.'

Hearing this phrase gave Nicolas a pleasure he had difficulty disguising: it was for him the confirmation of his assignment.

‘With your permission, Monsieur, I have one small question for Bourdeau.'

Sartine nodded somewhat impatiently.

‘Was Semacgus covered in blood?'

‘Not a drop.'

‘Dr Descart was presumably covered in blood,' Nicolas remarked. ‘When Semacgus stumbled across the body his clothes should have become stained with blood, should they not?'

The inspector seemed taken aback.

‘Now you come to mention it,' he replied, ‘I realise that there was no blood anywhere. Neither on the body nor on the floor.'

‘Don't go away, we'll need to speak further. We'll go to see the body and question Semacgus.'

Bourdeau left the room but not before he'd cast an admiring glance at Nicolas. Sartine, who had been slightly annoyed by the episode, resumed speaking.

‘All this only complicates things further. Monsieur Le Floch, I firmly intend you to wrap up this case quickly. Don't waste precious time attempting to solve a matter that has no connection with our own. Act with speed, and I will give all the instructions necessary for no one and nothing to put a spoke in your wheel. The main thing, you understand, is the service of His Majesty and the security of the State. Lardin's fate is of no interest to me – it's
the risk of seeing the documents in question fall into the wrong hands that worries me. Do I make myself clear?'

‘Monsieur,' Nicolas replied softly, ‘I now know all the ramifications of the investigation you have been kind enough to entrust me with, but I have to say that all the incidents that have occurred, and the latest one is no exception, seem interrelated to me and all the threads of the plot may be traced back to a single cause. I cannot therefore neglect any lead. All those who to a greater or lesser extent were in contact with Lardin, and especially those who were with him that night in the Dauphin Couronné are liable to be mixed up in one way or another with the serious affair you have agreed to share with me.'

Sartine ignored the young man's remark and went on:

‘I must also warn you about something else, even if it goes against the innocent view I suspect you to have of our system of justice. I have been and remain a magistrate. So are you by delegation, thanks to the commission that makes you my plenipotentiary. We must comply with the laws of the State, especially since we proceed only by another delegation of powers, that of the King, the alpha and omega of all authority. We must use it honourably. A judge's power comes from the throne and the ermine on our robes is a symbolic reminder of the coronation cloak.'

He stroked the front of his coat with a self-important air, as if he were wearing his ceremonial gown at a judicial session at the palace.

‘In short, I am entitled to retain control over certain matters that involve the security of the State. As you can imagine, the case you are investigating is one of these. This is the price to be paid for the glory and security of the State, especially in a time of
war. Every day our soldiers are dying on the battlefield, and anyone with true feeling and affection for their country must shudder at the thought that the enemy might be in a position to jeopardise the reputation of His Majesty and those around him.'

He stared Nicolas straight in the eye and abandoned his solemn tone.

‘Everything must remain secret, Nicolas, shrouded in the deepest, most impenetrable secrecy. It is out of the question to stick to the normal rules of procedure that Monsieur de Noblecourt must only recently have taught you. I do not want a magistrate to be appointed for this investigation for the moment; we cannot trust anyone. We must be implacable. If need be, ask me for some
lettres de cachet
for the Bastille: security is tighter there than in our gaols crowded with the rabble, prostitutes and prisoners' families, who come and go without being checked. If you have corpses, then hide them. If you have investigations to make, cloak them in secrecy. You were right to consult with Monsieur Sanson; use him, he is as silent as the grave. If you apply secrecy to everything, this will lead you to the heart of the labyrinth. You are my plenipotentiary, above rules and the law, but do not forget that if you fail and jeopardise my power, my hand will no longer be there to protect you … You are your own master. You have my trust and support. Do your best and solve this case swiftly.'

Moved by the aura of grandeur surrounding the Lieutenant General, Nicolas bowed without saying a word. He was going towards the door when Sartine put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Nicolas, take care of yourself. Now you know whom you are dealing with. These blackguards are to be feared. Don't do anything foolish. We need you.'

Intrigued by all this commotion, old Marie bombarded Inspector Bourdeau with questions as he waited for Nicolas in the anteroom. The usher was very put out at not being told anything so he concentrated on his pipe, enveloping himself in an acrid cloud of smoke. He puffed away furiously, with rapid, hissing intakes of breath.

Nicolas wanted to take Bourdeau off to the Basse-Geôle to examine Dr Descart's body but the inspector objected that he, Nicolas, was in a sorry state; his wound had still not stopped bleeding, his clothes were torn, and in his present condition he could easily have another collapse. He needed to eat something and restore his strength. Bourdeau assumed that Nicolas had not had any food since their meal the previous evening.

Nicolas did indeed admit that nothing had passed his lips except a glass of ratafia at La Paulet's, a cup of coffee at Antoinette's and two sips of the usher's gut-rot; his stomach felt very empty.

Bourdeau first took Nicolas off to Rue de la Joaillerie to a dispensary run by one of his friends, whose main customers were the men of the watch when police operations turned rough and resulted in a few injuries. The physician cleaned up the head wound after Nicolas had given himself a quick wash. He dipped some lint into a dark, stinking ointment and smeared it on the wound, adding pompously that it was not any old quack remedy. The initial burning sensation immediately gave way to a sort of numbness that surprised the patient, who now had a strip of cloth wrapped round his head, tied so neatly that nothing showed beneath his tricorn. The cut on his side was examined and then
given similar treatment. The apothecary covered it with a piece of sticky taffeta.

‘That should do the trick,' he assured him, ‘and after a few days there will be nothing left to see.'

Nicolas did not appreciate the man's sneering reference to his wound as a ‘pinprick worthy of Damiens'. He disliked the fact that a crime of lese-majesty – a shudder ran through him at the thought of it – should be referred to in this derisive way.

As they were leaving the dispensary they came across Tirepot. He had not wandered far from the Châtelet and was patrolling the neighbouring streets as he waited for Nicolas to return. Bourdeau offered to take them to his usual tavern in Rue du Pied-de-Boeuf where they could get warm and restore their strength. The overcast sky gave off a thick, yellowish light that failed to penetrate the narrow, winding streets of the Grande Boucherie. Passers-by appeared, then disappeared like ghosts. All that was visible was the eerie spectacle of their greenish, expressionless faces. The sound of footsteps in the wet snow no longer suggested the sharp, joyful crackle of frost but the scrape of a pickaxe in damp sand, engaged in some foul task.