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She tossed a hand. Another cigarette was found and lit, her head tilted well back as she drew in and blew smoke towards the ceiling. ‘Just how certain are you that girl was a virgin?'

‘Let's be brutal about it, eh? Is that it?'

‘Yes, that's it!'

‘Reasonably.'

‘Pardon?
Reasonably
? Surely the coroner's report would have spelled it out for you, Inspector? Did you not look for God's sake? Ah, you
did
, eh?'

‘Yes, we did. At least, someone did.'

The cigarette was crushed into the ashtray with a brittleness that surprised. ‘Then she held out the offer of it to my husband, monsieur, and he's an even bigger fool than I have given him credit for!'

At dusk the yellowish hue of the limestone deepened and the walnut mill with its turning water-wheel exuded that quiet sense of timelessness for which Périgord was justly famous.

St-Cyr drew on his pipe. There was a small wooden bridge across a turning of the flume and he'd chosen this as his point of observation. The boy had led the pigs away. There'd been other hunters working designated parts of the region, but they'd long since left. Even the truffles had gone off in the truck to Sarlat to be made into pâtés, sorted, shipped to Paris, Berlin and elsewhere. One day's haul had more than equalled a Sûreté detective's annual stipend. So much for making money by solving crime!

Something had happened at the mill. The girl who tended the geese had come out only to be told sharply to disappear. Now, again, she timidly approached Audit. They talked in earnest, the girl broke into tears. An angry word was said. They looked his way.

He drew on the pipe and waited. Antoine Audit had lived up to his every expectation. The man was wily, exceedingly shrewd and, at times, ruthless. Ah yes, my old one, he said. Witness the killing of that rabbit and how the glint of triumph and greed came into your eyes on seeing its struggles and hearing its last high-pitched screams.

The wire had been tight around a hind leg – not new wire, ah no, nothing like that, but very finely braided, very flexible steel. Quite unlike – and he must remember this – quite
unlike
the wire that had garrotted Christabelle Audit.

The boy had found a suitable stick, then he, too, had watched with rapt attention the rapid strangulation, the deftness, the flinging of the little corpse to the ground on release of the wire. The patient resetting of the snare. The lack of comment as if the whole thing had been as nothing.

At a shout, he crossed the bridge, but took his time so as to cause impatience.

Audit and the girl led him to the barn and up into the loft. The girl handed her employer the lantern and Audit hung it from one of the beams. ‘That friend of yours,' he began.

‘My partner, yes.'

‘He had no right to search this place or to question my wife.'

St-Cyr lifted a tired hand of apology. The girl stepped aside, the lantern-light burnishing the swollen welt on her cheek. Ah now, Hermann, what has happened here?

‘It's magnificent,' he said of the coin cabinet. ‘French Empire, monsieur, but why have you put it away like this? A priceless antique …?'

Why indeed. ‘Out of sight is out of mind, Inspector. Ah, you know the Germans. Questions, always questions.' Audit gave a shrug. ‘Sometimes our friends are hard of hearing. Jeanine, you may leave us now.'

‘But – ' began the girl.

‘I said
go
, Jeanine. I will be staying at the château tonight. The Inspector – I must walk back with him. I've things to do, eh? Don't provoke me at a time like this.'

A last glimpse of her climbing down the ladder revealed the desperate uncertainty of a young girl in trouble. St-Cyr glanced questioningly at Audit, who gave a shrug of You know how it is, eh? but said nothing further on the matter.

The silverwork was exquisite. The cabinet, while it had all the elements of the First Empire Period, had very strong ones of Art Nouveau.

‘The action of the drawers is superb,' he said, running his fingers lightly over them. ‘When exactly did you first begin the collection?'

Audit silently cursed the Sûreté for its meddling parasites, but there'd been no sense in hiding the cabinet from him, since the other one had found it and they'd be certain to talk.

‘In 1930, Inspector. As the Depression came on, good pieces began to appear. Coins that had been kept for years. I bought wisely, always choosing perfection and rarity above all else. Ah, it's like anything else, is it not? Once the collecting bug is acquired, one strives to do the best one can.'

‘Four hundred and eighty-seven coins, all of them gold and Roman. That's pretty good for being “best”.'

‘I planned to donate them to the Louvre on my death – purely for tax purposes, you understand.'

Ah but of course, the Louvre … ‘Who built the cabinet?'

‘I've no idea. There is a mark, but that's of Percier, the designer.'

First Empire then, under Napoleon. The Louvre, the Tuileries … so much of the interior designing of those days had been Percier's. ‘Might I see it, please?'

‘It's on the bottom. We would have to tip the cabinet over, Inspector. Is that really necessary?'

The cabinet was heavy and the mark, a signet brand, was hidden well underneath the thing. ‘Percier,' grunted St-Cyr. ‘Yes … yes, it is as you've said, monsieur. Perfect in every way. Mahogany like this is simply not seen any more. When they did things in those days, they did them right.'

Audit was not impressed.

The
poularde cuite à la vapeur d'un pot-au-feu
was so excellent it momentarily overcame the pangs of worry. A steamed chicken beneath whose tender skin had been inserted thin slices of the
vraie truffe
!

St-Cyr waved an appreciative fork. It would be best to keep Madame Van der Lynn's mind on other things in any case. ‘The
pot-au-feu
is first cooked for three hours, madame. Then the prepared chicken is hermetically sealed in its earthenware vessel to steam in the vapours of the boiled beef and vegetables. Served with a cream sauce such as this, it is more than a poor man can bear.'

‘Or stomach,' snorted Kohler. ‘Give me the cabbage and sausage, with a side order of borsch and a beer!'

‘Hermann, please! Madame Van der Lynn is our guest and in need of softly spoken words.'

Kohler hacked off a chunk of the chicken mush. ‘No business?' he demanded antagonistically.

‘None,' admonished the Sûreté. ‘Not until we have finished our repast and found our way back to the manor house for the night.'

He'd say it darkly. ‘The coins were only the tip of the iceberg, Louis.'

‘Hermann, I know that.'

‘Anyone could see it,' offered Madame Van der Lynn. ‘A Big One. A
really
big one, isn't that what your friend Pierre Bonny called it?'

‘He's not my friend. He never was.'

‘Nor mine, Inspector. He helped to murder my husband.'

‘Oona, eat your supper. Louis is just being bitchy. He's worried, eh, Louis?'

The Auberge of the Wandering Goose was full of Germans, some in uniform, some not. Fellow travellers and carpet-baggers just passing through the quaint, medieval town of Sarlat. French businessmen, the local priest et cetera. Quite obviously the district Kommandant was a regular also; so, too, its garrison's commander and three striking women – wives of absent soldiers? wondered St-Cyr, thinking momentarily of the horse butcher's wife and the young priest, Father David.

‘There are so many aspects to this case, Hermann.'

Had it been said in lieu of an apology? Oona Van der Lynn helped herself to some of Hermann Kohler's chicken. He added a few more vegetables to her plate. ‘Let's not go back to Paris,' she said. ‘Let's go south and stay there.' A hope.

‘Provence,' grumbled St-Cyr. ‘A small farm …'

Kohler sucked on a tooth. ‘Saint-Raphaël, Louis, and a certain villa.'

‘Ah yes, Michèle-Louise Prévost, the runaway wife with her perfumer lover, Gerald Kahn.'

‘The father of Christabelle Audit – is that not correct?' asked Madame Van der Lynn.

The sky-blue eyes and blonde hair suited the plain silk dress that had been borrowed from a closet in the manor house. Madame Audit would not mind. Indeed, she'd probably not even notice if the dress simply vanished. ‘The father, yes, or so we've been told,' acknowledged St-Cyr politely.

‘What's that supposed to mean?' asked Kohler.

‘That one tells others what one wishes them to hear, Hermann. A “fast” woman, eh? Wild, an artist, a sculptress, a forger, but … ah,' he chose a chunk of carrot, ‘not a forger of coins because, my old one, those were acquired
after
her death, yet the cabinet was acquired beforehand.'

‘She didn't make it, did she?'

‘My apologies, my fine Bavarian friend. Please, I have completely spoiled your dinner.'

Kohler shoved his plate aside. ‘You know I can't eat because of Giselle, Louis. Give.'

‘With pleasure, but first let us sample the cheeses and the pears with cherry brandy, or would you prefer to have them with the chocolate sauce?'

‘There are some paintings of hers in a closet, and some pieces of sculpture in the cellar,' confided Madame Van der Lynn. ‘I do not think Monsieur Audit could bring himself to throw them away, nor could he dispose of the cabinet.'

‘You're not to be trusted to mind your own business,' breathed Kohler, ‘but thanks for the help.'

‘Madame, if you will permit me the intrusion at this late hour, a few small questions.'

He'd come alone, this one from the Sûreté. ‘Will you join me in a
digestif
?'

‘But of course. Gladly. Some of the blackberry cordial, I think, or perhaps a little of the choke-cherry? So many, such variety, such beautiful colours … One wishes one could try them all.'

‘My husband uses everything, Inspector, or hadn't you noticed?'

The girl with the geese. ‘A delightful man. A man of the soil, madame. The salt of the earth.'

Touché.
He was more likeable, this one, therefore infinitely more dangerous. ‘What sort of questions?'

‘Oh nothing much. The robbery …' St-Cyr accepted the liqueur she had poured without spilling a drop. ‘I believe you were at home here, in the manor house.'

Some three kilometres by road from the château and the night so dark. He hadn't driven but had walked in from the turn-off. ‘Yes … yes, I was here with my sons, the cook and housekeeper. None of us knew what would happen to France. We all lived in fear. Antoine … Antoine was called to Paris. A contract with the Ministry of Defence. The silk, I think.'

As with Hermann, Madame Audit had agreed to see him in the library. It wasn't the main sitting-room where there'd be certain to be a fire, nor the kitchen, but something cold and in between. Ah yes.

‘This is lovely.' He indicated the room. ‘A Gauron ormolu clock, a Venetian chandelier, perhaps an early Briati. I'm particularly taken with the plasterwork. Italian, is it? Early eighteenth century?'

‘Inspector, what exactly is it that you wish to ask? I can't tell you much. We were all asleep. In the morning, at about eight o'clock, Madame Auger, our housekeeper at the time, came to tell me my husband's study had been broken into.'

‘A window?' he asked. Had the housekeeper then been dismissed?

She took a tremulous sip of the cognac she preferred at times like this. Had she realized her mistake? he wondered.

‘It's so cold in here,' she said. ‘Why don't we go into the sitting-room?'

‘But of course. Did the château come completely furnished?' he asked.

‘Antoine bought it the way he buys everything. Cheaply.'

Touché
to her. ‘The window, madame?' They were now in the main hall. Beauvais tapestries hung from the walls, gorgeous things. Another Venetian chandelier, a sumptuous drapery of dear crystal and coloured flowers, hung high overhead.

‘A pane of glass in one of the French windows. You'll see it when you go back to the manor house, Inspector. The one right beside the lock. The police said the thief had used a sock to muffle the breakage, but of course they found nothing.'

The main sitting-room was pleasantly furnished in the style of Louis XV. One had only to take it in at a glance to realize its value, even at twenty new francs to the mark.

‘The silk embroidery on the chairs is exquisite, madame. My compliments to your good taste.'

‘Don't be insulting, Inspector.'

She took a quick sip of the cognac and chose not to sit in any of the chairs but rather to stand and stare at the fire.

He caught her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror that rose to the ceiling above them. ‘The coins really were stolen, Inspector. All the drawers of that … that cabinet he … All the drawers were open and empty.'

‘May I sit down?'

‘Of course.' She tossed off the cognac. ‘Is the choke-cherry not to your taste?' she asked, and he wondered then what she was hiding and why she was so afraid he'd discover it.

‘Were any of the coins traceable?'

‘At that time? The Defeat … Antoine tried of course. He … he supplied the proper authorities with a list. The Sûreté were notified. Surely you would have seen the list or heard of the robbery, Inspector? Once again he has …'

‘What, madame?'

‘Supplied them with another list of the contents.'

‘When? When did he do so?'

‘A few months ago. In September, I think, or was it October? Since there is nothing left, it does not matter.'

The strain was evident, and he wondered at it. ‘The cordial is excellent, madame. Please … No, I insist. Stay by the fire. You've been most helpful.'

Was he not going to ask how Antoine had first come by the coins? Was he not going to ask why they'd been in the house instead of a bank vault, or why the cabinet had been hauled away to be hidden from view like all the other things of hers that had been kept? Michèle-Louise Prévost!