The Man with the Lead Stomach (28 page)

‘Nothing else?’ said Nicolas, taking in all this.

‘Who do you think attacked you?’

‘It wasn’t the man I heard talking to the Comte de Ruissec. I’m sure of that.’

‘So there were three people here: the comte, his assailant and the person who hit you.’

‘And there’s something even more alarming,’ Bourdeau added. He waved a sheaf of papers. ‘I found an old chest in the loft. It contained an impressive number of documents obviously only left behind in the haste of their escape: new plans of the palace, even more detailed than those found in Grenelle, tracts against the King and La Pompadour and the draft of a declaration announcing the death of the “tyrant Louis XV”.’

‘So we’re right to suspect a plot,’ said Nicolas.

The three friends began a thorough search of the workshop from top to bottom. They carried out their task methodically, examining every tool and every nook and cranny of the cluttered room. Although they found several funnels still contained shining traces of molten metal, this was not definitive proof that the Vicomte de Ruissec had been murdered here; they could just be the normal tools of the trade of the fountaineer. But in current circumstances their presence was nevertheless incriminating. A sort of leather litter fitted at the four corners with metal rings reminded Nicolas of the vile mattresses on to which Sanson’s assistants strapped their victims during torture sessions in the
Châtelet. Again that was not conclusive, and Nicolas could not allow himself to read too much into it, but there were certainly questions to be answered.

Dr Semacgus examined the Comte de Ruissec’s body. The wound to the heart had indeed been inflicted by a pistol shot. The amount of blood spilt tallied with a bullet severing the main vessels at the base of the lungs or in the region of the heart. It was not yet clear whether it was murder or suicide, and there was no indication of motive. Nicolas found nothing of note when he searched the dead man’s pockets.

The nature of the documents discovered, Nicolas thought, should be considered in conjunction with the volumes justifying tyrannicide in the Vicomte de Ruissec’s library. It meant that there was a real danger of an attempt on the King’s life. What was the Comte de Ruissec doing here? He had obviously slipped away from the funeral cortège he was supposed to be accompanying in order to ride back at full speed to Versailles. But was he an accomplice or a victim? Or an avenger? Was his death the settling of scores between accomplices?

It was too early to answer these questions. For the time being Nicolas gathered up the most telling documents and, after a last glance at the comte’s mortal remains, left the workshop, asking Bourdeau and Semacgus to ensure that no one entered it.

By the time Nicolas returned to the palace it was three o’clock in the afternoon. He immediately headed for the Ministers’ Wing and asked for an audience with Monsieur de Saint-Florentin. He was quickly shown in. The minister listened to him in silence,
carefully sharpening a quill with the aid of a small silver penknife. As usual, Nicolas strove to be clear and concise, describing things without embellishment and avoiding unsubstantiated theories. He cautiously suggested that the comte’s body should be removed by some of the King’s officers in the utmost secrecy and taken to the Basse-Geôle. It was essential that the murder remain secret. In any case, no one would be looking for a man known to be taking his place in a funeral cortège. As the comte had left the convoy he had probably given good reasons for doing so; his household would not therefore be immediately worried about a prolonged absence and would not sound the alarm for a few days, if at all.

Once he had settled the problem of the body, Nicolas asked the minister to give him a week to complete his investigations. He said that he felt confident of being able to reveal the truth by then. Finally he ventured to suggest that further measures should be taken to improve the safety of the palace and the protection of the King.

Monsieur de Saint-Florentin broke his silence to approve the suggestions that had just been made. He too was of the opinion that the new development should be kept secret because it would give the police time to act and Commissioner Le Floch time to complete his task. He was due to receive Monsieur de Sartine that evening, so would pass on to him the latest information and the state of his deputy’s investigation. He added that he was extremely satisfied with Nicolas’s work.

In addition the minister would immediately write to the intendants of the provinces to place Le Peautre on the wanted list, noting that he was probably accompanied by a deaf-and-dumb
child. Finally, as an extra precaution all workshops unofficially set up in the park, whether they belonged to fountaineers or others, would be put on record. It was important to regulate this practice, to carry out the necessary checks and no longer to tolerate through laziness the illegal occupation of the royal domain without due title or authorisation.

Monsieur de Saint-Florentin added that once the Ruissec case had been solved he wanted Le Floch to devote some time to studying arrangements at Versailles for the protection of the King, the princes of the blood and also ministers. He ordered Nicolas to draw up a report the conclusions of which would be closely examined to decide how to proceed.

As for the case of Truche de La Chaux, the minister seemed somewhat embarrassed and merely made a vague reference to the need to take into account the wishes of a person whom Commissioner Le Floch knew, as well as the minister himself did, could not easily be overruled.

Nicolas did not press the matter. He was convinced that although the deceitful, shallow Life Guard was guilty of
dishonesty
and theft, he was not implicated in the murders.

The minister rang for one of his trusted officials. He ordered him to assist the commissioner to arrange the collection and transport of the body. But when the man suggested that it would be better not to rely on the King’s officers, who were notoriously indiscreet, Monsieur de Saint-Florentin cut him short by sitting down at his desk and beginning to write as though no one else was there. Nicolas and the official silently left the room.

It took some time to get the bearers together, find a vehicle and work out from a map of the park a discreet route to the fountaineer’s workshop. Guarded by Bourdeau and Semacgus, the place was found as Nicolas had left it, and placing the body in a temporary coffin the bearers loaded it on to a cart.

The procession emerged from the park near Satory and joined the Paris road. Nicolas followed in his own carriage. They passed through the city toll-gates a little before nine o’clock. Nicolas had sent an officer ahead on horseback to warn the Châtelet of their arrival. The coffin was taken down to a vault in the Basse-Geôle behind the room where bodies were put on public display. Once the formalities were complete, and after Semacgus had left, Bourdeau suggested to Nicolas that they went for a meal in their usual tavern in Rue du Pied-de-Boeuf. They could go by carriage, which would then take them home. Nicolas had eaten nothing since his morning chocolate and he was starving after such an eventful day so he willingly agreed. He was worn out by all that had happened that day, weary from the effort of keeping his nerve and his temples were throbbing. He was in need of sustenance to revive his spirits after the successive ordeals of facing a defensive Madame de Pompadour, the shock of discovering a dead body and the nervous tension of the meeting with the minister.

Now sitting at the rickety old table where they felt so much at ease, he was happy to let the conversation between Bourdeau and the innkeeper wash over him.

Their host suggested stewed eels caught in the Seine, and Bourdeau, his fellow countryman, said teasingly, ‘What, you mean one of those monsters that feed off our customers in the Basse-Geôle?’

‘They may have a nibble when there’s nothing more
appetising
around, but actually, Mr Know-it-all, their preferred diet is beech-mast and whitebeam. What could be healthier?’

‘What about something from the clear waters of the River Vienne and the River Loire? Something that hasn’t been near the butchers’ shops whose blood runs into the river?’

‘But, Pierre, perch and pike, even if they look more attractive, don’t give up their flavour easily …’

‘That may be, but eel is far too heavy on the stomach.’

‘Not the way I make it.’

‘And how is that?’

‘Well, it’s true, the flesh is fatty, gelatinous and viscous so I gut and skin it, season it with spices and grill it for a short time before letting it simmer in wine. This dissolves the parts that are hard to digest and makes the dish lighter. Served with sautéed
mushrooms
freshly delivered from Chaville, and a bottle of our local wine, which I also use in the sauce, you’ll have nothing to complain about. All I add is some
beurre manié
, just for a little extra flavour.’

The two friends, deciding to trust their host’s advice, were served an enormous eel in a piping-hot terrine. The morsels of fish were firm but tasty, and for some minutes they concentrated on the food in silence. Then after their initial hunger had been satisfied Nicolas gave Bourdeau a detailed account of his visit to the fountaineer’s workshop.

‘So it appears,’ said Bourdeau, ‘the Comte de Ruissec set out to eliminate an awkward accomplice and ended up falling into a trap.’

‘That would mean that it was the Comte de Ruissec who
arranged his son’s murder. I just cannot imagine that, whatever the causes of their disagreement might have been. Have you forgotten the horrible circumstances of the vicomte’s death?’

‘But you couldn’t imagine a brother killing his elder sibling either, though such things have happened since the dawn of time, and there are numerous examples in the legal records.’

Nicolas reflected on the inspector’s remark.

‘By the way, Bourdeau, there was something you wanted to tell me the other evening but the rum had slurred your speech somewhat.’

‘I don’t see …’

‘Yes, you mentioned a face … You repeated the word several times.’

Bourdeau slapped his forehead. ‘My God, I’d completely forgotten. But it’s an important detail. I’d told you that the Minister of Bavaria’s coachman had been found. As I knew you were very busy I thought it was right for me to question him.’

‘It was indeed. So what happened?’

‘He told me a very strange story. When he drove his carriage towards the bank of the Seine at Pont de Sèvres to tend to the foot of one of his horses, he really did see the scene described by the footman: two men plunging someone unconscious into the water, saying that it was one of their friends who was dead drunk. But what the footman had not noticed but which struck our coachman was the drunkard’s face. It still made him shudder, the poor devil. His description exactly matches the description of the Vicomte de Ruissec’s face when he was found. He was still trembling at the memory of those sunken cheeks. He had indeed drunk something – it was lead. And he was certainly dead.’

‘Do you know, that had already occurred to me. The smell of wet clothes, that obtrusive smell, really did come from the river and the stagnant water near its banks. They wanted to dump the body in the river. Weighted down like that it would have sunk straight to the bottom. Enough to satisfy the appetites of the fish you were talking about earlier.’

Bourdeau suddenly pushed away his bowl of eels.

‘I’ve always thought it was suspect,’ he muttered, ‘fishing in big cities.’

‘But,’ Nicolas went on, continuing his train of thought, ‘our fellows were interrupted on the job and one of them, probably the manservant Lambert, worked out the diabolical plan of taking the body back to the Hôtel de Ruissec. He or his accomplice.’

‘The vidame?’ said Bourdeau.

‘Perhaps, but there are other candidates.’

‘In any case this clears up certain points and opens up new possibilities. I’ve had the coachman put in solitary confinement. He’s a prime witness and it’s a shame he didn’t have a better look at the other two rogues but perhaps he was too frightened by the look on the face of the so-called drunkard.’

Nicolas and Bourdeau stayed on talking for some considerable time and got through a good few bottles as they prepared their plan of campaign. By now Nicolas was calm and composed. Though he did not yet have all the cards in his hand he felt confident that he could keep his promise to Monsieur de
Saint-Florentin
to bring the guilty parties before him by the following week. He needed to wait for the information requested from the
provinces, then collate and check it, hope that Monsieur de La Vergne could find the name of the lieutenant who had fallen victim to the Comte de Ruissec – this detail might prove important – and above all close in on the protagonists with his network of spies and informers. 

Since All Saints’ Day the city had been cold and foggy. The Lieutenant General of Police made his entrance into the Great Châtelet with his hands in a warming muff. With the help of old Marie he attempted to extricate himself from his thick fur-lined cloak. He muttered in exasperation at the usher’s clumsiness. Nicolas and Bourdeau observed the scene. The inspector was leaning back against a wall, as if trying to be inconspicuous. Nicolas for his part felt a twinge of emotion at being back in the office where several years earlier he had met Monsieur de Sartine for the first time. The contrast between the ancient medieval walls and the splendour of the furniture never ceased to strike him. This dull, grey morning the room was illuminated by a vast number of candelabra whose flickering gleam added to the radiance of the banked-up fire blazing in the great Gothic fireplace. Monsieur de Sartine was known to be sensitive to the cold, hence the need to warm the high-ceilinged room in which the magistrate appeared only once a week, on Wednesdays, to
preside symbolically over the hearing in his nearby courtroom. In fact he usually had someone stand in for him. He leant his elbows on the back of a chair, lifted his coat-tails and warmed himself against the fire. After a moment’s reflection he signalled to Nicolas to begin.

‘Sir, I wanted to speak to you today with Inspector Bourdeau in attendance to offer you the conclusions I have come to
concerning
the criminal deaths of the three members of the Ruissec family. I have asked your permission for this session to take place in the privacy of your study so as to preserve the secrecy and confidentiality of a case whose ramifications go right to the heart of the monarchy and the State.’

‘I venture to hope, sir,’ said Sartine with a smile, ‘that this degree of secrecy will not extend to concealing the names of the guilty parties.’

‘Rest assured, sir, they will be revealed. I should like to go back to the strange beginnings of this case. From the start intervention from above deflected the course of the investigation. I will not go so far as to say that justice was impeded but it was encouraged to look in a certain direction. From the moment we reached the Hôtel de Ruissec, before we knew anything, suicide was spoken of. Monsieur de Ruissec’s violent reaction towards you, his
contempt
and reluctance to answer my questions, could admittedly be ascribed to his fear of scandal but I sensed there was something else. Numerous obstacles were put in our path, clues seemed contradictory and various interventions impeded my enquiries.’

Monsieur de Sartine drummed his fingers on the back of the chair.

‘That is all well and good, Nicolas, but please explain what it
was that convinced you from the very beginning that we were dealing with a murder when the room was locked from inside.’

‘There were several clues. The state of the wound gave all the appearances of having been inflicted by a firearm
post mortem
. Then there were the corpse’s hands. As you know, when someone fires a pistol, especially a heavy cavalry type like the one used in this case, the hand pulling the trigger, and sometimes even the face, is spattered with black powder. However, the Vicomte de Ruissec’s hands were clean and well cared for. In addition there was the terrifying appearance of the face.’

‘Yes, I witnessed that,’ said Sartine, shaking himself as if to dispel a haunting image.

‘Other incomprehensible facts added to the confusion. For example, the smell of stagnant water coming from the dead man’s clothes and some fragments of a powdery, coal-like substance that I found stuck to his boots. But it was the evidence found in the room that proved vital. A farewell note had been written, in capitals. The position of the lamp on the desk, the armchair, the quill and inkstand, and even the paper all convinced me that the person who had written those lines was
left-handed
.’

‘But perhaps the Vicomte de Ruissec really was left-handed. You didn’t know.’

‘Indeed, but what I could see was that the shot from the pistol had struck the base of the neck on the left. It would have been difficult, not to say physically impossible, for a right-handed person to inflict such an injury on himself.’

Monsieur de Sartine fidgeted.

‘I don’t understand. Who is left-handed and who is
right-handed
?’

‘Let me explain,’ said Nicolas. ‘A right-handed person cannot fire a shot at the base of his head on the left-hand side without extraordinary contortions and at the risk of missing. A little later I happened to discover in the dressing room a mother of pearl and silver-gilt dressing case, carefully placed on the right-hand side. There was further confirmation later:
the Vicomte de Ruissec was
indeed right-handed.
But the question still remained: did the person firing the shot do so without taking this into account or had he cleverly
tried to make it look as if the murderer or the person
who wanted to make it look like a suicide were left-handed
?’

‘Why should anyone want to make it look like a suicide when so many factors argued in favour of a murder?’

‘Perhaps someone was trying to draw attention to the fact that it could not possibly have been suicide. They were trying to send a message; it was a warning.’

‘Commissioner Le Floch is once again leading us into a labyrinth where he alone knows the way through!’ sighed Sartine.

‘There were many other clues. A manservant in stockinged feet who claimed just to have got out of bed but whose cravat was perfectly positioned and knotted, and who gave no sign of emotion at the sight of the body. You witnessed that, sir. He was doing everything, more even than he needed, to substantiate the theory of the vicomte’s suicide. He made great play of his master’s gambling debts and melancholy. After you left I examined the dead man’s library and was intrigued by the titles it contained. The dead man’s hat thrown upside down on to the bed shocked me: you know the superstition …’

From the shadows Bourdeau could be heard expressing his amusement. 

‘Questioning Picard, the major-domo, confirmed my doubts. The man could hardly see. He had not seen the vicomte clearly when he returned. He described him as infatuated with a manservant who exerted an evil influence over him. On the other hand, Picard too mentioned that the young man was anxious, depressed and preoccupied by a serious matter. Finally in the garden of the mansion I noticed footprints and a ladder, though I could not immediately see what this all meant.’

‘So you had not at this point solved the mystery of the locked bedroom, had you?’

‘No, sir. The revelation came when Bourdeau and I went on an undercover visit to Grenelle. An unexpected visitor forced me to hide in the wardrobe and I then understood what had really happened. Lambert, the manservant, dressed in his master’s clothes, goes past the half-blind major-domo, up to the first floor, closes the door behind him and opens the window for his accomplice. The two of them bring the vicomte’s body up the ladder and stage the suicide scene. Lambert hides in the
wardrobe
and reappears when all our attention is focused on the dead body in the semi-darkness. It was a risky game, but worth the candle.’

‘What about the Comte de Ruissec? What was your initial impression of him?’

‘His reaction was not quite what I would have expected. He seemed to come to terms with the idea of an autopsy on his son’s body very quickly, as if he knew full well that it would not take place. Monsieur de Noblecourt later shed some light on the comte’s complex personality. His past, his ostentatious piety, his reputation but also his position at Court with the Dauphin and
Madame Adélaïde suggested there was much to learn. He also told me about the vicomte’s younger brother – intended for the priesthood, but leading a profligate life and spending money like water. Going back to our evening visit to Grenelle: as we were about to leave, the major-domo brought me an envelope
purporting
to come from Madame de Ruissec, asking me to meet her the next day in the Lady Chapel of the Carmelite monastery so that she might “seek my advice”.’

‘But as usual your witnesses perished. First the son, then the mother, leaving only the father!’

‘That’s nothing to do with me, sir. The undoubted murder of Madame de Ruissec proved that someone involved was
left-handed
, either genuinely or by pretence. The doctor who made the preliminary examination, in the presence of Monsieur de Beurquigny, one of your commissioners, confirmed that. As you know I decided to keep this new crime quiet because it could quite easily be passed off as an accident. Today, sir, I would like you to hear the evidence of a man who no longer has any reason to remain silent. He’s a decent fellow, a former soldier. I gave him my word that he would not be prosecuted. All he is guilty of is a silence that could be interpreted as loyalty to his masters. Bourdeau, bring in Picard.’

Bourdeau opened the door of the Lieutenant General’s office and motioned to the usher who invited the old man to enter. He seemed to have aged even more and was leaning on a stick. Nicolas made him sit down.

‘Monsieur Picard, you are a soldier and an honest man. Are you prepared to repeat here what you have already told me in confidence?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘On the evening in question did anyone else enter the Hôtel de Ruissec before the vicomte returned?’

‘Yes, indeed, sir, and I hid this from you. Monsieur Gilles, I mean Monsieur le Vidame, came while his parents were
accompanying
Madame to the opera. He had arranged to see his mother and went up to wait for her in her rooms.’

‘So she would have found him there when she got back home, would she not? When the comte accompanied his wife to her rooms did he see his younger son?’

‘No, sir. The comte did not go upstairs and, in any case, Monsieur Gilles had instructed me not to tell the general he was there. In my opinion he would have been hiding in case his father did go upstairs.’

‘Did the comtesse join him immediately?’

‘Not to my knowledge, sir. When we reached the first floor to break open the door she passed out, so I believe, and she returned to her rooms only much later.’

‘Could anyone have heard the conversation between mother and son?’

‘Definitely, sir. There are many double doors and the back of Madame’s rooms gives on to a corridor that leads to the servants’ quarters.’

‘Why did you conceal from us that the vidame was in the house?’

‘I did not consider it important and he had asked me to be discreet. He was afraid of his father.’

After Picard had been shown out, Monsieur de Sartine began his habitual pacing, before stopping in front of Nicolas.

‘Where does that get us? You do not know what was said between mother and son.’

‘You are quite wrong, sir. We know everything. Bourdeau will explain how. It is always possible to discover something if you investigate thoroughly. All that’s needed is to search and listen.’

The inspector emerged from the shadows. He seemed caught between the satisfaction of playing his role and the
embarrassment
of being brought to the fore.

‘Sir, Commissioner Le Floch can tell you that we carried out a very detailed assessment of what everyone was doing that
evening
in Grenelle. Neither Picard, the major-domo, nor Lambert, the vicomte’s manservant, could physically have been near enough the comtesse’s rooms to know what was said. On the other hand, I did learn that someone had heard the conversation.’

‘A
deus ex machina
!’ exclaimed Monsieur de Sartine.

‘Simpler than that, sir, the comtesse’s chambermaid was in the adjacent boudoir when the conversation began. She did not really understand what was happening. The exchanges were virulent. The comtesse accused the vidame of having killed his brother.’

‘Why did she make such an accusation?’

‘Apparently she thought the vidame was jealous of his elder brother and that in addition they were rivals in love. The comtesse did not believe her son had committed suicide. There was a terrible argument. The vidame eventually managed to convince his mother he was innocent by referring to a plot involving his father and elder brother. He begged his mother to intervene and convinced her to speak to the police. It was at this point that she wrote a note to the commissioner.’

‘Is the chambermaid implicated in any way?’

‘No, except that, courted by Lambert, she was in the habit of repeating to him in all innocence the secrets of her masters’ conversations and probably related word for word the
incomprehensible
exchange that she had overheard between mother and son.’

‘That is always the problem when servants are led astray,’ said Sartine.

Nicolas resumed, ‘At the Discalced Carmelites, who was in a position to attack Madame de Ruissec? Not her husband, who was in Versailles. Some doubt remains concerning the vidame. We do not know Lambert’s timetable but we now know that only he and the vidame knew about the meeting and the reasons for it. Up until that point the case might only have been a private matter, a family drama. But from then on everything suddenly changes; other factors come into play and soon the authorities themselves decide or pretend to give up the investigation.’

Monsieur de Sartine began to cough and he quickened his obsessive pacing about the room.

‘You are surely not claiming that the son killed his mother, are you?’

‘I ruled out nothing. At that moment I was wondering what to do. Should I let things drift and risk losing the tenuous thread that guided me or should I carry on until the end, working on the basis of the few things I was certain of? Covering up the Comtesse de Ruissec’s murder was simply a tactical ruse. One thing obsessed me: the gruesome way in which the vicomte had been killed. In the Basse-Gêole we discovered for certain that he had been choked with molten lead. Why such a horrible death? Monsieur de Noblecourt happened to mention that this was the punishment
meted out to counterfeiters in Russia. This set me thinking. It looked as if the vicomte might have been killed by an accomplice as an example to others, to strike fear into their hearts. I concentrated my enquiries on the trades that use lead.’