The Phantom of Rue Royale (12 page)

‘I had the feeling, Monsieur,’ Naganda replied, ‘that you yourself had much to tell
me
. Perhaps you will oblige me by satisfying my curiosity. Incidentally, please accept my gratitude for getting me out of that difficult situation. It was only my ignorance of your people’s customs that got me into it.’

‘Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?’ Nicolas said. ‘Please don’t take this amiss, but perhaps you could enlighten us as to your presence in Paris. You are a long way from the snows of your country!’

The irony in Naganda’s dark eyes intensified. ‘I fear the words so pleasantly vouchsafed by Monsieur de Voltaire may have clouded your judgement. My country does have “acres of snow”,
yes, but the summers are very hot. I will, however, answer your question. I was twelve years old when my father died in an English ambush. He worked as a guide to Monsieur Galaine – that was Monsieur Charles’s older brother. Monsieur Galaine was a good man, a just man. He took responsibility for me and paid for my education. When things turned bad, he decided to return to France. We were supposed to join the French naval squadron. An attack by Indians in the pay of the English forced us to scatter. I was carrying Monsieur Claude’s daughter, Élodie. I managed to hide, and eventually reached Quebec, where I was able to entrust her to the Ursulines. They took me at my word, as I had papers with me from her father. For seventeen years, I practised various trades, which made it possible for me to accumulate enough money to pay for a passage to France and take Élodie back to her parents, whom I believed were still alive.’

‘How old were you when the tragedy happened?’

‘I was fifteen and Élodie a few months.’

‘I’ve interrupted your story. Please continue.’

‘Despite the curiosity aroused by an Indian escorting a young girl and an old nun the sisters had insisted I take with me as a chaperone, the voyage passed without incident. The Galaine family were not very welcoming. Although they subsequently adopted Élodie as if she were their daughter, their treatment of me did not improve. What could I do, alone, isolated, without friends or family, treated as less than nothing not only by the Galaines, but also by their servants, who were frightened by the way I looked?’ He gestured towards his face, and Nicolas noted the clenched fists. ‘I am the son of a chief. Naganda is the son of a chief.’

It was as if he were trying to convince himself. He folded his
arms again and fell silent. What Nicolas had heard had touched him, taking him back several years to his own arrival in the capital of the kingdom. He, too, had been aware of his own solitude. A terrible feeling of abandonment seized him again at the thought.

‘Now I’d like you to explain in detail how you came to be half naked and got into difficulty on the Quai de la Mégisserie.’

‘Naganda is not a spirit who can be locked up. The day before yesterday – Wednesday, I think it was – Élodie told me she wanted to be present at the great celebration being held on Place Louis XV, in honour of the King’s grandson. She wanted me to go with her, as much to protect her – the streets are not safe, and young men too forward with a young girl in such a mixed crowd – as because she wanted me to see fireworks for the first time. I’d heard of them – the English used them to celebrate their victory over the French, but I’d refused to see them at that time. It was a nice idea, but her aunts objected. My duty, they said, was to protect the house. Élodie protested, but they wouldn’t listen to her. As for me, I had made it my policy never to oppose the wishes of her family, knowing that if I did so I would immediately find myself out on the streets, and would be unable to keep the promise I had made her father to always watch over her. But I had made up my mind to ignore the ban, to escape in secret and follow her from a distance to make sure she was safe.’

‘And your clothes?’

‘What clothes? After the midday meal, I felt drowsy and fell fast asleep in the attic. When I woke up, my clothes had vanished and I was locked in. What’s more …’

‘What’s more?’

‘What’s more, I realised that a whole day had gone by!’

‘What do you mean? You’ll have to explain.’

‘I have a watch, or rather, I had a watch given me by Monsieur Claude. When I looked at it just before falling asleep, it said three in the afternoon. When I woke up, it was one o’clock and the sun was high in the sky. I came to the conclusion that I’d slept nearly twenty-four hours. Will you believe me if I say that I still have no idea how?’

Bourdeau, who was sitting behind the Indian, shook his head doubtfully. ‘Do you expect us to believe, Monsieur, that you slept an entire day?’

‘Believe what you want – it’s the truth.’

‘We’ll look into that,’ said Nicolas. ‘Personally, I like the truth rather better when I find it for myself than when someone else shows it to me. What happened next?’

‘Next, I stood on a chair and opened the skylight. I managed to pull myself out and get onto the roof of a neighbouring house. From there, I went across a series of sloping roofs, until I came to a tree and climbed down. After wandering for a long time, I noticed some seagulls and observed the direction of their flight. That led me to the river, where I hoped I might find a boat about to leave. A man came up to me and offered me work. The money would pay my passage, he said. I accepted, and he took me to a low tavern where another man with stripes on his arm, a
somewhat
unfriendly man, made me sign a paper. As soon as I had, some soldiers appeared and jumped on me. I defended myself, but had to yield to superior numbers. Then, thanks to you, I was freed.’

He saluted Nicolas with a certain nobility, and the commissioner was taken aback by this witness from two worlds,
whose refined language was in such marked contrast to his appearance that it was hard to know what to make of the man. His story was all well and good, but sounded a bit too much like a tale from the
Arabian Nights
.

‘Could you describe the clothes that disappeared?’ Nicolas asked.

‘Tunics and trousers made of hide. A large brown cloak and a black hat, which I often wear to conceal my face lest it frighten the fainthearted in the street.’

Nicolas took a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully unfolded it on his desk, and held up the obsidian pearl he had found in Élodie Galaine’s clenched hand at La Madeleine cemetery.

‘Do you recognise this pearl?’

Naganda leaned forward. ‘Yes, it’s from a necklace that belongs to me, which I’m very fond of. It was taken along with my clothes.’

‘And your watch?’

‘When I put my hand under my bed, I found it there.’

‘Where is it now?’

‘The soldiers took it from me.’

‘Monsieur Bourdeau will check that. Let’s get back to this pearl. You say the necklace has disappeared. Very well. Why were you so fond of it?’

‘It was a souvenir of my father, and Monsieur Claude put an amulet on it.’

‘You claim a talisman was given to you by the elder Monsieur Galaine? Wasn’t he a Catholic? A good Christian?’

‘Of course. I’m just telling you what happened. When he gave
me that little square of leather, he told me never to let it out of my sight. I can still recall his words: “When Élodie marries, open it and give her what it contains.”’

‘So you never opened it?’

‘Never.’

Nicolas felt in his pocket for the broken necklace he had found in the attic in Rue Saint-Honoré. He held it out to the Indian. Naganda made a quick gesture, as if to grab it, and the
commissioner
just had time to pull back his hand.

‘I see from your reaction that this object is not unfamiliar to you.’

‘Yes, it’s mine, and for the reasons I’ve told you nothing is dearer to me. Where did you find it?’

‘Excuse me, I’m the one asking the questions. So you say this necklace is yours? You recognise it? You confirm that this pearl belongs to this necklace? Is that correct?’

The Indian nodded. It seemed to Nicolas that the moment had come to tell him the news of Élodie’s death.

‘I’m sorry to have to inform you that this pearl, which you recognise as being part of a necklace belonging to you, was discovered in the clenched hand of Mademoiselle Élodie Galaine, whose dead body was found among the victims of the disaster on Place Louis XV. All evidence points to the fact that this death was the consequence of a criminal act, and it is also my duty to tell you that you are one of the suspects.’

Nicolas was expecting some strange manifestation of grief: a howl, a dance to the sound of a savage chant, just as he had read in accounts by missionaries. There was none of that. The only thing that betrayed any emotion or surprise in the Indian was that
his coppery skin seemed to turn grey, and his eyes sank even more deeply into their sockets. ‘You don’t seem either surprised or upset.’

The man’s answer left him speechless. ‘
Quam cum vidisset Dominus, misericordia motus super eam, dixit illi: Noli flere
.’
4

‘You feel nothing at the loss of a person to whom you have devoted part of your life, and for whom you have cared most diligently?’

‘“The pain which dare not speak is all the stronger.”’
5

He certainly loves jousting, thought Nicolas. But when it came to quoting Saint Luke or Racine, he could give as good as he got, and was not deceived by this kind of response, which concealed too much.

‘“The law in all its might / Divides two hearts whom misery did unite.”
6
What was your relationship with Élodie Galaine?’

‘She was the daughter of my master and benefactor. I swore to protect her, and I failed.’

The man had a gift for prevarication.

‘How did you think of her?’

‘She was … she was like a sister to me.’

Bourdeau and Nicolas looked up. They had both noticed the hesitation, a kind of stutter – strange coming from a man who had shown no emotion so far. Nicolas felt a pang in his heart: the bitter-sweet memory of his own half-sister, Isabelle de Ranreuil, came back to him.
7

‘Let me make something clear. A suspect you may be, but you are entitled to our protection. In return, we hope and expect that you will be completely honest with us. If you know something, if
you suspect something, you must tell us.’

Naganda looked at Nicolas and opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He lowered his eyes.

‘You’re free to remain silent, but think about what I’ve just said. You’re alone, and a suspect. You’ll be taken back to Rue Saint-Honoré, where you will remain at the disposal of the law.’

Bourdeau called a police officer. Naganda bowed and followed the man out.

Nicolas remained silent for a moment. ‘I don’t think he’s lying,’ he said at last, ‘but he’s hiding something important.’

‘Why are you sending him back?’ asked Bourdeau.

‘My friend Père Grégoire once explained that when certain substances are brought into contact with one another, they can produce some very surprising reactions. We may well see such a phenomenon in Rue Saint-Honoré. The people there would like him to be a long way away. Well, we’re going to throw him back among them and just wait to see what happens!’

‘What do you make of that story about his long sleep?’

‘It seems suspicious to me, and not very believable. We need to get to the bottom of it. I’m sure that, like me, you noticed in passing where he contradicted the other testimonies. We’ll have to look into all that. But for the moment we need to concentrate on the other affair that concerns us. It’s urgent that we gather the elements of the report that Monsieur de Sartine asked for.’

‘We already know the festivities were left unsupervised because of the incompetence of the City Guards.’

‘We have to identify who’s responsible and establish the death toll. The Lieutenant General will be received by His Majesty on Sunday evening, as usual. Send one of our men out to gather
information. A letter must be dispatched to the twenty district commissioners. We need to consult the doctors, the apothecaries, the bonesetters, the coffin makers, the parish registers for the number of funerals, the gravediggers. Question everyone. Get everything you can from our spies. Let everything be recorded and communicated to me as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ a curt voice echoed through the duty office. ‘And let the report be given to me as soon as possible!’

The two colleagues turned to discover Monsieur de Sartine dressed in his black magistrate’s robe with the white bands, his head adorned with a large wig. He stood looking them up and down rather coldly. Nicolas, himself surprised by this apparition, imagined what effect it might have on the
vulgum pecus
. Despite the great man’s reputation for affability, Nicolas knew from experience that his smooth tone could conceal a sharpness of which only those who knew him well would be aware.

‘Didn’t I foresee all this?’ cried Sartine. ‘Wasn’t it crystal clear in my mind? Didn’t I keep telling myself that your little obsessions were bound at the very least to cause conflict and scandal, as usual? That in trying too hard to untangle things which you yourself had tangled, you would confound us?’

‘Monsieur, to what do I owe this volley of scathing remarks?’

‘And, what’s worse, he feigns ignorance! Monsieur Le Floch, I have just come from the office of the Criminal Lieutenant, who regaled me with a lesson on procedure which I had to endure through clenched teeth. He didn’t hold back on the pompous phrases, I can tell you. He really encroached on my territory for fear that I wouldn’t understand what he was saying.’

‘Monsieur—’

‘Quiet! Accustomed as you are – and the guilt is mine for tolerating such things, and even lending a hand – to conducting extraordinary operations on the fringes of convention, and under taking adventurous personal initiatives, you have thrown yourself headlong, without any thought, into a criminal investigation. Don’t deny it – I’ve heard all about it:
concealment
of a corpse, encroachment on other people’s procedures, an autopsy performed by unappointed individuals, threats to respectable citizens. All that just to serve as a screen for the vital investigation with which I entrusted you! What do you have to say to that?’