The Phantom of Rue Royale (34 page)

‘Are we going to wait much longer, Commissioner, for you to conclude yet another of these pauses with which you see fit to
interrupt the languishing course of this hearing? I’m suspending proceedings for a few minutes. The Criminal Lieutenant and myself wish to speak with you immediately in my office.’

The two magistrates went out through a door at the far end of the room, from where a small corridor led to Sartine’s office. Nicolas followed them. No sooner had they entered than his chief, pacing up and down, addressed him in the cold, intense tone he liked to adopt when he was trying to control his temper.

‘It’s not enough, Commissioner, to regale us with these twists and turns that lead nowhere, these bottles, this Indian who rambles on, all the insane nonsense we’ve been hearing. Every one of these suspects is a potential culprit or a potential innocent, but so far, in your presentation of the disparate elements of your investigation, you haven’t shown us the way to a solution. Where are you taking us?’

‘Yes,’ said the Criminal Lieutenant in support, ‘where are you taking us? I thought you would get to the point more quickly, Monsieur. You disappoint me. These proceedings are taking a very leisurely and roundabout route. I’m sorry now that I gave in to pressure and—’

‘Monsieur Testard du Lys is speaking sense,’ Monsieur de Sartine cut in wearily. ‘Either you finish within the next hour, or we send these people back to their cells and institute more normal and perhaps more effective proceedings.’

‘Gentlemen,’ said Nicolas, ‘I am sure I can bring this to a conclusion.’

Monsieur de Sartine looked at him with a hint of affection. ‘Given your past history, I’m inclined to believe you. Let’s go back.’ 

The hearing had resumed. Nicolas approached the suspects’ bench, noting in passing that Bourdeau had not yet returned, and immediately declared, ‘I’d like to look again at the whereabouts of certain members of the Galaine family on the night in question.’

He came to a halt in front of Camille and Charlotte.

‘Do you confirm,’ he asked Camille, ‘that you did not leave the house on the night of thirtieth to thirty-first May?’

‘Of course, Commissioner, and anyway the cat—’

‘No, not the cat, Mademoiselle. I’m talking about you, and about two murders.’

Her bloodless little face seemed to shrink even more. She tried to catch her elder sister’s eye, but Charlotte had turned her head away. Nicolas consulted his notebook.

‘Both of you stated that you helped your niece to dress for the evening, because …’

They nodded with surprising unanimity.

‘… you found what she was wearing too bright!’

‘That’s what we thought,’ said Camille.

‘But you let her go alone, in the end?’

‘No, not alone,’ said Charlotte. ‘Poor Miette went with her.’

‘It’s sad indeed,’ Nicolas remarked, ‘that her condition does not allow the poor girl to confirm what you say.’

He took a few steps towards the assistant.

‘Monsieur Dorsacq, I need your help. You claim you pawned a number of objects to pay this famous gambling debt of yours. You must have received a note for them. That’s the law.’

‘I don’t know … Yes … Of course.’

‘Who did you give it to?’

‘I really don’t know.’

‘Yes, you do, you know very well. I found that note. It was given to the person who, contrary to what you told me earlier, asked you to take those clothes to the second-hand dealer in Rue du Faubourg-du-Temple. Will you now tell me that person’s name, or would you prefer us to settle the matter by torture, as laid down in common law for persons accused of homicide?’

‘Commissioner, I’m desperately sorry, but—’

‘Come on now, make one last little effort to be honest.’

‘I had no choice.’

‘If you had no choice, that means someone exerted pressure on you. Who threatened you, and why?’

The young man seemed on the verge of tears. ‘I had a bit of fun with Miette,’ he blurted out at last.

‘Meaning what, Monsieur?’

‘I fear, alas, that she’s pregnant with my child.’

‘Were you in love with her? What were your intentions?’

‘I had none. I told you, it was just a bit of fun.’

‘Were you in love with someone else?’

‘No.’

‘I think you were. I think you were hoping, whether out of desire or for the money, to seduce Élodie Galaine. Come on, admit it. She scorned you, and you were angry that your chance of joining the family had slipped through your fingers. That’s why you decided to kill her.’

Dorsacq took his head in both his hands and shook it frantically. ‘No, no! Never!’

‘So who was blackmailing you? Who? Who?’

‘Mademoiselle Charlotte.’

‘Mademoiselle Charlotte? On what pretext? Explain yourself.’

‘She came to see me in the shop on the Thursday morning. I’d been wandering around all night. I’d wanted to speak to Élodie, but couldn’t find her. I was angry and humiliated. Mademoiselle Charlotte told me what to do with the clothes, the hats and the bottle – take them to a second-hand dealer, pawn them and bring her back the note.’

‘That way they wouldn’t be found by the police, but could be reclaimed if need be. But how was she able to force you to do it?’

‘She knew about Miette and me. She threatened to tell Monsieur Galaine everything and have me thrown out if I didn’t obey. But if I did what she said, she’d use her influence to get me accepted as her niece’s suitor. I don’t know how she found out about my situation.’

‘But I do,’ said Nicolas. ‘Through a witness who is too young to appear in this court, but who is the spirit of the Galaine house, circulates everywhere and is always listening at doors and searching cupboards and drawers. That witness – Geneviève Galaine, if I must name her – repeats everything she hears,
reveals everything she discovers, sometimes to her father, but always to her aunts. Thanks to her, everything is known,
everything
is destroyed, everything is corrupted and, from her innocence, crimes are born. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Charlotte Galaine, do you admit to blackmailing Monsieur Dorsacq?’

It was Camille who answered. ‘No,’ she said hurriedly, ‘it wasn’t blackmail. I’ll tell you everything. I wasn’t going to tell you the other morning, but you never listen, you always interrupt. Cats—’

‘Oh, no, not the cats.’

‘Oh, yes. At night all cats are grey.’

‘What of it?’

‘On the evening of the festivities, the thing my sister and I were afraid of was that the streets would be full of gallants who might importune our niece. So …’ She burst out laughing, and her laughter echoed like the sound of a shrill rattle. ‘We thought up something, a kind of carnival game. Yes, just an innocent little game. What we did was dress Élodie in Miette’s clothes and Miette in Élodie’s. As I told you, we had to stop the savage from going with her. After what we’ve just heard, I think we were right. Thanks to the cook, who’s really devoted to us, we put him to sleep and took his clothes. We’d already got hold of a copy of his costume. The idea was that Miette would leave first with the cook disguised as Naganda, and the gallants would follow them. Then, a few minutes later, Élodie would go out with Charlotte, also dressed like Naganda. Two savages, two Élodies. Quite a trick, wasn’t it?’

‘But who were the two savages?’

‘I just told you: my sister, Charlotte, and Marie Chaffoureau, the cook.’

‘So your sister lied: she did go out with Élodie?’

‘Yes, I keep telling you!’

Charlotte got to her feet. ‘Commissioner,’ she said, ‘she’s making it all up. She’s the one who went out. Her poor head’s playing tricks on her again. She has all these mad ideas. She’s like a mechanical doll that’s broken down, the poor thing!’

‘What does Marie Chaffoureau have to say to all this?’ Sartine interrupted. ‘Commissioner, have you taken the trouble to check her alibi?’

‘Of course, Monsieur, but only in connection with the presumed time of the murder, not for the rest of the evening. The two versions may coincide. Marie Chaffoureau, what do you have to say?’

‘The little one had to be protected!’ gasped the cook. ‘The little one had to be protected!’

She kept repeating the same sentence, and he had to shake her. It was no use: they would get nothing more from her for the moment. What could he do to press home his advantage? The best thing would be to bombard the adversary with arguments that would leave him or her dazed. Then he would stake
everything
on his final card. He went back to his place beneath the narrow windows.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you have ordered me to bring this matter to a conclusion. I’m going to tell you a story, the story of a domestic tragedy set within the narrow confines of a merchant’s house. Two people united by misfortune, cut off from their families in a land at war, where the English have taken our
place and still pursue the children of our defeated nation and the Indians loyal to our King. These two people have no one left to whom they can give affection except each other. Which of us can possibly throw the first stone? They disembark in a hostile land, after a terrible crossing, which has decimated His Majesty’s navy. They present themselves to a family who have previously been secure in the comforting knowledge that the elder brother and all his family perished in the downfall of New France. A strained welcome, feigned sentiments, incomprehension and contempt towards the “savage”: everything conspires to bring these two people even closer together, if that’s possible. The result: the promise of a child, the desire to flee a hostile family and marry, the desire, too, to finally open the famous talisman which Naganda wears round his neck, and which apparently contains a secret concerning Élodie’s destiny. They talk about all these things, without suspecting that an innocent child is watching and listening, and reporting their every word, gesture and hope.’

‘But who knew about Élodie Galaine’s condition?’ asked Sartine.

‘I’m coming to that, Monsieur. First and foremost, Charles Galaine, the father. Does he tell his wife? I don’t know. Charlotte and Camille, without any doubt. And the cook, that goes without saying. That makes a lot of people in on the secret. Two young men, Dorsacq and Jean Galaine, are pursuing Élodie. For tactical reasons, she strings them along. She in her turn is deceived by her aunts’ apparent affection for her. What did she say about them, Naganda?’

‘She thought they were very strange, but she admitted that they were the only ones who had really welcomed her.’

‘In other words, Élodie thought she could trust them. The time comes for her labour, after a difficult pregnancy she has had to conceal. Who helps her in her labour? Miette? Alas, she can’t tell us. The aunts? Let me ask them.’

‘We knew vaguely,’ said Camille, looking doubtful, ‘but it all happened without our being informed.’

‘My sister’s right for once,’ said Charlotte.

Nicolas decided to play a little trick. ‘So,’ he said, ‘neither Élodie nor Miette told you about it. The birth took place in complete secrecy. You didn’t even know it had happened or what the outcome was. You had no idea that the little girl who was born a few days ago was immediately taken by Miette to a nurse in Suresnes. The child is doing well, and since its mother died intestate, there’s no question but that a court will recognise it as the rightful heir to your brother Claude’s fortune.’

The two magistrates made no attempt to conceal their surprise at Nicolas’s words.

Charlotte leapt to her feet. ‘But that’s false! Completely false! It was a bastard! What are you talking about?’

‘What do you call a bastard? A daughter born out of wedlock?’

‘No, no!’ screamed Charlotte. ‘A boy, the boy! It’s a trick; she can’t inherit. She isn’t Élodie’s daughter. Our niece gave birth to a son. I saw him, with my own eyes.’

‘You saw him? How delightful. Tell us more. When did you see him? When he was taken to the nurse?’

‘Yes. Actually, he was taken to a home for abandoned children.’

‘Do you think it likely, after what I’ve said about Naganda and
Élodie, that they would have wanted to abandon their child?’

‘It was Élodie who wanted it,’ said Charlotte. ‘A ribbon with half of a medal was attached to his swaddling clothes, and a paper stating that we planned to take him back soon.’

‘So many details! You weren’t informed of the happy event, and yet you know so much! What’s the name of this home for abandoned children?’

‘That was Élodie’s secret. Only Miette knows it.’

‘How unfortunate once again that she is unable to tell us. Or how convenient. So, gentlemen, Élodie gives birth to a child and then abandons it. I’m sure you find that very believable!’

Nicolas again went and stood in front of the two sisters. He saw Bourdeau enter the room, a packet wrapped in silk paper under his arm. ‘If that’s the case, then why did we find in your room, under your bed to be more precise, these strips of cloth which seem to have been used to squeeze Élodie’s breasts and extract her milk?’

‘Those cloths,’ said Camille, ‘were taken off when we dressed Élodie for the festivities.’

‘Very well. Let me continue. This child – this son, in fact – this heir, this noble son of the Algonquin, has been found.’

The whole room seemed to be hanging on Nicolas’s every word.

‘Yes, found. Dead, murdered. Buried under the cellar floor at the Deux Castors, slaughtered in the most terrible manner, with the umbilical cord sliced off, not tied, the little body drained of blood …’

Madame Galaine burst into sobs.

‘I hope,’ said Nicolas, ‘that those tears are the expression of a
mother’s horror. Gentlemen, I am now going to have to utter some grave words. I am going to have to make accusations.’

He again walked away from the Galaine family.

‘I accuse Charlotte and Camille, one or the other or both, of having known all about Élodie’s pregnancy. I accuse one or the other or both, probably helped by Miette and Marie Chaffoureau, the cook, of destroying the living fruit of the love of Élodie and Naganda in terrible conditions, draining him of his blood, as ascertained, without any possibility of error, by experienced practitioners and, finally, of burying him in the cellar, hidden beneath animal hides. But, you will ask, why kill this baby? Because it was a boy, and one or both of the sisters are afraid, before it has even been confirmed, that he might become the heir to a great fortune. Presumably they convince the unfortunate mother that her child was still-born or died of some disease. They also urge her to appear at the festivities a few days after the delivery, all the better to allay suspicions.’

‘These are grave accusations,’ said Monsieur Testard du Lys. ‘Do you have evidence to back them up?’

‘The testimony of little Geneviève, who sees a strange figure going down to the cellar with a shovel.’

‘The testimony of a child!’

‘A child who sees everything and reports it exactly.’

‘And how do they make Miette go along with them?’ asked Sartine.

‘She’s a poor girl, a little simple, and she’s also pregnant, which means she could be thrown out onto the streets. That seems to me incentive enough. I also observe that, some days before thirtieth May, the sisters or sister get hold of clothes
identical to Naganda’s, with the intention of accusing the Indian of Élodie’s death at a later stage. In fact, let’s go back to Naganda. They have to steal his talisman, which contains a secret. It’s child’s play for the cook to drug the Indian. Once asleep, he’s immediately stripped. His necklace is broken, the talisman is opened, and Claude Galaine’s will is discovered – a will I later found in Camille’s sewing egg – which stipulates that the fortune reverts to Élodie’s first male child. On reading that, I’m sure they feel justified in having employed such extreme measures.’