Son of Holmes (22 page)
“Fine,” said Vernet with impatience, pulling at his beard, “but who’s to be the new chef? How did I find him? And, above all, can he cook?”
“On the last point, you may rest assured. His name is Fritz Benet, and he would be worthy to be my own chef, were I ever in a position to be able to afford one. Maybe after the war . . . but that’s irrelevant. He’s been the chef for Monsieur Giraud for quite some time. However, for these purposes Giraud fired him because he suspected him of complicity with Routier’s death.”
“Now, wait a minute, Auguste . . .” I began, but he waved me down.
“That puts him in no danger. Believe me, it’s perfectly safe. The police have checked him thoroughly.”
“But why should I suspect him?”
“He poured the beer.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to make sense to us. It merely has to be plausible to the police. They’ve apparently settled on me. That you might suspect Fritz will have no bearing.”
Vernet sipped at his cognac. “So I will once again have a restaurant.”
“Barring difficulties.”
That seemed to palliate him. His face relaxed and he looked at me. “I asked for this when I decided to accommodate our friend here. At least it’s not dull.”
Lupa picked up the book he’d been reading when I entered and, without so much as a “by your leave,” became engrossed again. Vernet and I discussed Fritz’s merits until the alarm sounded again. Lupa distractedly pushed the button, and I, seeing that he was taking no precautions, got up and walked into the tunnel, my pistol ready. After a few moments, I heard Fritz’s voice and returned to my chair.
When they entered, Fritz crossed over to me.
“You’re all right?” he asked.
“Perfectly.”
“What’s the trouble?”
Lupa spoke. “Hello, Fritz. Please take a seat.”
Within a quarter of an hour, the thing had been settled, and Fritz was in the kitchen, getting acquainted. Vernet waited for the police in the bar upstairs, and Charles, somewhat miffed at his demotion, nevertheless was assisting Fritz whenever necessary. Lupa and I sat in the office, discussing the war.
“I still say that it will be over soon. Now that Italy has joined us . . .”
Lupa shook his head. “Jules, you are deluded. This war will continue for years.”
“Years? Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Mark my words. You talk of settling down and growing your vineyards in peace. In two years, you’ll be wondering if you’ll be able to hold on to your land. The government will need every man, every resource, and it will take them. Your hobbies, which you so treasure, and rightly so, will fade to insignificance. There will be no good food available. Everyone will join in the effort. Watkins has brought me the news that they’ll soon be hiring women at the munitions factories.”
“No!”
“Yes, indeed. Every man will be fighting. Factory workers, sick men, even older men will be forced to the front, and it will be to no avail. The war will drag on. Keep in mind, Jules, it’s only been ten months. There’s still adventure and idealism in the thought of war. Give the world two or three or five years of it, and you’ll see everything you know change. After this case is over, I’m quitting myself, though my uncle will disapprove. I may have to go to America to escape this war, though I fear that even the Americans and their pacifist Wilson will have to join. Luckily for France, they’ll support her.”
“Not exactly a Utopian, are you?”
“No, a realist. They don’t go well together.”
Knowing that cynicism and youth were constant companions, I was not unduly depressed by his opinions, though it saddened me to see such an intelligent man obviously unaware of the military realities. Germany was strong, but we’d been beaten in 1871 and had learned from it. The Kaiser was no Bismarck. That was the point to remember. No German army would ever march under the Arch de Triomphe again.
“You French,” he continued, “with your
elan vital
! It isn’t will that wins a war, it’s firepower. This war won’t be settled by men being pushed against other men on the fronts but in the countries themselves—where every effort of the economy, the government, the citizenry itself will play a part. And it will be at least two years before that fact is realized. No, Jules. Prepare yourself for a long siege.”
elan vital
! It isn’t will that wins a war, it’s firepower. This war won’t be settled by men being pushed against other men on the fronts but in the countries themselves—where every effort of the economy, the government, the citizenry itself will play a part. And it will be at least two years before that fact is realized. No, Jules. Prepare yourself for a long siege.”
“And you,” I said, “how will you avoid conscription?” He sat back. “I am willing to die, I suppose, for freedom, and I am more than willing to devote my talents to serve the Allied cause. But I could never, ever serve on the front as one of the thousands who are important because they are bodies. My ego would never permit it. And honestly, Jules, would yours?”
I looked down at my hands. “I’d rather not serve at the front, if that’s what you mean, but in my case it’s more a question of age than conceit.”
He shrugged. “Call it what you will. Are you getting ready to go?”
I’d gotten up, alerted by noises upstairs. He put his fingers to his lips as he crossed over to me, and together we listened at the door to what sounded like Magiot himself talking to Vernet.
“You expect me to believe that he left here this afternoon and left no hint of where he was going?”
“I expect nothing, monsieur,” Vernet replied. “I merely tell you what happened. I dismissed him. He left.
C’est ça. C’est tout.
”
C’est ça. C’est tout.
”
Magiot asked a couple of questions about Fritz and then, angry but satisfied with the responses, left. So it had worked.
Lupa walked back to his chair and sat. “Satisfactory. Jules, you’re going home this evening? Good. Would you check something for me?”
“Of course.”
“The table in your sitting room, in front of the fireplace, I’d like you to look at it carefully and describe it to me in detail when you return tomorrow.”
I left him exactly as I’d found him, sitting over a book at his desk. I found my way out easily through the tunnel, walked to the car, and began the drive home. It had been a long day. Only as I turned off the light near my bed to sleep did I remember that the telegram from Georges hadn’t arrived.
14
T
uesday, May 25, 1915. The day broke cool and clear. I threw the comforter off and got to my feet. Downstairs, the kitchen was spotless as always but, without Fritz, seemed lifeless. I made my own coffee, which was not good, and ate one of yesterday’s croissants, which was worse. I hadn’t seen Tania since Sunday after the shooting, and so I decided to pay her a call.
uesday, May 25, 1915. The day broke cool and clear. I threw the comforter off and got to my feet. Downstairs, the kitchen was spotless as always but, without Fritz, seemed lifeless. I made my own coffee, which was not good, and ate one of yesterday’s croissants, which was worse. I hadn’t seen Tania since Sunday after the shooting, and so I decided to pay her a call.
The walk to her house was always pleasant for me, and no less so this morning. The greens were vibrant, and I’d gotten started early enough to hear the birds chirping. It was not quite cold, though I walked with my hands in my pockets.
Danielle answered my knock and stood wringing her hands in the doorway.
“Is madame in?” I inquired.
She shook her head back and forth and looked at me helplessly.
“What’s the matter, Danielle?”
I brushed past her and on into the foyer. “Tania!” There was no answer.
“Elle est partie.”
Danielle had come up behind me.
Danielle had come up behind me.
“Where’s she gone to? When did she leave?”
The domestic only shook her head, tears coming to her eyes.
“The other woman? What about her?”
“She’s also gone.”
“When did they leave? Have you no idea?”
“They were gone when I got up this morning. They were here last night. Oh, Monsieur Giraud, I’m so worried. I don’t know what could have happened. Everything was normal last night, and now they are gone. There is no note. I heard nothing.”
She was becoming hysterical, so I walked her to a chair and we sat down. I took her hand.
“Now look, Danielle. Try to remember. Did anyone come last night? Did madame act strange in any way? How was the other woman?”
“Last night she was walking around, of course with the bandage still on her head. But we talked, and she seemed well. The madame had dinner and went up to bed early, complaining of a headache. No one came to the house.”
“What time did you get up this morning?”
“At dawn, monsieur,
comme d’habitude
.”
comme d’habitude
.”
“Were there any signs of trouble? Struggle of any kind?”
“No.”
“All right. Wait here. I’ll look around.”
So saying, I left her in the sitting room and went to Tania’s room. The bed had been slept in. Her cosmetics were neatly arranged. Her brush had some hair in it—since Danielle cleaned daily, it was likely that Tania had taken the time to comb out her hair. Everything was in order.
On Tania’s bureau there was a framed photograph of herself, her husband, and the four boys formally posed around their sitting room mantel. The focus was clear, all the likenesses visible. From the age of the boys, the picture had been taken within the past two years. I remembered Lupa’s directions and my hand reached out to take the thing. But then I stopped. Could I do this to my lover? Were there no limits to this intelligence gathering? How would Tania react to the missing picture? Turning abruptly, I left the room empty-handed.
In the other rooms, I looked at windows for signs of forcible entry, for scuff marks in the hall which might show where a struggle had taken place, but I found nothing. Anna’s bandage lay in a wastebasket near her dressing table, but she may have had it changed. I came back down to find Danielle as I’d left her, but now dabbing at her eyes more frequently. The girl was not yet twenty and no doubt was easily upset.
“There, there,” I said, which was patently no help. She cried for another small time before I could quiet her by suggesting that she go to my house, until further notice, and try to keep the place in order. Even as I said it, I cursed to myself. I’d forgotten to look over the table near the hearth. Still, it was no great matter. I was worried about Tania’s disappearance. If nothing else, it was badly timed. What would Lupa say when he heard that Anna had disappeared? I didn’t care to think about it.
As we were about to lock up the house, I excused myself for a moment, trudging wearily back up the stairs to Tania’s room. Carefully I removed the family portrait from the frame, rolled it, and placed it in my coat pocket. If it would serve to clear her of suspicion, she would have to do without it for a time. On the way back down the stairs, I tried to rationalize my guilt by telling myself that, had she been there, I would have asked to borrow the picture, and she would have acceded. It was small consolation.
We carefully locked up the house and walked together as far as the road. I was in a hurry to get to Valence, though I couldn’t have said why—perhaps I was as much concerned with getting out of Danielle’s presence. Nothing upset me more than the whimpering voice of an hysterical teenager. Be that as it may, I left her with my keys and turned to Valence. I found myself breathing hard and forced myself to a slow walk. It would be good if, as Lupa said, this thing was coming to a head. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stand the pace much longer.
I stopped at the first cafe
en ville
and ordered a double espresso and a newspaper. By the time I’d finished both, it was close to nine o’clock and traffic had picked up on the road. I felt much more relaxed and decided for the moment to put off seeing Lupa. Shut up as he was in his hideaway at La Couronne, he would not be of much help in determining Tania’s and Anna’s whereabouts anyway. And I was still not at all sure that the ladies were at risk. Walking out of the cafe, I glanced in the direction of St. Etienne and saw sulfur clouds beginning to rise. So the factory was still producing. Things hadn’t gotten out of control yet.
en ville
and ordered a double espresso and a newspaper. By the time I’d finished both, it was close to nine o’clock and traffic had picked up on the road. I felt much more relaxed and decided for the moment to put off seeing Lupa. Shut up as he was in his hideaway at La Couronne, he would not be of much help in determining Tania’s and Anna’s whereabouts anyway. And I was still not at all sure that the ladies were at risk. Walking out of the cafe, I glanced in the direction of St. Etienne and saw sulfur clouds beginning to rise. So the factory was still producing. Things hadn’t gotten out of control yet.
I headed toward the telegraph office to check on early telegrams. Perhaps they hadn’t bothered to deliver Georges’s telegram of the night before, or maybe it had only arrived this morning. No such luck. Nothing had arrived for me at all.
Again out on the street, I turned toward the police station, thinking it would seem logical to Magiot if I showed an interest in whether they’d taken Lupa or not. The way my morning had been going, Magiot might even cheer me up.
I was ushered directly into his office. He rose to greet me, and we shook hands.
“Well, Jules, what wakes you so early?”
I’d play his game. “Curiousity, Jacques. I wanted to see if eight o’clock came twice a day. Someone told me it appeared in the morning, and I wanted to check it out for myself.”
He smiled tolerantly.
“But,” I said, “I really thought I’d drop by and see if you’d picked up Lupa or gotten anywhere with this thing. I had a devil of a time sleeping last night, what with all your talk of international affairs. Have you got him? Did he confess?”
Magiot arranged some papers on his desk, taking his time. He got out a cigarette, offered me one which I refused, and lit it. “No,” he said finally, “we didn’t get him. He’d left La Couronne by the time we’d come to arrest him.”
“Lupa left? When did he go? I saw him there only yesterday morning.”
“Evidently Vernet fired him outright when he learned of the forged papers. He packed up and left immediately. You know they’ve hired your man—Fritz, isn’t it?—to take his place?”
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