The Hanged Man (34 page)

The chemist smiled and shook Achille's extended hand. “I'm glad to be of service, Inspector.” He paused before asking, “Do you anticipate more cases of this nature?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so. It's the way of our world, after all.”

The chemist frowned and shook his head. “Ah, yes.
Our
world.” He looked Achille in the eye. “What then must we do?”

Chief Féraud folded his hands, leaned forward over his desk, and stared at his lead investigators, clearly impatient. “Well, gentlemen, three out of four isn't bad. And we have all their explosives and weapons, haven't we?”

Achille, Legros, and Rousseau sat facing the chief. A tense moment of silence passed among them before Achille replied, “I'm sorry, Chief. We can't claim victory with de Gournay on the loose. As for the explosives and weapons, we have no idea what he took with him as he went to ground. We need more information, but one of our prisoners is in the hospital with a concussion and the other's withstood the magistrate's grilling for hours.”

“I'd make him talk,” Rousseau broke in.

“I'm afraid that's impossible, Inspector, as M. Lefebvre has placed them in the magistrate's custody.” The chief glared at Achille, his meaning clear: Féraud would have handled the matter differently.

Rousseau noticed the chief's displeasure and grinned. “My canary's been singing his little heart out. I'm confident he's told us everything he knows. The plan was to bomb the Café Terminus this evening. Our prisoners would get their final marching orders this morning at four. De Gournay must have gotten wise to our planned raids, but too late to tip off his confederates.”

“Did Renard say anything about the papers he was sent to steal?” Achille asked.

“No, it was just another job to him, like the Kadyshev burglary. De Gournay paid the burglar and told him where to go and what to look for. Renard also took care of Boguslavsky in the La Villette storehouse for a while, brought him food and so forth. He swears he had nothing to do with the killings. He says that was de Gournay's, Moreau's, and Wroblewski's work, and he'll testify against them.”

“Do you believe him?” Achille pressed.

Rousseau turned to Achille with a sarcastic smile. “Really, Achille, do you think the little rat would lie to
me
?”

Achille addressed his next comment to the chief. “I believe the café bombing was planned as a diversion. De Gournay's target is the Russian foreign minister.”

“Are you still convinced of that?” Féraud asked.

“I can't be certain without further evidence, but I believe the assassination plot is most probable.”

The chief seemed confused. “Please explain, Achille.”

“The minister, traveling incognito, was scheduled to arrive at Saint-Lazare station on the Le Havre express at eight o'clock tonight. We must presume that de Gournay has no knowledge of our plan to have the minister detrain at Asnières. The Café Terminus is just around the corner from the station. A bombing shortly before the train's arrival would create panic that would soon spread through the hotel and the station. De Gournay could kill the minister as he stepped onto the platform and escape during the confusion.”

“That makes sense,” Rousseau said, “but with Moreau and Wroblewski in custody, who would throw the bomb at the café?”

A timid knock on the door interrupted the discussion. The chief growled, “Enter.”

A nervous clerk opened the door a crack and poked his head in. “I apologize for the interruption, M. Féraud, but there's a gentleman here to see you. He says it's most urgent.”

“I gave strict instructions not to be disturbed. Who is he?”

“Uh … it's Commandant Bazeries.”

“Bazeries? Of course we'll see him.”

The commandant entered the office and took a chair next to Achille. He did not keep the group in suspense. “I have good news, gentlemen. Captain Duret has made contact with the Lackey.”

The chief seemed bewildered. “Which lackey is that, Commandant?”

“I apologize. ‘The Lackey' is a code name for our agent, de Gournay's servant.”

“I sometimes get confused with all this cloak-and-dagger. Please continue.”

Bazeries nodded and smiled politely. “With your permission, Chief Féraud. As you may recall, the Lackey failed to report on schedule, which had Duret worried. We now have an explanation for this sudden change in our agent's behavior. The man's terrified. De Gournay, who is ordinarily very cool in his actions, has suddenly seemed desperate and erratic. They left the house on the Rue de la Mire late last night and checked into a hotel on the Rue de Parme as the Viscount de Saint-Valery and manservant.”

“The Rue de Parme? That's not far from the railway station,” the chief remarked.

“That's correct, Monsieur,” Bazeries replied. “Unfortunately, de Gournay's not there at present. We've lost track of him again.”

“Pardon me, Commandant,” Achille said, “but you said your agent is terrified. Is there something specific that's worrying him?”

“De Gournay left a package and five hundred francs compensation with his servant, with instructions to leave the parcel under a table at the Café Terminus at eight o'clock this evening.”

“My God, it's a bomb!” Achille exclaimed. He turned to Bazeries. “Before you joined us, we were discussing de Gournay's plot to bomb the café. Inspector Rousseau questioned who would throw the bomb with Moreau and Wroblewski in custody. With the information you've provided, I'm now certain of the answer. I believe de Gournay means for the Lackey to plant it unknowingly.

“This morning, an explosives expert from the Central Laboratory helped us search the house on the Rue Ronsard. In the course of the investigation, he discovered a new type of infernal machine, which we subsequently took as evidence. The device has an ingenious mechanism employing a common alarm clock and an electric detonator. A dry-cell battery provides the electricity. Boguslavsky tinkered with that sort of thing.”

“What the deuce is a dry-cell battery?” the chief inquired.

“It's a recent invention,” Achille replied. “It's much more compact than a wet-cell battery, portable, and adaptable. Electric ignition makes a lit fuse unnecessary. The bomber can set the clockwork mechanism to give him time to escape. At any rate, I believe de Gournay planned the café as a diversion, rather than the primary target.

“In my opinion, he intends to assassinate the ‘Guest.' Initially, I thought they would attempt the deed by lobbing a bomb into the overpass connecting the station with the hotel. Now, I think it's more likely to occur on the platform. I believe that would give de Gournay a better chance for escape. Moreover, I believe his motivation is money rather than ideology, but I still don't know who's paying him, other than the Russians whom he has betrayed.” He turned to Bazeries. “Does the Deuxième Bureau suspect the Germans?”

Bazeries answered firmly, “We do not, Inspector. The Germans would pay for the high-explosives formula, but they would not be so rash as to instigate an assassination that would provoke an international crisis.”

“Are you certain they wouldn't try it, if the anarchists were blamed?” Achille asked.

Bazeries shook his head and remained firm. “In our opinion, they would not risk it.”

“I agree,” Féraud said. “Besides, I'm a police officer. Matters of foreign affairs are outside my sphere of operations, thank God. From my perspective, our job is to prevent the assassination and the bombing and, if possible, capture or kill de Gournay. We already have a plan for the former, we now need one for the latter, and time is short.”

“I have an idea, Chief, but it requires precise coordination among our police brigades, as well as the assistance of the Deuxième Bureau and the explosives expert, Professor Martin.”

“Very well, Achille,” the chief replied. “I leave it in your capable hands. I'm off to report to the prefect, and then I must meet with M. Orlovsky and discuss our plan for meeting the minister's train at Asnières.”

At seven o'clock, the Lackey stepped into a
pissoir
on the Rue d'Amsterdam. Captain Duret was waiting at the urinal. They exchanged parcels, identically wrapped in brown paper and bound with string, and then the captain walked out without a word. A minute later, the Lackey exited with a tremendous sigh of relief and proceeded down the busy thoroughfare in the direction of the railway station and Hotel Terminus.

Captain Duret walked in the opposite direction, toward a closed coach parked near the Hotel Britannia. The driver opened the door and the captain stepped up into the dark interior, where Professor Martin waited patiently. The door closed and the driver climbed to his box, snapped the reins, and clicked at his horses. They pulled away from the curb and soon broke into a quick trot.

The captain handed the parcel over gingerly. “Do you think we have enough time?”

The professor received the package and cradled it in his lap. With a faint smile, he replied, “I sincerely hope so. At any rate, I've studied the mechanism. If we can't make it to the arsenal, I'll try to disarm the bomb in the coach. I trust you've paid your insurance premiums?”

Achille stood near the gate separating the concourse from the train shed, scanning the immense iron-and-glass structure. Several plainclothes officers patrolled the area, awaiting a signal from Achille.

Arriving and departing trains belched smoke and hissed steam, saturating the atmosphere with a thick grayish haze. The sky above the sooty glass panes was pitch dark, moonless and starless, but the concrete platforms stretching out beyond the shed into the busy rail yard were ablaze with rows of electric lamps. Passengers bustled in and out; porters stacked and hauled baggage; guards blew their whistles and slammed carriage doors shut; chuffing engines shuttled back and forth; wheels rumbled and brakes squealed.

Legros approached from the crowded concourse and tapped Achille's shoulder. “Good news, Inspector. The Lackey made the switch on schedule.”

Achille checked his watch. The captain and chemist had barely one hour to take the bomb to a safe location and disarm or explode it. “Let's wish them well, Étienne. We'll need a bit of good luck, too.”

“You haven't spotted him yet?” Legros asked.

“Not yet. Though with the exception of Rousseau, who's met him, we're all working from descriptions. De Gournay's a chameleon. Who knows what color he'll display this evening?”

Legros smiled. “I doubt he'll play the female. Skirts, high-heeled shoes, and a corset would be quite a nuisance if he had to make a run for it.”

Rousseau joined them. “Tsk-tsk, Inspectors. Talking about women's unmentionables, eh? I'm shocked.”

Achille scrutinized his colleague, who wore a railway guard's cap and uniform and hid his face behind a false beard and glasses. “Nice disguise, my friend. Have you been taking lessons from the elusive Rossignol?”