The Orphan's Tale (30 page)

She looked over her shoulder; no one about.
She went to the door, pushing the dust before her, opened the door, and swept the dust out into the stable courtyard in a billowing cloud. Let Alcide worry about it the next morning when he cleaned the stables. He was getting too possessive: it would serve him right.

"
Geez, lady!"

The voice made her squeak and jump back, and she caught sight of a shadowy figure hovering just outside the circle of light thrown across the cobblestoned courtyard by the open door.

"Go away!" she gasped, raising the broom like a weapon as the man came into the light.

"
Take it easy," the speaker advised. "I am not dangerous, I am just hungry. And one of the fellows around here said you give out soup to poor duffers like me."

"
We usually dish it out during the day," said Marie, who was still a little shaken.

"
Oh," said the man. He was standing before the door with a battered hat in his hands. "I could sweep the floor for you, or scrub pots." He added wistfully, "I haven't had much to eat for the past few days, and some nice, hot soup would sure taste good."

Marie looked him over. He was undeniably seedy, with a five days' growth of beard, but unalarming.
He smiled at her as she scrutinized him.

"
Who are you talking to, Marie?" demanded Elise, who had just come into the kitchen. She was still wearing her silk dress, and her eyes were shining with happiness.

The man surveyed her with respectful approval.
"Just a bum trying to mooch a handout," he said with a grin.

"
He wants some soup," Marie said repressively.

Elise looked the man over and made a decision.
"Well, bring him inside and give him some," she said. "There's some bread on the sideboard as well - bring that and some cheese." She looked over at the man. "And you, M'sieur, come inside. The night is chilly."

The man entered the kitchen with a dawning smile.
"I will work for it," he said. "I am good at scrubbing pots."

"
They're all scrubbed," Elise told him. "We don't leave them sitting around to get crusty."

The man pulled out a chair and sat down.
"You sound like my wife," he sighed ruefully.

Elise took a closer look at his tired face and suddenly stiffened.
"Monsieur," she began in a tone of voice that made the man look up sharply, "I believe I know - "

She halted as Marie came back bearing a tray containing a bowl brimming with thick, meaty soup, the generous end of a long loaf of bread, a slab of cheese, and a glass of wine.

"There," said Marie as she set it on the table before the man.

"
Thank you, child," said Elise. "Now go and get ready for your evening out." She eyed the man, who was tucking into the soup and added, "And please tap on M. Paul's door and tell him I need him in the kitchen at once."

"
This is good soup," said the man as Marie went out the door.

"Y
ou're welcome to as much of it as you want, M. l'Inspecteur," said Elise with quiet emphasis. "And there's enough of this evening's dessert left to give you a healthy portion of gateau aux amands, too, if you wish."

The man dipped a piece of bread in the broth, popped it in his mouth and chewed it with a smile.

"Marie said I was needed here," said Malet, coming silently into the room. He saw the man sitting at the table and stopped with a muffled exclamation, then hurried forward. "What on earth are you doing here, Gilles?" he demanded.

"
This one's sharp as a tack, chief," said Senior Inspector Gilles d'Arthez, gesturing toward Elise with the end of the loaf of bread. "She spotted me right away."

"
You haven't answered my question. It's dangerous here for you."

"
I have some news for you," said d'Arthez. "Along the lines you set out in your last note. It's urgent, so I thought I'd best chance it."

"
You know the proper channels to take. They're designed to protect my operatives and I want them to be followed!"

"
The risk is worth it," d'Arthez said.

"
I am not so sure," Malet said.

"
Come now," said Inspector d'Arthez. "This place is known to be charitably inclined and I thought it'd be a good cover. Besides, I haven't been eating particularly well lately. Gleanings on the street are rather slim right now, and I hear the lady - " he bowed toward Elise, " -employs a good cook."

He ate another spoonful of soup and then said,
"And to convince you I am not a crank or a fool, let me give you a name: Pierre le Noir." He eyed Malet's suddenly white face and nodded. "In the flesh, powder-burnt chin and all," he said. "And there's this as well." He reached into the pocket of his shabby breeches with a grimy hand, took out a coin, and sent it arcing through the air in a flicker of gold.

"
Now do you think it worth the risk?" he asked as Malet raised suddenly blazing eyes.

**  **  **

"Inspector d'Arthez is certain it was him?" Count d'Anglars asked half an hour later. "He has no doubts?"

"
None at all," Malet replied. "He says it was Pierre le Noir, no mistake, right down to the powder burn on his chin from my pistol."

"
My God!" D'Anglars leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees in an uncharacteristically tense posture. "I thought he fled Paris and was killed in the service of the Bey of Tunis."

"
Wishful thinking, it would seem," Malet commented. He was standing beside the mantel, heedlessly toying with an ornate Dresden clock.

D'Anglars watched him set the clock back on the mantel.
"Or a deliberate smokescreen to put us off his track," he said. "How did d'Arthez get so close a view of him?"

"
He was in the stables currying one of the horses.  He saw the carriage come in - it was a big berline, by the way - and caught a look at the man as he stepped out of it. He was half-hidden by a stall partition, but he got a good look. It gave him quite a turn."

"
I can imagine," said d'Anglars. "I thought we'd seen the last of him after the Reuilly murders."

Malet nodded.
"Dracquet's pulling in some heavyweights with Pierre le Noir in his train now," he said. "He's taking a very great risk in having that man staying with him."

D'Anglars said nothing.
His expression was that of a pupil listening to his teacher.

Malet was still thinking.
"If Pierre le Noir's involved in this, Dracquet wants a specific result with no margin for error and is willing to pay heavily to be certain. The man's no spendthrift; I have noticed that every sou he pays out is calculated to get results, and Pierre le Noir is the most expensive assassin on the market. And the best."

"B
ut what could he be using the man for?"

Malet touched a carefully articulated porcelain rose and said thoughtfully,
"What do you know of the British royal family?"

"
I know they're a pack of German prigs," d'Anglars said with uncharacteristic flatness.

Malet shot him an amused look.
"I recall that you spent a long time living on the charity of the English - which wasn't very gracefully given, as I understand," he said. "What, for example, do you know about the king and his heirs?"

"
The king and queen are childless," d'Anglars said. "As William succeeded his brother, George IV, so William would be succeeded by his brothers and their heirs, starting with the oldest and descending through the youngest."

"
How does Princess Victoria fit in?" asked Malet. "Can women inherit the English throne?"

"
Exactly," d'Anglars replied. "The Duke of Kent was the next in line after the Duke of Clarence - the present King. "His daughter Victoria became the immediate heir to the throne after he died."

"
And she is a child," Malet said reflectively.

"
Thirteen or fourteen, I believe," d'Anglars said.

"
Hm," said Malet. "And who succeeds her if she dies?"

D'Anglars sat back with a frown.
"The next in line is the Duke of Cumberland," he said after a moment's thought. "He is not well liked or trusted by the English people. When King William dies Cumberland will inherit the kingdom of Hanover, even if Victoria survives, since Hanover does not recognize the right of women to inherit the throne."

"
And who inherits after Cumberland?" Malet asked.

"
Edmund, the Duke of Rochester," d'Anglars replied.

"
Something of a black sheep, perhaps?" Malet suggested. "Cards, women, fast horses?"

"
You could say that," d'Anglars admitted.

"
Just as I thought," Malet said. He gazed off into space with his eyes narrowed. "I wonder..." he said.

"
Yes?"

"
Can a man inherit the English throne if he is clearly implicated in a murder?"

"
I don't know," d'Anglars said slowly. "He might forfeit his right to inherit."

Malet turned away from the mantel and went silently back to his chair.

D'Anglars watched him. "What are you implying?" he asked.

Malet smiled and sat back.
"I dined recently with the woman who was Dracquet's mistress for a time. She gave me some valuable information on the man, and one of the items I found very interesting was the fact that Dracquet has close ties in England with the Duke of Rochester and his household. When Rochester visited France incognito in 1831, he stayed at a house Constant Dracquet owns in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Dracquet's mistress acted as hostess on that occasion."

"
But even if Rochester were to arrange the assassination of his niece through that villain Dracquet, how would it benefit him?" demanded d'Anglars. "He doesn't stand to inherit."

"
He could gain two thrones," Malet replied, "providing matters were set up in such a way as to implicate the Duke of Cumberland. Dracquet's an excellent conniver, and they'd reach an arrangement between them that would enable them to achieve both their aims. Or so Rochester would think. But I believe Dracquet would double-cross him."

D'Anglars sat forward.
"How?" he asked.

Malet frowned down at his folded arms.
"Dracquet has connections to the munitions manufacturers. Things would be arranged in such a way as to cause a war. I am not sure Rochester would want to agree to that. If Cumberland were barred from the succession, and if Rochester became king, Dracquet would be able to blackmail a king for the rest of his life. If Rochester tried to free himself by having Cumberland killed, it would only be fuel for the fire. And however powerful the king of England is, I don't think he would be able to beat Dracquet at the assassination game."

"
Impressive," d'Anglars admitted. "And that would certainly explain the presence of this assassin, Pierre le Noir, in Dracquet's household for the moment."

"
There's no question of it. That is the plot that Saint-Légère sensed. That is what Dracquet's after. Everything fits in. Even this." He handed d'Anglars the coin that d'Arthez had put into his hand. "Do you know what it is?" he asked.

D'Anglars turned it over.
"An English guinea," he said. "Minted this year."

"
That is correct. Gilles d'Arthez was given it as a tip by a man who spoke with a pronounced English accent and bore a strong resemblance to the face on the coin. Yes," he said at D'Anglars's expression. "Rochester himself is in Paris and staying with Dracquet in Montmartre. If there's anything that would clinch the argument, this is it. And Dracquet's mistress heard an interesting snatch of conversation two years ago... Now we know what Dracquet's after, and why Le Noir is returned from the dead. He is hunting royalty."

"
You have convinced me as to Dracquet's purpose," d'Anglars said thoughtfully, "But I am not so sure about Le Noir."

"
What do you mean?" Malet asked.

"
You forget one last variable," d'Anglars said. "You forget that there can be a multiplicity of reasons for the presence of a particular player in a game."

Malet was frankly skeptical.
"And what is the second reason?" he asked.

"
You have been watching Constant Dracquet for a long time and now you are after him," said d'Anglars. "You have made no secret of your purpose, and he's afraid of you. He has sent messages inviting your attendance at various meals, and he has taken care to be courteous about it. If you are unaware of your own menace, I promise you that he is not."

D'Anglars looked straight at Malet and added,
"You may have renounced the title thirty years ago, M. le Dauphin, but if this plot concerns royalty, then I recommend that you look carefully to your own safety."