The Orphan's Tale (55 page)

The Chief Constable standing to the other side of the Colonel said,
"Yes, Inspector."

"
Excellent," said Malet. He turned to the two Englishmen behind him. "Lord Edwin, Sir Robert - I have personally seen to the placement of your contingent. You and your men know the schedule and have seen the diagram of the house. I will do my best to ensure that his grace of Rochester isn't injured by my men. Now we're going in."

             
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Malet raised the hilt of his sword and rapped on the door.
He could see the outline of the knocker gouged into the paint; the fixture had been removed. He moved farther into the shadows and nodded to the men who stood flattened to the walls on either side of the door. He waited until they had their pistols ready, and then rapped again.

Heavy footsteps approached the door.
"What is it?" demanded a voice inside.

Malet smiled grimly.
Dracquet was going to regret not having a peephole cut into the door. He said, "Delivery. Open up: I haven't got all night, and the wine'll spoil!"

There was silence for a moment while Malet eyed the door and debated the wisdom of trying to force it.
His reflections were cut off as the doorknob rattled and the door swung inward to show a strapping fellow armed with a cudgel. He stood well inside the brightly lit room and squinted out into the shadows.

"
We're expecting no deliveries," he growled. "We have already got our wine!"

"
Then why did you send a note ordering two cases of my best sauterne?" Malet demanded. "Look at it! It's been jolted all through these streets and someone's going to pay for it here and now or I will speak to your master!"

"
Get lost!" snapped the other as he stepped forward through the door. "No one wants - " his words were cut off as Malet seized his arm and, with a quick twist, sent the man staggering to the pavement.

The man started to rise; the cold point of Malet's sword at his throat stopped him.
The two gendarmes leveled their pistols.

"
One peep from you," Malet said grimly, "and I will ventilate your windpipe! Do you understand me?"

The man nodded.
Malet withdrew his sword and signed for him to be handcuffed and led away.

No one in sight; he motioned for the squad of Sergents de Ville to follow him, and stepped softly inside the house.

He glanced quickly around to get his bearings, remembering Rosalie's diagram. Dracquet and his guests were probably dining upstairs. He nodded to the men: split up and go to the subordinate stairs on either side of the house. He saw that done, and then climbed the main staircase at the center of the house with his usual unhurried grace.

He paused to look right and left when he reached the top.
He could hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen. The servants and bodyguards had probably been taken without any undue commotion, though from the clinking and conversation Malet could hear from the dining room, Dracquet was very confident of being undisturbed.

He could smell food ahead of him: beef in some sort of wine sauce, truffles, and a hint of garlic.
He heard the clink of crystal and a rattle of silverware.

"
To Princess Victoria!" cried a voice in poorly accented French.

The toast was repeated to a chiming of glasses, then another voice cried,
"To the war!"

Dracquet's voice cried,
"And God save the future King!"

Malet's smile thinned.
Confident, indeed! But their overconfidence was his strength. His eyes narrowed as he moved softly down the hallway, his hand stilling the motion of his sword.

The voices were coming from behind a door just ahead of him.
He set his hand on the knob, cracked the door, and looked inside. It was an elegant room with silk-covered walls, and fragile, gilded furniture from the reign of an earlier king. It appeared to serve as a sort of anteroom to the dining salon; Malet could see a pair of pocket doors dividing the two rooms.

The doors were slightly apart at the moment; beyond them Malet could glimpse a table laden with silver platters and lit by branches of candles.

The talk was confident and treasonous, and well-oiled by the liberal application of wine. Malet stood and listened for a moment, then reached into his breast pocket and brought out his notebook and pencil. They were using some interesting phrases: the courts would be fascinated.

He quietly took notes for some minutes until he suddenly realized how much time had passed.
He replaced the notebook and pencil, took out his pocket watch, and frowned at its enameled face. Eight minutes: what was keeping the rest of them? It appeared that he would have to find out. He turned and went back to the hallway.

The Chief Constable was waiting silently at the top of the stairs.
"The goons in the kitchen are trussed and gagged, M. Chief Inspector," he whispered. "It took longer than we expected: there were more of them than we were told, but they won't give any trouble now."

"
Excellent," said Malet. "You and your half of the squad will follow me into that room and stand behind the closest sliding door. Someone must go to the servants' stairs and tell the rest of the squad to stay where they are until I call for them. When I go into the room, I want you to send someone downstairs to bring in the back-up."

Someone in the dining salon cried,
"Down with Louis-Philippe!"

Malet and the Chief Constable exchanged suddenly grim glances.

"Go now," said Malet.

"
Yes, sir."

Malet nodded and went back into the anteroom, followed by the squad of gendarmes with their drawn swords in their hands.
Lord Edwin came in with them.

Malet spared a nod for the man, but he kept his eyes fixed on the door opposite him.
He could see the knob of the back door begin to turn.

Malet's eyes narrowed as Dracquet's voice raised.

"War!" cried Dracquet. "The most profitable business in the world!"

Half the gendarmes had spent some time in the armies, or had lost loved ones.
Malet saw some angry looks. He frowned and set his finger to his lips.

"
War!" Dracquet's voice said again over the clink of glasses. "Let's drink to it! The finest money-making venture known to man! Think of it: the little ones can sweat and bleed and speak of high causes and noble sentiments, and it will be us who sit in comfort and watch our empires rise! What could be easier? Only one death - one plain little girl - and in the uproar that follows we, the masterminds, reap the profits!"

Anothe
r voice spoke in English. From the cadence of the words, the brandy had taken its toll.  " In a little less than two weeks your king's yacht will sail to Southampton. My niece and my dear sister-in-law will embark, to their personal disaster…"

Lord Edwin started.

The English voice continued, " - You, Dracquet, will have a king as your friend, and all of us will be wealthier than we ever dreamed!"

Lord Edwin seized Malet's arm.
"This is appalling!" he hissed in Malet's ear. "I am going in to face that viper at once!"

"
Stay where you are!" Malet commanded.

Dracquet said,
"Then let us drink to ourselves: the undisputed masters of Europe when the smoke from this war - "

"
I insist!" said Beauchamps, starting toward the door.

Malet gripped him by the shoulders and hauled him back.
"You will do nothing of the kind!" he hissed. "You'll ruin everything if you rush in now! Be patient!"

Lord Edwin traded glares with Malet but finally nodded.

Malet took out his pistol and frowned down at it. One of the gendarmes, angrily shifting his feet, bungled his footing and struck a chair with his scabbard. The sound seemed as loud as a pistol shot.

"
What was that!" gasped one of the men in English.

"
Where was it coming from?" demanded another.

Malet shook his head at the gendarmes, tucked the pistol in his belt, behind his back, and moved toward the doors.

"It was coming from the hallway," said Dracquet.

"
We're discovered!" said Rochester's voice.

"
Don't be foolish, Your Grace," said Dracquet. "I am certain it is nothing of the kind. Drink your wine while I ring for Gaston."

"
No!" said Rochester. "My bodyguard - "

Malet stepped through the door with a smile.
He scanned the party assembled at the table and turned unerringly toward a tall, fair man with the protuberant blue eyes and the florid good looks of the house of Hanover. "I am afraid the man is indisposed at the moment, Your Grace," he said in English with the hint of a superbly contemptuous bow. "But perhaps I can be of some assistance."

DRACQUET AT BAY

The room was perfectly silent.
Malet's words had driven all color from the Duke of Rochester's face. No one had seen the back door open to admit a squad of sergents de ville with a prisoner in their grip.

Dracquet's eyes flickered with momentary consternation before he slowly lowered his glass of wine.
"I beg Your Grace to overlook the boorishness of this man," he said. "I shall send him about his business."

He turned to Malet and his voice was calm and contemptuous.
"How dare you intrude in my house like this? Have the Police gone into housebreaking?" Each word was incisive and curt. He paused and added with an elegant sneer, "Or am I to take this as a sample of the manners you learned in that prison?"

Malet advanced to the table, his left hand behind his back.
"Guy Matherne, alias Dragonard, alias Dracquard, alias Dracquet," he said as he took a folded document from his pocket with his right hand and laid it on the table, "I am placing you under arrest in the name of the king." He tapped the red seal on the document. "Here is the warrant, signed by His Majesty, himself. And your companions will be answering to King William of England. Will you come peacefully?"

Dracquet was thinking furiously, his eyes fixed on Malet.
His hands lay on the tabletop. He started to shift in his seat. "This is absurd!" he said contemptuously. "On what charge do you arrest me?"

"
You have been implicated in the attempted murder of a public official," said Malet with a smile. "Although," he added gently, "I could probably make a case for treason and sedition based on what I have just heard in the past few minutes."

Dracquet rose to his feet.
"Preposterous!" he exclaimed. He lifted a little bell on the table and rang it imperiously.

"
I believe your men are tied up at the moment," Malet said, bringing his left hand from behind his back. His pistol was leveled and steady.

Dracquet set the bell down and shoved his plate aside with a lightning
-quick motion. His hand emerged holding a small pistol.

"
Put down your gun," Malet said with a cold smile. "Even if you hit me, you know I will kill you before I die. Put it down. And your guests had best keep their hands where I can see them."

Dracquet lowered his weapon.

"Now sit down slowly and place your hands on the table."

Dracquet kept his eyes fixed on Malet's, but he obeyed.

Lord Edwin came through the pocket doors at that moment, followed by Sir Robert Peel. Both men looked straight at the Duke of Rochester.

"
Good evening, Your Grace," said Peel.

The muzzle of Malet's gun lowered a fraction of an inch.

Dracquet hurled his pistol in Malet's face, whirled and flung open the doors of the cabinet behind him, revealing a narrow passageway set into the walls of the house. He dove into the passageway as the second squad of gendarmes burst into the room with their pistols ready.

"
Handcuffs on all of them!" Malet snapped over his shoulder as he rushed to the passageway. He could hear footsteps moving swiftly away from him. There was no room to fight; the passageway had been designed purely for flight. Malet hurried after the footsteps, moving sideways. He could feel coarse brick on one side and smooth wall on the other; the escape route, then, was probably relatively new, most likely an addition made at Dracquet's direction. From what he remembered of the house, they were going toward the servants' stairs. This probably opened on the landing -

He heard a door open and softly close just ahead of him as he framed this thought.
The sound was followed by the snick of a lock and then the thump of a triumphant fist against the door.

Malet reached the door a moment later.
His hand closed about the knob and turned. Nothing. He was locked in the passageway.

             
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