Deadly Descent (16 page)

As Anne gazed at these works, she marvelled at the range of Michou's observations. The first mosaic was a large gilded monstrance she must have often observed at the cathedral. The second depicted a sumptuous carriage. She would have seen many like it outside the theaters where she worked.

The third piece, a strange, richly decorated ornamental bowl, unsettled Anne's mind and set her to wondering. Exquisitely designed, it was the kind of precious object meant for private viewing in the home of a very rich, aristocratic family. How could Michou have seen it? Anne felt certain she had never worked in such a household. And it seemed unlikely she could have committed to memory a complex piece like this one in the course of a fleeting visit.

Could it be the fruit of fantasy? Intrigued, Anne looked closely at the green oval bowl. On its rim sat a human figure poised to throw a three-pronged spear at a sea beast swimming inside. Its broad snout protruded above the rim of the bowl. Its pedestal was a similar exotic sea beast resting on its chest, holding up the bowl with its tail.

It seemed vaguely familiar. Anne lifted up the picture, viewing it from different angles. Closing her eyes, she settled back in her chair and wracked her memory. She was sure she had seen the design recently. She opened her eyes and glanced at her companion. Michou might have copied a precious bowl in one of the art dealers' shops in the Palais-Royal. But Anne hadn't been in such a shop.

Across the table, Michou observed Anne's interest, mistook her curiosity for desire, and offered the picture insistently to her. Embarrassed by the confusion and anxious to please Michou, Anne accepted it as a loan. After embracing Michou and thanking her warmly, Anne took her leave. As she climbed back down the stairs, the picture under her arm, she resolved to discover its source.

***

The next morning Anne lay in bed puzzling over Michou's worth as a witness. A bright flash of light startled her. The gilded figure in the picture of the bowl had reflected a ray of morning sunlight. Upon returning to her apartment last night, she had slipped the picture into a frame and hung it on the wall near her bed.

“I've seen it,” she said aloud to herself. “But where? In the duke's galleries?” She swung out of bed, took the picture off the wall, and stared at it. Perhaps Georges would recognize it.

He was in his office, gathering his wits over a cup of coffee, idly stirring in a lump of sugar. His eyebrows arched in surprise at her unexpected arrival.

“Look at this.” She leaned the picture against a stack of files on his desk. “Michou lent it to me.” She described her day with Michou, then pointed to the picture. “Has she seen a real bowl or an illustration? Or has she imagined the bowl?”

Georges glanced at the piece while Anne spoke. “Hard to say,” he replied. “I don't recall anything like it at the Palais-Royal.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I'd guess it's imaginary.” He picked up the picture, pursed his lips, took a closer look. “At least Michou's got a sense of humor. Look at those odd fish!”

Anne lapsed into disappointed silence. Georges wasn't going to be much help. Then the nonchalance suddenly drained from his face. He lurched from his chair and held Michou's picture next to one of his drawings of stolen goods.

“It
is
the same bowl! I guessed wrong. She certainly
has
seen this piece, though her version is twice its size.”

Anne rushed to join him. “Tell me about it.”

It was stolen about two years ago, he explained, from a chateau near Paris, one of the earliest and most valuable of the recent thefts. “It's five and a half inches high and about as wide, made of jasper and decorated with enamel, pearls, and several large exquisite diamonds. The sea beasts are dolphins.” He pointed to the human figure on the edge of the bowl. “That's Neptune. He's the size of your index finger, but he's white gold! Splendid fellow!”

Georges brought Michou's picture back to his desk and laid it in front of Anne. The jeweler Boehmer in Paris had told him that an Italian master goldsmith had made it two hundred years ago. According to Boehmer, if it were legally offered for sale in a good year, it would probably fetch a half-million livres; but a thief wouldn't dare bring it to one of the major art markets.

“He might break it up, then sell the precious parts,” suggested Anne, “for far less than the piece is worth.”

“Or,” Georges added, “he stole it for a wealthy collector who will hide it. Or, it's on its way to a remote market, like India. We looked all over London for it.”

Footsteps sounded outside in the corridor.

“Must be the colonel,” said Georges. “He's been gone for several days on an inspection tour.”

He entered the office, greeting them with a tired voice. Lines of fatigue creased his face. His boots and coat, however, were free of dust. Anne smiled inwardly. He had taken a moment to have himself brushed. After ordering coffee from a servant, he joined Georges and Anne at the desk. They showed him Georges' sketch and Michou's mosaic. Anne related what she had learned.

With a picture in each hand he walked to the garden window. “Michou had to have access to this bowl and time to observe it closely.” His face freshening with enthusiasm, he lifted up the pictures, compared one with the other.

“Did she see it before or after the theft?” Georges wondered aloud to Anne. He would inquire at the chateau where the bowl had been stolen. Anne said she would try to extract more information from Michou, though that might prove difficult.

As she rose to leave, her bag jingled. Georges glanced at her quizzically. She flashed him a smile. “My metal tiles! A game I play with Épée's deaf students. Miss Arnaud is expecting me.” Halfway to the door Anne paused, reflecting. Perhaps Michou…

Anne glanced at the colonel by the window, absorbed by the mosaic. He appeared unaware of anyone else in the room. She cleared her throat. He looked up, startled, then smiled so sweetly that she flushed with pleasure.

“Shouldn't we try to improve Michou's ability to communicate?” she asked. “I'm on my way to Abbé de l'Épée's institute. I could inquire if he would help her.”

“By all means,” he replied.

He appeared about to discuss the jasper bowl, but she hurried on. “Michou has no money. Neither has Abbé de l'Épée.” She hesitated slyly. “Since she's helping a provost of the Royal Highway Patrol solve a crime, perhaps he would be willing to support her.”

He smiled, glanced again at the mosaic, then leaned back against the window. “A good investment, whatever she learns. She's already given us the first clue we've had in two years.”

***

At the Palais-Royal that afternoon, rain forced the fashionable crowd from the garden into the shelter of the arcades. Anne pressed through the dense human mass with little regard for all the full skirts in her way. She was wrestling with a problem. How could she draw information about the jasper bowl from a person who could not speak or hear, read or write? Worse yet, a timid person who was still recovering from brutal interrogation by the police.

An hour ago, Anne had brought Michou to the institute and left her with Miss Arnaud. They would work out a plan of instruction. But that wouldn't prove useful to the investigation for weeks. Gradually a strategy took shape in Anne's mind. Another way to discover what Michou knew.

The door to the Tatar Puppet Theater stood open. The manager, Victor Benoit, was arranging scenery when Anne entered. Through the drawn curtains she saw the stage set for the production of
Pulcinella
that she had arranged for the next several days. Behind the stage on a concealed platform the manager's young assistant was adjusting strings to the marionettes.

Anne closed the door and approached the two men. “Could I have a word with you,” she called out.

They glanced at one another, shrugging, then joined her in front of the stage. After they had gone over the day's program, Anne mentioned she would like to bring an “apprentice,” the little deaf seamstress, into the company. “At no extra cost to you. I'll bear the expense. But I need the stage to train her—when it's free, of course.”

“What can she do, if she can't speak or hear?” asked the manager, his brow creased with doubt.

“She's worked in theaters for years, painting sets and making costumes,” Anne replied brightly. “She has talent we could use for the new
Pulcinella
.”

Early in the evening, Anne brought her new “apprentice” to the theater and introduced her to the two men. Her eyes darted anxiously from one to the other, but she seemed to feel secure with Anne present. When she understood what she was becoming involved in, she clapped her hands in delight.

Agreement was reached in a nearby café over a glass of wine, and the men went home for supper. The women hurried to Michou's garret, picked up the portraits of Lélia Laplante and Chevalier Jean de Pressigny, and returned to the theater. Anne sat Michou at a table with paints and brushes and put a blank wooden marionette next to each portrait, asking with a gesture if she understood she was to fill in the features. She grinned, then set to work.

***

Later that week, Georges was in his office waiting for Anne. They had exchanged notes. He had informed her that the family and servants at the chateau remembered Lélia Laplante, the actress who had played in their theater. She had come without Michou. For her part, Anne reported only that she and Michou were learning to understand one another while Michou made rapid progress in puppetry.

At ten in the morning, when he heard Anne enter the building, he suddenly realized how much he looked forward to seeing her. “Coffee?” he asked, as she shook his hand.

“No thanks. There's something I need to show you. Can you come with me now to the puppet theater?”

“I suppose I could.” He stared at her. “What's so urgent?”

“Now's the only time we can have the theater to ourselves. I'd explain more, but it's better you form your own opinion.”

Ten minutes later, Georges seated himself on a front bench in the darkened theater while Anne went behind the stage. Soon a thin little figure scurried about illuminating the stage lights. A few minutes more and the curtain was drawn, revealing a dressing room in miniature. An elegant lady stood before a mirror while a small servant arranged her gown. The figures were large, well-formed marionettes, their facial features finely drawn. Georges immediately recognized Laplante and Michou.

There was a knock on the door. The actress dismissed Michou, then opened the door. A male figure entered, his sword identifying his rank, his face clearly that of Chevalier Jean de Pressigny. His hand held a small object wrapped in a cloth. She led him to a table set for two.

At the table he removed the cloth to reveal a tiny replica of the priceless stolen bowl with two cherries.

Georges gasped, speechless.

The actress lifted the bowl and admired it while her companion urged her to eat. They shared the fruit, rocking back and forth, laughing.

Meanwhile, the little servant cowered in a darkened hallway, watching the merry pair through a crack in the door. Finally, they made their way into the next room to a large bed. The door closed behind them. The little servant waited patiently for a while, then hurried to the bedroom door, and peered through a key hole.

Assured the lovers were asleep, the little servant returned to the table. She carefully moved the precious bowl into the light of an oil lamp and studied it from every angle. She then drew a sketch in her pad, replaced the bowl, and slipped out of the room. The curtain fell.

From behind the stage, Anne emerged with Michou in hand. They hugged one another and solemnly bowed to Georges, now on his feet, clapping.

“Fantastic,” he shouted. “I can't believe it.” Glancing left and right to see if they were alone, he groped for words. “Pressigny and Laplante stole the bowl! We're on to something!”

***

Michou left Anne at the theater door, signing she could find her own way to Épée's institute. With a new bounce in her walk, she disappeared into the crowd. Anne felt profoundly satisfied. Michou had come out of her shell and demonstrated her credibility as a witness.

An hour later, Anne and Georges breathlessly related Michou's revelation to Colonel Saint-Martin at his desk. “Chevalier de Pressigny and Lélia Laplante may have stolen the jasper bowl themselves,” Georges concluded, “or received it from the thieves.”

While they were speaking, Saint-Martin leaned forward, listening intently. “I'm pleased,” he said when they finished. “It appears we have taken yet another step toward solving the series of art thefts. Pressigny and Laplante were involved somehow, and they may lead us to accomplices.”

He paused, sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms. “Unfortunately,” he added, his brow wrinkling, “Michou's testimony would not persuade an examining magistrate, especially concerning a man as well connected as Chevalier de Pressigny.”

“How can you say that?” Anne protested.

He put on a grave, judicial mien. “Suppose I were the magistrate, and I were watching Michou's performance. Why should I accept it as credible evidence? My colleague, Sorin, has declared her a simpleton. In the setting of a puppet theater, she might have thought she was inventing the plot of a play.”

“She's depicted a real, stolen bowl, not a phantasy,” replied Anne, a testy tone in her voice. “The actress and the directeur of the Amateurs are also real, and what they did is at least plausible.”

“Michou
did
work for the actress and for the Amateurs' productions,” added Georges. “She must have known Pressigny and would not have mistaken him for someone else.”

“Yes,” countered Saint-Martin, still playing the devil's advocate, “but she might have a hidden reason to implicate him in a crime he did not commit.”