The Châtelet Apprentice (7 page)

‘You're quite right and I should have thought of that first.'

Sartine went towards the corner of the room and opened the door of a strong-box. He took from it a roll of twenty
louis d'or
and handed it to Nicolas.

‘You will provide me with a full and faithful report of everything you undertake and you will keep an account of this money. If you run short, ask for more. Off you go. There's no time to lose. Do whatever it takes to find Lardin for me.'

Monsieur de Sartine certainly knew how to surprise Nicolas. He was so excited as he left the study that, had it not been for the roll of gold coins weighing down his coat pocket, he would have pinched himself to check if this were not all a dream. But his pleasure at having been singled out and given an important assignment soon gave way to a nagging anxiety. Would he prove equal to the task? He already had an inkling of the obstacles that would inevitably accumulate along the way. His age, his inexperience and the intrigues that such a signal favour could not fail to provoke would further complicate his task. And yet he felt ready to face this new challenge. He compared it to the challenges taken on by the knights of chivalry whose adventures filled the volumes in the library of the Château de Ranreuil.

This thought reminded him of Guérande; he still felt sorrow when he thought about his guardian, the marquis and Isabelle …

He read the terms of the warrant Sartine had handed him:

Nicolas swelled with pride as he read this, and he felt invested with a new authority. He suddenly realised what ‘the King's service' meant and how grand it was.

Convinced of being but a humble instrument in a task whose ramifications were beyond him, he went to the office in the police headquarters where the reports of the commissioners and the rounds of the watch were kept. He would see Bourdeau later and wanted to set about his investigation without delay, as Sartine had ordered.

Nicolas was well known to the clerks and was therefore greeted without any awkward questioning. He was given the latest night reports and immersed himself in repetitive accounts of the minor incidents that marked the days and nights of the capital in this turbulent period of Carnival. Nothing caught his attention. He was much more interested in pouring over copies of the registers of the Basse-Geôle,
1
which listed the macabre remains washed up by the Seine. A net laid out downstream of Paris caught floating bodies that drifted in the waters of the
river. Yet here, too, the dull repetitiveness of the accounts provided him with no clue.

Nicolas pushed away the register and realised the magnitude of the task he had been set. His doubts returned. Was it possible that Monsieur de Sartine had been making a fool of him? Perhaps he did not want Lardin to be found. Entrusting such an investigation to a beginner was perhaps a way of hushing it up. He set aside these unpleasant thoughts and decided to go to the Châtelet in order to visit the Basse-Geôle and to consult with Inspector Bourdeau.

The inspector's enquiries had been just as fruitless as his own. Nicolas did not know how to tell the inspector about Monsieur de Sartine's commission. He found it simpler to hand him the Lieutenant General of Police's orders, without saying a word. When he had read them Bourdeau looked up and, examining the young man with a kindly smile, said simply:

‘This really is news. I always knew you'd go far, and fast. I'm happy for you, Monsieur.'

There was respect in his voice and Nicolas shook his hand, touched by these words.

‘However,' continued Bourdeau, ‘your problems are far from over. You must not underestimate how difficult it will be. But you have full authority and, if I can help, you know you can count on me.'

‘On that very point, Monsieur de Sartine has allowed me to take an assistant. To tell the truth, I've asked for someone to help me. I've put forward a name. Yours, in fact. But I'm very young and inexperienced and I would quite understand if you said no.'

Bourdeau was pink with embarrassment.

‘Don't worry. Here we are operating outside the rules. I've been observing you since you joined us and age has nothing to do with it … I'm flattered that you thought of me and I would like to work under you.'

They remained silent for a moment and then it was Bourdeau who continued:

‘This is all very well but time is short. I've already spoken to Commissioner Camusot. He hasn't seen Lardin for three weeks. Did the Lieutenant General tell you?'

Nicolas reflected that Monsieur de Sartine was deluding himself about the secrecy of the enquiries and did not reply to the inspector's question.

‘I should like to visit the morgue. Not that I've found anything in the reports, but no stone must be left unturned.'

Bourdeau held out his open snuffbox to Nicolas, who for once helped himself liberally. This little ceremony was a
well-established
routine in the Châtelet before facing the stench of the Basse-Geôle. Nicolas was well acquainted with this sinister place; he had been there with Lardin. It was a loathsome cellar,
a vile hole, lit only by a half-window. A metal grating and a ramp separated the decomposing bodies from those members of the public allowed in to view them. To prevent the bodies from decaying too quickly, salt was thrown at regular intervals onto those that were most decomposed. It was here that the bodies washed up by the Seine or found on the public highway were identified – or cast back into anonymity.

Visiting time had not yet begun but a man was already there in the dank corner of the vault. He was carefully studying the sorry remains laid out on the flagstones and amongst them Nicolas was surprised to recognise those described in the reports. But there was a great difference between the coldness of the records and the sordid reality. He had not paid any attention to the silent, shadowy figure and it was Bourdeau who pointed out the unusual presence with a nudge and a wink. Nicolas went up to the stranger.

‘Monsieur, may we know what you are doing here and who allowed you in?'

The man turned round. With his forehead against the grating, lost in contemplation, he had not heard them approaching. Nicolas jumped with surprise.

‘Why, it's Dr Semacgus!'

‘Yes, Nicolas, it is indeed me.'

‘This is Inspector Bourdeau.'

‘Monsieur … But you yourself, Nicolas, what ill wind brings you to this place? Still learning your trade?'

‘Why yes, and what about you?'

‘Do you know Saint-Louis, my servant? He hasn't been seen since Friday and I'm very worried.'

‘Since Friday … Doctor, this place does not seem to me to
lend itself to conversation. Shall we go back to the offices?'

They found themselves in the antechamber of the room where Nicolas had waited for his first interview with Sartine. Now the usher greeted him politely. Nicolas fondly remembered himself as a timid boy from Brittany, and then became annoyed with himself for being wistful about the past. His early life was over and done with; he had to devote himself entirely to his current assignment. They went towards a shabby-looking office used by the duty policemen. Nicolas requested that Semacgus wait a few moments and went in alone with Bourdeau.

‘What a strange coincidence,' he said. ‘You don't know the doctor and so you won't be as surprised as I am at the occurrence of two such similar events.'

He remained thoughtful for a moment, then went on:

‘Guillaume Semacgus is a navy surgeon trained at the school in Brest. He spent a long time at sea on the King's ships, then sailed with the Compagnie des Indes. He stayed for several years in our trading post in Africa, at Saint-Louis in Senegal. He's a scholar and an eccentric, a well-known anatomist. He's also a friend of Lardin's. I've never understood why. It was at Lardin's house that I met him …'

An idea crossed his mind but he preferred to keep it to himself.

‘He's served by two black slaves whom he treats very well. Saint-Louis acts as his coachman and Awa, his wife, as his cook. He lives alone in Vaugirard.'

Another idea occurred to him, which he likewise set aside.

‘Let's go and take a formal statement from him.'

Nicolas opened the door and invited Semacgus to enter. In
broad daylight the man appeared well built, of a type that would not go unnoticed. He was much taller than Nicolas, who was himself of more than average height. He wore a dark coat of military cut with brass buttons, a brilliant white cravat and soft leather boots, and was leaning on a cane with an exotically sculpted silver pommel. His dark-eyed face was large and florid, and he radiated a calm authority. He sat down at a small table on which Bourdeau spread out his papers, having sharpened his quill. Nicolas remained standing behind the doctor.

‘Dr Semacgus, you will be so kind as to give us your statement …'

‘Nicolas, don't take this badly, but where does this
self-assured
tone come from and by what right …?'

It was Inspector Bourdeau who replied:

‘Monsieur Le Floch has been delegated special powers by Monsieur de Sartine.'

‘Very well, but you will understand my surprise.'

Nicolas did not react to this.

‘Doctor, what do you have to say?'

‘As you wish … On Friday evening I was invited by a friend to a midnight meal. It's Carnival after all. I was taken to Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré by Saint-Louis, my servant, who occasionally drives the small cabriolet I own. At three in the morning I could find neither my coachman nor my carriage.'

The quill scratched the paper.

‘For the last three days I have been going around the hospitals and, as a last resort, I came to the Basse-Geôle, in case …'

‘You came outside the opening hours,' commented Nicolas.

Semacgus managed not to show his annoyance.

‘As you well know, I pursue the study of anatomy and Lardin has given me a note allowing me to enter at any time to examine the bodies laid out in the morgue.'

Nicolas suddenly remembered that this was true.

‘Could you tell me the name of this friend who invited you on Friday evening?' he asked.

‘Commissioner Lardin.'

Bourdeau was about to say something but a stern look from Nicolas stopped him.

‘Where exactly was this party?'

The doctor smiled wryly and shrugged his shoulders.

‘In a disreputable place well known to the police. At La Paulet's, the Dauphin Couronné in Rue du Faubourg-
Saint-Honoré
. You can eat on the ground floor, play
faro
2
in the cellar and on the upper floors enjoy the girls. A real Carnival paradise.'

‘Are you a regular customer?'

‘And what if I were? But no, that isn't the case. I was invited by Lardin, which came as rather a surprise. I did remember that he was keen on this sort of entertainment, but he had never invited me to take part before.'

‘Did you find it enjoyable?'

‘You're very young, Nicolas. The food was choice and the girls were pretty. When the occasion presents itself I don't deprive myself of such pleasures.'

‘At what time did you arrive?'

‘Eleven o'clock'

‘And you left when?'

‘At three o'clock, as I already told you.'

‘Did Lardin leave with you?'

‘He'd made himself scarce long before. And with good reason, after all that commotion.'

‘What commotion?'

‘Well,' smiled the doctor, ‘we were masked … Lardin had had a lot to drink, wine and champagne. A little before midnight, a man entered the room. He bumped into Lardin, or the other way round. Lardin tore the man's mask off. I was surprised to recognise Descart. As you may be aware, he's my neighbour in Vaugirard. I got to know him at Lardin's; Madame Lardin is his cousin. It's thanks to him that I found a house on my return from Africa. Descart at La Paulet's! This was the world gone mad. They came to blows immediately. Lardin was beside himself, frothing at the mouth. He accused Descart of wanting to take his wife. Descart retreated and Lardin left shortly afterwards.'

‘Alone?'

‘Yes. As for me, I went upstairs, with a girl. But does all this really have anything to do with the disappearance of
Saint-Louis
?'

‘And the name of this girl?'

‘La Satin.'

‘Did Descart recognise you?'

‘No, it was not yet midnight and so I still had my mask on.'

‘Was he recognised?'

‘I don't think so. He put his mask back on immediately.'

Nicolas felt slightly embarrassed to be giving such a grilling to a man he had always liked, a natural reaction given the kindness Semacgus had always shown towards him.

‘I must inform you of another disappearance,' he said.
‘Commissioner Lardin has not been seen since Friday evening. You are apparently the last person to have seen him.'