The Orphan's Tale (23 page)

Kindness!
Sympathy! Michaud was off balance. He tried to right himself by blustering a little. "And what'll you do for me in return?" he asked. "Your people should have told you that my services are never free."

Malet seemed amused.
"Let us discuss what I will not do in return," he said. "That makes matters easier."

Michaud relaxed.
He enjoyed cat and mouse games: he played them, himself. The threat was gone for the moment: why not play? "All right," he said. "What won't you do?"

"
I won't close you down," Malet replied with a smile.

"
Not close me - !" Michaud repeated, astonished. Hadn't that been what Malet had wanted all along? He spread his hands, palms up, his eyebrows raised halfway to his hairline. "Come now, M. l'Inspecteur, that won't wash! My operation is legal!"

"
Barely legal," Malet corrected.

"
Barely legal is still legal!" Michaud exclaimed.

"
Is it?" Malet asked, strolling down the aisle and casting a contemplative eye over the merchandise there. He lifted a lady's spangled fan with sticks of mother-of-pearl and opened it, frowning down at the embroidery on it. "You know, Michaud, I am very surprised to see that you're operating without a license - "

"
I have a license! Paid up through the end of the year!"

Malet's voice was still gentle.
"But it's not displayed," he said. "Grounds for closing this place down, Michaud, as you well know. And I am certain I could find a few more just by looking around. For example - "

"
Now wait a min - !"

"
Yes?" said Malet.

Michaud's shoulders slumped.
"Oh very well," he said. "You have won. I thought you had come to purchase my knowledge. If this is merely blackmail... I'd heard you were an honest, honorable man. What do you have on me?"

Malet turned, the fan still in his hands.
"Now why do the shady ones always bandy the words 'honest' and 'honorable' around?" he asked of the air. "It puzzles me. You have been recommended as an informer: very well, I need information."

Michaud stared at him with a sort of fearful hope.

That expression brought Malet up short. He had encountered it before, one terrible night when he had been forced to arrest his dearest friend. The heartbreak of that case had sent him to Paris from Picardy, and the memory still hurt.

He set down the fan and said quietly,
"Listen to me, Michaud: I have nothing to justify arresting you. That doesn't mean that I believe you innocent. I think, in fact, that you're a criminal, but I can't prove it. As far as the rest of society is concerned, that's as good as being innocent. You're too old for this. One day you'll be caught, and I think you know it and are terrified of it. Why don't you step out of it now and go away, somewhere safe, where no one will throw you into prison? It's clear now, and you can go. I can't stop you. Yet."

Michaud lowered his eyes and was silent.
After a moment he said, "What information did you want on Constant Dracquet?"

"
Anything you can find," said Malet. "He's got something in the works and I want to know what it is." He leveled a very cold look at Michaud and added, "But if you leak a word, if you double-cross me, there won't be enough left of you left to bury."

"
I wouldn't think of it," Michaud said with perfect sincerity. "I am not a fool."

"
Just so we're agreed," Malet said. They talked a little longer, and then he left.

After
the Inspector was gone, Michaud sat down with a sigh and wiped his forehead. The Chief Inspector was right, he thought. He should go. He was too old for this. Maybe he would do as Malet suggested...

He straightened.
He would do as Malet suggested - but first he would get the information, or the man would pursue him to his grave!

STRANGE NEWS FROM A FAR SHORE

"
Have you considered viewing the card upside-down, Archet?" Malet asked pleasantly two days later. "Those who suffer eyestrain, as you seem to, say that it sometimes relieves the problem."

Constable Archet, who was serving as Officer of the Day, jumped and dropped Malet's card.

"Be careful," said Malet. "You might break the glass. Are you through with it? You have been squinting at it for four minutes by my watch." He took the card back from Archet, signed the book, and then said kindly, "Try distillation of witch-hazel. My housekeeper swears by it as a remedy for sore eyes. Otherwise, the Prefect - or his deputy - might think that you were unfit for duty and discharge you." He directed a steely smile at Archet and added, "Permanently." He went in toward the Prefect's offices without another glance.

He had a lot to think about.
He wanted to review the information that he had received thus far from the operatives he had placed near Dracquet, and reconcile that with the background information and the fascinating clue that Rosalie had given him. He also needed to sit down and devote some urgent thought to the nature of the important event that Saint-Légère had thought was coming up. All the signs pointed to it, Malet could sense it, but what could it be? Dracquet was doing very well, and all that Malet had learned of him through the years had served to confirm the impression that he was an intelligent man who did not take needless risks. This made the fact of his current personal involvement all the more ominous. He kept returning to the Duke of Rochester's comment.

The Chamberlain intercepted him halfway back to his offices.
His expression was more than usually portentous and his side-whiskers showed signs of having been recently pomaded. The sight was enough to shake Malet from his thoughts.

"
News, Clerel?" Malet asked.

"
Permit me to take the Chief Inspector's coat and hat," said Clerel with repressive dignity. "And then if Monsieur would be so good as to follow me back - "

"
Wryfoot Fanny," Malet said.

"
I beg Monsieur's pardon?" Clerel said.

"
Wryfoot Fanny," Malet repeated. "She's probably heard that I am here filling in for M. le Prefet for a time. She usually makes her weekly report to my headquarters, God knows why, since she tends to cruise the Boul' Mich' in search of students - a motherly instinct, if you ask me - but she likes me for whatever reason. Have you seen her, Clerel? Amazing! Her fortune would be made if she would only sign with a raree show, fat as she is, but she persists in being a prostitute. With some success, I might add."

Clerel had been listening with an affronted expression.
He said repressively, "I have no interest in the Latin Quarter or its denizens - "

"
Pity,  She offers a flattering discount to the Police."

Clerel's astonished stare suddenly warmed to something resembling a grin.
He said with dignity, "His Excellency the Minister of Police has called. I took the liberty of escorting him back to M. le Prefet's offices. I did not think the Chief Inspector would object - if he's through with his funning."

Malet abandoned Wryfoot Fanny with regret.
"Of course I don't object," he said. "Did you offer M. d'Anglars any refreshment?"

"
I shall bring something suitable at once," said Clerel, but his voice was wistful.

"
After you escort me to the office and announce me to His Excellency, of course," Malet said.

Clerel's face brightened.

              **  **  **

"
I know it's short notice," said Count d'Anglars, stretching his elegantly shod and trousered legs out before him. "I only just received the news, myself, but this is an event of international importance and must take precedence - alas! - over all other considerations."

Malet was feverishly casting his mind over various of his lieutenants and wondering which of them should be given charge of pursuing Dracquet while he was busy.

"I understand," he said. "Have we any idea how long Sir Robert Peel's visit will be?"

Count d'Anglars steepled his fingers before him and gazed over their tips at the sun that streamed in through the window.
"His Majesty said that it would be the better part of a week, though I suspect it may be an overstatement. A great deal depends on what you and I can show him."

"
But why should he take an interest in the Police system of France at this time?" Malet asked.

D'Anglars folded his hands and considered for a moment before speaking.
"You may as well know," he said. "France - and especially Paris - will be receiving a visitor in the person of Princess Victoria, the Heiress Presumptive of England, in two weeks' time. Their Majesties have invited her to travel to Paris aboard their personal yacht, and King William has accepted in her behalf. She will be traveling with her mother, the Duchess of Kent. This will be the first time she has ventured outside England, and His Majesty wishes her to be well guarded."

"
And so Sir Robert Peel is coming to cast an eye over the police," Malet said. He considered, frowning, and then added with ominous cordiality, "And does the King of England plan to send the Duke of Wellington over to review our armies, as well?"

Count d'Anglars sat back and laughed for far longer than Malet thought the comment really deserved.
He finally said, "That's why I wish you to accompany me. You're a refreshing change from the host of sycophants and boors that I am forced to deal with each day. Never mind: you can understand the urgency of the assignment. Make what alternate arrangements you need for the next several days."

             
**  **  **

After Count d'Anglars had departed, Malet seated himself at the Prefect's desk, propped his elbows before him, and sat back to think.
So Princess Victoria, who was next in line for the throne of England, was coming to France in two weeks' time, and sailing on the King's private yacht, no less!

How tragic it could be for all concerned if something should happen to make the visit a disaster!
How truly terrible if the heiress of England should be killed, for example! The succession would have to realign itself, for better or for worse. Such an event could lead to a declaration of war between France and England. And war is a very lucrative business for one who knows how to exploit it...

Malet's eyes narrowed.
Dracquet had a sizeable interest in several munitions manufactories. He recalled, as well, hearing that Dracquet had been all but implicated in an unsavory business that had come to light in 1824, after the French invasion of Spain. French manufacturers had been caught selling arms and ammunition to the Spaniards at the moment they were fighting the French. Dracquet had profited from war before - but was he bold enough to plot to precipitate it?

A
dd to that the fact that Rosalie had told him that Dracquet had connections in England reaching as high as a member of the British Royal Family, and he didn't hesitate at murder. Malet set the piece of the puzzle in its place and scanned the results. Yes, things did fit, though he was not perfectly certain where Rochester stood in the succession.

If he was correct, the stakes were high and so was the chance of failure.
It explained Dracquet's personal involvement, and tipped Malet off to the fact that he'd best be ready to act on a moment's notice.

It also explained something else: Charles' transfer to that elementary beat had certainly not been cleared through Dracquet.
The last thing that that man, busy with something very important, was likely to want would be an honest Police officer camped on his doorstep. And that indicated to Malet's mind that Guerin was probably not involved in anything worse than a protection racket.

Malet's emotions were complex.
He had always hated Guerin, but uppermost in his mind was relief that the man was not the utter villain that he had feared.

Interesting, but he still had to accompany Count d'Anglars and Sir Robert Peel through
Paris. Malet swore, took out his notebook and pencil, thought feverishly, and began to write.

XXVI

A SEPTEMBER AFTERNOON

"
You are a beauty, aren't you?" Malet said an hour later as the bay lowered his muzzle and nibbled delicately at the handful of sweet hay Malet offered.

"
That he is, Inspector!" said the Police hostler, leaning on the stall partition. "Sweet-tempered to match. Not an ounce of vice in him!"

"
Not even gluttony?" Malet asked as he hoisted the filled hay net to the upper corner of the stall and watched the stallion stretch up his head to nibble at it.

"
Well, maybe that," the hostler admitted. "He does like his chow."

The stallion pulled some hay loose and munched contentedly, the wisp trailing jauntily from the side of his mouth.
The mouthful finished, the horse lowered his muzzle to nudge Malet in the chest.