Folly Du Jour

‘Ah, yes,’ said Bo

‘Ah. Anything to do with you?’

‘It’s all right, doctor. The commander, a person with the proportions of a small whale, died first with not a scrap of police-issue hardware in him. Luger bullets from the house gun. That’s what started it all. The other two . . . were reckless enough to fire on the officers sent to arrest them.’

‘I say, excuse me, but is this an entirely suitable conversation for a lady’s ears?’ They heard the slight reprimand in his voice as Moulin turned a concerned face to Alice. She had been standing listening, not, apparently, looking for a formal introduction. ‘I’m sorry, mademoiselle? Madame?’ He broke off with a bemused and reproving glance at Joe.

‘Don’t worry, Moulin. The lady’s seen and heard and, indeed, perpetrated much worse. May I introduce you to a genuine example of Latrodectus mactans? We’re here seeking sanctuary. Her life may be in danger – from the villains who are responsible for all this mayhem. I don’t think they’ll be looking for her in the morgue. Though that is where they’d like to see her. She has certain confidences of an intimate nature she’s bursting to make, confidences including the identity of the gentleman we have been calling Set.’

‘Indeed? Set? I wondered if he’d bob to the surface again!’

‘The interview is to be an informal one, for the moment. Moulin, I wondered if we might impose on you for an hour? May we borrow your room?’

After a flash of astonishment, the doctor did not hesitate. ‘Certainly. You remember the way? Coffee’s on the stove. Help yourselves. Oh, and before you go off, Bo

They settled Alice in the armchair furthest from the door and positioned themselves in front of her, Joe to her right, Bo

‘He doesn’t like it any more than you do but people will keep sending him corpses to be dealt with,’ said Joe, angrily. ‘This is his attempt at a retreat from your handiwork. Six bodies you’ve fed him over the last three days . . . how can you bear it? The alternative is Fourier’s office. Shall we take you there? It’s not far. No lace frou-frous there, no common thespian mementoes to curl your toes and shrivel your sensibilities. Spartan, you’d say. Entirely functional decor. But what you wouldn’t like is the spot marked in the centre of the room where he will make you stand.’

Alice shrugged her shoulders, unimpressed.

‘And stand . . . and stand . . . Have you any idea how much stress that puts on the body after a few hours? George is still suffering. So, be thankful you’re sitting in an overstuffed armchair being served with coffee, talking to two understanding chaps making notes.’

‘I’ll have mine black with one lump of sugar, please, Inspector,’ she said, capitulating. ‘And you can put your thumbscrews away. I’m going to talk to you. Look on this as a practice run. You must advise me regarding the contents of my official statement. If, that is, you are still requiring me to make one when I’ve got to the end of what I have to say. You may be begging me to tear it all up by the time I reach that point. And hustling me aboard the next transatlantic liner with my head in a bag.’

Relishing their sudden wariness, she added: ‘No, gentlemen – you won’t be pleased.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

‘The Zouave, I’ll start with him,’ she said, accepting a china mug of coffee.

‘The knifeman as you call him, though he’s more versatile than the name suggests. He was in the same regiment as the dear departed Flavius. Yes, I think you’ve detected that there’s a military thread ru

She caught Joe’s eye and went on hurriedly: ‘The man tried to rob me! There in the boulevard, in broad daylight. A scarecrow! A heap of rags and bones, he suddenly appeared in front of me with his hand held behind him, like this . . .’

She got to her feet and, with a frisson, Joe recognized the Apache gesture.

‘He put his other hand out and demanded that I give him money. He wasn’t thinking clearly or he’d just have snatched my whole bag and run. He seemed on the point of collapse . . . wobbling rather. I realized he was incapable of ru

‘He thought he really was living his last moment. “Don’t be so silly,” I told him. “When did you last eat?” I took him to a pancake stall. He wolfed down about six. I made him walk ahead of me to a park bench and sat him down at the opposite end. Perfectly safe – I had my gun in my pocket, covering him the whole time. He told me his story. Perfectly ghastly! He’d drifted back from the war where he’d been badly wounded and was searching for his mother in Paris. He hadn’t seen her for eight years. He’d been reported missing, presumed dead, and she’d moved on. He was destitute. Dying of neglect. A common story. They sweep up a dozen like him from under the bridges every morning. But there was something about this one . . . the tilt of his chin, the glare in his eyes. It was like finding a rusty sword by the wayside. If I polished it up, sharpened it, I would have a weapon worth owning.’

‘So you bought yourself a Zouave, Alice? For an outlay of six pancakes? Were you aware of the reputation of these men? I’d be more comfortable in the close proximity of a mad bull terrier with a stick of ginger up its backside!’

‘I had a use for his skills. I know they are fierce, implacable, terrifying fighters and none more effective with a knife. And there was someone in my world at that time that I needed to terrify. I gave him food, drink, money and a purpose in life. I asked him to undertake a small task for me in return. He was happy to repay my kindness. Loyalty is another of their virtues, you know. And he has never been asked to do something he has not been delighted to do. Clean work compared with what his wartime commanders expected of him. He re-established himself and in time introduced some old army acquaintances. They became the core of my organization.’

‘Your organization?’ asked Joe.

‘Yes. Initially it was mine. I bought the premises in the boulevard du Montparnasse. Girls need protection, you know that. And I needed to show a tough face to the world to make it understood that my affairs were not to be interfered with. There was a power-shift going on at that time. Corsicans killing each other, North Africans moving in . . . an unsettled and dangerous time for one in my business.’