The Dark Palace

Qui

An echoing intermittent drip answered. But there was no sound of anyone stirring. A wet bathroom smell came through the gap.

He turned to Eloise, who had followed them into the room. ‘Please, miss, I think it best if you go back to your own room now.’

‘Be gentle with him. Whatever you think he has done. He is not a bad man. I know that. You only have to look into his eyes to know that.’

Qui

The men allowed themselves one final look into each other’s eyes before they burst into the bathroom.

Berenger was in the bath. He turned his doleful eyes towards them, registering no surprise at their intrusion. In fact, he seemed to welcome them with a small bow of the head. It was almost as if he were expecting them.

‘Paul Berenger? We have to ask you some questions concerning your role in an incident that occurred in Cecil Court on the evening of April the seventeenth. Konrad Waechter has made a formal statement naming you as the perpetrator of a deliberate hoax designed to publicize a film in which you appeared. Do you have anything to say about that?’

There was a stir in the water. Berenger stood to his full height in the tub, his profuse black body hair plastered against his pallid white skin: he presented an image that was both imposing and disconsolate.

The water cascaded noisily off the end of his hanging penis. But Berenger was not in the least abashed. He faced them without embarrassment, and without any attempt at concealment. He was the image of a man with nothing to hide.

Qui

Still Berenger did not speak. Qui

‘Ah, yes. I understand. You wish to put on a robe, perhaps, or some clothes. We will wait for you in the bedroom. This need not take long. I imagine that the worst that will happen is a caution. With the appropriate contrition, and a generous contribution to the Police Benevolent Society, even that may prove u

Qui

Berenger nodded.

‘Very well. We will be in the bedroom.’

The first inkling Qui

Qui

He allowed ten minutes or more to pass before turning to the manager. ‘Can you open this?’

The manager shrugged. ‘I am sure Herr Berenger will come out when he is ready.’

Qui

‘Stand back!’ commanded Qui

‘No, no! Please!’ cried the manager. ‘There is no need for vandalism. I can get a key from downstairs.’

‘A key ain’t no use,’ Inchball pointed out. ‘’E’s already got his key in the other side, ain’t he?’

‘We are wasting time here!’ cried Qui

‘With respect, sir,’ said Macadam, ‘he can’t go anywhere. I did not see any window in the bathroom.’

‘That’s right,’ confirmed the manager. ‘There is no window.’

‘He’s mocking us.’

‘I suggest we remain patient, sir,’ said Macadam. ‘He must come out eventually.’

But when ten more slow minutes had passed and Berenger had still not emerged, Qui

He discharged three deafening shots around the lock. Predictably enough, a scream came from the room next door.

Qui

As he had suspected, Berenger was back in the bath. His head was slumped forward, as if gazing down in perplexity at the suddenly darkened water. A cut-throat razor lay open and bloodied on the side of the bath nearest them.

Macadam rushed forward and lifted one arm out of the water to feel for a pulse. But the darkness gathered at his wrist.

The sergeant’s deep-felt groan confirmed the worst. He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Look at that, guv,’ said Inchball, pointing at the mirror. ‘Some kind of suicide note, by the looks of it.’

The words were smeared in the condensation on the glass.

‘Do you speak German?’ Qui

The man appeared to be in shock. He stood with his mouth open, gaping at the dead man in the bath.

Qui

As he turned away from the mirror, he noticed Eloise standing in the doorway. She must have been drawn by the gunshot.

‘What have you done?’ Her eyes were fixed on Berenger.

‘Please, you should not see this.’ Qui

‘What did you say to him?’

‘Let us talk about this outside.’

‘He is dead?’

‘I am afraid so.’

‘You never have anything nice to say to me.’

‘I’m sorry. I ca

‘Why did you want to talk to him?’

‘Please …’

Eloise suddenly caught sight of the words on the mirror. She read them aloud fluently.

‘Do you know what it means?’ asked Qui

‘When a man betrays his art, he betrays his soul.’

Qui

‘You will not stay with me?’

‘I?’ It seemed an extraordinary, almost incomprehensible suggestion. ‘Surely, there is someone better than me?’ Qui

The manager seemed to pull himself together, at least enough to nod in answer to Qui

‘Call Hartma