The Man with the Lead Stomach Read Free Page B

insignia of the Order of St Louis fastened toa bright red sash, which hung over his left hip. The sword he wore to the side was no ceremonial weapon but a sturdy blade of tempered steel. Nicolas, well versed in such matters, remembered that the comte had been escorting Madame Adélaïde and might in certain circumstances have had to protect her. Monsieur de Ruissec straightened up and took a few steps. Whether it was the result of an old wound or the effect of age, he walked with a limp and sought to conceal this infirmity by raising and thrusting forward his whole body with every stride. He gave his old retainer an impatient look.
    ‘We do not have a moment to lose. Take us to my son’s bedroom and give me your account of events on the way.’ The authoritative voice was still young, its tone almost aggressive. He led the small group, leaning heavily on the bronze handrail.
    Wheezing, the major-domo began his story of the evening’s events.
    ‘Your lordship, around nine o’clock in the evening I had just taken some logs to your rooms and had gone back downstairs. I was reading my Book of Hours.’
    Nicolas caught the wry look on Monsieur de Sartine’s face.
    ‘His lordship the vicomte arrived. He seemed in a great hurry and his cloak was wet. I went to take it from him but he brushed me aside. I asked him if he needed me. He shook his head. I heard his bedroom door slam, then nothing more.’
    He stopped for a moment, short of breath.
    ‘That wretched bullet again. Sorry, General. As I was saying, then nothing more until suddenly a shot was fired.’
    The Lieutenant General intervened. ‘A shot fired? Are you quite sure?’
    ‘My major-domo is a former soldier,’ said the comte. ‘He served in my regiment. He knows what he’s talking about. Carry on, Picard.’
    ‘I rushed up but found the door shut. It was locked from the inside. There was not a sound or cry to be heard. I called out but there was no answer.’
    Having gone down a corridor at the end of the landing, the procession was by now in front of a heavy oak door. Monsieur de Ruissec had suddenly become stooped.
    ‘I was unable to force it open,’ Picard went on, ‘and even if I’d had an axe I would not have had sufficient strength. I went back downstairs and sent her ladyship’s chambermaid off to the nearest guard post. An officer came running but despite my pleas he refused to do anything unless someone with greater authority was present. So I immediately sent for you at the Opéra.’
    ‘Commissioner,’ said Sartine, ‘please find us something with which to open or knock down this door.’
    Nicolas seemed in no hurry to obey. Eyes closed, he was carefully going through his coat pockets.
    ‘We are waiting, Nicolas,’ said his superior impatiently.
    ‘To hear is to obey, sir, and I have the solution to hand. There is no need to go in search of tools to force an entry. This will do the job.’
    He was holding a small, metallic object similar to a penknife, which, when opened, revealed a series of hooks of various sizes and designs. It had been a gift from Inspector Bourdeau, who already possessed one himself and had confiscated another from a bandit and given it to Nicolas.
    Sartine raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘The thieves’ picklockcomes to the rescue of the police! The designs of the Great Architect often follow crooked paths,’ he murmured.
    Nicolas smiled inwardly at this Masonic parlance, knelt down and, after carefully deciding on the most suitable hook, inserted it into the lock. Immediately a key was heard to drop on to the wooden floor of the bedroom. He studied his hooks again, chose another and set to work. Only the wheezy breathing of the comte and of his major-domo, and the sputtering of the candles, disturbed the silence of the scene. After a moment the lock mechanism could be heard creaking and Nicolas was able to open the door. The Comte de Ruissec rushed forward but was just as swiftly stopped in his tracks by the