Strangled in Paris by Claude Izner

Author:Claude Izner [Izner, Claude]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: France, Historical Fiction, 19th Century, Mystery
ISBN: 978-1250036469
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2013-09-02T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Tuesday 20 February

Joseph and Victor made their way stiffly up the central avenue of the cemetery. Their formal suits were too tight round the armholes, and trying to look nonchalant in their heavy, ill-fitting top hats was nothing short of torture. As they splashed through large puddles in their polished shoes, it was hard not to imagine that the drizzle falling on the long symmetrical rows of plots had been ordered especially for the occasion. Joseph was putting on a brave face after Victor’s comments the day before, but he was determined not to reveal anything about his meeting with Sylvain Bricart. There would be no collaboration between him and his brother-in-law without a heartfelt apology. Four words went round and round in his head: ergot, candles, sponges, trial. Yet another puzzle. Was it the chatter of a madman or a cryptic clue? He would have liked to go and look at Guy de Maupassant’s tomb, the great writer having taken his place there only the previous year, but he did not dare ask Victor to make a detour. They passed by the monument to the historian Henri Martin, with its pyramid decorated with palm leaves, and rejoined the Northern Avenue where several men dressed in black were standing near the tomb of the celebrated lexicographer Pierre Larousse.

‘The one in the middle in the chic get-up, with the bulging eyes and fingers covered in rings, that’s the writer Jean Lorrain,’ Joseph whispered. ‘And in fact I recognise almost all the others too: Papus, the Sâr, that mad composer…’

‘Is the man with the square face one of them?’

‘Yes, the one on the right.’

The group had broken up now, and the men formed a line. As they approached the grave, each one took a red rose from a basket and threw it onto the coffin, before crossing themselves. Then they kissed the widow’s hand. She had assumed a pose of dignified mourning and hid her impassive face under an opaque veil. The men also shook hands quickly with a youth whose spotty face was set in a self-conscious grin, before making their escape, their shoulders hunched against the rain. Victor skipped the formalities and bore down on his prey, touching the square-faced man’s sleeve just as he, too, was about to make off.

‘Allow me to offer my condolences, Monsieur…’

‘Gaétan, Richard Gaétan,’ the man replied gruffly, shaking off Victor’s hand with an impatient gesture.

‘My name is Maurice Laumier. I hope it isn’t too late to…’

‘Too late? What for?’

‘To join the ranks of the Black Unicorn, now that its founder is no longer with us.’

Richard Gaétan seemed to relax, and his lipless mouth attempted a smile.

‘I shall be taking over, and enrolling new members. I wish that we didn’t have to charge a fee, but, as you can imagine, the running costs are considerable: we hire a meeting room, provide our members with our special insignia and manuals, and we also subsidise society dinners…’

Swindler, thought Victor, but he only said, innocently, ‘Is it

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