The Montmartre Investigation by Claude Izner

Author:Claude Izner [Izner, Claude]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Detective
ISBN: 9781906040703
Publisher: Gallic
Published: 2007-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

The hue and cry was at its peak. On the corner of Rue Montmartre and Rue du Croissant, Victor glanced at a bust of Émile de Girardin and dawdled in front of one of the cheap bookshops, plastered with posters. At the entrance to the printworks, the pavement was encumbered with bundles of the evening editions wrapped in thick yellow paper advertising in big letters the name of the newspaper. High-wheeled carts trundled over the cobblestones, returning to dump their unsold copies. Le Passe-partout’s offices were a few doors along Rue Grange-Batelière from the auction house.

Victor made his way through the turmoil of the typesetting room, which was on the same floor as the editorial offices.

‘We’re running late,’ the typesetter groaned.

Discarded pages of newspaper were scattered all over the floor. Telegraphists hurried to and fro delivering dispatches. Le Passe-partout employed a staff of twenty including five journalists.

When Victor asked a buck-toothed secretary whether he might see the journalist who signed himself The Virus, she showed him in to the editor’s office.

Dressed in one of the tailored English suits that had earned him the nickname Beau Brummel, patent leather ankle boots and a cravat that was a work of art in its own right, Antonin Clusel was engaged in dictating his leader article to a shapely blonde.

‘My dear chap, what a surprise!’ he exclaimed, advancing towards Victor. ‘You may go, Eulalie.’

‘So, you’re The Virus!’

‘I’m filling a variety of roles at the moment, out of necessity. If you want something done, it’s better to do it yourself! Not that Gouvier and the others don’t do an excellent job, but I’ve noticed that our readers particularly like The Virus’s mordant style, especially when Lecacheur and his henchmen are on the receiving end of it. Care for a cigar?’

‘No thank you, I am on my way to the auction house. I just dropped by to see your new offices. When you say they are “on the receiving end” do you mean you know something they don’t about Noémi Gerfleur’s murder?’

Clusel broke into a broad grin. He poured out two small glasses of cognac and handed one to Victor.

‘You don’t beat about the bush, do you? I’d call it your weakness. Settle back in my chair; you’ll find it wonderfully comfortable,’ he said, pushing back the two telephones and various papers scattered over his desk so he could perch there. ‘It’s a scandal all right! La Gerfleur is still well remembered from the years she spent on the London stage between ’86 and ’89. And when she returned to Paris she triumphed each night at L’Eldorado. What a waste.’

‘Why have you not divulged the contents of the two messages left in the shoe?’

‘I can see what you’re up to, old chap, but you’re shouting into the wind. I’m not giving anything away. “Silence is golden” is my motto. Facts should be revealed gradually, as in the serialised novels the people love so much. It’s the secret of success. Three magic words send the average reader to the kiosk every day to buy our paper: “to be continued”.

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