“There were several members of this group: Father Desmorins, whom you’ve just met and who was defrocked by the Jesuits; the young writer Vilando; and Isel, the millionaire. I also know of a Russian woman, and of a former Belgian officer who pretended to be Egyptian, but they weren’t in Paris at the time the events occurred. As Darbon was investigating the attacks, he came into closer contact with the group. And I believe it was Darbon’s persistence that inspired Grialet, the leader, to come up with the idea of challenging all the detectives and at the same time challenging the World’s Fair and the tower. Each of the incidents made a point. Grialet thought up a crime that would show that not everything can be explained. He carried this out in order to remind us that we must leave room for that which is secret. It is likely that he has struck before; I myself investigated the Case of the Fulfilled Prophecy, whose author was a poisoner named Prodac. In that instance, I suspected that Grialet had incited the killer, but I couldn’t prove it.”
Father Desmorins had tried to stand up and say something, but Baldone pushed him back into his chair. Arzaky was looking at the f loor, as if he didn’t know how to continue.
“Grialet moved into a house that had belonged to a printer and bookseller and he devoted himself to a new obsession: he wrote all kinds of quotes on the walls, so words would always be present. Perhaps he was trying to create the sensation of living inside a book. That house is a compendium of knowledge and superstition. It is filled with wisdom but also with the triviality, typical of occult enthusiasts, that comes from yearning to know the final meaning of all things. While Grialet was away on a trip, I took the opportunity to go into his house and read everything he had written on the walls, but I didn’t find anything to link them to Darbon’s death. Yet the key to unraveling the mystery was there. The key was written on the wall from the very beginning, but I didn’t see it until it was too late.
“The crimes appeared to be completely unrelated: our old Darbon, a burned corpse, a mermaid. The only connection between them was that all three had something to do with me. Grialet had chosen for one of his walls an inspired phrase by Eliphas Levi, an occultist whose works Napoleon tried to ban, and with good reason. The phrase postulated God as the union of an old man, a decapitated man, and a dove: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Darbon, Sorel and the Mermaid were the three elements of this message.”
Zagala, who had spent the entire opening day under the blazing sun, waiting for the fourth crime, seemed peeved. “What about
“Grialet led us to believe that the connection was
“After the Mermaid’s death I thought about giving it all up. Overwhelmed by grief, I withdrew to think. I drank so I could think, and then so I could stop thinking. In those moments of delirium and drunkenness, when the world seemed to be coming apart, splitting into images and phrases that no one could put back together, my fickle memory showed me the words that explained everything. I went to find Grialet; I tried to take him out of the house but he resisted. I had Craig’s cane in my hands, as a way to keep my old friend with me. I’ll admit I didn’t really know how to use it and in the middle of our struggle it went off. You already know the rest of the story.”
Arzaky went to one side of the room and Caleb Lawson took center stage. He was about to say something, but one of the detectives started clapping, I think it was Magrelli, and some of the assistants joined in. Soon everyone was applauding Arzaky’s words. Even Madorakis was clapping. Lawson had no choice but to do the same, but his applause was so weak that his palms barely touched. Then he said, “Many of you have already packed your bags to return to your respective cities. Thefts and murders await you. This is our farewell evening. Before we close the meeting and go to dinner, does anyone have anything else to say?”
No one wanted anyone to speak. The assistants, in the back of the room, were already looking toward the exit. It was time for dinner and endless toasts and promises of another gathering, which would never happen. Only a wet blanket would dare to say something now. Then I raised my right hand. And since it had been tightly clutching the handkerchief in my pocket, I raised the handkerchief too. I heard some laughter; it looked like I was waving good- bye from a boat.
“I just want to give my version of the events.”
8
Caleb Lawson looked at me with annoyance.
“You need authorization to speak. And I don’t feel like giving it to you. We already know what you’re going to say: he’s innocent, he’s free of all guilt and responsibility, and so on, and etcetera.”
Arzaky had collapsed into a chair, and he looked at me strangely. I avoided his eyes and said, “I’m going to talk to someone. If it isn’t with you, it’ll be with the press.”
I had spoken loudly, and those who were already at the stairs now headed back into the room.
“Could you possibly have something new to add to what Arzaky said? ” asked Magrelli. “Something we haven’t heard? Or will this be a conference on your vast experience in the world of crime?”
“I want to explain the truth as I see it.”
“Go ahead and talk already,” said Madorakis. “But keep it short. If we let one assistant prattle on, soon they’ll all want to do the same.”
“Even Tamayak,” said Caleb Lawson.
Everyone looked at Arzaky. His opinion was the only one that mattered.
“I don’t know what secrets my assistant is keeping, and his speaking without asking my permission is completely out of line. But what does it matter! I was about to fire him anyway.”
Everyone responded with forced laughter. My intervention, when everything had already been wrapped up, was the detectives’ worst fear realized. Each time a case was closed, after laying out the solution rationally and convincingly, they always dreaded the appearance of something (an object, a witness, a detail that didn’t fit) that could spoil the whole conclusion.
It was difficult for me to speak above the whispering.
“I arrived in Paris with two things for Arzaky: Craig’s cane and a message. The message was a story that I won’t tell here. Arzaky was generous enough to take me on as his assistant, especially considering that I was a novice and could hardly be expected to replace Tanner, one of the most respected of the acolytes. It was an honor for me to occupy his post. Which is why now, as I speak, I feel that I am betraying Arzaky and Craig and The Twelve Detectives. However, I must. I wasn’t affected by Darbon’s death, I had barely met him. And I couldn’t care less if all the corpses in Paris were burned. But the Mermaid’s death is something which I can’t bear, and which I’ll never forget as long as I live.
“I felt that I wasn’t getting anywhere with this case. When I saw the truth it came to me in one momentous f lash. So I don’t think I owe the solution to my skill, but just to luck. To bad luck, I should say, because I would rather continue blindly. It happened this way: Arzaky knew, because of something I unwittingly conveyed to him, that this, your world, was crumbling and that soon there would be no trace left of The Twelve Detectives. He thought up a plan that would restore the world’s trust in the detectives and their methods and at the same time get rid of his enemies. He killed Darbon, his competitor, and he killed the Mermaid, who had been his lover but had been unfaithful to him with Grialet. In solving the crimes, he would also do away with Grialet. And, at the same time, he would ensure his own glory by solving a crime in front of all the other detectives. His feat would not be forgotten. It was like founding The Twelve Detectives all over again.”
Lawson, who had been wanting to take Arzaky’s place at the core of The Twelve, was now poised to defend him.
“No one is ever going to forget what you just said either. Get him out of this room! ”
“No! ” shouted Madorakis. “Let him continue. Someone is speaking to us through him.”
The whispering had stopped. Now they definitely wanted to hear what I had to say.
“In this room several models of the perfect enigma were presented. Castelvetia spoke of jigsaw puzzles, and I’m inclined to believe that common image best fits the spirit of the enigma. Magrelli spoke of Arcimboldo’s
