she flinched.
'Sorry,' I said. 'Are you all right?'
'I'm glad you're alive.' She reached up and touched my arm, to be sure I was real. Her hand didn't linger. As if she couldn't wait to trade the feel of flesh for steel, it closed around her other hand which held the revolver.
'What now?' she said.
'Watch him for a minute. We have friends outside.'
I went into the courtyard, saw Banville on foot at the entrance, and the others waving from the jeep. I waved back and they drove in, parking in front of the barracks. I heard muffled shouting, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from.
'Is there a basement in this building?' I shouted to Diana.
'Yes, I'll show you, if you find someone else to watch Mathenet.'
I told Duxbury to guard our prisoner. I thought he was faking now, waiting for us to leave him alone. Rodney stayed on the. 30 caliber, Harry with him in the jeep, complaining about his leg. Banville came with Diana and me.
'Anything we can do to help you, Miss?' he asked Diana, trying to take her arm, as if she were crippled. She jerked it away from him, giving him a startled look, her eyebrows raised in a question.
'Help me get these men out; they've been down in the cellar for two days.' She led us into the other room of the barracks, where the SOL men had been posted and pointed to a trapdoor closed by an iron padlock, attached to a ring on the floor. We could hear pounding and yelling more clearly now.
'Who are they?' Banville asked.
'Twelve men from this post,' Diana said quickly. 'The others were called away on some pretext, then Villard and his men took over. I think he still has the key.'
'Stand back,' Banville said. He took out his Webley revolver and aimed at the lock. The first round dented it, the second shattered it. He lifted the door.
French soldiers poured up from their underground prison, shielding their eyes from the light. Carefully, they hoisted up their captain. His face was bruised, his uniform tunic stained with blood. They helped him to a chair. He issued orders. I couldn't understand what he said, but I could tell they were commands by his tone of voice and the way his men jumped to. Most scurried off, while one man brought him water. He drank and only then seemed to notice us.
'Americans?' he asked.
'American and British, sir. Can you tell me what happened here?'
'My name is Captain Victor Gauthier, and what happened here is a crime.'
'What exactly do you mean, sir?' I asked. One man's crime may be another man's natural exuberance.
'My men and I were ready to welcome the Allies and join the fight against the Germans. We are not among those who believe in collaborating with our enemy. When that Gardes Mobiles officer came here with his orders, we had to obey, to give him food and supplies, to house his prisoners. Orders from Headquarters,' he said, almost spitting out the word.
'Signed by Captain Bessette,' I added.
'Yes, how did you know?' He looked up, surprised.
'There's no shortage of crime here, Captain, in your army or mine.'
'I refused to obey his orders when I saw his treatment of his prisoners,' Gauthier said.
I tensed, wondering what he had seen. I watched Diana. She was seated, her expression blank.
'What treatment?' I asked.
'He is a criminal, a corrupt policeman and-contrebandier- smuggler, yes?'
I nodded. He had Villard pegged.
'Villard used some of my men, whom he took prisoner, to move supplies he has stolen to an outpost in the desert. From there, he makes contact with the Germans, or Arab caravans that buy from him and take the goods to Dakar.'
'Where is this outpost?'
'That I do not know,' said Gauthier, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. 'Villard thought I did and had me beaten. Then he threw me, with my remaining men, into the basement storeroom. I think they would have killed us-left us to starve or suffocate-if you had not come.'
'Thank you, Captain,' I said. 'Allied forces landed at the harbor in Bone this morning. We'll be glad of your support.' I tried to sound like Major Harding. He was good at this diplomatic stuff.
We left Gauthier in the care of his men and walked back to see Mathenet. He was sitting on the bed, holding his head in his hands.
'Take your jacket off,' I told him. He looked at me dully, as if he were trying to gather his wits. Maybe that knock on the head had been too hard.
When I raised the butt of my Tommy gun as if I was going to hit him again, he wailed in a high-pitched voice. 'Yes, yes, please do not strike me.' He had his well-tailored jacket off in a flash. I grabbed his left arm, ripped open his shirt cuff and rolled up his sleeve. A gauze bandage covered his forearm.
'How's the shrapnel wound, Lieutenant?'
'It is healing well, why-'
I ripped off the bandage. It was as I had expected. 'Ever see such nice, neat, straight shrapnel wounds?' I asked. Banville and Duxbury leaned over and stared at Mathenet's arm. Diana didn't take any notice. She sat near the desk, holding the revolver in both hands, as if in prayer. I looked at Mathenet again.
'Can't say as I 'ave, sir,' Duxbury said. 'Looks like a razor or knife cut to me.'
'Aye,' said Banville. 'Shrapnel makes a nasty, jagged cut, not like these wounds.'
'It was shrapnel,' said Mathenet, 'I was caught in the air raid-'
'You were cleaning up loose ends for Villard,' I said. 'Just like you were doing here, fetching his briefcase like a trained dog. And what did he do? How does he reward you?'
I let go of his arm and pushed him down onto the bed.
'He uses you for a shield, gives you up, and runs for it. He cared more for that briefcase than he did for you.'
'What do you want of me?' Mathenet said, his voice catching.
'I want you to hang for the murder of Sergeant Joseph Casselli.'
'You cannot prove that-'
'You're right, not on the basis of those cuts alone. If that were all I had, I'd shoot you right now. Anybody here mind?'
'Never had much use for coppers, never mind Frog coppers,' growled Duxbury.
'I'll do it,' said Diana, the pistol clasped between her hands.
'Miss,' Banville said, 'perhaps you should wait outside-'
'Perhaps you should mind your own damn business,' she snapped back. She looked up, angry, her lips compressed and her eyes narrowed, staring Banville down, daring him to offer assistance or sympathy again. He didn't.
'As I was saying,' I announced, trying to get the interrogation back on course, 'all we need to do before bringing charges is to find out who stitched up your wound and thought up the shrapnel story.'
'What does your hospital staff know of war wounds?' Mathenet said dismissively. 'You Americans know nothing and act as if you know everything. France has been in this war since it began!'
'I don't think a crooked, murdering Vichy cop should speak for
France. Not for men like Colonel Baril and the Dupree brothers! Did you kill Jerome Dupree as well?'
'No.' He started to protest, then caught himself. 'I think I recall a Dupree from the prisoner's list, but he was reprieved at the last minute.'
'Who did kill him?'
'I know nothing about that.'
'Where is Villard's outpost in the desert?'
'I have not been there.'
'I didn't ask you that. I asked you where it was.'
'Truly, I do not know. I have never been there,' Mathenet said with a desperate edge to his voice. It was
