Margont interrupted him by giving him a purse. ‘That’s for the rascals holding out their grubby paws.’
Lefine spread out the coins in the palm of his hand. ‘That’ll barely cover the costs. And that’s being optimistic.’
‘Are you sure a name hasn’t been struck off by mistake?’
‘We know when the victim died. It took some time to do but we managed to reconstruct the movements of quite a few of the suspects at around midnight. Only the remaining four were away from their regiment that night without us knowing where.’
‘So it’s very likely that the murderer is one of these men. Perfect. I want to know everything about them: their lives, their careers, their friends, their interests, their plans, their temperaments …’
Lefine shook his head to indicate he was throwing in the towel.
‘No, Fernand. You’re going to continue helping me. I still haven’t forgiven you for betraying me and, in any case, it’s an order.’
‘It’s an abuse of power.’
‘Prince Eugene promised me a handsome reward, remember. I’m offering you half. Yes, I know, that’ll barely cover your expenses. Count yourself lucky that I’ll share the money in the event of success but not the punishment in the event of failure. You’re going to find me eight men as resourceful as you – two per suspect – but less grasping, otherwise your expenses really will be out of control.’
Lefine had the worried look of a card player watching the stakes increase too quickly for his liking.
‘It’s too much work! Anyway, I don’t know any of the sort of men you want.’
Margont nodded in encouragement. ‘No, but you do know darned well how to spot them and convince them to do what you expect of them. And find me men who are discreet and reliable! Otherwise, instead of gold, all you’ll have is the lead pumped into me by the firing squad, and then you’d need to invent the philosopher’s stone to turn it into gold.’
Lefine was furious. He often took advantage of his friends’ generosity but was of course outraged when he was repaid in kind. He puckered his lips and sweat left dirty streaks on his dusty face.
‘It’s an abuse of power!’
‘Go and complain to Colonel Delarse. There’s only a one-in-four chance that he’ll slit your throat.’
Margont mounted his horse. At last he was going to break free of the tedium oppressing his mind.
‘I want the people you choose to keep watch over the suspects day and night. Meanwhile, I’ll try to put faces to the names.’
With that he galloped away. Lefine aimed a big kick at one of the walls of the
Margont decided to begin with Colonel Barguelot of the 9th of the Line. He galloped up to the columns of regiments and squadrons, and the convoys of guns, caissons and wagons. The numbers were still not complete. Many troopers were on foot, carrying their saddles on their shoulders. All around lay the corpses of horses that had been pushed to the side of the road. Margont wondered how his horse could bear such a sight.
He would need two hours to obtain a good cover. He rode up to Chief Physician Gras, who directed the physicians of IV Corps and handed him a letter written by Jean-Quenin Bremond. The medical officer claimed he was carrying out a study into the risks of the spread of typhus in the army and requested that the bearer of his message be allowed to question physicians and senior officers about this matter. Chief Physician Gras gave his consent on condition that the general staff of IV Corps were also in agreement. Margont decided to use the document signed by Triaire to avoid this procedure but he still had to explain the reasons for his visit to one of the aides-de-camp of General Broussier, commanding the 14th Division. The request was passed on to the general, who in turn gave his consent … providing that every brigadier-general was informed of the information gathered.
Unfortunately, General Bertrand de Sivray, commanding the 1st Brigade of the 14th Division, was a great friend of Colonel Pegot’s, from the 84th, and he bombarded Margont with questions. Yes, Colonel Pegot was well. Yes, he too was very worried about the shortage of supplies and the number of deserters. Yes, he had authorised the formation of detachments to go foraging for food. No, he did not think that a clash with the Russian army was imminent. Yes, the general’s best wishes would be passed on to him. When Margont was eventually able to leave, he still had to question Colonel Gaussard from the 18th Light Infantry as well as the physician for that regiment before going on to the 9th of the Line.
Colonel Barguelot was riding at the head of his regiment, surrounded by three captains and three majors to whom he was talking merrily. He had light, somewhat curly auburn hair, a large, almost massive, face and a nose that was long but flattened at the end as if permanently pressed up against an invisible window. Carefully trimmed whiskers accentuated his sticking-out ears. When he stopped speaking, his lips automatically reverted to a complacent smile. Margont stopped his horse, saluted, introduced himself and handed over the letter from Medical Officer Bremond. Colonel Barguelot glanced through it perfunctorily.
‘Typhus? Well, yes, of course.’
His uniform had very little dust on it because he brushed it off with his hand frequently and carefully. In the same way he stroked his gold epaulettes and his Officer of the Legion d’Honneur cross. When he gave the document back he had a sardonic look on his face.
‘So what is Medical Officer Bremond planning to do?’
‘He wants to get a clearer idea of the situation, Colonel. He also thinks there are ways of improving prevention—’
The colonel interrupted him with a weary gesture. ‘Well, get on with it: improve it, improve it.’
‘Could you tell me how many—’
‘Consult the regimental physician about that.’
The discussion was evidently about to come to an end.
‘Colonel, you must be wondering why I’ve been given the task of gathering this information when I don’t belong to the army medical service.’
‘No, I haven’t asked myself that question.’
Margont’s explanation that he had survived typhus thanks to Medical Officer Bremond remained buried at the bottom of the pile of lies he had built up since the beginning of this investigation. The colonel had turned towards one of the majors. Margont no longer existed so far as he was concerned.
Contemplating the small circle of officers that surrounded Barguelot, laughing at the slightest of his jokes, the captain declared: ‘I did not realise that you too had been promoted to Officer of the Legion d’Honneur, Colonel.’
Barguelot looked at Margont again, this time piercingly.
‘I was a captain in the 16th Light during the battle of Jena. It was my regiment and the 14th of the Line that in the morning restored the situation on the left flank. Then Jouardet, my major, after taking over the command of the regiment when Colonel Harispe was wounded, handed his battalion over to me. My men and I were at the head of the 16th Light and we were even in front of the 105th, which launched the assault along with us. We swept aside the Hahn and Sack Battalions and took the whole of the Glasenapp Battery – fourteen fine guns that we turned against the enemy.’
Colonel Barguelot continued his account, going into unnecessary detail, describing the devastating effects of the guns taken from the Prussians or telling how he had saved the life of Colonel Habert from the 105th. He revelled in the telling of his own tale. The officers who accompanied him seemed to be drinking in his every word, though they must have heard this story many times. Eventually, the last Prussians surrendered, Barguelot received his decoration and the tirade came to an end.
‘But you said “you too” concerning my decoration. Who were you referring to?’ he asked finally.
‘Myself, Colonel. I was promoted to the rank of Officer of the Legion d’Honneur in Spain.’
The brevity of this announcement disconcerted Barguelot somewhat. How could anyone resist the pleasure of recounting military prowess?
Margont realised that the colonel’s eau de Cologne – which he used liberally – was familiar to him. Saber spent a fortune getting hold of it because the Emperor occasionally used it.
Barguelot nodded his head like a horse-trader spotting a good animal. ‘Well, I congratulate you, Captain. It’s always an honour to meet a man of real worth.’
