the missive.
‘You are wrong about me. As for the cruelty of the man I’m after, it is well beyond anything you can imagine.’
Margont unfolded the document.
Sir,
Some Legion d’Honneur you have here. Too good for you, anyway, because it is rather excessive merely for a sprained ankle at Jena. Instead of thanking the Prussians, would it not be better to thank a certain marshal who, annoyed at having been discovered in your bed with your young and beautiful wife, offered you a few compensations in the form of promotion and a decoration?
You certainly do not wish this business to become public knowledge. Neither do I, because what benefit would it bring to me? I fix the price of my silence at six thousand francs, payable in whatever form you choose. Try a little looting. In any case, I know you are wealthy, so you must have a money-box somewhere in your baggage. I will meet you on the 23rd at three in the morning in front of Countess Sperzof’s residence. Its ruins are near the Kremlin, not far from the building in which the 2nd battalion of the 48th of the Line have their quarters.
Do not be late. It is so cold at night in Moscow …
‘This is slander!’ Colonel Barguelot added immediately.
‘Who is aware of this “slander”?’
Barguelot was motionless. He was no longer even unconsciously moving about on the spot to combat the cold.
As he remained silent, Margont continued: ‘Do you know Colonel Fidassio or Captain Nedroni?’
‘No.’
‘What about Colonel Pirgnon?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. But I think you know him more than “vaguely”. On the one hand, you both serve in the same division. On the other hand, you have met each other at social gatherings in Paris. Or in Madrid. Undoubtedly in both Paris and Madrid, because neither of you would have missed a single reception for all the money in the world. Is Colonel Pirgnon aware of what this letter refers to?’
‘It’s true that Colonel Pirgnon got to hear of this vile piece of gossip because he was serving on the general staff of the marshal concerned.’
‘He was the person you were expecting to see, wasn’t he?’
Barguelot’s face was a picture of distress.
‘Yes.’
‘Colonel, you’ll never hear of me again. And this “piece of gossip” will not spread, I give you my word.’
Margont saluted and departed, leaving Colonel Barguelot completely at a loss. Lefine, puzzled by what was going on, hurried to catch up with his friend, who was trudging through the snow.
‘I’d like some explanations!’
‘I thought for a moment that Colonel Barguelot was our man. But there were two details, two grey areas, that didn’t fit. Why had Colonel Barguelot refused the honour of a friendly crossing of swords with Marshal Davout and why would he never eat or drink in public? When he invited me to that officers’ meal he didn’t touch a thing. It’s insulting when the person who’s invited you doesn’t even taste the dishes he’s offering you. What could prevent a man from eating, drinking and having a sword fight? Then I thought back to an incident that Colonel Delarse had recounted to me. It involved a game of chess between that Russian chess player I met, Lieutenant Nakalin, and Kutuzov. In the course of the game Kutuzov knocked the chessboard over. I think he did so deliberately because he was losing. But his excuse was perfectly valid: he’s blind in one eye and when you lose your sight in one eye it becomes very difficult after a time to gauge depth and distance. That’s when everything fell into place: I thought that Colonel Barguelot must also have lost an eye. He hides it from everyone – except from his servants – because he’s so concerned about his image that he can’t abide this incapacity. The very idea of showing a weakness, of not being flattered and considered perfect, is unbearable to him. It’s unthinkable for him to ask someone to cut his meat up for him during a meal, unacceptable to put out his hand towards a glass and knock it over … Besides, there was one detail that convinced me I was right. During that meal, when he wanted to propose a toast, his servant did not pass him his glass; he put it in his hand. A domestic would never behave so rudely without good reason. That’s why Colonel Barguelot refused to cross swords with Marshal Davout and why he parried so badly the attack by that Russian officer at the foot of the Great Redoubt, whereas he actually had been a good swordsman in his youth. His wound even explains his repeated “sprained ankles”.’
‘How come?’
‘Colonel Barguelot really was an officer of great courage. He proved it at the battle of Austerlitz but he never talks about this exploit, which is out of character. Do you remember the rumour you told me about concerning the wound he’s said to have received that day? Well, I’m sure it’s true. He must have lost an eye at Austerlitz. When he realised that this wound made him a partial invalid, that his image had been tarnished – because this is his strange way of seeing things – he was terrified. Colonel Barguelot is not afraid of death but of the image others have of him. It’s his wound that has made him a coward. The conclusion I was able to draw from all this was that Colonel Barguelot was not our murderer. Because how the devil could he have escaped so acrobatically across the rooftops?
‘We know that the man we’re looking for probably knows the identity of the other suspects. He himself had a note sent to Colonel Barguelot to get him to come to our rendezvous. It was an excellent idea. On the one hand Barguelot’s arrival was a diversion that almost cost me my life. On the other hand we all suspected Colonel Barguelot. When I realised my mistake, I decided to make it look as if we were still convinced of Colonel Barguelot’s guilt. I said nothing to you because the murderer needed to be convinced of this. But in secret I continued to keep our suspects under surveillance. Unfortunately, our man did not betray himself. I’d assumed that he would seek out another victim, in which case my spies had orders to intervene. Either out of suspicion, because he didn’t want to, or because the opportunity did not arise, he did not strike. The murderer was the marksman in hiding. It couldn’t have been Delarse: with his asthma he would never have dared to escape by wading through ashes. That left our Italians and Pirgnon. The murderer knew Colonel Barguelot well enough to find a way of forcing him to go to a remote district alone at three in the morning. But our Italians had never been outside Italy before. They hadn’t taken part in any campaign and were mouldering away in their provincial garrison. They therefore had very few senior officers among their acquaintances. That’s why I inclined towards Pirgnon.’
Margont waved the letter handed to him by Colonel Barguelot.
‘Barguelot has just confirmed to us that Colonel Pirgnon was aware of the contents of this note! Although Pirgnon is capable of going into raptures over a poem or a painting, he seems to have no feeling for human life. His passion for classical heroes is morbid: he probably considers himself a sort of demigod, a superior being to whom other men’s morals and laws do not apply.’
‘What are we going to do? Inform Prince Eugene?’
Margont shook his head. ‘Colonel Barguelot will never give evidence. That would mean admitting the truth of what was in that note. I think he’d be capable of blowing his brains out rather than face such dishonour. And Pirgnon is very well thought of in IV Corps. Are we really sure he’ll be put on trial for his crimes?’
‘Well … yes, surely.’
‘Not surely enough for my taste. Especially amidst such chaos, where every senior officer who’s survived is worth his weight in gold.’
Lefine blew on his gloves. ‘I think I’ve guessed what Prince Eugene would think if we broke the news to him: “My God, how much simpler it would be if the Russians would just kill Colonel Pirgnon for us.”’
CHAPTER 31
SMOLENSK was not the promised paradise. The damaged city had not been sufficiently restored. Many soldiers had to sleep outdoors in the snow. Food supplies had been badly managed and the reserves depleted by
