‘I was forced into it, Captain. It was last year. A sergeant-major sent for me. He told me he had orders from very high up. He wanted to know everything about you! Supposedly it was to do with promotion. He threatened me. He told me that if I didn’t obey I’d be sent to the colonies, on the other side of the world. And on top of that I’d be downgraded to—’
Margont shook his head. ‘No, no, no. You’re as cunning as a monkey and in the fairground they don’t train monkeys by waving a stick at them, but by throwing them peanuts.’
‘They also paid me a bit,’ Lefine admitted.
‘You didn’t have to tell them all that you knew, traitor. That’ll teach me to talk too much. And save that pathetic look for the grenadiers of the Royal Guard. The Italians love
Lefine went pale. The sea filled him with panic and fear, which he had always refused to explain as if he really believed in those writhing sea monsters that adorned the oceans on maps and on public fountains.
‘Yes, I wouldn’t put it past you,’ he muttered.
‘Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean that you’ve got the right to sell it. Now repeat to me exactly what you said to this sergeant-major.’
‘Well, more or less all I knew …’
Margont’s anger subsided somewhat at the thought that such a reply was inevitable.
‘He was stupid, that sergeant-major, Captain. The more I told him, the more he paid me. So of course I told him everything.’
‘Of course.’
‘And after I’d told him everything I knew, I went on, making things up. Well, my imagination’s boundless. Not like the sergeant-major’s purse, which ran out in the end. Two or three things I made up completely: you love horses, you dream of one day breeding your own; you’re in love with the pretty daughter of a Montpellier notary who doesn’t want you as his son-in-law until you’re a colonel; you have a distant uncle who lives in Louisiana and you’ve toyed with the idea of starting a new life in the New World.’
Margont smiled to himself. The file put together by Triaire was so stuffed with nonsense that it should prove impossible to separate the wheat from the chaff. He felt less cheated.
‘One thing intrigues me, Fernand. You said so much that you must have known that one day I would find you out, but that didn’t bother you. Why not?’
Lefine had recovered his self-assurance.
‘It’s true that I had underestimated your anger a bit. But above all I know how to make myself indispensable. And when someone’s indispensable, what can happen to them?’
The answer was as impudent as it was true. It brought Margont back to his investigation. What if the murderer were an indispensable officer? He had asked himself that question dozens of times. He put his arm on Lefine’s shoulder.
‘Since you sold my secrets, I’m going to give you a taste of your own medicine. And more than you bargained for. Prince Eugene has put me in a particularly difficult position. Well, I’m going to tell you the whole story, and then you’ll help me with my investigation and I’ll feel less lonely in hell.’
CHAPTER 5
LEFINE guessed that any mention of this business would get him into terrible trouble so, having a talent for weighing up the pros and cons, and being blessed with a pragmatic disposition, his first words after Margont had explained were: ‘So what do we do now?’
Margont selected a collection of poems and slipped it into one of his pockets.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not just helping myself to a book for some late-night reading. The man we’re looking for managed to seduce this woman in just a day. However, we know that the victim was not the sort to fall for the first man to come her way, so what could he have said to charm her so much?’
Margont brandished a second collection, like an impassioned preacher holding up the Bible.
‘Look how well thumbed these pages are. She read these works over and over again. She must have thought that he matched her ideal. The description of our murderer’s personality is in here.’
Lefine was sceptical. ‘For a respectable woman she was a bit quick to invite a stranger into her bedroom.’
‘That’s easy to explain. If the murderer really was an officer, he would only have had a few hours to spend in Tresno before starting out on a campaign that might last several months. Hundreds of soldiers had come here to enjoy themselves, so the only quiet place would have been her room. She was trusting; she didn’t seem to think he would take advantage of the situation.’
‘Or she wanted him to do so …’
‘That makes no difference to the argument.’
Margont leaned out of the window. He was not afraid of heights. It looked easy to him to step over the frame and get on to the roof.
‘Go down and tell the grenadiers and passers-by not to panic. Tell them I’m after a deserter and, as he used to be a chimney sweep, I suspect him of having hidden away somewhere up there. Then keep an eye on me from the street.’
‘Do you really expect to find something worth risking your neck for?’
But Margont was already resting his weight on the tiles. A few moments later he was doing a balancing act along the roof, the villagers and soldiers watching from below, half worried and half amused. Lefine did not let his friend out of his sight, even if it meant constantly bumping into onlookers.
‘Careful with the tile to your right. It’s come loose,’ he shouted.
‘Thanks.’
‘You know it’s just as easy to see from down here.’
Margont was peering at every inch of roofing, hoping to spot something the murderer might have left behind. He found nothing and every leap from one roof to the next was greeted by applause from some idiot down below. He stopped at the top of the third inn and gazed down at the street. A sea of faces was staring up at him. The people were smaller than he would have thought. He looked away, afraid that he might lose his balance. He imagined the scene. It was night-time, it had been raining, making the tiles slippery, and people were shooting at the fugitive. The man was running. Running? The mere thought of moving quickly so high above the ground made Margont tense. He deduced from this that the murderer was in excellent physical shape. He continued his progress, wondering how the man had managed to descend from his acrobatic perch. He reached the final inn. This one was separated from the next house by a gap of nine feet. Not only that, but the dwelling, made of wood, had only a ground floor and he was two storeys higher up. He thought it impossible to continue, but he wanted a second opinion.
‘I’m going to take a run and a jump,’ he called out to Lefine.
The sergeant began to gesticulate frantically. ‘You’re mad, Captain! It’s suicidal! You’ll get squashed as flat as a pancake! The murd— the deserter must have got down before. We just need to ask the people living in that shack whether they heard anyone fall on to their roof that night. A racket like that would certainly have woken them.’
Margont retraced his steps.
An artillery corporal, disfigured by severe burns to his neck and the lower part of his face, leaned towards Lefine. ‘Ain’t he a bit soft in the head, that captain of yours?’
‘When he’s set on something, that’s all he thinks about and he doesn’t take account of the risks.’
‘Carelessness can prove very expensive,’ retorted the corporal, slowly running his forefinger along a cheek that was as crumpled as a wet sheet.
Margont went back and stood stock-still in front of an enormous oak with some of its branches broken. There were numerous footmarks around it. A few yards away was a rough impression made by a body and in the
