Then he added:
‘What is there to see? Is it worth bothering about? Or will you, Maryse, give me your copy, like the last time?’
‘Yes, you lazy oaf. But... give, give. What did you find in Marseille?’
‘I’ll give you a complete account. But don’t delude yourself, there’s nothing interesting. I’m disgusted and pretty well worn out. That’s why I’m not staying. I’m coming back with you.’
VI
LYON – PANIC THROUGHOUT FRANCE
Monday, November 22
The newspapers that Saturday were all milk and honey. Professor Richard’s arrival on the scene was greeted favourably. As a result of the announcement, Romain Bernès succeeded, without opposition, in buying time to allow the investigations to continue.
But, on Sunday morning, there was a change of tone. Following disillusioned stories from itinerant reporters, the emphasis was on the impotence of the police.
By Monday, the situation had worsened. A wind of panic blew across France. Everyone asked himself the same question: if a madman can strike wildly and unpredictably (the message propagated by the majority of the press), then why wouldn’t it be my turn next?
At around seven o’clock that evening, Professor Richard was on the terrace of La Coupole, sheltered from all sides, partaking of aperitifs with his niece and the ineffable Hyacinthe.
The professor appeared to be very depressed. The arduous task he had reluctantly undertaken seemed more and more impossible every day. His anxiety came from his suspicion that he would not be allowed the time to complete his slow, methodical work. He could see only too well where the widespread frenzy would lead, and expected the worst. His misanthropy, which happened often, was nothing more than the defensive attitude of a tender heart.
‘I wanted to declare a state of emergency,’ he said. ‘But the government wasn’t ready to face the wrath of its parliamentary majority.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ said a voice from behind them, ‘if a good part of the population would be reassured by that. Fear has gripped a great many of our compatriots, and the presence of the army would raise their morale.’
It was our friend Jacques, all smiles. He shook hands, ordered a cocktail, and sat down.
At that moment a waiter told the professor he was wanted on the telephone. He left, stooping slightly, under the enquiring gaze of his companions. Soon, he was back.
‘Now we’re at six,’ he announced, sitting down. And, since Jacques hadn’t yet touched his glass, he picked it up and swallowed the contents in a single gulp.
‘Where? Who? How?’ The exclamations arose around the table, whilst all around them heads were quickly turned in curiosity.
‘Where?’ exclaimed the professor. ‘Lyon. That’s understandable. The third city of France couldn’t be left behind. Here are the facts: this morning, at around ten o’clock, several inhabitants of La Croix Rousse were passing by the shop of the antique dealer Césaire Mouret and noticed that the door was open. Somebody, as they would do in ninety-nine out of a hundred innocuous cases, shouted: “Something’s wrong”. For once, they were right. After they managed to conscript a grumpy and disdainful police officer to go inside the shop, they quickly found the body of the merchant in the back room. He had just been killed. Of course, the crime was signed: a bullet to the heart, quickly identified. No sign of a struggle. The dead man’s face calm. He certainly hadn’t seen his fate coming. Information about the victim: fifty-nine years old, bachelor, of course. Living a sheltered life, struggling to make a living. No suspicious relationships. In short, nothing to help the investigation, as usual.’
‘And did anyone see him?’ asked Jacques.
‘The bandit? No. It’s become too dangerous. It would be risky to let himself be seen. By the way,’ he added, lowering his voice so that only his three companions could hear, ‘I’ve taken a few precautions. Following my orders, as soon as there is news of a crime, all exits from that town are placed on high alert. The identities of everyone leaving Lyon will be checked. In particular, in the railway stations, the papers of everyone boarding the train will be examined. Unfortunately, at Perrache, we missed the departure of the twelve-thirty-three express to Paris by a few minutes. Nevertheless, we can assure control at every stop, and on its arrival in Paris at twelve minutes past six. We haven’t found anything suspicious but, at my request, we’ve created a list of all those questioned. As you will understand, if in another case we find oneof those names, it will be a big step forward. Meanwhile, investigations of apparent suspects may teach us something, but don’t count on it.’
‘Still the same old stuff,’ grumbled Jacques. ‘Nothing new here.’
‘There is something strange, nevertheless. The antique dealer seemed to be following the case closely. He even discussed it with several customers. But at no time did he appear to believe he was personally threatened.’
‘And what conclusion can you draw from that?’
‘That the connection between the crimes is so tenuous that even those affected suspect nothing. Not only do they not know each other, but nothing in what they know attracts their attention. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m mistaken, and that the murderer does indeed kill at random, without rhyme or reason.’
Nobody said anything, but after a while Jacques stood up:
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘We have to go to Lyon. We may not find anything, but duty calls. Rendezvous on the nine-fifteen train.’
VII
TOULOUSE – CINEMA – BRIDGE (with one dummy)
Wednesday, November 24
Returning from Lyon on the Wednesday, the
