He re-examined the steps he had taken. Where had he gone wrong? Short of declaring a nation-wide state of emergency, what could he have done better? He compared the reports. And straight away he saw the stumbling block in the system. It was the slowness of the operations. In Lyon, it was an hour before the net was spread, by which time continuity was lost. In Toulouse, it was only three-quarters of an hour after the alert was sounded that they could be sure of guarding all the exits. In Arras, the result was more or less the same. If one added the time between the murder and the discovery of the body, the murderer had, in each case, more than enough time to escape.
As he was leaving the Gare du Nord, a street vendor thrust a newspaper into his hand, shouting something incomprehensible. Richard saw the headlines:
NINTH MURDER OF THE MAN IN GREY
The bandit strikes in Nantes this time. A cry in the storm—then a shot. A manhunt. For the ninth time the killer manages to escape.
“Nantes, December 1st. (from our special correspondent.) This morning, at around seven o’clock, gusty winds and a cold rain lashed furiously against everything outdoors. The night, still black, refused to leave. The rare passers-by, bent into the wind, hastened to find shelter.
“In a side street, not far from the Musée Dobrée, the pale light from two street lamps made two small circles on the glistening pavement. Everything else was just a wall of darkness: the night solidified. Suddenly a cry pierces the darkness: ‘Help!’ And a detonation splinters the shadows.
“Liberated by these noises, life reappeared. Men rushed to help and saw a shadow leave one of the houses in the street and head towards the port. Some of them stopped at the door, others took off after the fleeing silhouette. It was still very dark, and, one by one, they gave up the pursuit. The last one saw the figure turn into Rue La Moricière but, when he reached the corner, he could only see people going about their normal life. Head down, he returned to the scene of the crime.
“The police were already there and Le Parquet was quick to arrive. The victim, a bachelor, of course, was one Florimond Varois. He was in his thirties, and held a modest position at the Compagnie de Navigation, where they were effusive in their praise for his work and his performance. He was by no means wealthy. He was killed by a bullet to the heart and, although the anaylsis of the projectile had not been confirmed at the time we went to press, there seems little doubt that we find ourselves in the presence of a new crime by the man in the grey overcoat. The ninth... at least.
“BREAKING NEWS. We have just been notified that, after examination, the bullet which killed Varois was indeed fired from the same pistol as the other projectiles. There’s no longer any doubt.”
The professor stood on the sidewalk of Rue de Dunkerque, reading the article, oblivious to the passers-by who pushed past and even hit his legs with their suitcases. He was aghast. It meant that the killer, like him, had realised the need for speed. The parallels in their thinking disconcerted him, because they made him more aware of the difficulties of his task. His adversary seemed to anticipate his reactions and flaunt them by being even more rapid and efficient.
Eventually, he hailed a taxi to the Police Judiciaire. From there, using telephone and telegraph, he connected with many different provincial towns and dictated detailed instructions and imperatives.
It was nearly midnight before he went to bed. He gave up the idea of going to Nantes, because he anticipated new and rapid developments.
Nevertheless, he had to wait until eleven o’clock the next morning for his expectations to be realised. The telegramme he received was, in its administrative style, more evocative than the newspaper article of the previous day, with all its literary pretentions.
LE MANS, 2-XII, 10.30. Priority. PARQUET DU MANS COMMUNIQUE: Please notify Professor Richard murder committed this morning in Le Mans by man in grey. Stop. Victim TRUFFIER Hector, 47, rag-and-bone man. Stop. Murder this morning approx. 10.00h. Stop. No witnesses. Stop. Proceeding with observations and projectile expertise. Stop. Have issued alert 10.25h. Stop. Await instructions.
The professor sat with his head in his hands, thinking. Was there any point in going there? He would hardly arrive before being called elsewhere about yet another body. He picked up the phone and asked to be put through to the administrative centre of La Sarthe.
At half-past twelve, the editorial offices of all the Paris newspapers received a message from the Police Judiciaire: Professor Richard would make an important announcement at two o’clock.
At the appointed hour, everyone was there except Jacques, overwhelmed by the flu since his return from Arras, and being taken care of by his valet. Maryse had enquired about his health: nothing serious, a few days in bed would get him back on his feet.
The professor came in. He held a piece of paper in his hand and started to speak in a voice markedly different from before. The journalists noticed how much the lastfew days had affected him: he seemed to have aged considerably.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I don’t know how many of you have noticed that each of the victims has made a quick trip to Paris this year in curious circumstances. Despite, for many of them, an unfavourable pecuniary condition, every one of them travelled first class. It seems logical to conclude, therefore, that these trips had a connection, however indirect, with the crimes. I’ve compiled a list of all known victims and their travel dates. Here it
