Saturday, May 15th: Arsène le Bigot from Rennes.
Sunday, May 16th: Aloys Rédéran from Orléans.
Monday, May 17th: ?
Tuesday, May 18th: Florimond Varois from Nantes
Wednesday, May 19th: Pierre Eberhardt from Nancy.
Thursday, May 20th: Césaire Mouret from Lyon.
Friday, May 21st: René Grandjean from Toulouse.
Saturday, May 22nd: Hippolyte Stacier from Arras.
Sunday, May 23rd: Adrien Mithon from Dijon.
Monday, May 24th: André Bernière from Marseille.
Tuesday, May 25th: Hector Truffier from Le Mans.
‘Whilst we don’t know if there were any others before May 15th or after May 25th, what we can say is that there is avery strong chance that a man travelled to Paris on May 17th, and that unknown individual is to be the next victim of the murderer in grey.
‘And so, messieurs, I’m asking you to publish the list immediately, stressing its importance and urgency, and asking that the man who, for whatever reason, was called to Paris on May 17th, make himself known without further delay. His life depends on it.
‘And also make it clear that, whatever the reason for the trip, he can confide in us without fear. If what he tells us leads to the arrest of the man in grey, or even to get a clearer picture and prevent more crimes, he can rest assured of our complete discretion, even if his purpose would normally make him liable to prosecution. I make that promise formally, in front of you all.’
X
VILLEMOMBLE – ENTER... BOB SLOWMAN
Friday, December 3
The instructions were followed to the letter. Professor Richard’s appeal was published, first in its stark simplicity, and then as the subject of lengthy comment.
On Friday morning, Richard was partaking of breakfast when the Directeur de la Police Judiciaire phoned, asking him to come over as quickly as possible: he had received an interesting communication.
Half-an-hour later, the two of them were discussing the contents of a letter that had been posted the night before at six o’clock:
Monsieur le Directeur,
I have just read the announcement of Professor Richard in this evening’s newspaper. Living as I do in the suburbs, I come to Paris on a daily basis and therefore cannot put myself in the shoes of your traveller of May 17th. A strange adventure did, however, happen to me on that day which, upon reflection, does not seem entirely unconnected with that affair. I would therefore be happy to discuss the matter, and would be obliged if you would arrange a meeting with your inspectors. I shall be at home tomorrow for the entire day. Meanwhile, I am taking precautions to avoid an accident.
Yours faithfully
Bernard CHAUVIN,
Sales Representative
..., Avenue....
VILLEMOMBLE
It was determined that the writer had a telephone, but there was no reply. So Richard decided to go to Villemomble. He was clearly anxious and visibly impatient whilst waiting for the inspector he had asked for to join him. Since Superintendent Jannin was already present, it was he who was designated, which suited the professor perfectly. It was almost ten o’clock when the two of them took a taxi, and half-an-hour later when they drew up in front of Chauvin’s villa.
The two-storey residence was quite large and was surrounded on all sides by an enormous garden. All the shutters were closed, and no one responded to Richard’s feverish ringing of the doorbell.
The superintendent tried the neighbour’s gate. The maid who answered confirmed it was indeed M. Chauvin’s villa. She offered that he was a widower in his forties and lived alone. She didn’t know if he was in, or had left for Paris.
‘In any case,’ she added, ‘his housekeeper lives just down the street and she must have a set of keys.’
Jannin left and returned ten minutes later with a small woman in her sixties, of slight build. She walked smilingly alongside the policeman, whose own face held a glum expression.
‘The lady hasn’t got any keys, but she’s sure our man is at home. When she left him yesterday evening, he wasn’t planning to go out today.’
‘Where’s the nearest locksmith?’ asked Richard.
The superintendent left again and returned a bit later with the local chief of police and a worker. At midday, after a lot of work, the door was finally open. The ground floor was in total darkness, but they could make out a ray of light on the upper floor landing. It was coming from the bedroom. When the police eventually reached the room, after having carefully scrutinised every step, they discovered, as expected, the body of the salesman. Dressed in his pyjamas, he held a lamp in one hand and a revolver in the other. He hadn’t had time to fire. There was a large bloodstain on his pyjamas, around the heart.
Richard fixed the time of death at ten to twelve hours earlier, in other words, between midnight and two o’clock in the morning. There had obviously been no struggle. The unfortunate fellow must have heard a noise, turned on the light, and gone to the bedroom door. Before he even got there, the murderer, hiding in the shadows, but with his target well illuminated, had no difficulty in killing him. Afterwards, he had searched the body, the man’s clothes, and his office. Needless to say, he had left no fingerprints and no clues. If the late salesman had written down the reasons why he felt menaced, the intruder had taken them with him.
Meanwhile, the deputy public prosecutor had arrived, accompanied by M. Delharbe, the designated examining magistrate. He had a luxuriant beard, which he stroked with the back of his hand when perplexed. Just as he was leaving, he had learnt that the Garde des Sceaux had decided to remove all the local public prosecutors from the case and leave it in the hands of La Seine. The entire responsibility for the matter now rested
