‘The workings of the window are simple. All that’s necessary is to press a release button and slide in a thin wedge to prevent it closing. It needs to be closely examined to make sure it’s properly closed. Chauvin didn’t think to do it, so the path for the killer was clear.’
‘But that doesn’t answer the whole question. He still had to get in from the outside.’
‘Yes, and without a ladder. It’s quite simple, but only possible with an accomplice. The two of them come into the garden and, by means of the narrow concrete paths, reach the foot of the house without leaving a trace. The accomplice hoists the bandit up at arm’s length, and the other grabs the ledge and pulls himself up. He is now on the little balcony. He loops a rope around the overhanging roof rafter (look, I have a piece of hemp here). The accomplice can now climb up onto the balcony as well. The two of them lift the frame, and the giant accomplice braces himself to keep it open. The bandit slides into the house, weapon in hand. Because none of that can happen without making a noise, poor Chauvin wakes up. He doesn’t hesitate to face the danger, but he’s cut down before he can even reach the bedroom door. The other searches him and searches his office in case he’s left a revealing note, then returns to the boudoir, removes the wedge, and goes out on the balcony. All he has to do is to release the window, which drops and is blocked once again. To get down, the two men use the rope and then pull it towards them. They were careful to remove any traces from the balcony, leaving one more mystery to be solved.’
‘Obviously,’ said M. Delharbe, stroking his beard, ‘that explains everything. But how are you able to describe the accomplice?’
‘Work it out for yourself: only a man at least one metre ninety-five tall could hold up the bandit, whom we know measures one metre sixty-five, to reach a balcony four metres fifty-five above ground. And he has to be a giant. First of all, to be ableto hold at arm’s length a man who weighs roughly seventy-six kilos, and then to hold up the enormous weight of the frame for nearly ten minutes.’
‘But how do you know he’s Russian?’ asked Jannin.
‘This medallion had fallen into a crack in the cement. It’s a small enamel charm with a minuscule reproduction of an icon.’
‘And the prediction that we’ll find his body?’
‘That’s self-evident. Up until now, the man in grey has always acted alone. He uses an accomplice for the first time, only because he can’t do otherwise. Do you think he did it light-heartedly? He must be really worried about being exposed, voluntarily or not. And remember that his accomplice is not the kind to pass unnoticed. If the killer is the man I imagine him to be, there’s only one possible decision: kill his accomplice as soon as possible. That’s why I’m betting we’ll find him on waste land near here, with a bullet through the heart. The only chance that he’ll be spared provisionally is if the man in grey still needs his services.’
‘Bravo! We’ll get onto it right away. If the man is still alive, we have to save him and grill him.’
‘Well, my dear professor, what do you think?’ asked M. Delharbe, obviously proud of his protégé.
The professor seemed very weary. He smiled wanly and, getting up slowly, replied:
‘I’ve known Bob for ten years. I didn’t expect any less.’
‘In any case, dear uncle, you’ve been soundly beaten.’
‘Beaten, but not destroyed. Sylvain,’ he added, addressing one of the inspectors, ‘would you be goodenough to read out to these young people the message I asked you to send to le Quai des Orfèvres an hour ago?’
‘Here it is: “Urgently seek very big man, one metre ninety-five minimum, very strong, a giant, blond almost red hair, probably left-handed, likely Russian. Search waste land to find body.”’
We all stood there, stupefied. Except Bob, who burst out laughing:
‘Well played. You’ve taught me a famous lesson. But how did you know he was left-handed, blond, and Russian? Did you find the icon?’
‘No. But once I worked out what happened, I examined the toughened glass carefully. Here’s what I found: a blond-red hair. There was also a small ring of grease around it. I concluded that, whilst opening the frame, he had touched it lightly with his head. Now, note where the hair was found. All the way to the left, if you’re facing the window. That could only happen if the man had the frame to his left, meaning that he must be left-handed. Finally, the hair gives off a faint odour, that of a special brilliantine that only Russians use. Nevertheless, you beat me. You only needed one hour to deduce what took me more than three hours of study and reflection.’
‘What about us? How does it make us look?’ groaned Jannin.
XII
MELUN—MARYSE’S TRAIL
Sunday, December 5
On Sunday, December 5th, at around ten o’clock, Jannin phoned Bob: a market gardener had been killed on the national highway, close to Lieusaint. Bob alerted me in turn and, shortly afterwards, we met up with the superintendent. We drove together and were soon in Lieusaint. Everyone arrived at about the same time: the public prosecutor, the professor, the journalists, and ourselves. We met Jacques Vital, still muffled and apparently still recovering from his severe bout of flu.
The facts themselves were simple. Pierre Mellot, a market gardener in the immediate vicinity of Melun, delivered his produce every day to Les Halles. During the growing
