‘For once, you’ve beaten Maryse to it,’ said Bob. ‘By the way, where is she? We haven’t heard from her lately. Maybe she’s been disheartened by your exploits and given up.’
‘What’s that?’ said a voice behind us. ‘Have you written me off?’
‘Ah, Maryse,’ said Richard, ‘come in. Bob has had a brain wave, and the investigation has just taken a giant step forward.’
‘I’m all ears,’ said the young woman.
When she had been briefed and had congratulated Bob as he deserved, she added, simply:
‘Decidedly, it’s been a good day. And I have some news of my own as well.’
XV
THE SUCCESSORS TO THE DIVINE MARQUIS
Tuesday, December 28
With infinite patience, Maryse, by methods I shall not go into here, had managed to track down the vehicle that had driven the various victims during their Paris visit. Better still, she had been able to determine that, each time, the vehicle had been parked in an avenue in Arceuil, in front of a number which, for understandable reasons, I shall not divulge.
December 28th found us there.
‘Did you know that this is where the Marquis de Sade lived in 1768 at the time of his first offence, against Rosa Kailair (or Keller), which resulted in him being sent to prison, first in the Château de Saumur, and then in the Château de Pierre Scize, in Lyon?’
‘Interesting,’ observed Richard, ‘but if we add sadism to colour-blindness, I don’t see how that helps much. Anyway, the best thing to do is to take a look. There’s no chance of catching our prey here. If we go as a delegation, that will have more effect.’
The building at number ... differed from its neighbours only by a large sign in faded gilt letters: “L’Aqueduc Boarding House—Moderate Rates—Modern Comfort.”
The woman who opened the door looked us all up and down rapidly, but her eyes kept coming back to Jannin, and ingrained habit enabled her to place him right away. He identified himself, leaving her even more concerned about our visit.
‘How can I help, Monsieur le Commissaire?’ she asked, in a voice with a slight, unidentifiable accent.
‘Who lived here in the second half of May?’
‘I’ll be happy to show you the visitor register, Monsieur le Commissaire. It’s all in order.’
‘That won’t be necessary. The man we’re looking for is in his thirties, and came here every day by car—a Citroën—and came in by the service entrance.’
‘Yes, I remember. The monsieur in question came to see me at the beginning of May.’
‘Did he give you his name and address?’
‘Yes, right away. His name was... wait a moment... I made a note in my diary. Here it is: Paul Bernard, 84, Ave. des Champs-Elysées. There you are. With an address like that, he obviously wasn’t broke. He told me he wanted to start a home for orphans, give them work, and give them the opportunity to—how did he put it?—improve themselves. Yes, I believe he was talking about boys from remand homes. He was a sort of human benefactor, and humble with it. He sat there, at the table, drinking wine with me.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘So, he brought in a contractor and got a quote to repaint all the rooms, which he accepted, and started the work. Towards the end of May, he came to see me again. He looked out of sorts. He accepted a small liqueur, but I could see things weren’t going well. He told me he’d lost a packet on the stock exchange and had money problems. To cut a long story short, he couldn’t go on. He offered to terminate the lease by paying me another six months and paying the contractor to finish, and I could have the building back. Of course, I could have forced him to serve out the full lease, but in the end I was benefitting. And he was so nice. So I accepted. And I never saw him after that.’
A tour of the premises yielded nothing.
The building itself was of a completely different class from those surrounding it. It had probably been, at the beginning of the eighteenth century, the “folly” of some financier not of the upper-crust, and of limited means, but desirous of imitating the very rich. The style was pure and, despite the ravages of time, and alterations made by generations for varying reasons, it had kept its charm.
The only certainty we had was that the work that had been done only affected paint and wallpaper. No demolition or masonry work had been carried out. The problem was to determine whether the restoration served as a pretext, and whether the building had been chosen by chance or, on the contrary, whether the mystery resided—or had resided—in the building itself.
As we found ourselves sheepishly outside again, Richard exclaimed:
‘There’s nothing more to do here. I can only see one solution: interview the contractor who carried out the painting. Maybe he can tell us something. But first, we have to find out his name.’
On that point, at least, luck favoured us. It turned out to be a local housepainter who lived in the area and, ten minutes later, we were in his office.
His name was Lévèque.
‘Monsieur Lévèque,’ said Bob, ‘last May you carried out repairs to the building known as L’Aqueduc Boarding House.’
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I remember. And the client paid the bill before the work was even finished, and without bothering about the quality of the finish.’
‘What we would like, monsieur, is for you to tell us about your strange client and the work you did for him.’
‘I can’t tell you much. I only saw the fellow three times: when he asked me for an estimate, when he signed it, and when he paid the bill.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘What do you
