As he pronounced those last words, my friend pulled the cigarette case from his pocket, opened it and took one of the last two cigarettes. As he was closing the case, Maryse exclaimed:
‘Oh, Monsieur Slowman, there’s one left. May I have it? I know it’s rather rude, but they’re marvellous and I love them.’
‘Feel free, mademoiselle, I’m expecting another packet any day now. If you like them, I can get you some.’
‘That’s very nice of you. I can’t refuse. But wait a minute. I’ve been robbed. This isn’t one of your Egyptian cigarettes, but a Lucky Strike. It must have been mixed with the others. No matter, I like them as well. Can you give me a light, Jacques?’
‘I’m sorry, my lighter is out of fuel and I haven’t any matches.’ Little flames sprang up everywhere, everyone pressing to give her a light. Except me, who doesn’t smoke, and Bob, whose head seemed to be in the clouds.
‘It’s very embarrassing,’ she laughed. “ I don’t want to make anyone jealous.’
‘Well then, it’s my light you should take,’ said Hyacinthe. ‘My reputation is such that no one will be jealous.’
‘Fair enough.’
As he extended the lighter, she leant forward and brought the cigarette to her lips with that slightly gauche gesture common to all women, even the most experienced smokers. Bob bounded forward and, with a quick swipe, sent the nicotine-filled tube into the air.
Amidst general stupefaction, Bob got up and gingerly picked up the cigarette. He smelt it, examined it closely, then carefully split open the paper. He scrutinised the interior and extended his hand:
‘Smell that. But be careful not to touch the tobacco with your hands or the tip of your nose.’
A faint odour of almonds could be detected amidst the straw and honey of the tobacco. I asked briefly:
‘Prussic acid?’
‘Yes. So, you see, the bandit didn’t disarm. He gave me his case after having seemingly removed the cigarettes, but he actually left some, counting on me not paying attention. And that’s what happened. Without Maryse’s reaction, I wouldn’t have noticed. But I knew there couldn’t have been any Lucky Strikes mixed in with my cigarettes. The conclusion was simple. So it’s sometimes useful for a lighter not to function.If yours had worked, Jacques, there would be no more Maryse.’
‘That’s twice you’ve saved my life, Bob. I shan’t forget.’
‘Neither shall I,’ said Jacques.
Bob didn’t reply. He stood up and asked to use the telephone. Five minutes later, he was back.
‘It’s as I thought. He had more on him. He planned to wait to learn who the victim was before poisoning himself in turn.’
A shiver ran down my spine. Everyone present had had a narrow escape, except me.
‘Well,’ said Bob, in a tone of forced gaiety, ‘Maryse, you won your bet. Has Jacques given you the Montaigne?’
‘Yes.’ She was still pale.
‘And, because he didn’t find anything, you escaped the danger.’
‘What danger?’
‘Marrying him.’
‘Ah, that’s true. But he showed himself capable of such decisiveness on Monday in Rue Cassini, that I decided it was a draw, meaning we each won.’
‘So?’
‘So I have the Montaigne, but I also have to marry Jacques. It’s hard to bear, but justice will triumph in the end.’
___________________________________________________
After a sensational trial, André Richard was sentenced to death and, one bright morning, Monsieur de Paris cut his head off.
As for the treasure, if that’s what one should call the deposit of... let’s say radium, they sought it in vain. The astronomer’s calculations had given its location with sufficient accuracy. It was to be found in a spot in the Andes Cordillera but, when an expedition assembled in the closest secrecy arrived there, it discovered that a terrible earthquake, accompanied by a volcanic eruption, had wreaked havoc on the whole region.
A mass of rock the size of the Massif du Mont Blanc had crushed the presumed site of the mine. The miracle rock, if not the fruit of the unbridled imagination of the Egyptians or of Argier, found itself beneath two or three hundred kilometres of rock. It was out of the reach of any search party.
So that was yet another reason why all the crimes committed during this whole business were pointless. The bandit, who learnt of the result before his execution exclaimed ironically:
‘What does it matter? On the contrary, I will still have made art for art’s sake.’ And, parodying Cyrano, he added: ‘It’s more beautiful if it’s useless.’
___________________________________________________
One last word: when I submitted my manuscript to my friend, he observed:
‘Don’t you realise your title is false? Contrary to what we believed, it wasn’t the thirteenth bullet, but the twelfth, which almost killed Gregor.’
That was true, but I didn’t change my title.
THE END
Hattingen-Ruhr
February-December 1941
Hemer bei Iserlohn
December 1941-February 1942
APPENDIX I: THE FRENCH PROSECUTORIAL SYSTEM
In the British and American systems, the police and prosecution gather information likely to convict the suspect. The defence gathers information likely to acquit the defendant. Arguments between the two, and the examination of witnesses, are conducted in open court, and refereed by a judge. The winner is decided, in most important cases, by a jury of ordinary citizens.
In the French system, also adopted in many other continental countries, all criminal cases are investigated by an examining magistrate (Juge d’instruction) who is appointed and given his brief by the public prosecutor (Le Parquet) . He or she is independent of the government and the prosecution service, and
