‘If you’ll allow me, my dear colleague,’ Semacgus cut in, ‘I fear you have omitted certain details.’
‘You’re quite right, forgive me. I’ll resume. “The stomach appeared empty of all solid substances apart from a small amount of liquid. As for its strange colour, it was not found again in the first intestine, which was very healthy, as was the rest of the canal. We then proceeded to open the chest. The lungs were healthy, as was the heart. The oesophageal duct appeared very irritated. The muscular and mucous masses of the neck were very swollen. On examination of the mouth, we found no lesions, and no fractures of the teeth, which clearly indicates that no violence was used to make the subject swallow any harmful foreign substance. An examination of the sexual parts of the said corpse showed, from what we were able to collect, that coitus may have taken place not long before death. Accordingly, we salted the corpse of the said Madame de Lastérieux, in order to be able to preserve it for further examination. This statement hereby completed and signed this day, 7 January 1774, by Guillaume Semacgus, Charles Henri Sanson and Pierre Bourdeau, and counter signed by clerk of the court Deshalleux, who has faithfully copied it.”’
Grief-stricken as he was, Nicolas was nevertheless aware that this had been a somewhat unusual session. Even though Bourdeau was conducting the case methodically and with great determination, the autopsy had been carried out with no commentary other than medical jargon. What had been missing as it went on were those ingenuous, commonsensical remarks which only he could make at appropriate moments. Admittedly, this time, the object of the operation was so close to him that he might not have been able to find the words to express his doubts and questions. It was as if he had been listening to a quartet which lacked one instrumentalist, the very one through whom everything was organised and made clear. Admittedly, judicial practice prevented those engaged in such examinations from expressing their opinions, their function being limited to making a certain number of observations which could later be used to help the detectives and the judges form their own opinions. The investigation could only be completed through the finding of further evidence and the interrogation of suspects, even involving torture in the most serious cases. The inspector, probably assailed by the same doubts as his chief, also seemed puzzled and disappointed by what he had just heard.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘that’s all well and good, but I find it hard to discern the most significant elements in what you have said. What of the causes of Madame de Lastérieux’s death?’
Semacgus and Sanson looked at each other. The navy surgeon coughed and put his big hands together, making the finger joints crack.
‘It is still too early to express an opinion,’ he said. ‘It is likely that this woman died as the result of poisoning. That would explain the irritant lesions observed in the organs, especially the curious oedema on the neck. I hesitate to consider it the principal cause of death, but it may have been a major contributory factor.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Sanson, ‘that the swelling of the skin caused her to choke. In which case the heart may have given way.’
Again, silence fell. Bourdeau stared at the body in the sack, apparently lost in thought.
‘There are other observations we could make,’ said Sanson. ‘For example, it is likely that there was carnal conjunction, although the traces are ambiguous.’
Nicolas found this qualification nonsensical.
‘The strange thing,’ Semacgus said, ‘is the absence of food in the victim’s stomach. A few excreta and traces of liquid, and that’s all.’
‘Which makes it all the more vital,’ said Bourdeau, ‘to analyse the whitish beverage found on the victim’s bedside table, a kind of milk. I am surprised, though, gentlemen, that no food was discovered, despite the fact that we know for certain that the victim had just had a large dinner.’
‘Perhaps she rejected what she had eaten?’ suggested Sanson. ‘Does what you observed in her house bear that out at all?’
‘No. The excreta were liquid. Nor did we find any traces on the clothes in her wardrobe. Doctor Semacgus, I’d like you to examine the liquid in question with the greatest care, as well as the left-over food in this basket.’
‘So,’ said Semacgus, ‘it seems as though the solution lies in the liquid. I’ll analyse it as soon as possible, along with the food you recovered. I think we’ve done all we can this evening. Let’s meet again tomorrow at about three in the afternoon, and I’ll let you know what I’ve found.’
Semacgus had cleaned his instruments under the water in a brass fountain, and was now putting them in a leather case. His haste indicated to those who knew him that he was late for a rendezvous and had no wish to linger. He bowed and disappeared beneath the arch of the staircase, his steps echoing in the distance. Sanson was also getting ready to take his leave when the inspector drew him into a corner of the cellar and whispered in his ear. They both turned to Nicolas, smiling.
‘Commissioner,’ said Bourdeau, ‘I’ve found you a refuge for the night. Our friend has agreed to offer you accommodation in his house. No one would ever think of looking for you there.’
He coughed, embarrassed by the words he had just spoken, which might have appeared wounding to Sanson.
‘I’ll meet you at about midday tomorrow outside the Hôtel des Menus Plaisirs1 and we’ll continue with the investigation. For the moment, nothing seems in any way conclusive. Of course, we now know that the victim was poisoned, but the cause and the circumstances remain unclear.’
Nicolas removed his spectacles. ‘I am reluctant to impose on our friend, for fear of getting him into trouble.’
‘Monsieur,’ said Sanson, ‘it will be an honour for me. Have no fear, I shan’t be running any risks. One cannot lose a position one does not hold. And even if one could, I wager there wouldn’t be a large number of people fighting to claim it!’ ‘What do you mean?’ Nicolas said. ‘Isn’t the position yours? Everyone knows you as Monsieur de Paris!’
Sanson gave a bitter smile. ‘My father is still alive and has never relinquished a position which only His Majesty can authorise him to leave. If and when that happens, the King will confirm me in my functions with a lettre de provision.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Bourdeau.
‘My father, Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson, was paralysed in the arm in 1754 and retired to the country. That’s why, as I once told you, my uncle Gabriel, executioner of Rheims, joined me for the execution of the regicide Damiens in 1757. He never recovered from that appalling event.’
‘I thought,’ Bourdeau said, ‘that your father still officiated at the execution of Monsieur de Lally, the Baron de Tollendal.’
‘That’s correct. My father had known the baron for a long time. When he was a young officer in the Royal Irish, he took shelter in our house after a torrential