‘For the last three days I have been going around the hospitals and, as a last resort, I came to the Basse-Geôle, in case …’
‘You came outside the opening hours,’ commented Nicolas.
Semacgus managed not to show his annoyance.
‘As you well know, I pursue the study of anatomy and Lardin has given me a note allowing me to enter at any time to examine the bodies laid out in the morgue.’
Nicolas suddenly remembered that this was true.
‘Could you tell me the name of this friend who invited you on Friday evening?’ he asked.
‘Commissioner Lardin.’
Bourdeau was about to say something but a stern look from Nicolas stopped him.
‘Where exactly was this party?’
The doctor smiled wryly and shrugged his shoulders.
‘In a disreputable place well known to the police. At La Paulet’s, the Dauphin Couronné in Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré. You can eat on the ground floor, play faro2 in the cellar and on the upper floors enjoy the girls. A real Carnival paradise.’
‘Are you a regular customer?’
‘And what if I were? But no, that isn’t the case. I was invited by Lardin, which came as rather a surprise. I did remember that he was keen on this sort of entertainment, but he had never invited me to take part before.’
‘Did you find it enjoyable?’
‘You’re very young, Nicolas. The food was choice and the girls were pretty. When the occasion presents itself I don’t deprive myself of such pleasures.’
‘At what time did you arrive?’
‘Eleven o’clock’
‘And you left when?’
‘At three o’clock, as I already told you.’
‘Did Lardin leave with you?’
‘He’d made himself scarce long before. And with good reason, after all that commotion.’
‘What commotion?’
‘Well,’ smiled the doctor, ‘we were masked … Lardin had had a lot to drink, wine and champagne. A little before midnight, a man entered the room. He bumped into Lardin, or the other way round. Lardin tore the man’s mask off. I was surprised to recognise Descart. As you may be aware, he’s my neighbour in Vaugirard. I got to know him at Lardin’s; Madame Lardin is his cousin. It’s thanks to him that I found a house on my return from Africa. Descart at La Paulet’s! This was the world gone mad. They came to blows immediately. Lardin was beside himself, frothing at the mouth. He accused Descart of wanting to take his wife. Descart retreated and Lardin left shortly afterwards.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes. As for me, I went upstairs, with a girl. But does all this really have anything to do with the disappearance of Saint-Louis?’
‘And the name of this girl?’
‘La Satin.’
‘Did Descart recognise you?’
‘No, it was not yet midnight and so I still had my mask on.’
‘Was he recognised?’
‘I don’t think so. He put his mask back on immediately.’
Nicolas felt slightly embarrassed to be giving such a grilling to a man he had always liked, a natural reaction given the kindness Semacgus had always shown towards him.
‘I must inform you of another disappearance,’ he said. ‘Commissioner Lardin has not been seen since Friday evening. You are apparently the last person to have seen him.’
Semacgus’s reply was simple and surprising.
‘It was bound to happen.’
Bourdeau’s quill started to scratch away again even harder.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That Lardin, despising the whole human race as he did, was bound to attract trouble.’
‘He’s your friend …’
‘Friendship does not preclude clear-headedness.’
‘May I point out that you’re talking about him as if he is dead …’
Semacgus gave Nicolas a pitying look.
‘I can see that the job is growing on you, police officer. Your apprenticeship is apparently over.’
‘You haven’t answered me.’
‘It’s only an intuition. My concern is much more for my servant, who you seem to be forgetting about entirely.’
‘Saint-Louis is a slave. It’s in their nature to run away.’
The brown eyes looked at Nicolas sadly.
‘Those are rather conventional ideas for a young person and they don’t suit you, Nicolas. Besides, Saint-Louis is free; I freed him. He has no reason to run away. Especially as his wife, Awa, is still at home.’
‘Give an exact description to Monsieur Bourdeau. We will look for him.’
‘I hope he’ll be found. I’m very fond of him.’
‘One more question. Did Lardin have that ever-present cudgel of his on Friday evening?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied the doctor.
He looked at Nicolas again, this time with a flicker of amused curiosity.
‘That will be all, Doctor,’ said the young man. ‘See Bourdeau about Saint-Louis.’
When Semacgus had withdrawn, the two policemen remained deep in thought for a long time. Bourdeau drummed the desk with his fingertips.
‘For a first interrogation, no one could have done better,’ he said at last.
Nicolas did not respond to this comment which nevertheless pleased him.
‘I’m going back to Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin,’ he said. ‘Monsieur de Sartine must be told about all this immediately.’
Bourdeau shook his head.
‘Not so fast, young man. It’s time to eat instead. In fact it’s well past lunchtime. Besides, the Lieutenant General is not available in the afternoons. Lunch is on me. I know a little hostelry that serves decent wine.’
After walking along Rue de la Grande Boucherie, which backed onto the Châtelet, they entered a small street, Rue du Pied-de-Boeuf. Nicolas had by now become used to the way of life and even the smells of this district. The butchers slaughtered cattle in their shops and blood ran down the middle of the streets, where it congealed at the feet of the passers-by. But this was nothing compared with the odours from the melting-houses for animal tallow. Bourdeau negotiated his way between ruts and puddles, oblivious to the stench. Nicolas, who had just returned from Brittany and could still feel the ocean’s breath on his skin, put his handkerchief to his face, much to his companion’s amusement.
The inn was welcoming. Its customers were shop boys and notaries’ clerks. The innkeeper was from the same village as Bourdeau, near Chinon, and his wine came from there too. They sat down to a fricassée of chicken, bread, goat’s cheese and a jug of wine. Despite the unappealing nature of the walk, Nicolas did credit to the ambigu3 and tucked in heartily. The conversation was taken up with planning their campaign: informing Monsieur de Sartine; carrying out enquiries