Pel Among The Pueblos Read online

  Pel looked startled. ‘What was she? A grande horizontale supérieure?’

  ‘No, patron. She seems to have been a very moral woman.’

  ‘But Maximilian, Bazaine and Napoleon?’

  ‘There are more, patron. She also mentions having the Emperor Franz Josef in bed with her, the King of the Belgians, the King of Italy, the President of the United States, the Prussian Minister in Mexico, the Austrian Minister, Garibaldi and the King of Prussia.’

  ‘Good God!’

  De Troq’ was smiling. ‘But she also mentions sleeping with the Empress Carlota, the Empress Eugenie, the Crown Princess of Prussia, who was Carlota’s cousin, the Empress of Brazil, who nearly became Maximilian’s mother-in-law, and Queen Victoria of England.’

  Pel stared. ‘Did she suffer from hallucinations?’

  ‘A moment, patron.’ De Troq’ consulted his notebook. ‘I copied one passage down. It goes, “I slept as usual with Maximilian, Napoleon, Marshal Bazaine, Vittono Emanuele, Leopold of Belgium, Franz Josef, Eugenie, Carlota, and Queen Victoria.”’

  ‘All of them? At once?’

  De Troq’ paused. ‘It puzzled me,’ he admitted. ‘I found the sentence in her unedited mémoirs. It isn’t in the earlier editions, which appeared in the States at the beginning of this century. Perhaps the American publishers, with a new century to please and freed from the moralities of the last century, thought the comment was salacious and would sell more copies. But I don’t think she meant she actually slept with them, patron. I think she was speaking figuratively. I think it was a sort of code. She meant she was sleeping with the letters. She had them with her in bed. For safe keeping. That treasure we were looking for, the treasure Martin found and Donck and Jacqueline Hervé stole, wasn’t gold coins. It was a bundle of letters.’

  Pel remembered Yves Pasquier’s habit of taking treasures to bed with him. Perbaps Agnes Salm-Salm felt the same way. And, after all, hadn’t Yves Pasquier said he slept with his gun? Why shouldn’t Princess Salm-Salm sleep with the letters with which she’d been entrusted?

  De Troq’ paused, allowing Pel to absorb the idea. ‘This explains,’ he went on, ‘why Donck held up the bank. They had something of enormous value but couldn’t raise money on it because who was going to give them money in exchange for letters? That sort of thing takes time. Proof has to be obtained. Handwriting compared. They’d need to be handled carefully, and they’d need to find a good buyer. It also explains why Jacqueline Hervé came back to Europe. She was intending to sell them here, where they would probably have most value. Perhaps, even, she was intending to approach the Austrian Government archivist. After all, their value would probably be greatest in Vienna.’

  ‘I think you may be right,’ Pel agreed. ‘And, if you are, it would account for how Jacqueline Hervé got Martin’s “treasure” to France. No Customs official’s going to worry about a bundle of old letters. What would you rate their value at?’

  ‘A letter from Napoleon I ordering a chicken for lunch would have value, of course, but one ordering the Grand Army to Moscow and saying why, would have more. It’s the same with Maximilian’s letters. A letter he wrote before he went to Mexico about nothing more exciting than the decorations for his home at Miramar, fetched 24,000 dollars in New York. But these letters are about a great tragedy and were written at a time of great stress, appealing to everyone he could think of, when he was facing defeat and finally death. They must be highly dramatic and would fetch more than that, perhaps 40,000 dollars each. And there are about fifteen, probably more. Ten would fetch around 400,000 dollars. Nearly half a million dollars, patron. Three and a half million francs. And there’s still Maximilian’s diary of the last months of his life. Agnes Salm calls it heartbreaking. It could be worth a fortune on its own as an antique, and a publisher would jump at the chance to publish it. That would double its value, because American publishers would pay a lot for it. Half a million dollars? That’s not unreasonable these days for something like that. That’s another three million francs. Perhaps more – four or five. Add to that publishers in Austria and Italy who would want to publish because, in addition to being an Austrian archduke, Maximilian was a popular provincial governor in Italy. French publishers. We’re interested in the French intervention. British publishers. Probably others. Especially, if he has anything to say about his love-affair with the wife of one of his gardeners or about his wife’s interest in the Belgian colonel. And magazine rights, patron. The diary alone could raise a fortune – probably twenty million francs on its own. Add to that the value of the letters. Say another three million. Twenty-three million francs, patron.’

  Pel was inclined to be more cautious in his estimate of the sum involved but he felt the need to sit in reverent silence for a while, all the same.

  ‘Martin would fancy it,’ he agreed.

  ‘So would Navarro. So would Donck.’

  They sat back silently. Pel pushed across his cigarettes and they lit up.

  ‘De Troq’,’ he said slowly, ‘sometimes I’m very glad of the people I have on my team. They’re intelligent. At least,’ he added, thinking of Misset, ‘most of them are. I think you’re right and it was a brilliant bit of thinking. It will go in your file.’

  ‘I may be wrong, patron.’

  ‘It’ll still go in your file because, even if you’re wrong, it’s the way a policeman should think. Now –’ Pel leaned forward, deciding he had dealt out enough praise and had to avoid the possibility of De Troq’ becoming swollen-headed ‘ – let’s check up. Send a cable to Barribal in Mexico City. We need to know a few things. Ask him if this Salm-Salm woman’s name’s in the visitors’ book at Las Rosas for the appropriate time. And send him a picture of Martin and ask him to find out if he was the type they discovered unscrewing the knobs from the brass bedstead.’

  Barribal’s reply arrived five days later. It was simple and straightforward but Pel had no doubt that Barribal had enjoyed himself. He had probably even looked up his American girlfriend in San Miguel.

  ‘Name Agnes, Princess zu Salm-Salm, found Las Rosas visitors’ book. Stayed 15 May 1867 to 19 May. Again 12 June to 15 June. Given Blue Room, East Wing. Manager confirms Martin collector brass bed knobs.’

  ‘So she was sleeping with Napoleon and Maximilian and all the others,’ Pel said. ‘She had the letters in bed with her. And she also must have left them there – hidden in the bedpost. She put them there for safety but couldn’t recover them because she was told to leave. Martin worked it out and found them, but he couldn’t reach them because, by that time perhaps, they’d slipped down. So he had the tweezers we found made and fished them out on his next visit. There were no attendants in the museum, so he’d have plenty of opportunity.’ He paused. ‘A hundred years is a long time for letters to be stuck in a bedpost.’

  ‘Is it, patron?’ De Troq’ said. ‘Bedposts were handy and often safer than drawers. In the last century when iron beds with brass knobs were fashionable it was very normal to use them to keep money or letters in. I’ve talked to Nosjean. That girlfriend of his who runs the antique shop says letters written by Garibaldi were found in a brass bedstead in 1948, a hundred years after he hid them during the 1848 rebellion. Letters of President Faure to his mistress, Madame Steinheil, were also found in a brass bedpost. The nineteenth century was a century of brass bedsteads.’

  ‘And Martin guessed that was where they were. He even took off one of the brass balls the first time he went to Las Rosas and saw the letters. Because they’d slipped too far down to be reached, the next day he went to Mexico City to get the tweezers made. He didn’t return immediately to Pilar Hernandez but went first to Las Rosas, removed the letters, then went to see Donck at Chapadores. He never came back.’

  Pel paused, deep in thought, then he looked up. ‘Where’s Nosjean?’ he asked.

  De Troq’ grinned. ‘Right outside, patron.’

  ‘He wants to see me?’

  ‘No, patron. I said you’d want to see him.’
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br />   Nosjean came in cheerfully but looking tired. Pel managed a stiff smile.

  ‘What about all your customers, Nosjean?’

  ‘Everything’s under way, patron. There was rather a lot of paper work. Sixty-nine different people, including twenty-three from Nantes and one or two from Bordeaux and Lyons.’

  ‘Quite a case. I hope it’s behind you now because I’ve got a job for you.’

  Nosjean looked wary. Everybody looked wary when Pel mentioned jobs.

  ‘That girlfriend of yours. The one in antiques.’

  ‘Mijo Lehmann?’

  ‘That’s the one. Very pretty girl, if I remember right. Very intelligent, and very knowledgeable about the antiques trade.’

  ‘That’s right, patron.’ Nosjean was sitting on the edge of his chair. He was fond of Mijo Lehmann but he was well aware that he didn’t always play fair with her. Because she didn’t live in the immediate vicinity, he was inclined to neglect her for more easily accessible girls.

  ‘How is it with her?’

  ‘All right, patron.’

  ‘Good! You’ll know by now what happened in Mexico?’

  ‘I’ve learned something of it, patron.’

  ‘Well, we’ve had no reports of Donck trying to flee the country and we’ve had all airports, even all minor airfields and airstrips, watched, so I think he’s still here and that he still has the “treasure” that Jacqueline Hervé smuggled back from Mexico. We think now it consists of a bundle of letters and a diary – and we want it. We also want him. But he’s lying low and we need to force him from his cover. We suspect the Hervé woman was hoping to sell the documents in Austria, but now Donck has the letters and he’ll probably be willing to off-load at a lower rate and nearer to home, so long as he can raise cash quickly and get out of the country. I was wondering if we could get notices placed in magazines read by antique dealers, art dealers and dealers in historic documents. Nothing pretentious, because we don’t want it to be too obvious, just something that would be noticed by someone like Donck who would be on the look-out for an outlet.’

  ‘Would Donck read these magazines, patron?’

  ‘Since, until she betrayed him, Jacqueline Hervé was his mistress, I’d be surprised if she hadn’t discussed such things. Do you think your Mijo Lehmann would know how to set about such a project?’

  Nineteen

  Nosjean was back in Pel’s office first thing the next day, accompanied by De Troq’ and Darcy.

  ‘I drove to Chagnay, patron,’ he said. ‘To see Mijo Lehmann.’

  Pel smiled benignly. ‘Was she pleased to see you?’ he asked, because Nosjean blushed easily and it did Pel’s cynical heart good to see someone of Nosjean’s age who could still go pink when affairs of the heart were mentioned.

  Sure enough, Nosjean obliged. ‘She was very pleased,’ he said, a trace defiantly. ‘We had dinner. We were able to talk and I think we’re in business. She agreed to see that an advertisement was put into the magazine, Antiques et Beaux Arts. As it happens, though, I think we’ve got a nible before we’ve even started.’

  Pel’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Inform me,’ he said.

  Nosjean looked at Darcy, who sat up, all smart suit, white teeth and smile, so that he looked like a replica of Plutarco Jacinto Barribal. ‘Angélique Courtois, patron,’ he said.

  ‘The girl at the university?’

  ‘That’s right. She’s secretary to Professor Fournier, of Arts et Métiers. She tells me there are vague queries floating around. Fournier told her about them first, but she also heard them from one of the lecturers in Beaux Arts.’

  ‘And the substance of these queries?’

  ‘Does anyone want to buy a packet of letters written by a royal personage?’

  Nosjean joined in. ‘Mijo Lehmann also says there’ve been rumours about a bundle of royal letters being available at a price.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It started in Austria but now they’ve come closer to home.’

  ‘It would make sense. Donck must have discussed their value and where to offer them with the Hervé woman before she left him.’

  ‘Mijo knew of Jacqueline Hervé,’ Nosjean said.

  ‘Would she know then if our friend has had a nibble at the advert?’

  ‘She arranged with the editor of Antiques et Beaux Arts to be informed immediately anything cropped up, patron.’ Nosjean looked worried. ‘You don’t think that Donck would try anything on with her, do you?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘If we organised money to be paid to Donck for these letters, she’d have to hand it over. But wouldn’t he be wary about being seen or recognised? Wouldn’t he arrange to see her somewhere quiet, after dark? And wouldn’t that lead him to take the money and keep the letters?’

  Pel frowned. Nosjean had hit on a point that had occurred to him, too.

  ‘I think we shall have to take care of that one,’ he said gently.

  ‘We’d have to set the trap, but she’d have to spring it. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.’

  ‘Is it important, mon brave?’

  ‘That sort of thing’s always important.’

  Pel looked at Nosjean with approval. Though he doubted if Mijo Lehmann was as important to Nosjean as she thought she was, it was entirely in Nosjean’s nature to be concerned for her because he would have been concerned for any woman in a position of possible danger. Despite being an excellent policeman, Nosjean was still a left-over from the days of errant knights. The only thing he lacked was a favour to wear in his helmet, because he believed in honesty, kindness and courtesy, and lacked the harsh ruthlessness that Darcy had in plenty. While he was a good sergeant and would undoubtedly rise even higher, it would always prevent him reaching the very top.

  ‘He’s an educated type, patron,’ De Troq’ was saying. ‘And he’d know – or, if he didn’t, he’d soon find out – what magazines to read for news of antiquities being bought and sold. Doubtless, even, he’d talked a lot about it to Jacqueline Hervé before she bolted back to France. What they were going to do with the letters. How valuable they were. Who were the best people to approach. How to set about it.’

  ‘As things stand at the moment,’ Pel said. ‘I’m hoping our friend, Donck, will notice the advertisement we’ve put out. After that, I hope he’ll bite.’

  ‘How can he, patron?’ Nosjean asked. ‘He must know we’re after him for Hervé’s murder.’

  ‘He doesn’t know we know about the letters, though. He’ll try to get rid of them by some means that won’t give away his identity. But we’re not experts in the field of antiquities so we shall need someone always available to us for immediate advice.’

  ‘Mijo Lehmann?’ Nosjean asked.

  ‘That was in my mind. Would she prepared to be always on hand so we can telephone her night or day, if we need help? Would she be prepared to combine this with her work at the gallery where she works?’

  Nosjean smiled. ‘I think she could do better than that, patron. She wants to leave Chagnay and move here. She’s had a job offered at the Galéries Lafayette and she’s due to start in a week’s time. I think we could persuade her to wait for a while, providing we could arrange with the Galeries Lafayette to hang on for a month or so.’

  ‘Could you undertake to arrange this?’

  ‘I think so, patron. Mijo won’t take any persuading. The Galéries Lafayette might. But I think they’ll help.’

  ‘Do it, mon brave.’

  Nothing happened for some time, save for the fact that Edouard Fousse appeared before the magistrates, charged with theft, wasting police time, and with assaulting a police officer with an offensive weapon – to wit, an iron bar, produced as an exhibit. With his record, he didn’t have much of a chance and went to Number 72, Rue d’Auxonne for a lengthy stretch.

  Nosjean’s case was more complicated because car owners who had been on holiday were finding themselves on their return being met by a police officer who explained the circumstances and
requested their presence at the Hôtel de Police. It required a great deal of paperwork and kept everybody busy by the sheer weight of numbers. By this time, however, Marc Moissin, faced with the facts, had dropped the indignant denials he had first offered and had agreed to co-operate. It made things easier because he had kept meticulous records, which showed the name of every single car owner who had traded with him. It also earned him a black eye from his brother Georges from Nantes, who was in favour of denying everything in the hope they could manage to come up with a thumping great lie.

  Then, twelve days after the advertisement had appeared in Antiques et Beaux Arts, Nosjean appeared in Pel’s office.

  ‘I think we’ve had a bite, patron,’ he smiled. ‘Mijo rang. The editor of Antiques et Beaux Arts contacted her. There’s been a reply to the advert. In fact there’ve been three or four.’

  ‘Get along there, Nosjean,’ Pel rapped. ‘Pick them up and arrange for anything further to be picked up the minute it appears.’

  Nosjean was soon back, and they opened the letters cautiously. Three of them seemed to be genuine. Two were from established dealers in old manuscripts and books expressing interest in any letters from royalty of the last century, and one was from a collector in Paris – on headed notepaper which seemed to indicate his willingness to come into the open. The last one had no address and was typed and was wary in content.

  It expressed interest in the advert, and the writer claimed to possess a packet of ‘dramatic’ letters from ‘a royal personage’ which had come into the writer’s possession quite by chance.

  ‘Chance!’ Pel snorted.

  ‘The letters are valuable,’ the letter continued, ‘and, for reasons of safety and security, I have no wish at this stage to disclose either my identity or my address or the whereabouts of the letters. However, I can assure you that the letters are genuine and were written in the second half of the last century by the royal personage to his relations at a time when he was in considerable difficulties and labouring under some stress. The letters are not concerned with trivial matters but with great and tragic events known to history. There is also a diary.’