15
"You look pleased with yourself," Brasseur said, in the eating-house near his office where they had agreed to meet. A slatternly serving girl thumped down a dish of pork and stewed haricots and a bottle of red wine in front of him. "Here, another glass for my friend, love."
"I am pleased," Aristide said, after ordering a portion of pot-au-feu for himself from the girl. "I think I can make a good guess as to what Saint-Landry and Beaupr?au were up to."
"You think-"
"And Mademoiselle Saint-Landry has asked me to meet her in the Luxembourg gardens again, tomorrow morning," he added, unable to resist.
"Oho," said Brasseur, busying himself with his dinner. "Well, since the love affairs of my subinspectors are none of my concern, I'll go first and tell you that my men have found the errand boy who delivered that note to Saint-Landry."
"Have they?"
"He says the man who gave him the note was youngish, tall, looked like a gentleman, though he kept out of the light. Sounds like it could be the same man the sexton described Monday morning, the one who paid him to leave the gate unlocked."
"It could have been Beaupr?au," Aristide said, thinking back to the portrait.
"Could have been Monsieur Derville, at that," said Brasseur. "Have you found out whether or not he has an alibi for the night of the tenth?"
"He claims he was with a prostitute all night."
"At a brothel?" Brasseur said, brightening. "That's easy enough to confirm-"
"No, some girl with her own lodgings." He repeated the details and Brasseur scribbled down a few notes.
"Well, I'll set someone to asking questions in that quarter. I can't say it's a terribly good alibi, but it's no worse than most-no worse than yours, come to think of it," he added dryly.
"The errand boy could give you no other details about the man who hired him?"
"No. These street boys often deal with a couple of dozen people a day, of course."
"My money's on Beaupr?au, Brasseur. It's possible he feared that Saint-Landry was going to betray them-"
"Yes?" Brasseur said quickly, looking up from his plate. "Over what? What's this you've guessed about the two of them?"
"Well, we already know that both Saint-Landry and Beaupr?au were-are-Freemasons. They were also both members of the Lodge of the Sacred Trinity. Saint-Landry was evidently its president. Ever heard of it?"
Brasseur nodded. "Just barely."
"I've been told it's the most liberal and militant of all the Masonic lodges in Paris. Other lodges hold respectable meetings about the arts and sciences, and politely discuss reform and equality, and go about drumming up subscriptions for deserving widows; while the Sacred Trinity isn't much concerned about the arts and sciences, and doesn't give out the address of its meeting place." The serving girl arrived with his stew, a chipped wine glass, and a basket containing a few hunks of heavy dark bread. "Mademoiselle, a pitcher of water, if you please."
"Water," she repeated scornfully.
"Water, please. They're rumored to subsidize illegal books and pamphlets in order to effect reform," he continued as she trudged off, "but that's probably the least of it. My guess is that they'll do anything they can to undermine what they call the tyranny of priests and kings."
"Sounds like they do a good deal more than talk," Brasseur agreed. "I've heard the commissaire muttering about lodges like that, saying they're up to no good. But politics is none of my business, is it?" he added blandly.
Aristide drew a quick breath and continued, speaking softly, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. "I think it possible that they were involved, at least indirectly, in the necklace affair."
"The what?"
"The matter of the diamond necklace," Aristide repeated, lowering his voice further as the girl shoved an earthenware pitcher onto the table. He added water to the wine Brasseur had poured out for him and took a swift sip. "This is what Sophie overheard a year ago?"
"It's a stretch," Brasseur said, when he had done, "but I suppose it's not altogether impossible?"
"You see, she overheard that conversation on the ninth of January, last year. She's quite definite about it." Aristide scraped the last of the stew from his bowl and washed it down with a final swallow of watered wine. "Brasseur, you must know more about the necklace affair than an ordinary fellow might. Wasn't it said that Rohan received the necklace and had it sent on to the queen-or thought he sent it-around that time last year?"
Brasseur nodded. "On the first of February, I think, according to his statement."
" 'The Master must be brought into it.' Rohan was obsessed with Cagliostro's parlor tricks. He would certainly have asked his pet prophet for advice before investing so much of his own money for the queen's sake. Now if you wanted Rohan to agree to the scheme, the most foolproof way would be to induce Cagliostro himself to assure Rohan that a rosy future awaited him if he bought the necklace."
"Under interrogation, he did admit that he advised the cardinal to buy it," Brasseur said thoughtfully, "after first warning him off it; but obviously that's because the La Motte woman dragged him into the plot."
"But we don't know that for a fact. What if Cagliostro wasn't working with La Motte at all, but with his fellow Freemasons Beaupr?au and Saint-Landry?"
"You're not saying that they were party to the theft?" Brasseur shook his head. "To fund their efforts, pay for printing and so on? Wouldn't a proper Freemason find that disgraceful?"
"No-not theft, not at all. I think they were pursuing their own ends. If the Lodge of the Sacred Trinity is striving to bring about reform by any means necessary, then there are other ways of subverting the monarchy, perhaps more speedily and effectively, than simply cranking out endless complaints against privilege and corruption?"
Brasseur frowned at him over his wineglass and abruptly set it down untasted.
"You know people are whispering that Antoinette's mixed up in the necklace affair," Aristide continued. "What if lodge members have been the ones deliberately spreading it about since August that she-or the whole royal family-is behind it? They could say almost anything, and people would believe them: that Antoinette's a whore, that she's a foreign spy, that she's still loyal to Austria, that she cooked the whole thing up in order to make the king look like a fool, or to destroy Cardinal de Rohan. Everybody knows that Antoinette's loathed Rohan for years." He paused and gazed into his empty glass, marshaling his thoughts. "What if Beaupr?au and Saint-Landry, using their Masonic connection, heard of the necklace through Cagliostro, and asked him to persuade the cardinal to buy the thing for the queen, simply in order to cause a scandal that would be too great to be contained, that would inevitably find its way into every foul gutter rag? That would cause such an outcry against the queen, and royal extravagance, and corruption at court, and even the king, that it might rock the entire monarchy?"
"D'you think they could have known it was actually a swindle?" Brasseur said slowly. "That Madame de La Motte intended to steal the diamonds for herself all along?"
"I doubt it. All they believed, probably, was that it was a genuine, though secret, transaction; and they also knew that if the queen were really to acquire that outrageous necklace and dare to wear it at court, then the scandal would be immense. It would be one more blow to absolutism; it would imply, perhaps, that her relationship with the cardinal was an improper one, and it would revive all the old tales about Antoinette being a heartless, depraved spendthrift ready to spread her legs for anyone who'll favor her or flatter her; and moreover it would confirm the rumors that Louis is a pathetically weak ruler who can't even control his own wife."
Brasseur nodded. "But instead, La Motte and her little gang steal the diamonds, and the jewelers demand their money, and Rohan, being a prize fool, repeats La Motte's lies; and then the king, being almost as much of a prize fool as Rohan, brings the whole mess out into the open."
"And what Beaupr?au and Saint-Landry actually get for their efforts, of course, is a much, much bigger scandal that can't
possibly be kept quiet, with a tangle of forgery and l?se-majest? and corruption in high places-not to mention a fresh airing of every vile insinuation against the queen that Madame de La Motte can think of. I expect they seized their unexpected opportunity then, and have been fanning the flames ever since. Isn't that a secret Beaupr?au might be willing to kill for, if he thought Saint-Landry was going to have second thoughts and betray them?"
"Well," Brasseur admitted, "it's a fantastic story, but it could make sense?" He emptied the last few drops of wine in the bottle into his glass and scowled at it.
"Brasseur," Aristide said, scarcely daring to look at him, "we need to talk to Cagliostro."
"I was afraid you'd say that."
"Can you get us inside the Bastille for an interview?"
Brasseur snorted. "I'm only an inspector, not the Royal Lieutenant of Police!"
"But you must have some connections."
"Very well, very well." Brasseur was silent for a moment, absently watching the wine dregs wash back and forth at the bottom of his glass. "Perhaps?I was in the war with a fellow who's a captain of the guard there now. I'll write to him. We might arrange something discreet."
"Arrange it. As soon as possible. We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone else is murdered or goes missing."
"All right! As soon as I can get back to my desk. Satisfied?"
"Thanks?"
"You really think that talking to Count Cagliostro is going to help us find out who murdered Saint-Landry, and where Beaupr?au can be if he didn't murder Saint-Landry himself, and why?"
Aristide shrugged. "Whatever he tells us can't confuse us any more than we're already confused, can it?"