The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(16)

He glimpsed a faint blur of light in one of the castle windows, as though someone had passed inside with a candle or lantern.

Faint echo of voices from far below. As though the villagers were shouting from outside the gates.

Another glow of light from the Chateau. This time it appeared to be on the terrace that surrounded three sides of the mansion. Could be someone walking there with a lantern, although this light didn’t seem to be in motion. One of the villagers could have climbed up there and set his lantern down while he searched for an unlocked window.

Voices again. The villagers, beyond the gates, must be calling to their friends on the terrace, directing them or giving them encouragement.

Something moved into view on the terrace. Not much more than a dark shape in the dim light. A shadow cast by something not yet in sight…

The voices of the villagers were silenced. Damiot saw that the lanterns beyond the gates were motionless. The others, inside the grounds, had disappeared.

He tried to make out what was moving on the terrace…

Something seemed to be crawling along the base of the balustrade.

Suddenly, as he watched, a huge figure rose from the terrace.

The voices of the villagers sounded like a great wave rolling in toward a beach.

The monstrous figure stood without moving, looking down at the villagers outside the gates. Watching them. Damiot could see their lanterns, clustered together now, beyond the wrought-iron grille.

The giant form began to move toward the front of the terrace. Slowly and clumsily. Swaying slightly. Like some ancient figure in a long cloak that hung in heavy folds. It seemed to have a tremendous head with black hair falling to broad shoulders.

The bell was silent now.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the monster disappeared and the light was gone.

It was as though the figure had vanished through the terrace floor. Just as Madame Bouchard had said! Only that floor must be solid marble.

Turning to look down toward the far gates, he realized that the lanterns were no longer there. The villagers must have fled.

He was alone. High on this dark hill, at the edge of a sheer drop that could kill anyone who stumbled over the rim.

And somewhere in that Chateau there was a monster! Taller than any human being he had ever seen.

Damiot turned and started back toward the car. Stepping cautiously to avoid any loose stones.

He stopped and peered around, trying to make out some shape—tree or shrub—in the darkness.

Then, to his right, he saw a low dark bulk… The Peugeot! He stumbled toward it, eager to leave, grasping the door handle. Clutched the cold metal as though he had found a friend. Stood there, breathing heavily, his heart pounding…

This was ridiculous! He had never acted like this, in all his years at the Prefecture…

Of course this was the first time he had found himself alone, with an injured hip, on a dark hill above a castle containing a monster!

He looked around, still clutching the door handle, as he heard something moving stealthily through the underbrush. The sound came from in front of his car and it was getting closer.

Damiot released the door handle and, moving with caution, reached through the open window to fumble at the dashboard.

There used to be wild boars in these hills that would attack a man if they were aroused. His headlights should startle whatever this was. Man or…

He switched them on and the glare of light revealed a man.

It was the Englishman—Tendrell—holding both hands up to shield his eyes from the dazzling headlights.

Damiot faced him. Tendrell was shorter than he had appeared last night at the Auberge. Wearing an old leather jacket and dirty slacks. “What are you doing here, Monsieur?”

The question seemed to release the Englishman. He turned and plunged, arms flailing, away from the light.

Damiot followed, limping now, his shadow looming ahead of him like another monster, as he lurched in front of his own headlights.

Hip throbbing. Waves of pain shooting through his thigh.

The Englishman had vanished.

Eh bien! No point in continuing after him. Much too dangerous.

Starting back toward his car, he saw its headlights through a tangle of maquis.

Then he heard another car behind him, coming fast.

Glancing back, he saw the headlights rushing toward him.

Damiot moved aside, out of the way, as the gray Citro?n sped past, but he glimpsed the Englishman at the wheel before the car disappeared around a curve.





CHAPTER 7


Slowing the Peugeot, Damiot squinted at the stone farmhouse. Smoke was rising from a chimney, and two windows facing the road revealed a dimly lighted interior. He would have a talk with this Englishman.

He swerved into the lane, between long rows of beech trees, and parked behind the gray Citro?n.

His hip throbbed sharply as he twisted his body out of the car and limped toward the house, eyes adjusting to the darkness, following a path between flower beds.

The stone farmhouse was built low to the earth, with shuttered windows on either side of a heavy wooden door. The lighted windows he had glimpsed from the road were not visible here.

As he raised his hand to knock, uncertain what he would say, the door swung open.

“Why the devil did you follow me? Who are you?”

Damiot noticed that Tendrell had removed his leather jacket and was wearing a heavy sweater. “Chief Inspector Damiot, Police Judiciaire.” He brought out his flat leather case and flipped it open.