The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(68)

“I’m not surprised.” He was aware of the Ferrari, a dark mass to their left, but said nothing to Tendrell.

“I still wish Nick wouldn’t do this tonight. I’ve begged him again not to show the bloody puppet, but he refuses to listen. Here’s your car! I’ll go ahead and you can follow. Better keep your lights off.”

“Right.” Damiot got into the Peugeot with Fric-Frac and tailed the Citro?n around the castle to the rear. There, in the faint light seeping from the sky, it was impossible to see the distant stables. He took off his waterproof and left it in the car with his hat, before joining the Englishman at the kitchen door.

Tendrell unlocked the door and went inside. Damiot followed, Fric-Frac darting ahead.

A dog barked in another room, beyond the dim kitchen, the sound muffled.

Fric-Frac growled.

“Pouchet’s dog?” Damiot asked.

“Locked up for the night. We go up here.” Tendrell led the way toward a stone staircase curving into darkness.

Damiot climbed after him, grasping the heavy wooden railing. “Your daughter knows you’re here tonight?”

“Certainly not! Jenny went to bed after dinner. Usually she’s curious to find out where I’m going, but tonight she was exhausted.”

They had reached the next floor, and Damiot saw that they were in a narrow stone passage, lighted by a single lantern.

“I’m certain Jenny thinks I’m seeing Aurore! One day I shall have to tell her the truth, and she’ll want to meet Nick. Tonight, fortunately, she was too tired to ask questions. Jenny’s an extremely busy girl! Runs everything for me, you know. From the daily menus to a schedule of chores for our staff.”

Damiot smiled. Jenny had obviously been acting for her father, pretending to be sleepy. She would be off somewhere, meeting Michel Giroud before he paid his Monday-night visit to Blanche Carmet.

“I came straight here, after she went to her room. Drove round the back, as usual. Never use those front gates…”

Damiot followed as he listened—Fric-Frac trotting beside him—through another stone passage. This one was wider, with a vaulted ceiling and thick columns spaced at intervals. More lanterns.

“…and I’d only just arrived when we heard your car. Nick hopes you’ll stay after the performance, for another evening of conversation.”

“I would like that.”

The Englishman opened a door into an unfamiliar small salon, across a narrow corridor to another door and through a larger salon. These rooms were unfurnished, and heavy curtains covered every window. The only light came from lanterns resting on the floors or hanging from walls.

There was a musty smell of damp.

Damiot made a mental note of each door and corridor, in case he might have to return this way alone.

“You’re the first new visitor since I was invited in last year,” Tendrell was saying. “Nick’s fascinated by your criminal investigations in Paris. He reads everything! Newspapers as well as scientific journals.” He paused, hand on the knob of another door. “You will help me persuade him not to do this monster trickery again? Not after tonight. The whole thing’s much too risky!”

“I can only try, Monsieur.”

“Tonight must be the monster’s last appearance. I’ve a feeling Nick will listen to you.” He swung the door open.

The dog darted ahead, vanishing into the shadows.

“Fric-Frac! Come back here!”

“She can’t go far,” Tendrell said as Damiot closed the door. “This leads to Nick’s private suite.”

They were in a windowless corridor lighted by candelabra wired for electricity, walls hidden behind faded tapestries.

The Englishman paused in an open doorway, looking into a dimly lighted room. “Here’s Inspector Damiot!”

“Come in, Monsieur Inspecteur!” Nick answered.

Damiot followed Tendrell into a small, uncluttered antechamber. The incredible room he had seen on his previous visit was visible straight ahead. More electricity here.

“We’ve been waiting for you!” The Comte, in another monk-like robe, this one gray, held out a welcoming hand from his wheelchair. “I thought you’d be able to see more of our entertainment from up here.”

“I should indeed.” He shook the extended hand, aware of its surprising strength. His eyes were held briefly by the ancient eyes in the childlike face.

“We are ready…” Pouchet’s voice.

Damiot glanced around and saw the old man with Madame Léontine in the shadows beyond the pool of light from a shaded lamp, arranging the monster on a chaise longue. The clumsy head was propped against the higher end of the chaise, the long cloak stretching across the seat and hanging down over the other end. “Madame Léontine! Monsieur Pouchet!”

The two servants smiled and bowed.

Damiot glanced toward the Comte. “Even in repose, your monster looks monstrous.”

Nick laughed. “That was my intention!”

The mastiff, Lautrec, was stretched out near the wheelchair, Fric-Frac already snuggled beside him.

“Now that Inspector Damiot’s here,” Nick looked toward Pouchet as he freed both hands from the sleeves of his robe, “shall we proceed?”

“At once, M’sieur le Comte.” Pouchet lifted the puppet and held it tight as Madame Léontine gathered the folds of the cloak into her arms.