Free In the Shadows of Paris (The Predator Of Batignolles) by Claude Izner Page B

Victor. I’ve written a short description of the manuscript I left with Pierre Andrésy. I mean to give it to whoever is in charge of the case. If there’s any chance some of the books have been saved…’
Touty Namèh or The Parrot’s Stories: a collection of fifty-two short stories by Zya Eddin Nachcehehy. An octavo volume with a red vellum cover embossed with a bouquet of gilt flowers. The book contains 298 pages illustrated with 229 miniatures and was previously in the possession of Mohammed Hassan Chah Djihan and Omra Itimad Khan respectively.
    ‘I’m afraid you may have to kiss it goodbye,’ said Victor.
    ‘I’m finding that hard to accept. It’s such a rare volume and I’d all but sold it to Colonel de Réauville for one thousand five hundred francs. I’ll have to give him back his deposit.’
    Hunched over the order book, Joseph made a face, and muttered under his breath, ‘Isn’t that just typical of the boss, always counting out his grains of rice? If one went missing he’d probably commit hara-kiri.’
    ‘Keep your malicious thoughts to yourself, Joseph, or go and join the ranks of Blanche de Cambrésis and her band of detractors,’ Victor warned.
    Unperturbed, Kenji had begun sorting out the index cards for his next catalogue. The door bell tinkled and a man in a dark frock coat stood staring at them quizzically.
    ‘Is this the Mori–Legris bookshop? My name’s Inspector Lefranc. I’ve come to take Monsieur Mori and Monsieur Legris down to police headquarters to identify certain items recovered from the body of a bookbinder by the name of Andrésy, first name Pierre,’ he said, without pausing for breath.
    Victor and Kenji donned their hats and followed the man, leaving Joseph behind.
    ‘I see, so I count for nothing! Even though Monsieur Andrésy and I discussed everything. He wasn’t prejudiced. We confided in one another, I liked him. But I’m just a lowly employee. Good for watching the shop while they strut about like a couple of peacocks! Well, the bosses had better watch out or the worker will down tools!’
     
    Inspector Aristide Lecacheur’s office was stark. He detested the beige patterned wallpaper with its drab brown rectangles repeated ad infinitum. The only decoration was a portrait of Abbé Prévost hanging next to a mottled mirror.
    Victor and Kenji sat down on a pair of cane chairs. Their host, a tall man, towered over them. Despite the hot weather he was sporting a flannel waistcoat.
    ‘I hoped I’d seen the back of you, Monsieur Legris,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re like the cursed hand my nanny used to tell me about: you throw it in the gutter and it comes back in the night to pull your toes.’
    ‘It’s your destiny,’ declared Kenji.
    ‘I’m no less tired of you, Monsieur Mori. However, enough of my misgivings! I shall see it through to the bitter end.’
    ‘I assume this speech is only a polite preamble?’
    ‘Quite right, Monsieur Legris, let’s get on with it,’ boomed the inspector, pointing to an assortment of fragments.
    Kenji seemed relatively composed as he examined the objects spread out on the inspector’s desk, but Victor noticed one of his eyelids twitching slightly.
    Inspector Lecacheur watched him.
    ‘Well?’
    ‘I can’t say with certainty.’
    ‘How about you, Monsieur Legris?’
    ‘I, too, am at a loss. I very rarely went to his shop. As for his clothes…’
    ‘Where is the body?’ Kenji asked.
    ‘At the morgue.’
    ‘Who is taking care of the funeral?’
    ‘His family, I suppose. We’re placing a notice in the newspapers.’
    ‘If nobody comes forward, may I see to the arrangements?’
    ‘Yes, once the investigation is over.’
    ‘What investigation?’
    ‘We’ve yet to determine the cause of the fire. We’ll know more in a few days.’
    ‘Were any of the books saved?’
    ‘The firemen arrived too late on account of those blasted students who had the nerve to try and attack police headquarters!’
    ‘It’s rumoured