Free The Phantom of Rue Royale by Jean-François Parot

and shook his hand. The two men with him bowed. One was Monsieur Puissant, the police official responsible for performances and lighting, and the other was his deputy, Monsieur Hochet de la Terrie. Both were old acquaintances.
    ‘My dear colleague,’ Mutel said. ‘These gentlemen and I have been organising the identification of the bodies. There’s so little space that, if we let it, the crowd would come rushing in and we’dhave a new disaster on our hands. I assume Monsieur de Sartine has sent you to help us?’
    ‘Not exactly, although we are at your disposal. We’re here to carry out a preliminary investigation following a suspicious death noted last night. We need to consult … I assume you have lists?’
    ‘We have three. A list of bodies having means of identification on them, a second list of those already identified by their nearest and dearest and a final list with descriptions of missing persons to help our assistants try to find the relative or friend in question. But the faces are often terribly disfigured, which makes it quite difficult to recognise anyone. What’s more, there’s a storm brewing and we won’t be able to preserve the bodies for too long … Even the Basse-Geôle couldn’t contain them all!’
    The commissioner came closer to Nicolas and, in a low voice, enquired after Monsieur de Sartine’s state of health.
    ‘Well, you know him, my dear fellow, simplicitas ac modestiae imagine in altitudinem conditus studiumque litterarum at amorem carminum simulans, quo uelaret animium . 1 But without touching his wigs …’
    Both men were fond of the classics, and occasionally, when they needed to be discreet, they enjoyed conversing with the help of Latin quotations.
    ‘ Bene , that’s certainly an interesting symptom! I’m reassured, though. This is a grave crisis, but he’ll get through it. The truth will out, and sooner rather than later. We just have to let the stupid and the envious stew in their own juice!’ He winked. ‘Don’t worry, anything I find out about last night’s incompetence I’ll pass on to you.’
    Nicolas smiled and made an evasive gesture with his hand. Hisbrilliant entry into the corps of commissioners at the Châtelet in 1761 had impressed his colleagues. By now, most had learnt to appreciate him for his particular qualities and readily opened their hearts to him about their problems, confident that he would be able to bring pressure to bear on the Lieutenant General. Without exaggerating his natural charm, Nicolas had been able to honour some of the older veterans with his services.
    The registers had been laid out in the church. All around them rose the cries and weeping of the families. They shared the task among themselves. After a moment, the inspector pointed out a line to him.
    ‘… a frail young girl,’ Nicolas read aloud, ‘in a pale yellow satin dress, fair hair, blue eyes, aged nineteen …’
    He questioned the police officer who was keeping the register.
    ‘This entry is at the end. It can’t have been long since these particulars were given. Do you remember the person who gave them?’
    ‘Yes, Commissioner, it was only a quarter of an hour ago. A gentleman of about forty, accompanied by a young man. He was looking for his niece. He seemed in a very emotional state and gave me a seal from his shop so that we could reach him in case we found the girl.’
    He noted the number of the entry and looked through a cardboard box in which various papers were being stored. ‘Let’s see … number seventy-three … Here we are!’ He took out a leaflet. ‘At the sign of the Deux Castors, Rue Saint-Honoré, Paris, opposite the Opéra. Charles Galaine, furrier, manufacturer and purveyor of furs, muffs and coats.’ The girl’s name was apparently Élodie Galaine.
    The decorative seal showed two beavers facing each other. Their tails framed an engraving representing a man in a fur coat and hat reaching out his hands towards a fire. The commissioner