Free The Dream Killer of Paris by Fabrice Bourland

Brindillac twice in the days before his death. I remembered too that I had seen him last Friday, going down the steps as I arrived at the château. His face gave me a strange, unpleasant feeling, an inexplicable sense of uneasiness.’
    ‘Did you ask the Marquis de Brindillac what this man wanted?’ asked Monsieur Breteuil.
    ‘Of course. It was the first question I asked when I was shown into the library. He seemed annoyed, afraid, but he didn’t reply. He just declared that the man wouldn’t be bothering him any more.’
    ‘So, he had been bothering him!’
    ‘Undoubtedly. But how exactly, I don’t know. Amélie had noticed that a car driven by a man from the village had dropped the stranger off at the château twice. It seemed reasonable to assume that he had found lodgings at an inn in the area.’
    ‘We had come to the same conclusion,’ Fourier agreed. ‘That’s why I sent my constable to the village to find out. Your brilliantentrance delayed him somewhat but no doubt he’ll turn up soon with valuable information.’
    ‘It will be a waste of time, Superintendent. I’ve already been over everything with a fine-tooth comb.’
    ‘Indeed! And what did you find?’
    ‘The stranger went to the Toison d’Or inn at the end of the village. I was there yesterday afternoon. The manager told me that the fellow had stayed for almost a week and that he only left on Saturday, the day the Marquis was found dead in his room. He described the man as a rather unappealing person who spoke French well but with a strong accent. He had only exchanged the usual pleasantries with him. What the manager remembered most was the man’s intense black eyes which held your gaze without wanting to let you go and seemed able to see right inside you. He was apparently a professor in Vienna, Austria. Professor of what he didn’t say, but he was here for professional reasons. Why would a Viennese professor come and hole up in a village in Seine-et-Oise? That’s what the manager was unable to discover. He had his meals sent up to his room every day and on four separate occasions asked the owner of the nearby garage to drive him somewhere. The manager agreed to let me see the man’s room so I went up and searched it thoroughly, without finding anything, unfortunately. But he did give me this.’
    Lacroix took a sheet of blue paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it out to the superintendent.
    ‘The day he left, at about two o’clock in the afternoon, the dining room was full of weekend visitors. Guests were discussing the mysterious death of the Marquis whose body had been found a few hours before. Unusually, the Austrian was sitting in the dining room, listening to what was being said around him and waiting for Monsieur Lerouge, the owner of the garage, who was going to take him to Étampes station. When he got up, a piece of blue paper fellout of his coat. The manager found it under the chair after he had left. He had no idea what it could mean and, unsure what to do, kept it, thinking that the stranger might want it back.’
    It was a telegram and care had been taken to remove information relating to the sender and the person it was addressed to. It contained a short three-line message written in German.
    ‘What does it mean?’ asked Fourier, giving it back to the journalist.
    ‘There’s a translation on the back: “We have chosen new breeders. Confirmation birth 1 expected on 23rd. Awaiting your return to participate in great work.”’
    ‘“Breeders!” “Birth!” What does it mean?’ asked the examining magistrate, becoming agitated. ‘Is your man a professor or a vet? And the twenty-third of what? October?’
    ‘I don’t know yet.’
    ‘With luck, it will have come via the local post office,’ Fourier observed. ‘They’ll be able to help us.’
    ‘I’ve already checked. The stranger neither received nor sent any telegrams while he was staying in the area.’
    ‘By the way, what name did he use