Free The Saint-Florentin Murders by Jean-François Parot

floor when several carriages entered the courtyard. From one of them, Bourdeau emerged, rubbing his hands with glee. He was followed by a number of officers with a stretcher. Nicolas walked down some steps to greet his deputy.
    ‘Good Lord,’ said the inspector, ‘this really is the high life! The Saint-Florentin mansion! Our minister’s house! It seems we haven’t been dismissed after all.’
    ‘What you say is right, my dear Pierre,’ replied Nicolas with a laugh. ‘They can’t do without our services, and I assure you thatthe case we are dealing with is not a trivial matter.’
    ‘And our friend Lenoir in all of this?’
    ‘I fear he has been overtaken by events. But we’ll be good chaps and keep him informed. We must never insult the future.’
    ‘You’re very indulgent today!’
    ‘It’s the joy of having something to get my teeth into.’
    He ordered the officers to wait, and led Bourdeau towards the stables. There, surrounded by the odour of horses, he related the facts of the case in detail. The inspector’s first reaction was that the drama would turn out to be a trivial one, in which case recourse to such experienced authorities as themselves was like using a ton of gunpowder to open the door. Nicolas pointed out the ambiguous clues, the prints and other incongruous and suspicious details which had caught his attention. The inspector agreed that there was plenty to think about and added that it could turn out to be a distinctly tricky affair, given the place where the tragedy had occurred. He concluded with a laugh that, devil take the difficulties, here was a way to re-establish themselves in favour as long as luck was with them as they made their way through the thickets of this new investigation. Nicolas was delighted to see him looking so cheerful again and told him, embroidering the truth somewhat, that it was the Duc de La Vrillière himself who had wanted him to assist in the case. Bourdeau made no response to this, but the air of pride he immediately assumed spoke for itself. The commissioner loved him all the more for being so forthright and simple in his emotions.
    With the officers, they proceeded to the kitchens. Before the body was taken away, Nicolas asked Bourdeau to examine the scene of the crime, in the hope that a fresh pair of eyes might spotsome details that had escaped him. Like him, the inspector was struck by the very unusual nature of the wound to the young woman’s neck. He also observed that she was wearing two small garnet earrings. Their presence might be of some significance, for a chambermaid on duty would never wear such ostentatious jewellery. This suggested that Marguerite Pindron had been more conscious of her appearance that evening than usual. Which in turn suggested that she might have had a rendezvous with a suitor … The quality of the slippers also intrigued Bourdeau. They would have to find out the provenance of these luxury items. As for the rest, his observations tallied with those of the commissioner. He searched the place meticulously, anxious to find the object that could have caused such a terrible wound. But to no avail. As he was coming to the end of his search, he stopped and looked at the corner of one of the draining boards. He bent down and delicately picked up between two fingers a small piece of metallic thread, which he held out to Nicolas.
    ‘Looks like silver thread to me,’ said Nicolas. ‘What do you think?’
    ‘I agree. Someone knocked against this wooden corner. Look at it, it’s a nest of splinters. The embroidered garment they were wearing got caught and this came off. It must have been a sudden knock, and in his haste the person who was wearing the coat didn’t notice.’
    Who, could Nicolas remember often wearing a coat with silver embroidery? The late King, of course! But who else? He racked his brains. The figure of the Duc de La Vrillière emerged. He often copied his master’s manner of dress. The commissioner had talked