Free The Orphan's Tale by Anne Shaughnessy

"I won't disappoint you. And is there anything else?"
    " Just this. I am embarking on a war. Tell your cronies to clear out of my way-"
    " A war?"
    " A war," Malet repeated. "I want room to fight, and anyone who steps on my toes won't have enough left of him to weep over when I am through with him. Spread the word."
    Lanusse was suddenly serious. "I hear you clear as a bell, Inspector," he said.

IX
     
    THE AMBUSCADE
     
    Larouche spent the night burrowed into the hayloft of a livery stable not far from the Jardin des Plantes. He arose early the next morning, begged a stale roll from a street hawker by the Pont d'Austerlitz, ate it, and then gathered a handful of stones. He went back to the Jardin des Plantes to practice his throwing, to the distress of the park's large population of fat pigeons. When he was satisfied that he was in practice, he hurried to the Prefecture to wait for the man he was now referring to in his mind as 'Monseigneur l'Inspecteur'.
    The man had still not arrived there after three hours, and Larouche was getting annoyed. Had he been mistaken about the man's rank and assignment? He frowned and looked at the rock in his hand. It was possible. What was he to do? He pondered the question. That cop needed to be taught a lesson by Larouche, but finding him might well be impossible.
    Or maybe not. He had several plans that might work. Cops like him did not vanish without a trace. He could be found.
    He looked up at the facade of the Prefecture just as the door opened and the man came out of the building.
    Larouche swore. What time did he arrive there, then? Six in the morning? Well, it made no difference: there he was, and Larouche and his rocks were waiting. He lifted the one in his hand, took careful aim-and stopped. Only a fool assaulted a cop in his own territory!
    He tucked the rock in his pocket and set out after the man, who had hailed one of the line of cabs that was always before the building. Larouche jumped on the back and rode along through the city, clutching his shirtful of rocks and thinking vengeful thoughts.
    They crossed the Seine at the Pont au Change, followed the Rue St. Denis briefly to the Rue des Halles, and then caught the Rue Montmartre, which they followed until it reached the church of Notre Dame de Lorette. North of the church they turned right to the Rue des Martyrs, which they followed into the 18th arrondissement. Larouche, peering forward, could see the butte of Montmartre towering ahead of them.
    The fiacre came to a halt outside an inn whose sign named it the Rose d'Or. It was close to Dracquet's house; Larouche had been there once or twice to beg a hand-out. The people there were generous; it was a favorite haunt of the teamsters and workmen, and one of the owners, a pretty, dark-eyed woman, always had a treat for him. The younger cop from the day before lived there. That was about all Larouche knew of the place, and he wondered why 'Monseigneur' had decided to go there.
    He shrugged, selected a comfortable perch in the nearest tree, and disposed himself to watch. There would be plenty of time to nab Monseigneur l'Inspecteur, and this was a good area in which to do it. His pride would be in rags before Larouche was through with him.
    He selected a nice, hefty stone and waited, smiling...

X
     
    THE ROSE D'OR RECEIVES A VISITOR
     
    The Rose d'Or was a neat establishment, built on the site of another inn that had been destroyed by fire in 1693 when Montmartre was still a little village safely outside Paris. It was a rambling stone building, several stories high, with a gabled roof. The inn proper bordered a cloistered, shaded courtyard edged with beds of roses and chrysanthemums. A good-sized stable with a walled, cobblestoned yard opened onto the street.
    " Well, he's gone, Brutus," said Elise de Clichy, who owned the inn. She was speaking to the large, black gelding tethered to a ring in the stableyard. The horse was a particular pet; he delicately thrust his muzzle