Free The Orphan's Tale by Anne Shaughnessy Page B

silver-topped walking stick were lying neatly on the table outside the room. A caped greatcoat of good, black cashmere was laid across the chair beside them. They were of excellent quality, to her mind hardly the sort of items that a terribly dangerous man might purchase and wear.
    She opened the door and stepped into the salon, and promptly changed her mind about the innocuousness of her visitor.
    A tall, broad-shouldered man was standing by the fireplace, one foot propped on the forepaw of the dog-shaped andiron, his hands loosely clasped behind him. He was looking thoughtfully out the window, but he turned as she opened the door, and directed a slightly frowning gaze at her.
    His hair was thick, dark, and graying, and his eyes were a very light brown, almost green, set under straight, dark brows. They seemed to see everything about her, from her overall appearance to the smudge of gingerbread batter on her wrist.
    The scrutiny did not unsettle Elise. She had encountered his kind before, those who miss nothing, remember everything, and often find a use for some trivial item noticed years earlier. The ability was quite an asset, depending on the walk of life. This man wore a light, straight sword: he was probably the Police officer Charles had mentioned, though differing from the ones to which Elise was accustomed as an eagle differs from a kestrel.
    She met his gaze without embarrassment and started to greet him, but before she could speak he unclasped his hands, inclined his head, and bowed to her. She had been judged a lady; the unexpected courtliness of the gesture disarmed her.
    She smiled at him and held out her hand. "I am Elise de Clichy, Monsieur," she said. "I was told you wished to speak with me."
    He bowed over her hand and returned her smile with some warmth. His smile was pleasant: it softened the clear lines of a face that had the calm aloofness of a statue without it.
    " Yes, Mme. de Clichy," he said quietly. "I do. My name is Paul Malet. I spoke yesterday with Charles de Saint-Légère, who lives here. I will be handling a matter that he brought to my attention. I can't go into it in any great detail, but I believe he has discussed it with you." His gaze was very direct.
    "H e has, indeed.  He hasn't confided in anyone else." She added, "I assure you that you can trust my discretion in this and other matters."
    " So I have been told by several people including your cousin, Christien L'Eveque," Malet said. "For various reasons, all of them urgent, it will be necessary for me to live here while I pursue this matter. In view of all that he has told me, I thought to hire a room here for, say, three weeks at the least. Will that be possible?"
    Elise had heard of Chief Inspector Malet over the years, but she had expected a man quite different from the one who faced her, someone a little more coarse, with more swagger. This man was undeniably a gentleman. His accent interested her as well: he was not a native Parisian. The final 'E', usually silent, was lightly voiced. It was a regional trait from the south of France. She found it charming.
    He was waiting for an answer: she tallied her guests and consulted a mental map of the inn.
    He misunderstood her hesitation. "I can provide references if you need them, Madame," he said. "Inspector L'Eveque has been acquainted with me these seven years."
    She did not have to consider. "Christien has spoken of you with admiration and affection, M. Malet," she said. "And so I don't think that will be necessary in your case. I might start requesting them in future, however."
    " It's no trouble," he said with a touch of insistence that she found amusing.
    " But not necessary," she repeated, favoring him with her best smile and reflecting on the relative stubbornness of the Police as a group.
    They traded looks for half a minute, and then he shrugged. "As you wish," he said, "But you can never tell who might be a murderer or a thief."
    She began to chuckle. "Pardon my speaking so,