‘No, sir. We will alert the Prefecture in Paris. They always cooperate in matters of this nature – murder, I mean.’

  ‘Good, good…. Me, you, Major Blythe, and perhaps a couple of others, should be sufficient. We don’t want a crowd. Box, don’t bring any other officers with you to escort De Bellefort back to London, apart from Sergeant Knollys. Leave that task to my people. Will you come to see me, here, tomorrow afternoon? By then, I will have worked out a complete plan, and will have acquired the necessary documents for our journey to France.’

  He rose from his chair, and this time he retrieved his hat and gloves.

  ‘This is not going to be one of our great adventures, Box,’ he said, ‘but it is vitally important for those wretched men in Alsace and Lorraine, and possibly for the continuing peace of Europe. Our mission must succeed.’

  15

  Monseigneur at Versailles

  The sky above Versailles hung like a canopy of faded blue, tinged with a darkening grey. To the east, great black thunder clouds, each with its burden of pent-up rain, hovered above Saint-Germain-en-Laye, sinister and threatening. The air was hot and still, presaging a massive storm to come.

  The heavy coach had stopped at a turn in the road from Fontenay-le-Fleury. Colonel Kershaw, for the moment oblivious of his companions, looked out of the window at the great Palace of Versailles spread out below them, stretching away towards the horizon through the wooded countryside.

  The palace of Louis XIV, the Sun King, was so stupendous in its grandeur that mere words were insufficient to describe it. It was more like a town than a palace, a magical world of fountains, pavilions, elegant mansions and whimsical follies, all clustered around the great château, infinitely grander than Buckingham Palace, and one of the architectural wonders of the world.

  Had an eagle chosen that dull and threatening Saturday morning to wheel and hover high above the château, what would it have seen? Beyond the great palace, to the west, a series of artificial lakes and fountains, flanked by formal gardens, all leading to the stupendous Grand Canal. On all sides, groves, with statues and pyramids, more fountains, orangeries, obelisks, and then, at the end of one long transverse arm of the Grand Canal, lay the Châteaux of the Trianon – elegant mansions in their own grounds. Beyond these, in the extreme northern corner of the vast estate, was the Queen’s Cottage, with its adjacent model farm and water-mill.

  Into this dream land, of the Bourbon Kings of France, a sizeable part of a nation’s wealth had been poured, to show the world the grandeur and almost divine power of the French sovereigns. The work had engaged the Sun King himself until the end of his long reign, and had then been continued by his grandson, Louis XV, and his grandson, Louis XVI, adding here, improving there, rebuilding, reshaping, for a period of 107 years.

  When you walked through the countless rooms and halls of the palace, you were stunned and overawed by so much gold, so much marble and crystal, so many chambers and cabinets contrived for the entertainment of mistresses and favourites; never-ending building and re-building, more and more lavish decoration….

  And then came the fatal year of 1789, when the real, tough world of eighteenth-century France burst through the walls of the Bourbon paradise, and within a short space of time carried off the Royal squanderers of the nation’s wealth, uncomprehending, to the guillotine.

  Colonel Kershaw started guiltily, and looked at his companions. It was not often that he sank into a reverie, especially when there was work afoot. Sitting with him in the coach, and waiting patiently for him to speak, were Inspector Box, Sergeant Knollys, and Major Ronald Blythe. Outside, on the road, the rough-and-ready Mr Ames held the bridle of the leading horse. At a word from Kershaw, he would drive them down to the public entrance to the palace.

  ‘Now, gentlemen,’ said Kershaw, ‘there are three men here today who will engage our attention. First, the Alsatian banker, Monsieur Norbert. He, of course, is privy to our plans, and has already met Major Blythe. He doesn’t know the rest of us at all. Norbert is a difficult proposition, because we don’t know where in this vast estate De Bellefort plans to meet him.’

  ‘That’s true, I’m afraid,’ said Blythe. ‘Norbert promised to let me know as soon as De Bellefort told him, but the poor man was evidently too frightened to communicate with me. My own guess is that they will meet somewhere in the main palace building, probably in one of the more public rooms. We shall have to see.’

  ‘That will be your task, Sergeant Knollys,’ said Kershaw. ‘Major Blythe will be in charge of the Norbert operation, and will point him out to you as soon as he gets sight of him. Then, once De Bellefort has made the exchange and left the scene, I want you, Knollys, to take charge of Norbert and get him – and his fake Alsace List – out of the way. Incidentally, he speaks English of a sort. Major Blythe will give you further details.

  ‘Now, Mr Box,’ Kershaw continued, ‘you are the fly in the ointment, because, of course, De Bellefort knows you, and if he catches sight of you, he’ll panic, and probably call the whole thing off. Your task here today is to arrest the fellow for murder once we’ve secured him. Meanwhile, what I want you to do is shadow De Bellefort when he leaves the château and makes his way through the estate to the Queen’s Cottage. I know how skilled you are at shadowing, and I’m quite certain that De Bellefort will not see you.’

  ‘He will not, sir,’ Box replied. ‘But I shall see him, never fear.’

  When working for Colonel Kershaw, you didn’t grumble if you weren’t given a leading assignment. Stalking their quarry was hardly a starring role, but it wouldn’t do to throw a tantrum about it.

  ‘And now,’ Kershaw continued, ‘we come to Herr Pfeifer. We are quite unknown to him, I’m relieved to say. He knows about Major Blythe, but he’s never seen him. I’ve no doubt that Pfeifer’s a nasty piece of goods, but we have no quarrel with him, and he mustn’t be harmed – well, not harmed too badly. He and De Bellefort intend to meet at, or in, the Queen’s Cottage at the far northern limit of the estate, but we don’t know when. That is why we have come here so early this morning, before the palace is open to visitors. Come, gentlemen, it’s time for us to get to work.’

  ‘Sir,’ asked Box, ‘are the French authorities involved in any way in this venture? Do they know what we are up to?’

  Box saw the swift glance that Kershaw and Blythe exchanged. His questions was evidently one they had hoped he would not ask.

  ‘Box,’ said Colonel Kershaw, ‘that list – the Alsace List – was compiled by the French Government. It’s purpose was to furnish certain officers of that government with a list of former French citizens who intended to commit acts of treason against what is now their own country – Germany. If the German authorities knew for certain that the list originated from the French Government, then a very tense political situation would ensue. I thought I’d explained all this to you when we met in the London Pavilion.’

  ‘You did, sir, but—’

  ‘So you see,’ Kershaw continued, ‘the French are anxious not to appear at all in this. If they made any move to assist us, the Germans would soon know about it. We will receive no official co-operation from the French authorities, Box, but at the same time, we will meet with no official obstruction.’

  Kershaw leaned out of the coach window, and called to the man who was holding the horses.

  ‘Mr Ames,’ he said, ‘we’re ready now to go down to the palace gates.’

  In a few moments the coach began its rumbling descent of the steep road leading into Versailles.

  ‘Sir,’ said Box, ‘you say that Major Blythe, Sergeant Knollys and myself are going to deal with the business of Monsieur Norbert and his fake list.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kershaw.

  ‘And what are you going to do, sir?’

  ‘Me? Oh, didn’t I tell you?’ said Kershaw, glancing once again at Blythe, who had repressed a smile. ‘I’m going to take up my position at the Queen’s Cottage, to make quite sure that I catch De Bellefort and Herr Pfeifer in the act, if I may put it like that. Arrangements have been made, you know, and I’m hoping that all will go well. By then, no doubt, you will be in the vicinity, having shadowed De Bellefort from the palace, and then you can make your arrest. I shall be taking Mr Ames with me. He’s an invaluable companion on missions of this sort.’

  Soon, the heavy coach reached the grand parterre facing the gilded gates of the Palace of Versailles, and the four men alighted.

  Although it was only a quarter to nine, there was a considerable crowd of visitors assembled at the barriers, waiting for the palace to open. Box joined Major Blythe and Sergeant Knollys in an orderly line of people waiting to buy tickets. He turned round for a moment to ask Colonel Kershaw a question, but both the Colonel and Mr Ames had disappeared.

  It was as they entered the War Drawing-Room that Box caught sight of Alain de Bellefort. The three pursuers, Box, Knollys and Major Blythe, had joined a party of visitors led by an official guide, who had conducted them through the dizzying splendours of six of the State Apartments. He had found it difficult to give his full attention to the task in hand, as his eye was constantly attracted to a gilded cornice, a framed portrait of one or other of the kings or his offspring. The grandeur of it all was overwhelming. It was a far cry from the Spartan austerities of King James’s Rents.

  The guide spoke in French, but when he had finished describing a particular room, he gave a brief epitome first in English and then in German. ‘We are now entering the War Drawing-Room,’ he had said and, as they came into the gilded marble chamber, Box saw De Bellefort standing in the midst of another group, who were on the point of leaving for the adjacent Hall of Mirrors. He alerted Major Blythe, and contrived to lose himself among the press of visitors.

  De Bellefort was formally dressed in a black suit and greatcoat, and carried a silk hat in his hand. He towered above the others in the room, and more than one visitor glanced curiously at the haughty, pockmarked figure in their midst. No doubt, thought Box, the Alsace List, and the fraudulent copy that he had made in order to deceive the banker Norbert, were concealed in the capacious pockets of his greatcoat.

  ‘The enormous medallion above the fireplace,’ the guide was saying, ‘depicts the victory of Louis XIV over the Dutch in 1678. Note the fine gilded bas-reliefs surrounding it. The mirrored doors on either side of the fireplace are false.’

  As they examined the room, the previous party passed out through the archway leading to the next apartment. ‘For God’s sake, Box,’ whispered Major Blythe, ‘let’s not lose him now! Stop listening to the guide, stop looking at all these stupendous things, and keep your eye on De Bellefort. Surely he’ll meet up with Norbert soon?’

  The Chevalier Alain de Bellefort passed out of the War Drawing-Room and into the Hall of Mirrors. He heard the awed gasps of the other visitors as they admired the grand hall, with its gilded and vaulted ceiling, its profusion of massive crystal chandeliers, and its wonderful old mirrors, set into what seemed like tall window frames. Voices echoed, footsteps rang out, and the guide waited in silence for the exclamations of wonder to cease.

  De Bellefort wondered whether the guide would mention that it was here, in 1870, that Bismarck had proclaimed the establishment of the German Empire. It had been a calculated insult and humiliation for defeated France. No; the guide was a Frenchman, who would have better taste than to allude to his country’s defeat.

  ‘It was here, in the Hall of Mirrors,’ said the guide, ‘that Louis XIV had the silver throne erected when he was to receive particularly distinguished foreign visitors. Balls and receptions were also held here. In the days of the Ancien Régime, letters and petitions from the nobles were placed here for the king to see while he was on his way to chapel. We will pause for five minutes, so that you can examine the many treasures of this famous hall.’

  Yes, thought De Bellefort, what the man said was quite true. One of his own ancestors, another Alain, had presented such a petition in this very hall, and His Majesty had been graciously pleased to grant it. That had been in 1676….

  What was this? Another party had just entered the hall from the War Drawing-Room. Surely, Norbert would make his appearance now, with this augmented crowd to hide him from curious eyes? Yes! Here he was, approaching cautiously from the opposite end of the hall. How impressive he looked from a distance, with that waxed imperial beard and moustaches! Ah! He was carrying a heavy briefcase. All was going well.

  The two men saw each other immediately, and moved unobtrusively towards each other. Within moments they had met, and the Alsatian banker handed De Bellefort his briefcase. De Bellefort slipped a stout envelope from his greatcoat pocket and gave it to Norbert, who immediately moved away. There had been no need for either man to speak. De Bellefort felt elated and curiously excited by the impudence of his action. Norbert, he saw, had been pale with fear, but that was to be expected from a man who was simply a petit-bourgeois at heart.

  It was time to detach himself from the guided tour of the château, and seek out the German Pfeifer at the Queen’s Cottage.

  ‘Sergeant Knollys,’ whispered Major Blythe, ‘the exchange has been made. Go after Norbert, who will be waiting for you behind the staircase at the far end of the next room. Mr Box and I will go out now and make our way across the estate, to join forces with Colonel Kershaw in the vicinity of the Queen’s Cottage.’

  In a moment, Major Blythe and Arnold Box had disappeared beyond the crowd of tourists, and Jack Knollys joined the surge of visitors out of the Hall of Mirrors and into the next state room, another expression in marble, gilt and crystal of the towering magnificence of the rulers of France in the centuries before the Revolution.

  ‘This is the Peace Drawing-Room,’ said the guide. ‘The painting above the fireplace shows Louis XV offering Europe an olive-branch. It was painted in 1729.’

  It was quite easy for Knollys to slip through a mirrored door in a remote corner of the room. He found himself in a plain vestibule from which rose what had evidently been a servants’ staircase. Even this, he mused, had been made wide and accessible, with an elaborate carved balustrade.

  There was a long, plain glass window lighting the staircase, and as Knollys looked at it, the fitful sunlight seemed to be drawn away, as though someone had turned down the wick of a great oil lamp. At the same time, he heard an ominous roll of thunder. As though acting on cue, Mr Norbert stepped forward from an alcove behind the stairs.

  ‘Mr Norbert? I am Sergeant Knollys, a police officer working with Major Blythe. I am here to get you away from the palace without either of us being seen by any curious eyes. Have you got the Alsace List safe?’

  Major Blythe had told Knollys that the banker was to remain in ignorance of the true nature of the document for which he had just paid £10,000. ‘It will be better for all parties, that way,’ Blythe had said.

  ‘Yes, yes, I have it here,’ said Norbert. Knollys could see that the man was trembling with fright.

  ‘There is a door here, Mr Norbert,’ said Knollys, ‘which will take us out into the gardens on the south side of the palace. Keep up your courage, and follow me. Very soon, you’ll be free of all this business.’

  The sky had darkened, and the thunder was becoming more insistent, but no rain had fallen as yet. The two men left the palace through a little door beyond the stairs, and walked into the vast ornamental garden known as the Orangery. Norbert followed Sergeant Knollys until they came to a brick shed half hidden behind a clipped yew hedge. Knollys opened the door, and beckoned to the banker to follow him inside.

  ‘You’ll appreciate, sir,’ said Knollys, ‘that I’ve been provided with plans of this little route that we’ve taken, and that there is someone stationed in the grounds to assist us if necessary – someone who made sure that the door of this hut was open. Now, would you please open that envelope, and examine the contents? No, I don’t want to be shown it. You have bought it dearly, and it is for your eyes alone.’

  Monsieur Norbert tore open the envelope, and withdrew its contents. Knollys watched in silence as he read through the document.

  ‘Yes, Monsieur,’ said Norbert. ‘This is the list. If it falls into the hands of the Germans, then we are all dead men. I take it that I can keep this document? You will not take it from me? With respect, I do not know who you are – you, or your companions.’

  ‘We are people,’ Knollys replied, ‘who are determined that you, and the others on that list, will not perish on the gallows, but live to repent of your folly in forming that conspiracy of yours. It would be wise to ask no further questions, Monsieur Norbert. Now, what do you intend to do with that list?’

  ‘I intend to destroy it – to reduce it to ashes, and watch the wind blow those ashes away. That will signal an end to our mad attempt at insurrection.’

  Jack Knollys delved into the recesses of the shed, and produced a stout copper bowl, which he placed on a table. He took a box of matches from his pocket, and handed them to the banker.

  ‘There you are, sir,’ he said, ‘why not suit the action to the word?’

  Norbert quickly tore the list in pieces, and dropped them into the bowl. In a moment he had struck a match and set the fragments on fire. Both men watched as they rapidly blazed up, turned black, and fell to ashes. Knollys used the handle of a trowel to pound the remains into a fine powder. Opening the door of the shed, he stepped cautiously out on to the grass, holding the copper bowl. As the banker watched, Knollys threw the ashes on to a flower bed, and ground them into the earth with his heel.

  ‘Your work here is done, Monsieur Norbert,’ said Knollys, ‘and so is mine. Let me escort you into the town, and see you safe on to the next train to Paris.’

  ‘And De Bellefort?’ asked Norbert nervously. ‘What will happen to him?’