A Man in Uniform by Kate Taylor Page B

Statistical Section. It is disguised as the military’s statistical research arm, but it is responsible for counterespionage.” Warming to his theme, Dubon repeated to the widow all that his brother-in-law had told him of how the Statistical Section operated.
    “So,” he concluded, “the arrest and court martial of Captain Dreyfus were considered a great coup.”
    “Well, it’s a fraud, Maître, a fraud. The captain is innocent, asinnocent as you or me. You must go and talk to these counterespionage people and demand they review their evidence.”
    “I can’t do that, Madame. They are a secret operation. The only way to gain access to their files would be through an appeal. Did the captain’s lawyers not consider appealing?”
    “We were told there was no point, unless new evidence came to light. They said court martials are very rarely appealed,” the widow said. She paused a moment and then pronounced her conclusion: “You’ll just have to go over there and tell them they have the wrong man.”
    “I can hardly march right in …” he remonstrated, but she was not to be swayed from direct action.
    “Why not?”
    “It’s a strategy, I suppose. I’m just not sure it would be a productive one.”
    “Then we’ll have to come up with something else.”
    “You have to remember I am not a detective, Madame. I am a lawyer.”
    “Yes, Maître, a good lawyer,” she said with a note of apology. “You are an excellent lawyer, and the captain, well, the captain seems to have suffered some bad lawyering, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Certainly an innocent man convicted of a dastardly crime hasn’t been well served by his lawyers,” Dubon agreed.
    “So approach this Statistical Section as a lawyer, as a new family lawyer preparing for an appeal.”
    “They would be unlikely to share the files with me.”
    “What about from the other side?”
    “The other side?”
    “If you were a government lawyer …”
    “You mean if I were the prosecution?”
    “Yes, the prosecution, preparing itself, in case the verdict is ever appealed. The family still maintains the man is innocent and the rumors of an escape have brought attention back to the case. The government must be prepared.”
    “I follow your thinking …” She was clever, and pleased with herself now, he noticed.
    “So you go over there, and you say you are Maître … well, Maître Petit, and your superiors in the Ministry of—”
    “You are suggesting I misrepresent myself?”
    “Yes, I guess I am.” She looked at him. “It’s for a good cause, Maître.”
    “Yes, a good cause,” he repeated, but he wondered about that, and about the pressure that built up in his chest every time she stepped into his office. It had been long enough since he had experienced the feeling that it had taken him a while to recognize it for what it was.
    Love—was it really such a good cause?

ELEVEN
    There were surely things much more disruptive of domestic harmony than the sight of one’s brother-in-law hopping about one’s library in his skivvies, but Dubon just couldn’t think what they might be. Jean-Jean, who appeared to have got one leg stuck while putting on the trousers of his dress uniform, let out a yelp of surprise as Dubon entered the room and clasped his hands to his privates. This was both unnecessary—he was wearing underwear, after all—and destabilizing. He promptly fell over, landing in a pile of clothes on the floor.
    “Damn it, Dubon. You startled me.” Jean-Jean got to his feet, pulled on the trousers successfully this time, yanked his braces over his undershirt and began gathering up the other garments, most of them an unappealing shade of gray. “Just thought I had time before dinner to try on my new kit,” he explained, although Dubon did not understand how that activity justified the man’s inability to stand on his own feet. “Horrible stuff. New battledress they’re experimenting with. If it works, they plan to do away with