Monsieur Pamplemousse Hits the Headlines by Michael Bond Page B

you earlier in the year with that Russian school-teacher on the Antibes peninsular. They make that particular occasion look like a school outing.’
    ‘I suppose,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse thoughtfully, ‘in a sense that’s what it was.’
    ‘At least in those you were not shown sans vêtements ,’ boomed the Director. ‘As I recall you were still wearing your trousers. If any of these pictures were to fall into the hands of the media who knows what will happen? They will have a field day.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse shifted uneasily in his chair as he tried to get a glimpse of the photographs. All he could see was the ominous word COPIE stamped on the back of each one in red.
    ‘But there was no one else present, Monsieur . Unlike your own unhappy experience with Madame Chavignol in the wash-house, flash guns were conspicuous by their absence.’
    ‘Please don’t remind me, Pamplemousse,’ said Monsieur Leclercq. ‘Every time I drive past a laverie automatique it all comes flooding back to me. I have tried varying my route into the office, but they are everywhere. Paris seems to be full of them. Does no one send their washing to a blanchisserie any more?’
    ‘Only those who can afford it,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse pointedly. It was like water off a duck’s back.
    ‘In any case,’ continued the Director, ‘if what you say is true, how do you account for these?’ He passed the photographs across his desk. ‘They look as though whoever took them was using a camera obscura . A singularly ill-named  device since most of your salient parts are far from obscur . They stand out a mile in fact!’
    ‘It is kind of you to say so, Monsieur !’
    Monsieur Leclercq controlled himself with difficulty. ‘This is no time for levity, Pamplemousse. You know perfectly well what I mean.’
    Going through the pictures Monsieur Pamplemousse could see the Director had a point. The shadowy nature of the shots and the lack of definition meant only one thing; they had been taken by closed-circuit video cameras.
    Viewed in sequence they provided a visual record of all that had happened from the moment he entered the bathroom to Pommes Frites’ arrival on the scene and beyond. The place must be alive with cameras. It also explained why the eyes in the painting had been pointing in different directions.
    ‘The one exception,’ said Monsieur Leclercq, ‘is a group shot of you all lying in a heap on the floor. It appears to have been specially lit for the occasion.’
    ‘That can be explained, Monsieur . When I first saw Madame Chavignol in a state of déshabillage I was so taken by surprise my feet became entangled with the flex on her bedside lamp and in my rush to escape her clutches it fell to the floor.’
    The Director eyed him sceptically. ‘You are sure it wasn’t the other way round, Pamplemousse? You weren’t bounding to her side?’
    ‘Quite sure, Monsieur ,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse virtuously. ‘It was the last thing on my mind.’
    ‘And the photograph you are holding in your hand,’ boomed the Director. ‘Why does that one appear to have been taken in some kind of rain storm?’
    ‘In a sense it was, Monsieur . The carpet in Madame Chavignol’s bedroom has – or rather had – an unusually thick pile, and in the course of time the inevitable happened . The heat from the lamp caused it to smoulder, and that in turn activated the sprinklers…’
    Monsieur Leclercq sat in silence for a while, trying to picture it all. ‘It wasn’t your day, Aristide,’ he said at last.
    Holding out his hand for the photographs, he flipped through them again.
    ‘Pommes Frites appears to be carrying out his task with unseemly relish,’ he said. ‘When he first appears on the scene he looks as though he is joining you in what I believe is known in some circles as a “gang bang”, although what other term might be appropriate in the circumstances is hard to imagine.’
    ‘He was coming to my rescue,