very small blue eyes set in a broad, baked-clay face. He was not particularly appealing.
“Yes, I’ve finished, but only because I don’t want to offend your lady wife.”
“That’s enough of that,” said Lucie, putting her hand on Albert’s arm. “What’s going on, Larquet?”
“The vet’s wife was on her way back from Guillos, she was. Where three more sheep have been done for.”
“Guillos? Are you sure? That’s a long way off!”
“Of course I’m sure, I ain’t making this up. It was Guillos. That means that the beast can strike anywhere. If it wants, it can be at Terres-Rouges tomorrow and Voudailles the day after. Whenever it likes, wherever it likes.”
“Whose sheep were they?”
“Gremont’s. He’s all churned up about it.”
“But it’s only sheep!” someone bellowed. “Are you going to cry your eyes out just for sheep?”
Everyone turned to see who it was. It was Buteil, the farm manager at Les Écarts, looking distraught. Bloody hell: Suzanne.
“None of you’s shed a tear for Suzanne, and she ain’t even in her grave! But you’re sniffling over bloody baa-baas! You’re all swine!”
“No, Buteil, we’re not sniffling,” said Larquet, holding his hand out. “We may all be swine, specially Albert, but nobody ’s forgotten Suzanne. But it’s the same foul beast that done her in, and bloody hell, we’ve got to find it!”
“Right,” someone said.
“Right. And if the lads from Guillos find it first, we’ll look pathetic.”
“We’ll get it first. The Guillos lot have gone soft since they switched to lavender.”
“Don’t kid yourselves, my friends,” said the postman, who was something of a nervous wreck. “We’re past it too, same as the blokes from Guillos or wherever. We’ve lost the knack, we’ve forgotten how to do it. We aren’t going to catch the beast until it drops in here for a drink at the bar. Even then we’ll have to wait until it’s good and sozzled, and we’ll need to be ten strong to keep it down. Meanwhile it’ll have eaten up the whole county.”
“Heigh-ho, what a jolly fellow you are.”
“That story about a wolf coming in for a drink at the bar is farcical.”
“We should call in a ’copter,” said someone else.
“A ’copter? To look down on the mountains? Are you completely out of your mind?”
“Looks like we’ve lost Massart as well,” someone butted in. “The
gendarme
s are looking for him on Mont Vence.”
“Not what I’d called a great loss,” Albert said.
“Fuckwit!” Larquet said.
“Enough of that!” Lucie said.
“How do you know Massart hasn’t also fallen prey to the beast? What with his habit of going out at night.”
“Yeah, right enough, when we find Massart, we’ll find him in little pieces. You mark my words.”
Johnstone grasped Camille’s wrist. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “They’re driving me crazy.”
When they got into the open air Johnstone took a deep breath, as if he had just emerged from a cloud of poison gas.
“A binful of loonies,” he growled.
“They’re not loonies,” Camille said. “They’re just fearful, and sorrowful, and some of them are tipsy anyway. But I agree that Albert is a nasty piece of work.”
They walked home under the burning sun.
“What do you think about it?” asked Camille.
“About what? About their being sozzled?”
“No. About the place where the wolf attacked, Guillos. It was marked with an
X
on the map.”
Johnstone stopped and looked Camille in the eyes.
“How could Massart have known?” she said under her breath. “How could he have known
in advance
?”
Barking dogs could be heard in the distance. Johnstone stiffened.
“Gendarme
s looking for him,” he said with a grin. “Fat lot of good it’ll do. They won’t find him. Last night at Guillos, tomorrow he’ll be at La Castille. He’s the killer, Camille. He’s doing the killing, with Crassus.”
Camille made as if to say something, but stopped
“Yes, I’ve finished, but only because I don’t want to offend your lady wife.”
“That’s enough of that,” said Lucie, putting her hand on Albert’s arm. “What’s going on, Larquet?”
“The vet’s wife was on her way back from Guillos, she was. Where three more sheep have been done for.”
“Guillos? Are you sure? That’s a long way off!”
“Of course I’m sure, I ain’t making this up. It was Guillos. That means that the beast can strike anywhere. If it wants, it can be at Terres-Rouges tomorrow and Voudailles the day after. Whenever it likes, wherever it likes.”
“Whose sheep were they?”
“Gremont’s. He’s all churned up about it.”
“But it’s only sheep!” someone bellowed. “Are you going to cry your eyes out just for sheep?”
Everyone turned to see who it was. It was Buteil, the farm manager at Les Écarts, looking distraught. Bloody hell: Suzanne.
“None of you’s shed a tear for Suzanne, and she ain’t even in her grave! But you’re sniffling over bloody baa-baas! You’re all swine!”
“No, Buteil, we’re not sniffling,” said Larquet, holding his hand out. “We may all be swine, specially Albert, but nobody ’s forgotten Suzanne. But it’s the same foul beast that done her in, and bloody hell, we’ve got to find it!”
“Right,” someone said.
“Right. And if the lads from Guillos find it first, we’ll look pathetic.”
“We’ll get it first. The Guillos lot have gone soft since they switched to lavender.”
“Don’t kid yourselves, my friends,” said the postman, who was something of a nervous wreck. “We’re past it too, same as the blokes from Guillos or wherever. We’ve lost the knack, we’ve forgotten how to do it. We aren’t going to catch the beast until it drops in here for a drink at the bar. Even then we’ll have to wait until it’s good and sozzled, and we’ll need to be ten strong to keep it down. Meanwhile it’ll have eaten up the whole county.”
“Heigh-ho, what a jolly fellow you are.”
“That story about a wolf coming in for a drink at the bar is farcical.”
“We should call in a ’copter,” said someone else.
“A ’copter? To look down on the mountains? Are you completely out of your mind?”
“Looks like we’ve lost Massart as well,” someone butted in. “The
gendarme
s are looking for him on Mont Vence.”
“Not what I’d called a great loss,” Albert said.
“Fuckwit!” Larquet said.
“Enough of that!” Lucie said.
“How do you know Massart hasn’t also fallen prey to the beast? What with his habit of going out at night.”
“Yeah, right enough, when we find Massart, we’ll find him in little pieces. You mark my words.”
Johnstone grasped Camille’s wrist. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “They’re driving me crazy.”
When they got into the open air Johnstone took a deep breath, as if he had just emerged from a cloud of poison gas.
“A binful of loonies,” he growled.
“They’re not loonies,” Camille said. “They’re just fearful, and sorrowful, and some of them are tipsy anyway. But I agree that Albert is a nasty piece of work.”
They walked home under the burning sun.
“What do you think about it?” asked Camille.
“About what? About their being sozzled?”
“No. About the place where the wolf attacked, Guillos. It was marked with an
X
on the map.”
Johnstone stopped and looked Camille in the eyes.
“How could Massart have known?” she said under her breath. “How could he have known
in advance
?”
Barking dogs could be heard in the distance. Johnstone stiffened.
“Gendarme
s looking for him,” he said with a grin. “Fat lot of good it’ll do. They won’t find him. Last night at Guillos, tomorrow he’ll be at La Castille. He’s the killer, Camille. He’s doing the killing, with Crassus.”
Camille made as if to say something, but stopped
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