your coachman?’
‘The police officers brought the carriage back here. No sooner had we unhitched it than Guillaume suddenly bolted. I thought it was a scalded cat, he disappeared so fast.’
Nicolas felt he had done his duty. The investigation had been carried out quickly; a report would be given to Monsieur deSartine, who would then give an account of it to Choiseul. Assurances would be made to the Minister of Bavaria and everything would be in order again. A minor excise incident would fade into oblivion; its cause had been simply pride and wounded feelings and, blown up out of all proportion, it would be deflated just as quickly. There was nothing more to it. The name and description of the coachman would be circulated to the commissioners and the intendants of the kingdom, and with a little luck the man would be caught and sent to the galleys. Nicolas returned to his mare, who was munching the heads off a few late-flowering roses along a whitewashed wall.
The horse took him safely via Pont Neuf and Rue Dauphine as far as the crossroads at Bussy. On Rue des Boucheries- Saint-Germain Nicolas was back on familiar ground. A quarter-past one had just struck. In the small tavern with its worn and knife-scored tables, old Madame Morel clasped him to her ample bosom. His new status as police commissioner at the Châtelet had in no way diminished her affection for him. She was pleased to have him as a regular customer and, possibly, also pleased to know someone whose help she could call upon if need be. She secretly served pork offal in violation of police regulations and of the privileges granted to pork butchers. She knew his tastes and immediately brought him a glass of cider accompanied by a plate of crackling cut into strips, which tasted crisp and crunchy. Bourdeau appeared a few moments later.
Making the choice of what to eat was something they both took very seriously. The mistress of the house reappeared and they asked her advice.
‘My dear boys,’ she said with the motherly familiarity that wasone of her charms, ‘I’ve been keeping two dishes for you on the corner of my stove, without knowing when you’d be coming. First a soup of lamb giblets—’
She broke off to rearrange her décolletage, which had been disturbed during her show of affection.
‘I’m going to let connoisseurs like you into the secret. Into the pot I put four or five pounds of nice beef, whatever cut you like …’
‘Chuck?’ said Bourdeau.
‘Chuck, if you like; it’s a good part, nice and tasty. When it’s been well skimmed I add some fat and the lamb giblets. You mustn’t skimp on salt, nutmeg, thyme and even some lettuce hearts or handfuls of sorrel – though this herb tends to alter the colour – and of course a few white onions. After skimming and reducing it well, I give it body and flavour by adding a few egg yolks diluted in some good vinegar. And it will warm you up into the bargain, because it’s starting to get pretty chilly despite that impudent sun.’
‘And what’s there to follow?’ said Nicolas.
‘For your main course, one of my very special dishes: pork faggots. I’m a good soul and I’ll tell you exactly how I make them: I chop up liver with a third part of fat, herbs, a crushed clove, pepper, nutmeg, garlic and three egg yolks. I make the meat balls, which I then wrap tightly in caul. I cook them in an oven dish with a little melted fat and a dash of white wine. Add some mustard and it makes you want to lick your fingers.’
The two friends applauded and the hostess disappeared. They could now talk freely.
‘Did your visit to Grenelle yield anything new?’ asked Nicolas.
The inspector looked doubtful. ‘I was given a very rude reception by the master of the house, as arrogant as ever, just like the picture you’d painted of him. Had it not been for Picard’s help I would have come away with almost nothing. As to the key, things are not very clear. There was indeed a duplicate but
‘The police officers brought the carriage back here. No sooner had we unhitched it than Guillaume suddenly bolted. I thought it was a scalded cat, he disappeared so fast.’
Nicolas felt he had done his duty. The investigation had been carried out quickly; a report would be given to Monsieur deSartine, who would then give an account of it to Choiseul. Assurances would be made to the Minister of Bavaria and everything would be in order again. A minor excise incident would fade into oblivion; its cause had been simply pride and wounded feelings and, blown up out of all proportion, it would be deflated just as quickly. There was nothing more to it. The name and description of the coachman would be circulated to the commissioners and the intendants of the kingdom, and with a little luck the man would be caught and sent to the galleys. Nicolas returned to his mare, who was munching the heads off a few late-flowering roses along a whitewashed wall.
The horse took him safely via Pont Neuf and Rue Dauphine as far as the crossroads at Bussy. On Rue des Boucheries- Saint-Germain Nicolas was back on familiar ground. A quarter-past one had just struck. In the small tavern with its worn and knife-scored tables, old Madame Morel clasped him to her ample bosom. His new status as police commissioner at the Châtelet had in no way diminished her affection for him. She was pleased to have him as a regular customer and, possibly, also pleased to know someone whose help she could call upon if need be. She secretly served pork offal in violation of police regulations and of the privileges granted to pork butchers. She knew his tastes and immediately brought him a glass of cider accompanied by a plate of crackling cut into strips, which tasted crisp and crunchy. Bourdeau appeared a few moments later.
Making the choice of what to eat was something they both took very seriously. The mistress of the house reappeared and they asked her advice.
‘My dear boys,’ she said with the motherly familiarity that wasone of her charms, ‘I’ve been keeping two dishes for you on the corner of my stove, without knowing when you’d be coming. First a soup of lamb giblets—’
She broke off to rearrange her décolletage, which had been disturbed during her show of affection.
‘I’m going to let connoisseurs like you into the secret. Into the pot I put four or five pounds of nice beef, whatever cut you like …’
‘Chuck?’ said Bourdeau.
‘Chuck, if you like; it’s a good part, nice and tasty. When it’s been well skimmed I add some fat and the lamb giblets. You mustn’t skimp on salt, nutmeg, thyme and even some lettuce hearts or handfuls of sorrel – though this herb tends to alter the colour – and of course a few white onions. After skimming and reducing it well, I give it body and flavour by adding a few egg yolks diluted in some good vinegar. And it will warm you up into the bargain, because it’s starting to get pretty chilly despite that impudent sun.’
‘And what’s there to follow?’ said Nicolas.
‘For your main course, one of my very special dishes: pork faggots. I’m a good soul and I’ll tell you exactly how I make them: I chop up liver with a third part of fat, herbs, a crushed clove, pepper, nutmeg, garlic and three egg yolks. I make the meat balls, which I then wrap tightly in caul. I cook them in an oven dish with a little melted fat and a dash of white wine. Add some mustard and it makes you want to lick your fingers.’
The two friends applauded and the hostess disappeared. They could now talk freely.
‘Did your visit to Grenelle yield anything new?’ asked Nicolas.
The inspector looked doubtful. ‘I was given a very rude reception by the master of the house, as arrogant as ever, just like the picture you’d painted of him. Had it not been for Picard’s help I would have come away with almost nothing. As to the key, things are not very clear. There was indeed a duplicate but
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