The Montmartre Investigation: 3rd Victor Legris Mystery. Claude Izner

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      ‘… an extremely enjoyable, witty and creepy affair’

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      THE

      MONTMARTRE

      INVESTIGATION

      CLAUDE IZNER

      Translated by Lorenza Garcia and Isabel Reid

As always, to our dear ones! And to Andrée Millet, child of Montmartre, Elena Arseneva, Kumiko Kohiki, Solvej Crévelier. Warm thanks to Jan Madd.

      Dans les plix sinueux des vieilles capitales,

      Où tout, même l’horreur, tourne aux enchantements,

      Je guette, obèissant á mes humeurs fatales …

      In sinuous folds of cities old and grim,

      Where all things, even horror, turn to grace,

      I follow, in obedience to my whim …

      Charles Baudelaire

      Les Petites Vieilles – Dedicated to Victor Hugo from Les Fleurs du mal, 1857

      CONTENTS

      Title Page

       Acknowledgments

      Epigraph

      Plan of Victor Legris’s Paris

      The Montmartre Investigation

      Parisian Nightlife in the 1890s

      Notes

      About the Authors

      VICTOR LEGRIS MYSTERIES BY CLAUDE IZNER:

      Copyright

       Plan of Victor Legris’s Paris

       CHAPTER 1

       Saint-Mandé, Sunday 26 July 1891

      QUICK! She had to rinse her hands and remove the traces of jam.

      Mademoiselle Bontemps hastily dried her hands and cast a longing look at the plate piled with strawberry biscuits, mocha cakes, éclairs and meringues. Resisting temptation, she shut the plate away in the bottom of the cupboard. ‘I’ll have them this evening when everyone’s gone to bed …’ She smoothed her dress over the crinoline she persisted in wearing as if she were still only twenty, and rustled back into the salon, where her visitor was putting on his gloves.

      ‘Excuse me for taking so long, Monsieur Mori,’ she simpered. ‘I thought I heard a tap dripping.’

      ‘Yes, I distinctly heard running water too,’ replied the immaculately turned out Japanese man.

      He adjusted his black silk top hat, which complemented his double-breasted blazer and pinstriped trousers, and attempted to extricate his cane from an umbrella stand decorated with a profusion of frills. The entire salon was overrun with flounces and furbelows: they embellished the curtains, the seat covers, the shelves laden with knick-knacks and even the hostess’s dress. They ran all over the décor, their rippling little waves forming an unceasing tide, and indeed the elegant Asiatic seemed to be suffering from seasickness as he wrestled with the swirls of material. Finally managing to reclaim his stick, he let out a sigh.

      ‘And where is your goddaughter?’ asked Mademoiselle Bontemps.

      ‘Iris has gone off to the fête with her friends. I don’t approve of these popular outings.’

      ‘The young must have their entertainment.’

      ‘Pleasure heralds regret, just as sleep heralds death.’

      ‘Oh, Monsieur Mori, that’s beautiful, but very sad.’

      ‘Well, I don’t feel light-hearted at the moment. I don’t like separations.’

      He pretended to examine the tip of his cane, which he had been nervously tapping on the carpet.

      ‘I do understand,’ murmured Mademoiselle Bontemps, discreetly rearranging the pleats of the umbrella stand. ‘Don’t worry, Monsieur Mori, two months will pass quickly.’

      ‘I’ll have her bathing suit and sunhat delivered by Thursday. Are you still leaving next Monday?’

      ‘God willing, Monsieur Mori. Lord Jesus what an expedition! It will be the first time I’ve taken the young ladies to the seaside. They’re beside themselves with excitement. I’ve had to reserve four compartments. What with the cook and the two chambermaids we’re a party of sixteen. The journey is costing an arm and a leg! And when you’re away for more than six weeks, you’re not entitled to the cheap excursion rate. In previous years, we’ve made do with Saint-Cyr-sur—’

      ‘Morin, yes, yes, I know,’ finished the Japanese man, clearly exasperated.

      ‘But what can you do? Times change; now all people talk about is tourism, beaches and bathing!’

      ‘Make sure Iris never goes into the water without supervision.’

      ‘Of course! The young ladies will not stray by so much as an inch from the roped-off area. I’ve engaged a swimming teacher.’

      ‘Keep an eye on him, especially if he’s attractive.’

      ‘Monsieur Mori, I watch over my girls like a cat—’

      ‘Over her kittens, I know, I know. Would you be able to call me a cab?’

      ‘At once, Monsieur Mori. Colas! Colas! Where has that rascal got to? He’s the gardener’s son, a good-for-nothing,’ she explained, casting a smug glance at herself in a mirror adorned with plump cherubs, and delicately adjusting the two looped coils of dyed black hair on either side of her moon-shaped face. A youth appeared, sullenly chewing a straw.

      ‘What on earth is he wearing? You’d think he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Go and find a cab and be quick about it – Monsieur is waiting.’

      As soon as he was out on Chaussée de l’Étang, the youth stuck his tongue out at the heavy bourgeois building behind the iron gates on which a brass plate read:

      C. BONTEMPS BOARDING SCHOOL

       Private Establishment for Young Ladies

      Then he set off, following the sound of the fête’s music to the square in front of the town hall.