‘I should let you go now,’ the inspector said forestalling Rahn’s answer, ‘I must see to some . . . formalities, as you no doubt appreciate, magistrate.’
‘Thank you, inspector, I would like to be kept informed of anything you find in relation to this unfortunate accident,’ Deodat said.
‘Of course. In fact you can expect that I will call in on you soon, to notify you of my progress.’
‘That would be desirable,’ Deodat answered tersely.
The man tipped his hat and lingered a little before turning to go. He paused then, as if he had just remembered something of great importance, and spun around wearing an enquiring face.
‘Might I ask why the deceased wanted to see you?’
‘I don’t really know,’ Deodat answered. ‘But I have a suspicion that it was in relation to an investigation.’
‘An investigation?’
‘It was before his illness. He was investigating the priests of this area – he had the sanction of the Vatican; I don’t know the particular details.’
‘I see. And he said nothing to you today?’
‘Nothing intelligible; all we could ascertain was that he wanted us to find something in the church. That’s why we went there.’
‘And did you find anything?’ His raised brows were expectant, his wet mouth open slightly; he appeared to be hanging on Deodat’s next words.
‘No. I’m afraid not.’
Rahn couldn’t tell if he saw relief or disappointment on the man’s inscrutable face. ‘I see . . . Well, I bid you a good evening.’
And with these words the inspector walked away, leaving them alone in that miserable garden, with the shadow cast by the dormant volcano pouring its gloom over them.
15
Enigmas and Conundrums
‘The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable of analysis.’
Edgar Allan Poe, ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’
The drive home was silent. At the house, Madame Sabine, having heard from Rahn of the abbé’s death, kept out of the way and refrained from complaining about the late hour of their arrival. She heated their dinner without saying a word and they ate the beans and potatoes in garlic in the kitchen, without appetite. The wood crackling in the stove and the wind brushing the tangled limbs against the window were the only sounds in the stillness between them.
For Rahn’s part, what he had not told Deodat now troubled him. He wondered about the black car at Bugarach, about the strangeness of the abbé’s demeanour before his terrible death, and about a police inspector who was supposedly here to investigate a group called La Cagoule but who just happened to know his book intimately.
Later, in the drawing room, drinking a much-needed brandy before the fire, Rahn resolved to do the inevitable.
‘Look, Deodat, I’m afraid I haven’t been totally honest with you. I have to tell you something.’
‘What is it?’ Deodat said from behind his pipe.
‘It’s a rather long and sordid story and you may not like me much afterwards, but . . .’ He told Deodat everything – with the exception of those events at Wewelsburg, as he saw no reason to tarnish his own character more than he had to. Meanwhile, Deodat sat quietly through the long and painful confession, his face neutral – the mask of a wise, introspective judge. When it was over, however, he seemed unable to hold in his dismay.
‘What in the devil, Rahn? What were you thinking?’
Rahn passed a hand over his hair, trying to find the right words. ‘How on Earth was I to know who would be waiting at the end of that telegram? Do you think I would have gone there? Once in that apartment, what was I to do? I had to go along with things for a while until I could get away – and here I am.’
‘Well, now that I’m piecing it all together it begins to make sense. It’s elementary! This elucidates what that inspector is doing at Bugarach and why he knows so much about you.’
‘It has something to do with Monti, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘How?’
‘La Cagoule, that group he mentioned, is known to recruit its members from another group called Action Francais. Action Francais is connected to Alpha Galates – the group run by Pierre Plantard, whom you saw in Paris.’
Rahn paused. ‘And Alpha Galates is connected to Monti.’
‘That’s right. This La Cagoule is responsible for terrorist acts all over Europe,’ Deodat said, ‘and the Paris police have been after them for a while. If they were watching Plantard and they observed you going into his apartment they may have followed you here, suspecting that you are somehow connected to them.’