this response, Horace Tenson straddled a chair and began to recount the strange tale of the manuscript of Le Neveu de Rameau, which had been bought three years earlier by Georges Monval from a colleague of his.15 Meanwhile, Joseph was distracted by having to answer the telephone twice and promise the caller, who happened to be the Comtesse de Salignac, that he would order the book by Dr Lesshaft that she wanted to give to her niece, Valentine.
‘Yes, Madame la Comtesse, On the Education of the Child in the Family, and its Significance. No, I haven’t forgotten. Yes, I’ve noted it down. Goodbye, Madame la Comtesse.’
He put the phone down, muttering that the battle-axe was going soft in the head. Victor hardly raised an eyebrow, cornered as he was by Horace Tenson’s endless tirade.
Joseph heard the sound of footsteps upstairs and, suddenly feeling a surge of desire for his beloved other half, decided to close the shop. He was pulling the first shutter to when Kenji appeared.
‘Already? It’s not time yet!’
‘It’s only five minutes to closing …’
‘All right, carry on,’ said Kenji, and made his way towards the back of the shop, whistling.
There was a sudden cacophony of crashing and clanking.
‘Victor! How many times have I told you to keep your bicycle somewhere else?’
Victor coughed sheepishly as Tenson froze and eyed Victor with all the haughtiness he could summon.
‘Traitor!’ he bellowed.
He swept out of the bookshop under Kenji’s amused gaze.
‘I fear I may have committed a faux-pas,’ he remarked sardonically.
‘You did it on purpose.’
‘Of course I did it on purpose! It was the only way I could rid you of that agitator. His petition is doing the rounds of the bookshops, and I’ve had the privilege of signing it too. I bet he subjected you to the saga of Le Neveu de Rameau.’
‘You seem to be in a good mood,’ said Victor, who suddenly noticed that his adoptive father’s hair was turning grey.
‘Yes, I am feeling rather sprightly. This morning, I was down in the dumps and this evening everything looks rosy. I have no idea what the reason for this change might be.’
He was lying shamelessly but didn’t feel any remorse. The reason was a certain widow, Madame Duverger, owner of a small apartment to rent at 6, Rue de l’Échelle. Negotiations were already well under way and a decision would probably be made the next day.
He’s getting old, thought Victor. He’s pretending to be happy, but he can’t pull the wool over my eyes. I’ve known him for too long. He still has a childlike side. He needs us to look after him.
Choked by a flood of emotion, he cleared his throat and, for the first time, dared to stretch out his hand and put it on Kenji’s shoulder. The gesture made Kenji jump, with its unexpected tenderness. He looked at the son of his now-dead beloved, Daphné Legris, with a strange pleasure. He had nursed him through all his childhood illnesses, and had taught him to love literature, to face up to his fears and his inhibitions. He had also given Victor his love of mystery.
‘You who are the embodiment of learning,’ said Victor, removing his hand, ‘do unicorns have some kind of special symbolic significance?’
Joseph, still wrestling with the final shutter, stopped short and listened. Kenji looked up, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. His gaze passed from Victor to his son-in-law and then back to Victor again.
‘You flatter me,’ he said ‘I’m not as knowledgeable as all that. Unicorns … unicorns … Some say that it’s nothing more than an idealised or sublimated version of a rhinoceros or a narwhal. I’ve seen some … Let me think … It was in an illuminated bible … Ah yes! The Petrus Comestor Bible.16 A very rare book, a real gem, printed in 1499.’
‘And?’
‘He depicts the unicorn between Adam and Eve, under the tree of knowledge. It’s the same theme as the tapestries in the Musée de Cluny.’17
‘Is that all?’
‘If I remember rightly, alchemists associate this mythical animal with sulphur and mercury. Does that satisfy your curiosity? On that note, good night. I’ve been working on a new combat technique with a friend just back from Japan and I’m worn out.’
‘Aren’t you a bit old for that sort of thing?’
‘You must be joking! There’s nothing old about me!’ retorted Kenji, bounding towards the staircase.
Joseph waited until his brother-in-law had left the room before locking up the shop. As Victor, pushing his bicycle, was about to leave, Joseph barred his way.
‘Boss – I mean, Monsieur Legris – I overheard your conversation. There are two places in Paris where you could find more detailed information about unicorns: the Supernatural Bookshop, run by Monsieur Chamuel, on Rue de Trévise, and the Independent Art Bookshop on Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin.’
‘Thank you, Joseph. Just a moment.’
Victor handed his steed to Joseph, emptied his pockets onto the counter and took down the addresses in his notebook.
‘Why are you interested in this horned creature?’
‘No real reason, just a funny dream I had. Good night, Joseph. See you tomorrow.’
‘Look how fast he skedaddles on that thing! He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t come a cropper one of these days. I’m sure he’s hiding something from me. I could swear it,’ muttered Joseph, walking back towards the counter.
Victor had left his pen and a folded piece of paper near the telephone. Intrigued, Joseph saw that it was a page torn from L’Intransigeant.
‘Hmm, he reads that now, does he? What’s this all about?’
He noticed that one article in the ‘news in brief’ section had been circled in red.
‘Gosh!’
This morning at dawn, two police officers on their beat around the La Villette area discovered the lifeless body of a young woman of about twenty-five, elegantly dressed and wearing a black eye mask. She was lying, strangled, near the rotunda, not far from the canal. She has not yet been identified. Alfred Gamache, the watchman at the tollgate, was questioned by the police but said that he had not seen anything. The body was taken to the morgue.
A few names had been scribbled in the margin; Joseph recognised Victor’s handwriting.
Maurice Laumier. Mireille Lestocart. Louise Fontane, her cousin, blonde hair dyed black. Alfred Gamache. Martin Lorson at the abattoirs or at the Érard piano factory.
I bet the sly old dog’s started on a new investigation! This time, he’s going to collaborate
