deputy was incomparable and never missed an opportunity. He continued his investigations discreetly. Now Missery was staring in surprise at the faces peering down at him.
‘I don’t feel well,’ he said in a thick voice.
Nicolas noticed a strange smell emanating from his mouth.
‘What are you doing in my room?’ asked the major-domo. ‘What’s happened?’
Although his features were drawn, his face was still virile. His sparse grey hair, however, made him look older, forming a kind of crown around the baldness that had already pushed his hairline back off his forehead. His eyes went from one face to another like those of a frightened animal. He was biting his lip, giving the impression that his mind, still wandering in the mists of unconsciousness, was engaged in intense reflection.
‘My dear fellow,’ said the doctor, ‘it is for you to enlighten us. We found you—’
Nicolas seized him by the arm to stop him saying any more. ‘Asleep and wounded,’ he said. ‘I am a police commissioner at the Châtelet. Could you tell us what happened to you?’
‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ replied the major-domo. ‘I went to bed very late, and now I wake up and find you here! Did someone attack me while I was asleep?’
‘Come on,’ said Nicolas. ‘Make an effort to collect your thoughts. We need to know your exact whereabouts last night.’
‘Monseigneur was away. He was at Versailles with the King. Madame, indisposed as she so often is, did not dine. At about eleven o’clock, I had a last look around the house and then came up to bed.’
‘Did you go down to the kitchens?’
The man showed no particular emotion. ‘I had no reason to do so, the fires had been out since Saturday. So I came back to my room.’
‘Did you have a candle?’
‘Yes, you can see the candlestick there, on the desk.’
‘And then?’
‘I undressed, blew out the candle, and fell asleep.’
‘The candle in that candlestick?’
‘Of course.’
‘Where was it?’
‘Here.’ And he pointed to a small marquetry bedside table on his left, half hidden by the bed curtains.
‘Why is it on the desk now?’ asked Nicolas. ‘Was it you who moved it?’
Missery shook his head.
‘You, then, Doctor?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Go on,’ said Nicolas.
‘I fell asleep.’
‘Did you have any visitors?’
He sensed a kind of imperceptible hesitation in the way the major-domo replied, ‘No, nobody.’
‘Doctor,’ said Nicolas, ‘may I have a word with you for a moment in private?’
He drew him into the corridor, leaving Bourdeau to watch over the wounded man.
‘In your opinion, could that wound, which you described as benign, have led to a significant loss of blood?’
‘It’s strange that you should ask me that question,’ replied the doctor. ‘Just now, when I was replacing the bandage, I had another look at the cut. No vein or major vessel was damaged. There was no haemorrhage. And there are hardly any bloodstains on the man’s breeches!’
‘That tallies with my own observation. So what do you make of his loss of consciousness?’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t let that go to your head: some sensitive people faint at the slightest nick. There’s no accounting for it! Anyway, our man doesn’t appear to be aware of the gravity of the situation, and certainly isn’t reacting like someone who has just tried to kill himself.’
They went back into the room.
‘How is it, Monsieur,’ Nicolas resumed, ‘that you are not in your nightshirt?’
The man touched himself, and seemed only now to become aware of what he was wearing. ‘I have no idea. I put on a freshly ironed nightshirt last night.’
‘It’s nowhere to be found,’ said Bourdeau.
Missery seemed both appalled and frightened by this observation.
‘Monsieur,’ said Nicolas, ‘what was your relationship with the Duchesse de La Vrillière’s chambermaid, Marguerite Pindron?’
For the first time since the beginning of the interrogation, Missery looked up with a kind of contained fury. ‘She’s my mistress. Everyone will tell you that and it’s true, and I defy anyone to …’ He broke off.
‘To what?’ asked Nicolas.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Jean Missery, you have to face certain facts. You are accused and suspected of having murdered your mistress, Marguerite Pindron, and of having tried to kill yourself in order to escape the just punishment for such a crime. As of now, you are in the hands of the law. On my orders, your condition permitting, you will be taken to the royal prison of the Châtelet to await the decision of the Criminal Lieutenant and an investigation of the case. This arrest does not imply a final judgement on your actions, but forms part of the necessary precautionary measures when there has been a murder. I can assure you that everything will be done to either invalidate or confirm the facts and presumptions for which you may well feel the full weight of the law.’
As he listened to Nicolas’s solemn words, the major-domo collapsed on his bed, weeping, gasping and wringing his hands. He was soon nothing but a shapeless heap.
‘Bourdeau,’ said Nicolas, ‘call the officers and have this man conducted to his destination. Make sure he’s bound and guarded.’
Nicolas was still haunted by the memory of a sad case in which a suspect had killed himself in his cell. He felt that a surfeit of precautions and the observation of simple rules was necessary to avoid any recurrence of such a tragedy. Monsieur de Gévigland and Bourdeau helped Missery to his feet. He was made to put on his coat, which the commissioner took hold of for a moment and examined attentively. Bourdeau picked up the shoes and had a good look at them before helping the major-domo to put them on. The officer at the door of the room called his colleagues, and the suspect was taken away, closely guarded by the men from the Châtelet.
Nicolas turned to the doctor. ‘Monsieur,’ he said, ‘I thank you for your valuable assistance and your very helpful comments. We will doubtless have need of your testimony.’
‘I am at your disposal, Commissioner. Rest assured of my continued assistance. In addition, I would be honoured and delighted if one day, at your convenience, you would come
