Richelieu returned his attention to Laincourt, who, throughout this exchange, had remained unperturbed.

"You do not appear to be afraid of the fate that awaits you, monsieur. Yet I a.s.sure you that it is an unenviable one.... Are you are a fanatic?"

"No, monseigneur."

"Then enlighten me. How is it that you remain so calm?"

"Your Eminence knows the reason, or already guessed it."

The cardinal smiled, while Saint-Georges could no longer contain himself, taking a step forward, hand on his sword.

"Enough of this insolence! Answer!"

Richelieu was once again forced to dampen his captain's ardour.

"I wager, monsieur de Laincourt, that you have a doc.u.ment that protects you hidden away somewhere safe."

"Indeed."

"It's a letter, isn't it? Either a letter or a list."

"Yes."

"There is always too much being written down.... What would you require in exchange for it?"

"Life. Freedom."

"That is a lot to ask."

"Furthermore, there will not be an exchange."

Saint-Georges was dumbstruck, while the cardinal frowned and, elbows on the table, gathered his fingers to form a steeple in front of his thin lips.

"You won't exchange," he resumed. "Will you sell?"

"No, I won't sell either."

"Then I don't understand."

"The letter in question will cease to protect me once it is in your hands, and one does not remove one's armour when faced by the enemy."

"The enemy can promise to make peace...."

"The enemy can promise all it likes."

This time Richelieu lifted his hand even before his captain reacted. The secretary, on his stool, seemed hesitant to take down this retort. A log shifted in the hearth, and the fire gained new strength.

"I want this letter," the cardinal declared after a moment. "Given that you are not prepared to divest yourself of it, I could turn you over to the torturer. He will make you reveal where you have hidden it."

"I have placed it in the care of a reliable person. A person whose rank and birth protects them. Even from you."

"Such people are rare. Throughout the entire kingdom, they can be counted on the fingers of one hand."

"A hand wearing a steel glove."

"English steel?"

"Perhaps."

"A clever move."

Laincourt bowed slightly.

"I attended a good school, monseigneur."

Richelieu dismissed the compliment with a vague gesture, as one might wave away an annoying insect.

"This person of whom we speak, do they know the nature of the paper you have entrusted to them?"

"Certainly not."

"So what do you propose?"

"Monseigneur, you are misleading when you say you desire to find this letter."

"Really?"

"Because instead you wish to destroy it, don't you? What you desire, above all, is that this letter should remain unread by anyone, ever."

The cardinal sat back in his armchair and signalled to the secretary to stop writing.

"I think I guess your intentions, monsieur de Laincourt. You want your life and your liberty, and in return you would pledge that this overly compromising letter remains where it is. And thus it would continue to guarantee your safety: if I were to incarcerate you for too long, or kill you, its secret would be revealed. But what guarantees can you offer me in return?"

"Nothing will protect me from you if I reveal the secret of this letter, monseigneur. And I know that wherever I go, it will never be far enough to escape you. If I want to live-"

"But do you want to live, monsieur de Laincourt?"

"Yes."

"In that case, think instead of your masters. Think of the Black Claw. The lever that you employ with me will not work with them. On the contrary, the Black Claw has every interest in seeing the secret that binds us be revealed. So, who will protect you from them? I should even say: who will protect us us from them?" from them?"

"Do not trouble yourself on that account, monseigneur. With respect to the Black Claw, I have also made certain arrangements."

The cardinal then drew the secretary's attention and indicated the door. The man understood and went out, taking his writing tablet with him.

"You also, monsieur," said Richelieu addressing Saint-Georges.

The captain at first thought he had misheard.

"Excuse me, monseigneur?"

"Leave us, please."

"But monseigneur! You cannot seriously think I would leave you!"

"Never fear. Monsieur de Laincourt is a spy, not an a.s.sa.s.sin. Besides, I only need to call out to have you return, is that not so?"

Regretfully, Saint-Georges left the room and as he was closing the door, he heard: "You are most decidedly a very prudent man, monsieur de Laincourt. Explain to me what this is all about...."

14.

"He no longer lives here, messieurs."

"Since how long?"

"Some time."

La Fargue and Leprat were questioning the owner of an inn on rue de la Clef, in the faubourg Saint-Victor. While Almades guarded the horses outside, the other two had taken a table, ordered wine, and invited the innkeeper to bring a third gla.s.s for himself.

"Have a seat, monsieur. We'd like to talk to you."

The man hesitated for a moment. Wiping his big red hands on his stained ap.r.o.n, he looked around the room, as if making sure that he had nothing better to do. Then he sat down.

La Fargue knew that Castilla, the chevalier d'Ireban's companion in debauchery, had been lodging here. Unfortunately, that was no longer the case.

"Be more precise, if you please. When did he leave?"

"Let me see.... It was about a week ago, I think. He took his things one night and never returned."

"In a hurry, then."

"I believe so, yes."

"Had he been lodging here long?" asked Leprat.

"About two months."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"No visitors?"

Suddenly wary, the innkeeper moved back in his chair.

"Why these questions, messieurs?"

The other two exchanged a look and La Fargue spoke again.

"Castilla has debts. He owes money, lots of money, to certain people. These people wish to recover what is owed them. They would prefer that their names not be mentioned but they are willing to be most generous. You understand?"

"I understand. Gambling debts, is it?"

"Indeed. How did you guess?"

The innkeeper had the satisfied smile of one who, without saying anything, wants to give the impression of knowing much.

"Bah.... Just an idea, like that-"

"His room," Leprat interrupted. "We want to see it."

"Well ..."

"What? Have you let it to someone else?"

"No, but Castilla has paid for the month. Whether he uses the room or not, it is still his. Would you be happy to think I had opened the door to your room for strangers?"

"No," conceded La Fargue.

"So what do I tell him if he returns tomorrow?"

"You shall tell him nothing. And what's more, you shall send word to me at the address that I shall indicate to you shortly...."

The captain drew from his grey doublet a purse-small but full-which he pushed across the table to the innkeeper. It was swiftly s.n.a.t.c.hed up.

"Follow me, messieurs," said the man as he rose.

They accompanied him upstairs where the innkeeper unlocked a door thanks to a ring of keys attached to his belt.

"This is the room," he announced.

He pushed the door open.

The room was modest but neat, with walls daubed in beige and an unpolished wood floor. The sole furniture consisted of a stool, a small table upon which was placed a water pitcher and a basin, and a stripped bed whose straw mattress was folded back. A chamber pot was turned over on the sill of the window that opened onto the street.

The place had been tidied up and, perfectly anonymous, awaited a new lodger. The two Blades exchanged glances and sighed, doubting that they would find much of interest here.

Nevertheless, to allow Leprat a chance to inspect the room in peace, La Fargue kept the innkeeper busy in the corridor.

"You didn't tell us if Castilla had any visitors...."