Page 58 of The Count’s Charade

Sir James raised his brows. “Ah, interested now, are you? No, sir, if you won’t co-operate with me, I’m damned if I co-operate with you. You’ll find out my reasons soon enough.”

Henri said no more, but took up the glass and sipped at the wine it contained. A good Chambertin. Had it paid duty? Or was it perhaps a perquisite of an excise officer’s job to make use of impounded liquor? An idle question he could not afford. At any moment, Jean-Marc would enter this room. He could not withstand a feeling of apprehension, and it was all he could do to prevent it from showing in his features. Not that he feared Jean-Marc, despite the man’s attempt upon his life. He feared rather what his former friend might say.

The only consolation lay in the notion he might possibly glean anything Loriot had told the English authorities. Apart from the fact of Henri’s revolutionary activities; that much he knew from Grace. Naturally, Jean-Marc had only given half the story.

Wooferton re-entered the room, and Henri rose automatically, unwilling to meet his enemy seated. Abruptly Jean-Marc Loriot was there, and Henri met the hostility in his eyes. How long since they had last met? More than these ill-fated two weeks. Longer since they had met as friends — or when Henri had still believed them to be friends.

Jean-Marc did not speak, but came to the table and looked enquiringly at Sir James Levisham. The magistrate signed to Henri to sit again, and he complied, his eyes never leaving Jean-Marc’s face.

“M’sieur Loriot, will you be kind enough to repeat what you told me of our friend Henri Rousselle here in our previous interview?”

Henri saw his enemy glance at him. “For the benefit of Citizen Rousselle? I believe he knows already these things.”

Sir James’s manner changed. “For my benefit, sir.” The emphasis on the last word gave Henri the distinct impression that the revolutionary title of “citizen” was not to the magistrate’s taste. “You are here for what reason?”

Jean-Marc’s lips compressed together, and for a moment Henri thought he was not going to answer. It was evidently a struggle.

“This man is an enemy of the République, m’sieur. It is my duty to bring him to justice.”

Henri found Sir James’s eyes upon him. “You hear, M’sieur Rousselle?”

“I hear, Sir James.”

“What have you to say?”

Sacré bleu! What should he say? He is come not to bring me to justice, but to see me dead. No, this was not the way. Let him instead challenge his erstwhile friend.

“I ask if Citizen Loriot will explain what is the crime of which I am accused.”

A muscle twitched in Jean-Marc’s cheek, and Henri was satisfied. Sir James was eyeing the man.

“Well, sir?”

“That is a matter for the Public Prosecutor of France, m’sieur.”

Oh, well evaded, Jean-Marc! “Citizen Loriot desires not that you will judge me, Sir James. It is possible that you do not agree with the public prosecutor, enfin.”

“What I’m in disagreement with,” barked Sir James, “is the occurrence of shootings in my parish! Did you or did you not, M’sieur Loriot, incur this man’s injury?”

There was a pause. How did Jean-Marc intend to get himself out of this one?

“This was an accident, m’sieur. My associate called to the accused to halt. He refused. My associate began to run after him. He lost his foot in the marsh, and the gun was fired.”

Henri almost laughed out. Did Sir James know the accuracy of Jean-Marc’s pistol hand, he could place no credence on this nonsense. A pretty story. Would it pass muster?

The magistrate was looking at him. “Does that march with your memory, M’sieur Rousselle?”

In no particular! But he was not going to take issue with Jean-Marc. “I was not in a condition to see who has fired on me. It was dark in the marsh.”

“Were you called upon to halt?”

“I heard only my name.”

“But you knew who it was calling?”

“Assuredly.”

“One of Loriot’s associates?” pursued Sir James.