The Second Part

Rue Beldamme was a backstreet of tenement buildings in Paris's eighteenth arrondissement, an area popular with immigrants from francophone Africa. It lay close to the busy crossroads straddled by Metro Barbes Rochechouart. Inspector Dutruelle parked in the next street and walked the rest of the way, cursing because he had not brought his umbrella. The door to number 13b was swinging in the wind, its dark paint peeling badly. He stepped through into a narrow courtyard and found his way to the sixth-floor door on which a brass plaque read: " Professor Dhiakobli Spé cialiste des travaux occultes. Please ring". He stood there, breathing heavily from the stairs, and before he could press the bell the door opened and a man appeared.

" Please enter, my dear sir, " said the man with an elegant wave of the hand and exaggerated courtesy. " I am Dhiakobli. And I have the honour to meet...? "

As Inspector Dutruelle had imagined, Professor Dhiakobli was black. He had a short yet commanding figure, and was dressed in a well tailored grey suit. A large, silk handkerchief fell from his top pocket.

" For the moment, " said Inspector Dutruelle, " my name is hardly important. I've only come in response to your advertisement."

" Monsieur has perhaps some small problem with which I can help? A minor indiscretion? Please be seated, sir, and let us talk about the matter."

Inspector Dutruelle handed his coat and gloves to the Professor and sat in the large, well upholstered chair to which he had been directed. Professor Dhiakobli himself settled behind a large mahogany desk.

Professor Dhiakobli glittered with success. The frames of his glasses, the heavy bracelet on his right wrist and the watch on his left, the gem-studded rings on his fingers - all were of gold. From his manner and cultured French accent it was evident that he was an educated man. Around him the large room was like a shrine. Heavy curtains excluded the daylight (the only illumination was a small brass desklamp) and the dark, red walls were festooned with spears, costumes, photographs and other African memorabilia. There was a sweet smell in the air, and in one corner of the room the feathers of a ceremonial African headgear lay draped inappropriately over an enormous American refrigerator. You could not help being struck by the incongruity of this bizarre scene in the roughest quarter of Paris.

" As I say, " began Inspector Dutruelle, ignoring the Professor's question, " I saw your card and I wondered just how you work."

" And may one enquire as to monsieur's little difficulty? "

Inspector Dutruelle cleared his throat and tried to adopt as nonchalant an air as he could.

" Well, " - he coughed again - " first of all, I wondered what sort of things you can help people with."

The Professor's eyebrows rose.

" Anything, " he said slowly, his smile revealing a set of large white teeth that shone brilliantly in the dimness against his black skin. " My dear sir, anything at all."

" And what would a consultation involve? What does it... cost? "

Professor Dhiakobli wrung his hands and shrugged amicably.

" Mon cher monsieur, I do understand how distasteful it is to you to discuss so vulgar a matter as money. It has been my mission in life to help those who have suffered misfortune. And if some donate a small token of their gratitude, who am I to refuse their offering? They pay according to their means, to assist those who have little to offer. But for a preliminary consultation, monsieur, a nominal sum, as a mark of good faith, is usually in order. For a gentleman of your obvious standing, a trifle, a mere two hundred francs. And let me assure you, monsieur, of my absolute discretion. Nothing you may choose to tell me will go beyond these walls." He paused. Then he threw out his hands and added with a grin: " They have the sanctity of the confessional."

" I'm glad to hear it, " said the Inspector.

Inspector Dutruelle decided that he had nothing to lose by talking. He adopted the name of Monsieur Mazodier, a Parisien wine merchant, and began to tell the Professor of the dilemma that was tearing at his soul. He told him of the young Malagasy girl he had met while entertaining clients; of their instant and passionate love for one another; of her sudden irrational refusal any longer to give herself to him; and of the wife he now knew he should never have married but whom he had not the heart to leave. Monsieur Mazodier was at his wits' end and now even his business was suffering. He feared that if he did not find a resolution to his problem he might do something that he or others would regret. The Professor listened intently, asking appropriate questions at appropriate moments. Finally Inspector Dutruelle said: " Well, Professor Dhiakobli, I think that's all I can tell you. I don't think I can tell you anymore. From what I have told you, do you believe you can help me? "

For a long time there was silence. The Professor appeared to be in another world. He stared at Inspector Dutruelle, but seemed to be looking through him.

" My dear Monsieur Mazodier, " he said at last, very slowly, almost mechanically, " the story you have told me is most poignant. Each of us has a hidden corner in his life, a jardin secret. Yet it is rare indeed for men to come to me with problems such as yours. “

" So you can't help me? " said Inspector Dutruelle,

The Professor gave a start. Again, for a long time he did not answer. Then his teeth flashed in the dimness. " Certainly I can help you. But you must understand that it will not be easy. It calls for a special ceremony. In the first place, you are married, and I shall be required to work my influence on not one but two women. In the second, we are both men of the world, monsieur, and you will not be offended if I remark upon the extreme disparity in your ages. And finally, it is clear to me that this young girl has chained your heart with her magic. You know, the magic of Madagascar is very strong. No, monsieur, it will not be easy. Enduring love cannot be bought with money alone. Sometimes..." He hesitated and looked Inspector Dutruelle straight in the eye, his own eyes suddenly cold and vacant. " Sometimes, " he said, " we must make sacrifices."

" What sort of sacrifices? " asked Inspector Dutruelle dully.

" Oh, my dear sir, you must leave that to me. But one cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs." His cold eyes remained fixed on the Inspector and he spoke in a monotone without pausing for breath. " You must not concern yourself with technicalities, monsieur. Your mind must be fixed on the future, on the life you have dreamed of. You must envisage your wife - happy in the arms of another. You must picture the fragile young child you so yearn for... secure in your arms... sharing your life... your days... your nights. The perfect solution to all your problems. Is it not worth a considerable sum? "

" It certainly would be worth a lot..." Inspector Dutruelle muttered as the Professor's words came to life in his mind.

" Shall we say thirty thousand francs? "

" I'm sorry? " muttered the Inspector.

" Let's say fifteen thousand before and fifteen afterwards, " the Professor went on as though his visitor had not spoken. " Do you see, monsieur, how confident I am of success? "

Inspector Dutruelle did not reply. He was confused. He had not expected the Professor to be so blunt, or to propose quite so generous a token. But it did not seem to matter. After all, what was thirty thousand francs to achieve what he craved so desperately? And, in any case, at worst it was only fifteen thousand.

The Professor's eyes were still fixed on Inspector Dutruelle.

" Of course, monsieur, I have faith in your gratitude. I know that you will not forget, in your delight, that what I have done, I can undo. And now, monsieur, you must not allow me to detain you further. We have much work to do. In eight days you will return with photographs and details of Madame Mazodier and the Malagasy. And with some little articles of clothing, something close to their thoughts, say a scarf or a hat. You can arrange this? "

Inspector Dutruelle nodded blankly.

" Excellent, monsieur. I must know them in every detail - if I am to have a spiritual tê te-à -tê te with each of them. So, in fifteen days, you will return for the ceremony. It will take place beyond those curtains, in the space reserved for the ancestral spirits. Nobody but I and my assistants may enter there, but nevertheless it is imperative that you be present on the day. It must be at dawn, and you must come without fail - the ceremony cannot be deferred. Can you manage six in the morning, shall we say Monday the sixteenth? "

Inspector Dutruelle did not sleep well on the night of the fifteenth of December. At four o'clock in the morning he got out of bed. Though his wife stirred she did not wake. He lit a Gauloise and paced the room. Then he pulled the windows open and leaned on the railing, finishing his cigarette. Below him the courtyard was dark and silent, and above him the sky was black. But away in the east, through the open end of the court, a violet hue was creeping over Paris. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past five and a time to fetch the car. It would seem strange, leaving at that time of the morning without an official car and driver. Then he put the keys of the Renault in his coat pocket and checked that he had everything. As he did so the telephone rang. It startled him and he cursed aloud. He closed the front door again and hurried to answer the phone so that his wife should not wake.

" Inspector Dutruelle? " said the voice at the other end.

" Yes, what is it? "

" Sorry to disturb you at this time of the morning, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. It's the Pré fecture."

" Never mind the time, " said Inspector Dutruelle with as much irritation as his whispering voice could convey. " I'm off duty today."

" Well, that's the point, Inspector. The Pré fet's ordered us to call you specially. He appreciates you're not on duty, but he wants you anyway."

" It's quite impossible."

" I'm afraid he insists, sir."

" Why? "

" He insists you come on duty immediately, sir. We're sending a car round for you."

" Yes, yes, I understand, but why? "

" It's the Metro again, sir."

" The Metro? "

" Yes, sir. They've found another corpse on the line, decapitated again."

Inspector Dutruelle did not reply. He was cursing to himself. He was cursing the Pré fet, the police, this homicidal maniac, his wife. Why today? Why ever today?

" Sir? Hello sir? The car'll be with you in five minutes."

" Yes, all right. I'll be ready in five minutes."

" You'd better brief me on this as quick as you can, " he said wearily to the Detective Sergeant he had found waiting for him in the car. " Where was the body found? "

" Barbes Rochechouart, sir."

A cold shiver passed through the Inspector.

" I presume it's the same as the others? " he asked.

" Well, in as much as there's nothing to go on, it's the same, sir. Otherwise it couldn't be more different. For a start, we've just heard they've found two of them now. And this time they're women. One white, in her forties, and one black. A young black girl - still in her teens, by the look of things."

But Inspector Dutruelle was not listening. He was staring blankly through the glass to his right; it was the route he should have been taking in his own car.

Outside the station, now closed to passengers, people were standing around under the street lights with their collars up. Inspector Dutruelle got out of the car. He hesitated, shrugged and went down the station steps.

Underground, on the number four line, there was an air of gloom. Both bodies lay where they had been spotted by the first train-drivers through that morning. Inspector Dutruelle looked impassively at the first one. It was the body of a middle-aged woman, quite unexceptional, coarse and wiry, like his wife.

" She's forty-seven, Monsieur l'Inspecteur, " said somebody beside him. " French. Name of Madame Catherine Dubur." They strolled in their overcoats to the other end of the platform and went down the little steps that led to the track. A uniformed policeman pulled back the blanket that covered the second body, which lay on its back. Inspector Dutruelle stared dispassionately at the stiff, black limbs that stuck out awkwardly across the railway lines. Suddenly he shuddered in alarm. Even in the dim lights of the train that was pulled up beyond you could see the resemblance to Vololona.

" Identity? " he asked. He tried to control his voice.

" We don't know, sir - this is all we found, " said a policeman, handing him a tattered greetings card. Inside, in large, green handwriting, were the words: " Happy Nineteenth Birthday, from Everyone in Antananarivo."

" D'you think she's Malagasy, sir? " asked the policeman. The Inspector shrugged his shoulders, then held out an open hand.

" Your torch, please, " he said.

He played its beam over the body, up and down the long, slender legs, across the clothes. At least he did not recognise the clothes. Yet the body's size, its build, its colour, everything pointed to Vololona. He bent down and flashed the light onto the fingers of the left hand and laughed weakly to himself as he saw the tawdry rings that glinted back at him. He stood up in relief. That was certainly not Vololona. Yet it was uncanny how this body reminded him of her - and the other of Agnes, for that matter. Even the ages were the same.

He smoked as he stood staring at the headless corpse. He could not understand. Was the magic of Madagascar really so strong that now he saw Vololona everywhere? And what of Agnes? How would Professor Dhiakobli explain that? How could he explain it, when you came to think of it? When you came to think of it, he had explained very little. He had been happy enough to take the money, and free enough with his words - all those grandiose notions of mission and sacrifice and spiritual tê te-à -tê tes...

Inspector Dutruelle gasped. His heart had started to pound with a sense of danger and his head suddenly ached with questions. He took out his cigarette case and lit another Gauloise. Through its curling blue smoke, back-lit by the lights of the train, the black limbs were splayed out in a grotesque dance, while beside him men's voices were thrumming in his ear. Why was there no time to think, to extricate himself from this nightmare? He cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? He cursed his wife and Vololona. And Professor Dhiakobli. What madness had driven him to this? Then he cursed himself again, and turned abruptly to one of the men babbling at his side.

" What time is it? "

" Six-fifteen, sir."

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he called for the Detective Sergeant who was with the photographer at the other body.

" É coute Guy, when he's got his pictures they can move the bodies and fix things up, " he said. " Now get me the Pré fet."

The Pré fet was beside himself with rage at this further disturbance to his sleep, and he exploded with indignation when Inspector Dutruelle offered his resignation.

" Are you insane, man? You're in the middle of an investigation! "

" The investigation is over, Monsieur le Pré fet. "

" So, you have the killer at last! "

" In fifteen minutes, monsieur, in fifteen minutes."

" Then why in the name of God are you asking to be relieved from duty? "

" Monsieur le Pré fet, my position is impossible. On this occasion it was I that paid the killer, " he answered calmly as he took another cigarette from his silver cigarette case.

ENRICH YOUR VOCABULARY

I. Translate the following words and word combinations; insert them into the sentences below, mind that their form can be changed:

adv. amicably, adj. enduring n. hawkers

n. antithesis, to emerge adj. homicidal

to brief sb., to fiddle around n. indiscretion

to crave for, adj. frantic n. memorabilia

to curse, adj. grotesque, at sb’s wits' end

1. The truth finally … from under the lie.

2. His …cost him his marriage.

3. Even though they are identical twins, Joe and John are the … of each other.

4. The taxi driver … offered the poor lady a free ride.

5. The minister wished the newlyweds … happiness and love.

6. Ben … with the wires until he got the computer working again.

7. " Can you … me on the condition of the patient? " the doctor asked the nurse.

8. My sister … peaches through her whole pregnancy.

9. My uncle was … as the Christmas lights fell off the roof.

10. I bought this necklace from some … in Amsterdam.

11. The police were extremely concerned, because the criminal that got away was ….

12. They sell lots of 1950's … in the front lobby of the diner.

13. I am … trying to keep these ants out of the house.

14. The people grew …as the tornado got closer to the city.

15. They tried to avoid thinking about the poverty of native population of the West Indies and a lifestyle of … luxury colonizers enjoyed.

II. Find the contextual meaning for each given word and compare it with other meanings of the same word in a good dictionary. Prepare two sentences for each of the given words, showing their difference in the meanings. Adj. bleak, adv. brusquely, adj. cramped, to envisage, adj. exquisite, n. evidence, n. hue, n. trifle, to wring, to relieve.