They approached and examined the statue.
"We'll need to tilt it," said Bailleux. "It won't be easy."
The weight of the painted statue would indeed have posed a difficulty if Saint-Lucq had desired to preserve it intact. But he braced himself, pushed, and simply tipped the effigy of Saint Christophe over, to fall heavily onto the flagstones and break into pieces. Bailleux crossed himself at this act of sacrilege.
Someone had slipped a slender document pouch beneath the statue, and the cracked leather now lay exposed on the pedestal. The notary took it, opened it, and carefully unfolded a page torn from an old register of baptisms. The parchment threatened to come apart at the folds.
"This is it!" he exclaimed. "This is really it!"
The half-blood held out his hand.
"Give it to me."
"But will you tell me, finally, what this is all about? Do you even know?"
Saint-Lucq considered the question, and reached the conclusion that the notary had a right to this information.
"This piece of paper proves a certain person's legitimate right to an inheritance. One which is accompanied by a ducal coronet."
"My God!"
Bailleux wished to read the prestigious name which appeared on the page, but the half-blood swiftly snatched it from him. At first taken aback, the other man decided to be reasonable.
"It's . . . it's no doubt for the best this way. ... I already know too much, don't I?"
"Yes."
"So it's over now. I won't be troubled again."
"It will be over soon."
Just then, they heard riders arriving.
"Our horses!" gasped Bailleux, but keeping his voice down. "They're bound to see our horses!"
The riders came to a halt before the chapel but did not seem to dismount. The horses snorted as they settled. Inside the chapel the long seconds flowed by in silence. There was no means of exit other than the front doors.
Panicking, the notary could not understand the half-blood's absolute state of calm.
"They're going to come in! They're going to come in!"
"No."
With one sharp, precise move, Saint-Lucq stabbed Bailleux in the heart. The man died without comprehension, murdered by the man who had initially saved him. Before he died, his incredulous eyes found the emotionless gaze of his assassin.
The half-blood caught the body and laid it gently on the ground.
Then he wiped his dagger carefully and replaced it in its sheath as he walked toward the door with an even step and emerged into broad daylight. There, he put his red spectacles back on, raised his eyes to the heavens, and took a deep breath. Finally, he looked over at the five armed riders who waited before him in a row.
"It's done?" one of them asked.
"It's done."
"Did he really believe we were chasing you?"
"Yes. You played your part perfectly."
"And our pay?"
"See Rochefort about it."
The rider nodded and the troop left at a gallop.
Saint-Lucq followed them with his gaze until they disappeared over the horizon and he found himself alone.
13
It was early afternoon when they came for Laincourt.
Without a word, two of the gaolers at Le Chatelet took him from his dungeon cell and led him along dank corridors and up a spiral stairway. The prisoner did not ask any questions: he knew it would be futile. Both his ankles and his wrists had been unbound. Overly confident of their strength, the gaolers were only armed with the clubs tucked into their belts. But escape was not on the agenda as far as Laincourt was concerned.
They reached the ground floor and continued upward, which told Laincourt that they would not be leaving Le Chatelet. On the next floor, the gaoler walking ahead stopped before a closed door. He turned to the prisoner and gestured to him to hold out his wrists while his colleague bound them with a leather cord. Then he worked the latch and moved away. The other gaoler tried to push him forward, but Laincourt shoved back with his shoulder the moment he felt the other man touch him and entered of his own accord. The door was shut behind him.
It was a cold, low-ceilinged room, with a flagstone floor and bare walls. Sunshine fell in pale, oblique rays from narrow windows, former embrasures now equipped with frames and dirty panes of glass. There was a fireplace, where a fire had just been lit, and the heat was still struggling to dispel the prevailing damp. Candles were burning in two large candelabras on the table at which Cardinal Richelieu was sitting, wrapped up in a cloak with a fur collar. Wearing boots and dressed as a cavalier, he had kept his gloves on, while the wide hat he used to remain incognito outside the walls of the Palais-Cardinal was resting in front of him.
"Come closer, monsieur."
Laincourt obeyed and stood before the table, at a distance which offered no threat to Richelieu's security.