Читать книгу The Predator of Batignolles: 5th Victor Legris Mystery - Claude Izner - Страница 14

At lunchtime there was no one left in the shops on Rue de la Paix. A wave of clerks and female workers headed for the cheap eateries on the Boulevards. Dressmakers, salesmen, seamstresses and clerks jostled one another, pushing past the cashiers from Crédit Lyonnais who were enjoying a smoke in the doorways of the restaurants where they would feast on boiled beef and bacon stew. A pair of constables eyed up the apprentice dressmakers in their white blouses, black skirts and coloured ankle boots forced onto the road by the crowds. A laundress paused in a doorway, took a croissant and a slab of chocolate out of her bag and began eating, oblivious to the bawdy comments of a housepainter sitting astride his stepladder. Gradually, the neighbourhood fell silent. The only people left were a news vendor sitting in her kiosk, a bread roll on her lap; a concierge sweeping the pavement vigorously; and a lad in an apron listlessly cleaning a jeweller’s shop window under the watchful eye of a constable.

A donkey and cart pulled up next to the constable. The driver, a youth of seventeen or eighteen, doffed his cap.

‘Excuse me, Constable, could you direct me to Bridoire’s Jeweller’s, please?’

‘It’s right here,’ said the copper, pointing at the shop window, which the lad in the apron had just finished cleaning.

‘Bother, it’s closed! I was supposed to deliver a crate here this morning. I won’t have time this afternoon. What if I leave it in the doorway? Nobody would dare steal it with you around …’

The constable paused, scratched his head then nodded.

‘All right, son. The shop assistants will be back at one thirty.’

Together they heaved the crate up against the shop door.

‘It weighs a ton. What have you got in there, lead?’ asked the policeman.

‘It’s marble. Much obliged to you!’

The cart moved off down Rue Gaillon, briskly overtaking two cabs and an omnibus, then turned into Rue de Choiseul.

Constable Sosthène Cotret discharged his mission with remarkable zeal considering he stood to gain nothing. In the meantime he allowed himself the pleasure of contemplating an amber smoking kit, which was displayed next to a gold-plated tumbler and a set of sapphire jewels. He pictured himself blowing smoke rings into Inspector Pachelin’s face, and imagined his superior gazing enviously at Madame Julienne Cotret wafting through the police station in a sparkling tiara.

He was so rapt in his daydream that he didn’t notice the same cart pulling up three quarters of an hour later. The young delivery man had to tap him on the shoulder, immediately apologising for his forwardness.

‘I only delivered the wrong blooming crate, didn’t I? My boss almost killed me! I’ve brought the right one this time. Would you mind helping me swap them over?’

They replaced the first crate with the second. Sosthène Cotret’s joints groaned under the strain and he cursed his bad luck for being allotted this beat.

‘Blimey, what a weight! Is this marble, too?’

‘Yes. The difference is this one’s red and the other one’s black. Much obliged, Constable.’

Sosthène Cotret cursed as he rubbed his aching back, knowing that his blasted sciatica would soon make him pay for his obliging nature.