library, the most imposing room of the three and also the most suffocating. Bookshelves took up every inch of space; they covered entire walls and surrounded the windows and door frames. It was as if the idea of having shelves right up to the ceiling had tickled the old Marquis. Against this backdrop of paper, leather and ink, a large mirror hung over the fireplace. Nearby, a wing chair, a desk and, in the middle, an immense table, also covered in paper, were the only pieces of furniture.
On the other side of the library, a large old door, rounded at the top, had been left open. Through the doorway we could see into the work room in the middle of one of the châteauâs towers. Was it the thickness of the heavy door which had managed to hold back the frenzied march of books? In any case, the room didnât seem to suffer from the same excess. âOnlyâ four or five hundred books occupied the shelves between two narrow windows. Otherwise, the room was remarkably austere, mellow and peaceful, particularly as a bed (yes, a bed, a little camp bed with a pillow and thick blanket) had pride of place in the middle, like an invitation to sleep and dream.
âMy word!â exclaimed the superintendent. âNever in my life have I seen so many books!â
âThe Marquis was amazingly methodical in the way he organised them,â I observed, examining the shelves. âIn the study he kept his books on poetry and literature; in the library those on science. Over here we have medicine; over there anatomy; on the other side physiology and so on.â
âAnd over there?â asked the judge, pointing to the work room.
I went through the low door and approached curiously.
âSpiritualism, paranormal studies, occultism, alchemyââ I chanted as I consulted their spines.
Behind me I heard the deep voice of Dupuytren.
âSuperintendent! Thereâs nothing in the study!â
The idea of carrying out the same task in the library couldnât have excited him but the impassive hound appeared to consider it a point of honour never to reveal his emotions.
âNothing on the floor and nothing on the walls!â he added.
âI donât really think thereâs any point exhausting ourselves,â I said, coming out of the tower room. âWe wonât find anything in here.â
âFine, thatâs enough, Raymond.â
âBut there is one thing thatâs bothering me.â
âWhatâs that?â
âAre you sure that the Marquisâs bedroom was exactly as it is now?â I asked Second Lieutenant Rouzé. âWasnât there something that was here on Saturday morning which isnât here today?â
âNo, sir. As I told the superintendent earlier, nothing has been moved, Iâm sure of it. Nothing added, nothing taken away.â
âItâs strange. The Marquis was surrounded by books. He was an avid reader to put it mildly.â
âAnd?â asked Judge Breteuil in surprise.
âWell, someone like that doesnât go to sleep without reading first. It would have been as essential as eating or drinking. Itâs inconceivable that he went to bed without a book at his side.â
âThere was nothing, I can assure you.â
âWith all the hours he devoted to reading, I imagine he wanted to do something else when he went to bed,â said Fourier with a shrug.
âI canât believe it,â I said, scratching my nose. âEither the book was put back accidentally by someone who thought they were being helpful and, with a bit of luck, that person will remember when we ask them. Or ⦠itâs still there!â
I crossed the library and the study briskly and bent down in front of the big four-poster bed. Fourier and Dupuytren followed me, but the examining magistrate, the clerk and the second lieutenant hung back, looking very sceptical.
First, I opened the drawer in the bedside table; it was
Josh Greenfield
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Eric Chevillard
Summer Newman