Anne Perry: Half Moon Street

How could Pitt now question him again? He would appear to be calling Meissonier a liar, which, considering he was a foreign diplomat- a guest in England, as he had pointed out-would be sufficient to cause an unpleasant incident for which Pitt would rightly get the blame.

The answer was that he must find some other excuse to call. But what could that be? Meissonier had denied all connection with the corpse. There were no questions to ask him.

Pitt was already at the door. He must either knock or continue along the street. He knocked.

The door was opened by a footman in full livery.

“Yes sir?”

“Good afternoon,” Pitt said hastily. He produced a card and handed it to the footman, speaking at the same time. “One of your diplomats was reported missing, I now believe in error, according to Monsieur Meissonier. However, before I alter the police record I should like to speak to the person who made the original report. It would look better if he were the person to withdraw it. Tidier. .”

“Indeed? Who would that be, sir?” The footman’s expression did not change in the slightest.

“I don’t know.” He had only just thought of the excuse. He should have asked the constable at Horseferry Stairs, but it had not mattered then. “The gentleman reported missing is Monsieur Bonnard. I imagine it would be whoever he works with, or is his friend.”

“That will be Monsieur Villeroche, I daresay, sir. If you care to take a seat I shall ask when he is able to see you.” He indicated several hard-backed leather benches, and left Pitt to make himself, if not comfortable, at least discreet.

The footman returned within minutes.

“Monsieur Villeroche will see you in a quarter of an hour, sir. He is presently engaged.” He said no more, and left Pitt to make up his own mind if he wished to wait.

As it turned out, Monsieur Villeroche must have finished with his visitor earlier than expected. He came out into the hallway himself to find Pitt. He was a dark, good-looking young man dressed with great elegance, but at the moment he was obviously perturbed. He looked in both directions before approaching Pitt.

“Inspector Pitt? Good. I have a small errand to run. Perhaps you would not mind walking with me? Thank you so much.” He did not give Pitt time to refuse. He ignored the footman and went to the door, leaving Pitt to follow behind. “Most civil of you,” he said as he stepped outside.

Pitt was obliged to walk smartly to keep up with him until they were around the corner of the next street, where Villeroche stopped abruptly.

“I. . I’m sorry.” He spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “I did not wish to speak where I might be overheard. The matter is. . delicate. I do not mean to cause embarrassment for anyone, but I am concerned. .” He stopped again, seemingly uncertain how to continue.

Pitt had no idea whether he knew of the body at Horseferry Stairs or not. The midday newspapers had carried the story, but possibly none of them had reached the embassy.

Villeroche lost patience with himself. “I apologize, monsieur. I reported to your excellent police that my friend and colleague Henri Bonnard has disappeared. . that is to say, he is not where we would expect to find him. He is not at his work, he is not at his apartment. None of his friends have seen him in several days, and he has missed appointments of business as well as social functions at which he was expected.” He shook his head quickly. “That is most unlike him! He does not do these things. I fear for his welfare.”

“So you reported him missing,” Pitt concluded. “Monsieur Meissonier has told us that he is on leave. Is it possible he went without the courtesy of informing you?”

“Possible, of course,” Villeroche agreed, not taking his eyes from Pitt’s face. “But he would not have missed his duties. He is an ambitious man who values his career, at least. . at least he would not jeopardize it for a trivial matter. He might. . er. .” He was obviously at a loss, trying to explain himself without saying more than he intended, and driven to speak at all only by the most acute anxiety.

“What sort of man is he?” Pitt asked. “What does he look like? What are his habits, his pastimes? Where does he live? What parties were these that he missed?” His mind pictured the man in the punt and the extraordinary green velvet dress. “Does he enjoy the theatre?”

Villeroche was patently uncomfortable. His gaze did not waver from Pitt’s, as if he willed him to understand without the necessity of words.

“Yes, he is fond of. . of. . entertainment. Perhaps not always. . what His Excellency the Ambassador would have best approved. Not that he is. .”

Pitt rescued him. “Did you hear that we found the body of a man in a boat in the river this morning, at Horseferry Stairs? He answers the description of Henri Bonnard. Monsieur Meissonier was good enough to come to look at it, and he said it was not he. He seemed quite certain. But he also said Monsieur Bonnard was on leave.”

Villeroche looked wretched. “I had not heard it. I am most sorry. I do hope. . I profoundly hope it is not Henri, but I am equally sure that he is not on leave.” His eyes were steady on Pitt’s face. “He had an invitation to attend a play by Oscar Wilde, and to dine with Monsieur Wilde and his friends afterwards. He did not go. That is not a thing he would do without the most abject apology and an explanation to satisfy an examining magistrate, let alone a playwright!”

Pitt felt a sinking in his stomach.

“Would you like to go to the morgue and see if this man is Bonnard, and be certain in your own mind?” he offered.

“The morgue!”

“Yes. It is the only way you will satisfy yourself.”

“I. . I suppose it is necessary?”

“Not to me. Monsieur Meissonier has said Bonnard is not missing. I have to accept that. Therefore it cannot be him.”

“Of course. I will come. How long will it take?”

“In a hansom we can be there and back in less than an hour.”

“Very well. Let us make haste.”

Ashen-faced and deeply unhappy, Villeroche stared at the face of the dead man and said it was not Henri Bonnard.

“It is most like him.” He coughed and held his handkerchief to his face. “But I do not know this man. I am sorry for having taken your time. You have been most civil. Please, in no circumstances mention to Monsieur Meissonier, or anyone else, that I came here.” He turned and all but ran out of the morgue and scrambled up into the hansom again, directing it back to the embassy so hastily Pitt had to jump after him not to be left on the pavement.

“Where does he live?” he asked, flinging himself into the seat as the cab pulled away.

“He has rooms in Portman Square,” Villeroche replied. “But he isn’t there. . ”

“More precisely?” Pitt persisted. “And names of one or two other friends or associates who might know more?”

“Second floor of number fourteen. And I suppose you could ask Charles Renaud or Jean-Claud Aubusson. I’ll give you their addresses. They. . they don’t work at the embassy. And of course there are Englishmen also. There is George Strickland, and Mr. O’Halloran.” He fumbled in his pocket and did not find what he wanted.

Pitt habitually carried all sorts of things. It had been the despair of his superiors when they saw him more frequently, and even now Commissioner Cornwallis, who had been in the navy before taking up his present appointment, found Pitt’s untidiness hard to tolerate. Now he pulled out string, a pocketknife, sealing wax, a pencil, three shillings and sevenpence in coins, two used French postage stamps he was saving for Daniel, a receipt for a pair of socks, a note to remind himself to get his boots mended and buy some butter, two mint humbugs covered in fluff, and a small pad of paper. He handed the pencil and paper to Villeroche, and put the rest back.