Game of Patience Read Online Free PDF Page B

shots in the street in ’ninety-two and ’ninety-three that she scarce thought anything of it, except to close the shutters and be grateful she was indoors. She’s a pretty stupid sort of female. They also think they could have heard someone running up and down the staircase. The family just above was out at the theater all evening, every damned one of them, including the servants, and they don’t know anything. Most people in the quarter were out for the day, since it was décadi and fine weather for a change.”
    Aristide nodded and they continued down the stairs to the porter’s lodging by the street door. The porter sat slouched at a table, a brandy bottle beside him.
    “Out in the hallway, if you please, Citizen Grangier,” Brasseur said. Eyes darting toward Brasseur’s tricolor sash, the porter shambled out to the foyer. The two men carrying the girl’s shrouded body stepped forward. With a swift movement, Brasseur jerked away the sheet.
    “Know her?”
    The porter recoiled and shook his head.
    “Sure? Take a good look.”
    “I—I don’t know who she is. I didn’t do it. I swear to God, I didn’t do it—”
    “No one is suggesting you did,” Brasseur said patiently. He gestured the man back into his lodging, muttering “Well?” to Aristide as he followed Grangier inside.
    “No,” said Aristide. “That’s not a man with murder on his conscience.”
    “I agree.” Brasseur sat on the nearest bench and gestured Aristide and Dautry, his secretary, to stools.
    “But I saw who did, citizen,” the porter said eagerly. “It must have been him that did it. I saw him on the staircase. First I heard footsteps going up the stairs. Very fast, they were. I didn’t see him then—I’d just woken from my afternoon nap—”
    “Isn’t that part of your job, to watch who goes in and out, and to direct callers toward the right apartment?”
    “Well, yes, but them as knows the house just come in. And if you need to know which floor somebody lives on, you can look at the names outside.”
    Aristide nodded. Since 1793, the law had required the names of all tenants to be inscribed on the outside of the house by the entrance.
    “So you heard someone running up the stairs,” he said. “What time was this?”
    “About six o’clock. Almost time to light the lamp in the foyer. I get up, and put my head out the door in case he needs anything, but he’s gone already. So I sit myself down again and have a dram of brandy and a bit of sausage I’ve been saving for my supper, and then a bit later I hear the footsteps again, coming down fast. It’s all stone and plaster in the stairway, you know, and the sound echoes. So I put my head out again and I just catch sight of him as he races out the door to the street.”
    “Did you see his face?”
    “No, just his back. He had on a dark coat and top boots. And long hair.”
    “Like mine?” Aristide said, pushing his own long hair away from his face.
    “Not so dark, citizen, and his was gathered back. Like I said, I didn’t get much of a glimpse of him. But when he came back—”
    “He came back ?” Brasseur exclaimed.
    “Yes, he came back, it might have been twenty minutes, a half hour later. That time I got a better look at him. He came running in again like all the devils of Hell were behind him, and I saw his face for a moment then as he passed me. A young fellow, very pale and scared looking.”
    “Scared looking?” Aristide said, glancing over at the secretary, who was furiously scribbling notes. “Are you getting all this, Dautry? Go on, Grangier; he was frightened of something?”
    “Well, no, not frightened, but upset. Like I said, he was white as a sheet.”
    “A young man? How old?”
    Grangier nodded, eyeing the brandy bottle. “Young. Closer to a boy than a man. Twenty-five, maybe. And thin.”
    “Please describe him as well as you can. His hair was dark brown, you say, but not as dark as mine? What about his eyes?”
    “Didn’t see. It