The Dream Killer of Paris Read Online Free PDF

8 . Not to mention the repercussions of the Stavisky case. The public have a terrible impression of both politicians and the police. One spark is all it would take for the whole thing to blow up.’
    A sentence in the newspaper caught my eye. I hadn’t taken in all of the relevant information the first time I read it.
    Pierre Ducros, for a time a member of the Surrealist movement, had come to attention a few months earlier with his magnificent collection of poems entitled La Forme des rêves.
    ‘Hmm!’ I said, holding a match up to the end of my cigarette holder.
    For a few moments I was distracted by the cloud of blue smoke wafting around my head, drifting slowly towards the large electric light on the ceiling.
    I had read numerous texts by the Surrealists, particularly those by André Breton ( Nadja and the two manifestos). I knew that they were fascinated by dreams; indeed dreams were one of their main sources of inspiration. The title of Pierre Ducros’s recent collection clearly indicated that his interest in the study of dreams hadn’t faded either. As for the Marquis de Brindillac, as Fourier had said, he was a scientist who had devoted himself to the analysis of sleep phenomena and whose career had been taking a psychic turn for some time. Both men believed that their dreams were of major importance. Now, they had both died within a few months of each other in extraordinary circumstances, from a violent, incomprehensible fear while their minds wandered through the land of dreams … or nightmares.
    Was it just a coincidence? Or was the Paris-Soir journalist was right? Was there a mystery surrounding the deaths of Brindillac and Ducros? Or had the journalist just come up with the Deadly Sleep phrase because it made a catchy headline?
    ‘How do you intend to proceed, Superintendent?’ I asked, realising that I was more intrigued by this story than I had expected.
    ‘Firstly, by paying a visit to Château B—. I have an appointment with the examining magistrate appointed by the Versailles public prosecutor early tomorrow afternoon. Just between you and me, until yesterday the Justice Minister wanted nothing to do with the death of the Marquis de Brindillac, the public prosecutor couldn’t care less either and the general public likewise. Now, everyone wants to stick their oar in.’
    With a gulp Fourier swallowed the rest of his Burgundy. Wiping a drop of wine from his moustache, he declared in a detached tone: ‘I say! I’ve just had a thought. Since you’re on holiday in our beautiful city, why don’t you come to the château with me tomorrow? You can share your thoughts with me. You can make room in your schedule, surely, to give up a day to shed some light on this case.’
    I couldn’t help smiling. The trap was a little obvious but it had worked perfectly. As Fourier had said, it was certainly mysterious and I also found it rather gratifying, that at the age of twenty-five, my services were required by one of Paris’s leading detectives. Besides, I’d promised James that I wouldn’t let a case slip through my fingers if it presented itself and that I’d alert him as soon as possible. And, in return, Fourier could help me gain access to certain archives for my investigation into Nerval’s death.
    ‘Yes, yes,’ I said. ‘But I warn you, tomorrow evening I will return to 1855.’
    ‘Glad to hear it!’ retorted Fourier. ‘Let’s meet tomorrow at half past eleven at the Gare d’Orsay.’
    ‘What? Aren’t we going by car?’
    ‘Our vehicle has been at the garage for the last two weeks. The Sûreté Nationale might have been allocated more funds but it’s hard to tell sometimes.’
    We had spent longer than expected chatting in the café. Outside, night had almost fallen.
    ‘I must go!’ exclaimed Fourier, looking at his watch. ‘As we speak, the head of the Sûreté and the Préfet de Police are meeting the Interior Minister, Monsieur Sarraut. I imagine he is going to demand close