The Phantom of Rue Royale Read Online Free PDF

an unfinished, undecorated room which looked as if it belonged in a barracks rather than a palace. He opened a door and found that he had come out on the floor where the drawing rooms were. Here, the guests were crowded around the balconies. There was as much bustle as in an overturned hive. Some people had gathered at the windows, where they jostled for a view of the square, others were holding forth. Nicolas had the feeling that he was watching some absurd spectacle, a comedy or ballet in which automata endlessly repeated the same gestures. Nobody paid him any heed, even though his filthy appearance should have attracted notice.
    He got back to the staircase leading to the attic. As he climbed it, he heard Semacgus’s solemn tones alternating with the sharper voice of Monsieur de La Briche. They were both coming downstairs so quickly that they almost fell into Nicolas’s arms. With the disaster on the square increasing in scale, Monsieur de La Briche had tried to send for Nicolas, only to find the lock of the door that led to the roof obstructed by a mysterious object in gilded metal, a kind of spindle, which he now gave to the commissioner. The key itself was lying on the ground. Clearly, someone had been playing a practical joke on the spectators on the roof. He would see to it that the culprit was found – probably an insolent footman, or else one of those pages in blue who, in spite of their youth, considered themselves entitled to do anything because they were close to the throne.
    ‘Commissioner,’ said Monsieur de La Briche, ‘you must help me to restore a little order. The crush is terrible, and we have so many injured we don’t know what to do with them. They’re being brought in all the time. The City Guards are nowhere to befound. When things started to go wrong, their leader, Major Langlumé, went off to give orders to his men, and that’s the last anyone saw of him. On top of that, I keep hearing that there are bandits among the crowd attacking honest citizens.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Many of our guests have been drawing their swords to force their way through the crowd. A lot of people have been killed that way, not to mention those run down by carriages. The envoy from Parma, the Conte di Argental, has had his shoulder dislocated, and the Abbé de Raze, minister to the prince-bishop of Basle, was knocked down and is in a terrible state.’
    ‘Has Monsieur de Sartine been informed of what is happening?’ Nicolas asked.
    ‘I dispatched a messenger to him. By now he should be acquainted with the gravity of the situation.’
    Two men entered, carrying an unconscious woman in a frilly dress, one of whose legs was hanging at an odd angle. Her bloodstained face had been so flattened that it no longer looked human. Semacgus rushed to her, but after a brief examination he rose and shook his head. Other bodies were arriving, equally devoid of breath. For a while, they helped to receive the injured with the meagre means at their disposal. Nicolas was waiting for the return of the emissary who had been sent to Sartine. When he did not reappear, Nicolas retrieved his coat and went outside in order to get a clearer picture of the disaster. He took Semacgus with him.
    After making their way through the crowds of people coming in and out of the building – some of them, they were annoyed to observe, mere idle onlookers – they emerged on Place Louis XV. The great noise of the festivities had died down, but cries andmoans rose on all sides. Nicolas ran straight into Inspector Bourdeau, his deputy, who was giving orders to some men of the watch.
    ‘Ah, Nicolas!’ he exclaimed. ‘We don’t know if we’re coming or going! The fire has been contained, the water pumps from La Madeleine and Saint-Honoré market have seen to that. Most of the criminals have scattered, although some are still trying to strip the dead of their belongings. The victims are being removed, and those bodies that have been identified