A Man in Uniform by Kate Taylor Read Free Book Online Page A

handwriting expert.”
    “The letter does not match the captain’s handwriting. No reason that it should, since he didn’t write it. So, Bertillon testified that the letter did not look like the captain’s handwriting because he was purposely trying to disguise his hand by mimicking that of his brother and …” She paused here, and swallowed as though the theory pained her. “And that of his, uh, that of his wife, too.”
    “And your friend and her brother-in-law find that far-fetched?”
    “Yes.”
    “What do you think?” Dubon asked.
    “What do I think?” She seemed surprised by the question and let out a small laugh. “I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought because I know it’s not his handwriting.”
    “But what of Bertillon’s theory?” Dubon persisted.
    “Why would anyone go to the trouble of disguising his handwriting? It’s not as though the Germans would recognize the handwriting of a French officer, nor as though the culprit would expect to get caught. If he was going to sell secrets to the Germans, wouldn’t they want to know his identity anyway, to verify he had the goods? Maybe Bertillon was influenced by the nature of the assignment. If you are shown two handwriting samples and asked if they could possibly have been written by the same hand, you might be more likely to reach a positive conclusion than a negative one.”
    “Yes, that’s called leading the witness,” Dubon agreed. “Phrase the question the right way, you’ll get the answer you want.”
    “At any rate, I know the captain did not write this document, whatever it is. Anyone who knows him knows he couldn’t betray his country. To prove his innocence you just need to find whoever really wrote the letter.”
    She smiled brightly at him now and Dubon felt his stomach flutter. He wasn’t sure if it was the effect of her smile or the tenor of their conversation. Behind her girlish nervousness, she was, it turned out, highly intelligent. She just didn’t know much about legal procedure or have much information about the case. It was a bad combination: if he took on this impossible assignment, she would understand precisely how he had failed her when he inevitably flubbed it. He should find her another lawyer, now.
    “Let me read this file, Madame, and see what I come up with.”
    “Perhaps I can come and see you next week? Monday?” she asked eagerly.
    “Let’s say Wednesday or Thursday. Give me until Thursday,” said Dubon, stalling. “I will try and have a … well, some ideas for you by Thursday.”

FOUR
    “There is no one who works in our offices by that name, Monsieur.” The newspaper clerk was polite but firm. Sitting at a discreet desk with an even more discreet sign reading simply
La Presse
, he was stationed beside a small door in one corner of the large marble lobby of an apartment building not far from Dubon’s own offices. Many buildings in the neighborhood gave over the ground floor to commerce, but this one seemed slightly embarrassed that it had to share space with anything as grubby as the press, and the effect was to make Dubon feel even more unsure of his mission.
    “But there must be,” he persisted. “His name appears in the paper all the time. Look, I found it just last week.” He pulled out a folded paper. “Here it is, Azimut Martin.”
    “Yes, so I see, Monsieur,” said the clerk, not even bothering to turn his head to look at the byline on the page Dubon proffered. “But there is no one here by that name.”
    It was Monday and, after a visit to Madeleine on Saturday morning since he had not seen her in three days, Dubon had spent the rest of a rather subdued weekend going through the widow’s fat clipping file.Perhaps he would be better equipped to recommend a different lawyer if he understood the case a bit more. There were various names writing in various publications as well as many unsigned articles, most of them vigorously denouncing the traitor and congratulating the army