The Montmartre Investigation by Claude Izner Read Free Book Online Page A

Legris, already regret having read it. Poor France!’
    She exited imperiously before Kenji, who had stood to attention, had a chance to say goodbye.
    â€˜Was she referring to Monsieur Anatole?’
    â€˜She was lamenting the moral state of the country,’ Victor replied wearily. ‘Would you go and buy me a cigar, Joseph?’
    Jojo grabbed his newspaper, relieved to have an excuse to slip away. Kenji watched him leave and then went upstairs under the pretext of writing a letter. He stood at his desk, fiddling with the corner of his blotter and idly contemplating a very fine ink-on-silk drawing of Mount Fuji by Kanõ Tanyu, 10 which he planned to frame. Through his clouded vision, the volcano took on the form of an enormous, snow-capped shoe. What had he done with the shoe that had given him such a fright? He seemed to recall having dropped it in the bookshop, or had he left it in the carriage? He had nearly asked Joseph, but stopped himself just in time, for that would have meant mentioning Iris. The events of the previous evening had been so confused! His panic when he had recognised the shoe Joseph had proffered as one he had bought in London; his frantic race to the Bontemps Boarding School, expecting to learn some tragic piece of news; his dread of revealing his secret to Victor; his relief when Iris came running towards him, overjoyed at his surprise visit, and the explanation she had given for the lost shoe. He had been awake all night rehearsing the conversation he had now resolved to have with Victor, which he had put off for so long.
    He shut himself in the bathroom, and after holding his hands under the hot-water tap for a moment placed them over his face. He looked at a photograph in an ornate frame that stood on a marble shelf above the washbasin: Daphné and Victor, London 1872. A young, dark-haired woman was lovingly embracing a boy of around twelve and staring at the camera with a dreamy expression. Kenji picked up the portrait and pressed it to his lips.
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    Joseph walked, reading his newspaper so avidly that he narrowly avoided colliding with a passer-by.
    â€˜Well, I’ll be damned!’ he muttered.
    He hurried back, racing through the bookshop to where Victor stood, holding a leather-bound volume.
    â€˜I thought you were never coming back. Where’s my cigar?’ asked Victor.
    â€˜Just listen to this, Boss! The dead woman at Killer’s Crossing had no shoes on! And guess what? She was dressed in red.’
    â€˜Joseph, when will you get over your morbid interest in murders?’ groaned Victor.
    â€˜But, Boss, it’s astonishing, because yesterday this strange fellow came in here with a red shoe and you’ll never guess what he’d found in it: a piece of the bookshop’s headed notepaper, and when Monsieur Mori saw it he turned so crimson I thought he was ill again!’
    â€˜When Monsieur Mori saw what?’ Victor asked, exasperated.
    â€˜The shoe! He sent me out to hail a cab while he got dressed quick as a flash. He was in a right old panic!’
    â€˜And you let him go! Well done!’
    â€˜Confound it! Am I a shop assistant or a nursemaid?’
    â€˜Just calm down and tell me exactly what happened.’
    â€˜Very well, I shall speak clearly to avoid confusion. The chap with the shoe reeked of goats and looked like a peasant. He talked so loudly that Monsieur Mori overheard him. I had no choice but to show him the shoe. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost!’
    â€˜Do you know where he went?’
    â€˜Saint-Mandé 15 Chausée de l’Étang. That’s the address he shouted to the cabby.’
    â€˜Where is this shoe?’
    Victor carefully examined the slipper Joseph took from his pocket. On the inside he noticed the name of the manufacturer printed in gold lettering:
    Dickins & Jones, Regent Street, London W1
    â€˜Blimey! Made in England,’ Jojo breathed, leaning over his shoulder. ‘Do you