took much notice of him and it was rumoured he would soon be replaced. In any case, he was no taller than five feet eight. `Between 8.15 and 8.30,' Grelle continued, 'two other men arrived and walked into the Elysee—and they came back separately, a few minutes apart. One of them was my own boss, the Minister of the Interior, Roger Danchin. The other was the Minister of National Defence, Alain Blanc. Both of them as you know are the tallest men in the cabinet, both of them are over six feet tall. . .
Boisseau took the dead pipe out of his mouth and stared at the prefect. 'You don't really believe this? Danchin, Blanc— the two strong men in the government? Martin must have been having hallucinations.'
`I don't really believe anything,' Grelle replied coolly. 'All I do is to check the facts and see where they lead—as we do in any investigation. But as we have agreed, I'm telling you everything however absurd it may seem.'
`Absurd ? It's unbelievable. . .
`Of course.' Grelle picked up a report off his desk, talking as he scanned the first page. 'Something else has happened. David Nash, the American, has just been spotted arriving at Roissy airport this morning by a Surete man. And I have received a pressing invitation to a reception at the American Embassy this evening. You believe in coincidence, Boisseau ?'
Andre the Squirrel did not reply. He was gazing into the distance, as though trying to grasp a fact so great it was beyond his comprehension.
`Danchin or Blanc ?' he murmured.
* * *
It had been Roger Danchin's aim to become Minister of the Interior since he had been a youth, spending endless hours over his studies at the Ecole Normale d'Administration, the special school founded by de Gaulle himself to train future leaders of the French Republic. And while Guy Florian and Alain Blanc—at the Ecole Polytechnique—were the hares who forged ahead because of their brilliance, Danchin was the tortoise who got there in the end because he never stopped trying. Sometimes it is the tortoise which outlasts the hares.
By the time he was offered the post of Minister of the Interior, Roger Danchin, an intelligence expert, probably knew more about the French security system than any other man alive. Like Alain Blanc, over six feet tall, he had developed the stoop which tall men sometimes affect. Fifty-two years old, he was thin and bony-faced, a man with a passion for secrecy and a man who loved power. Blanc, who disliked him, summed up Danchin in a typical, biting anecdote. `Danchin would interrogate his own grandmother if he suspected she had changed her will—and after three hours under the arc lights she would leave him all the money. . . Danchin was at the height of his power when he summoned Grelle to see him just after the prefect returned from checking the Elysee register.
When the prefect entered the Minister's office on the first floor Danchin was standing by the window which overlooks a beautiful walled garden at the rear of the building, a garden the public never sees. 'Sit down, Grelle,' Danchin said, still staring down at the garden. 'I hear from Roissy that David Nash, the American, has just arrived in Paris. What do you think that implies ?'
`Should it imply something ?' Grelle inquired. By now he had grasped how this devious man's mind worked; rarely asking a direct question, Danchin tried to catch people out by encouraging them to talk while he listened.
`Something is happening, Grelle, I sense it. Strange also that he should arrive here so soon after the attempt on the president's life. . .'
`I don't see the connection,' Grelle stonewalled. 'But I have an invitation to the American Embassy this evening. . .'
`You are going ?' Danchin interjected sharply.
`Why not, Minister ? I may pick up something interesting. At least I should be able to answer your question as to why he has come to Paris. . .'
`And this woman, Lucie Devaud—has Boisseau found out something more about her ?
Boisseau took the dead pipe out of his mouth and stared at the prefect. 'You don't really believe this? Danchin, Blanc— the two strong men in the government? Martin must have been having hallucinations.'
`I don't really believe anything,' Grelle replied coolly. 'All I do is to check the facts and see where they lead—as we do in any investigation. But as we have agreed, I'm telling you everything however absurd it may seem.'
`Absurd ? It's unbelievable. . .
`Of course.' Grelle picked up a report off his desk, talking as he scanned the first page. 'Something else has happened. David Nash, the American, has just been spotted arriving at Roissy airport this morning by a Surete man. And I have received a pressing invitation to a reception at the American Embassy this evening. You believe in coincidence, Boisseau ?'
Andre the Squirrel did not reply. He was gazing into the distance, as though trying to grasp a fact so great it was beyond his comprehension.
`Danchin or Blanc ?' he murmured.
* * *
It had been Roger Danchin's aim to become Minister of the Interior since he had been a youth, spending endless hours over his studies at the Ecole Normale d'Administration, the special school founded by de Gaulle himself to train future leaders of the French Republic. And while Guy Florian and Alain Blanc—at the Ecole Polytechnique—were the hares who forged ahead because of their brilliance, Danchin was the tortoise who got there in the end because he never stopped trying. Sometimes it is the tortoise which outlasts the hares.
By the time he was offered the post of Minister of the Interior, Roger Danchin, an intelligence expert, probably knew more about the French security system than any other man alive. Like Alain Blanc, over six feet tall, he had developed the stoop which tall men sometimes affect. Fifty-two years old, he was thin and bony-faced, a man with a passion for secrecy and a man who loved power. Blanc, who disliked him, summed up Danchin in a typical, biting anecdote. `Danchin would interrogate his own grandmother if he suspected she had changed her will—and after three hours under the arc lights she would leave him all the money. . . Danchin was at the height of his power when he summoned Grelle to see him just after the prefect returned from checking the Elysee register.
When the prefect entered the Minister's office on the first floor Danchin was standing by the window which overlooks a beautiful walled garden at the rear of the building, a garden the public never sees. 'Sit down, Grelle,' Danchin said, still staring down at the garden. 'I hear from Roissy that David Nash, the American, has just arrived in Paris. What do you think that implies ?'
`Should it imply something ?' Grelle inquired. By now he had grasped how this devious man's mind worked; rarely asking a direct question, Danchin tried to catch people out by encouraging them to talk while he listened.
`Something is happening, Grelle, I sense it. Strange also that he should arrive here so soon after the attempt on the president's life. . .'
`I don't see the connection,' Grelle stonewalled. 'But I have an invitation to the American Embassy this evening. . .'
`You are going ?' Danchin interjected sharply.
`Why not, Minister ? I may pick up something interesting. At least I should be able to answer your question as to why he has come to Paris. . .'
`And this woman, Lucie Devaud—has Boisseau found out something more about her ?
Similar Books
