“Our fortunes ebb and flow,” Moreau said without changing expression.
I wondered if he meant his fortunes had also ebbed and flowed or if he made a polite observation.
“Nothing else here,” Brewster said with conviction. “Found other hidden nooks and crannies, but except for those two papers, they were empty.”
“Which means the gendarmes were more thorough than we thought,” I said.
“They missed the box of jewels,” Emile pointed out.
“They must not have thought them important,” I said.
Brewster shook his head. “None’s as thorough as me. What it means, guv, is that our Signor Gallo had another hiding place, one that the gendarmes won’t know nothing about.”
Chapter 13
None of us answered Brewster, but we regarded him in disquiet. My gaze went to the window and the view of the house across the back court from this. La Guillotière was a maze of streets, and many more of them filled Lyon.
“How will we find this other hiding place?” Emile finally asked.
“We will have to narrow it down,” I said. “A task for another day, I think.”
Moreau did not answer, and Brewster nodded glumly.
We decided to quit Gallo’s lodgings and retire for the night.
I took the box of jewelry with me. I’d hand it over to Donata, who could discover which ladies had lost something to Gallo and discreetly return it. Marianne, who would know the demimonde while Donata circulated among the beau monde, could also help.
Brewster said not a word when I tucked the box under my coat, and neither did Moreau. Emile regarded me in worry, but I pointed out that the housekeeper would simply pocket the trinkets if she found them. She’d discover them sooner or later if we left them, I had no doubt.
Darkness had descended fully by the time we went down the stairs, making the going precarious. I noticed Moreau slip out when Brewster trudged along the ground floor hall to return the key to the landlady.
Moreau had never offered explanation of how he’d gained entry, but I gathered that he’d somehow entered the house unnoticed and had likely picked the lock to Gallo’s rooms.
I put Emile into the coach, which had lingered at the end of the bridge at my request, and sent him back to the Auberge farm.
“Tell Gabriella everything,” I advised. “But only Gabriella at this stage, please.”
Emile nodded, ready to obey. Not that there was much to tell. Aside from the box of jewelry, we’d found only a few cryptic papers, which would mean nothing until Grenville translated the letter or we discovered the owner of the name on the note.
To my surprise, Moreau had waited for us while we sent off the coach. He turned and walked with us across the Pont de la Guillotière to the Presqu’île.
“We’re no closer to knowing who did for Signor Gallo,” Brewster said as we went, both men slowing their steps for my labored pace. “If the bloke liked to try his hand at blackmail, and he were knifed in the middle of a public bridge, then anyone in the whole city could have done it.”
“On the face of it,” I said. “The only way to learn the truth, I suppose, is to find someone who actually witnessed the crime.” I turned to Moreau. “You were the first upon him. Did you see anyone running away? Melting into the shadows? Anyone at all?”
“I cannot be certain.” Moreau frowned in thought. “The sun had risen but had not yet come over the buildings on the east side of the river. The shadows between it and the hill were long. I did not notice any furtive movements or hear footsteps hurrying away. The vendors opening their stalls a few streets over made a clamor, but on the bridge it was very still. Barely a breeze. No one approached from either end until you came across.”
“Very observant,” I stated.
“I was in the army a long time. Habits are difficult to shake.”
“Gallo might have been lying there a while,” Brewster pointed out. “Done over in the pitch dark and then left.”
“The physician for the gendarmerie will know approximately how long he was there,” I said. “It was not raining, and the bridge was dry, as were Gallo’s clothes, so that tells us nothing. There was no dew either—it has been too warm, so the absence of it on Gallo’s body is not remarkable.”
“So it were a nice, warm summer night,” Brewster growled. “Where does that leave us?”
“Nowhere,” I admitted.
