Brewster only grunted in response. He still thought me mad for being civil to the man.
We finished our repast then rose and made for the door. I tipped my hat to the collective company. “Messieurs,” I said cordially before we exited.
A few nodded back, but the rest studiously ignored me.
“Got a bit chilly in there,” Brewster rumbled as we headed for the bridge that would take us to Moreau’s meeting point. “You have a gift for disturbing people, don’t ye?”
“You’ve known that for a long time,” I answered without offense.
In a low voice I related what Beaumont had explained, making certain passersby did not overhear. All of Lyon would have been affected by Potier’s actions and not want to be reminded of them. Gallo likely hadn’t understood what a storm he’d release by bantering that name about. He’d very possibly been killed for doing so.
Brewster let out a whistle when I’d finished. “Sounds like a right evil bastard. You give some blokes a bit of power, and they enjoy making everyone’s lives a misery. I’ve known plenty of toughs like that, but this one had his own government cheering him on.”
“Or, possibly, those in charge didn’t know exactly what he was doing. Hence, he was recalled.”
“Good riddance.” Brewster frowned as we made our way across the Pont Tilsit. “So why did Gallo have the man’s name on a piece of paper? To wave it in front of people to rile them?”
“Could be someone wrote it down for him, suggesting he use the name to gain money or favors. A dangerous idea. You saw how furious people grew when we merely mentioned it. Perhaps Gallo upset someone so much it drove them to murder.”
“Why, though?” Brewster asked. “If this bloke were gone twenty and more years ago, and is probably dead himself now?”
“Yes, it is curious. I will have to find out exactly what happened to him.”
Brewster sent me a look of exasperation. “Instead of leaving well enough alone as all and sundry have asked ye to do?”
“I will be discreet,” I promised.
“God help us,” was his enlightened response.
Moreau had directed me to the plaza in front of the cathedral. He was there when we arrived, seated on a stone bench placed so the viewer could study the beauty of the lofty building.
The colonel rose when we approached, waiting calmly. I’d noted that same calm years ago, when he’d stoically witnessed the soldiers beating me to a bloody pulp.
Moreau gave me his perfunctory bow when I reached him, and I nodded in return.
“Thank you for coming,” Moreau said in his careful English, and gestured to the bench. “Please, sit. I have found out much about this Lucien Potier, and it might be useful.”
Chapter 17
Moreau and I sat in silence a few moments together, two former military officers stiffly regarding the cathedral before us, a marvel of medieval architecture. Brewster wandered the square, pretending to be a tourist but keeping within earshot.
I began before Moreau could. “I have discovered that the name Lucien Potier is a hated one.”
Moreau nodded without surprise. “Yes. It was I who informed Monsieur Beaumont to tell you why your inquiries nearly barred you from his door.”
“Ah,” I said. “I wondered at his change of heart.”
“I learned you had spoken of it when I came to leave the message for you. Beaumont was quite angry when I mentioned you, but I explained that you were ignorant of the distress you had caused.”
“Good of you.” I regarded him in some surprise that he’d defended me.
“I did not know much about Potier myself,” Moreau continued. “When we found the name, it was familiar, but I was uncertain until I asked a close friend about him. I had already gone off with the army before he arrived and exercised his power here. When I returned from the wars, many years later, no one in Lyon wished to speak of those events, as you have discovered. When I asked my friend, however, she told me many things.” Moreau’s eyes flickered as he spoke the pronoun, as though he hadn’t meant to reveal that this friend was a woman.
“The same friend whose letter you seek?” I asked.
“Yes.” Again the flicker. “She had an unfortunate indiscretion with a roué when she was young, which Gallo somehow had evidence of.”
“Then we will continue to search for this letter,” I said in understanding. “What did she tell you about Potier?”
