Chapter 28: The Emperor’s Return: II
"Fine," the king said, calming down slightly. "Blacas, police minister, you’re dismissed. This is the War Minister’s problem now."
"At least we can count on the army, Your Majesty," Blacas said hopefully. "All reports show they’re completely loyal."
"Don’t mention reports to me again," Louis XVIII said coldly. "But speaking of reports... Baron, what did you find out about that murder in Saint-Jacques Street?"
"The Saint-Jacques Street case?" Villefort couldn’t hide his shock, then quickly recovered. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. My concern for you made me forget my manners."
"No, go ahead and ask. After today, you’ve earned the right."
The police minister stepped forward. "I was actually coming to brief you on new developments when news of Napoleon’s landing broke. The case might not seem important now-"
"On the contrary," the king interrupted. "I think this murder is connected to our current crisis. General Quesnel’s death might be the key to exposing a major conspiracy."
At the mention of General Quesnel’s name, Villefort went rigid.
"Everything points to assassination, not suicide," the police minister continued. "The General had just left a meeting with Napoleon supporters when he disappeared. Someone had arranged to meet him on Saint-Jacques Street that morning. Unfortunately, the General’s servant only heard the street name, not the exact address."
Villefort’s face went through a series of color changes as the minister spoke. The king noticed.
"Don’t you agree, Villefort, that General Quesnel, who everyone thought was a Napoleon supporter but was actually loyal to me, was probably killed by Napoleon’s agents?"
"Very likely, Your Majesty," Villefort managed. "But is that all we know?"
"We’re tracking the man who arranged the meeting."
"Tracking him?" Villefort’s voice was tight.
"Yes. We have a description: a man in his early fifties, dark complexion, black eyes with thick eyebrows, heavy mustache. He was wearing a blue military coat with a Legion of Honor medal. Yesterday someone matching that exact description was followed, but we lost him in the crowded market district."
Villefort grabbed the back of a chair for support as his legs nearly gave out. When he heard the suspect had escaped, he could breathe again.
"Keep searching for this man," the king ordered. "If General Quesnel was murdered, and I’m almost certain he was, his killers will pay dearly, whether they’re Napoleon’s agents or not."
Villefort used every ounce of self-control to keep his terror from showing.
The king’s voice turned sarcastic, "It’s amazing how the police think they’ve solved everything just by saying, ’A murder happened, and we’re looking for the bad guys.’"
"Your Majesty will be satisfied with our results, I promise."
"We’ll see. Villefort, you must be exhausted from your journey. Go rest. Did you stop by your father’s house?"
Villefort felt dizzy. "No, Your Majesty. I went straight to the Hotel Madrid on Tournon Street."
"But you’ve seen him?"
"No, I came directly to see Minister Blacas."
"You will see him though, right?"
"I don’t think so, Your Majesty."
Louis XVIII smiled knowingly. "Ah, I forgot. You and your father Noirtier don’t get along. That’s another sacrifice you’ve made for the crown, and it won’t go unrewarded."
"Your Majesty’s kindness is already more reward than I ever dreamed of."
"Nevertheless, we won’t forget your service." The king unpinned the Legion of Honor cross from his own coat and handed it to Villefort. "Take this for now."
"Your Majesty, this is an officer’s cross, too high a rank for me."
"Just take it," Louis XVIII said impatiently. "I don’t have time to find you the right one. Blacas, make sure the proper paperwork is drawn up for Villefort’s promotion."
Villefort’s eyes filled with tears of joy and pride as he kissed the medal.
"Now," the king continued, "what are your orders, Your Majesty?"
"Get some rest. If you can’t serve me here in Paris, you might be even more valuable back in Marseilles."
"I’ll leave within the hour, Your Majesty," Villefort said, bowing.
"Good. And if I forget about you, kings have short memories, don’t hesitate to remind me. Baron, summon the War Minister. Blacas, stay behind."
As they left the palace, the police minister said to Villefort, "You hit the jackpot today, young man. Your career is made."
"How long before it pays off?" Villefort muttered, hailing a carriage. He gave the driver his hotel address and sank into the seat, letting himself dream of power and advancement.
Ten minutes later, Villefort reached his hotel and ordered horses prepared for departure in two hours. He’d just sat down for breakfast when someone rang the bell urgently.
"Who could possibly know I’m here already?" he wondered aloud.
His servant appeared. "Sir, there’s a gentleman here to see you."
"Who is it? What’s his name?"
"He won’t give his name, sir."
"He won’t give his name? What does he want?"
"To speak with you, sir."
"Did he ask for me specifically?"
"Yes, sir."
"What does he look like?"
"A man of about fifty, sir."
"Tall or short?"
"About your height."
"Hair color?"
"Dark, sir. Very dark. Black hair, black eyes, black eyebrows."
Villefort’s blood turned to ice. "How is he dressed?"
"Blue military coat, buttoned to the chin. Legion of Honor medal."
"It’s him," Villefort whispered, going pale.
"Well, damn!" said a familiar voice as the door opened. "What’s with all the ceremony? Is it customary in Marseilles for sons to keep their fathers waiting in the lobby?"
"Father!" Villefort gasped. "I knew it had to be you."
"Well, if you knew it was me," the older man said, setting down his walking stick and hat, "then it wasn’t very respectful to keep me waiting, was it, Gérard?"
"Leave us," Villefort told his servant, who departed with obvious confusion about what he’d just witnessed.