Director Gigot had been a bit annoyed lately.
The "three-corpse love triangle murder case" on Rue d'Antin, though simple in facts, had a terrible impact, especially occurring in a prestigious apartment in the Opera District, a hub for the middle class.
The ubiquitous reporters had the entire police department overwhelmed.
Archbishop Gilbert and Cardinal Montelli, who had stayed in Paris and not returned, repeatedly sensationalized the case in newspapers, claiming this tragedy was a result of the French Ministry of Interior, especially the Paris Police Prefecture, indulging the proliferation of "Decadent City" and "The Ruckus."
"Obscene novels give rise to real-life tragedies," "The Ruckus is a hotbed of vice," "police dereliction of duty and indulgence"—one accusation piled higher than the next, making Gigot's forehead throb.
Even newspapers in Germany, Italy, and Austria reported on the matter, making him genuinely feel the pressure.
What ruined his vacation mood was a telegram from Interior Minister Ernest Constans, urging him to resolve the problem in the shortest possible time.
The Paris Police Prefecture does not fall under the jurisdiction of the Paris City Hall but is directly subordinate to the Ministry of Interior.
Thus, Director Gigot had to cut short his vacation and rush back to Paris from Vienna by train to deal with the police department's image crisis.
As for "solving the case"?
That would have to wait until after the holidays, when the police force was adequately staffed.
But it wasn't until the first weekend after the holidays approached that the officers of the "Vice Squad," responsible for such cases, finally trickled in.
Director Gigot naturally erupted in anger—even though his original plan was also to stay in Vienna for about the same amount of time.
"Look!
Look at those newspapers outside!
Look at the Archdiocese and the big shots from Rome!
It's all because of your laziness!
My face, the police department's face, has been thrown abroad!"
Director Gigot yelled at Sergeant Lefebvre, who stood before him, built like a bear, with eyes still hazy from a hangover.
Lefebvre stood with his hands hanging, his belly almost touching the edge of the desk.
He spoke in a muffled tone:
"You know, it's the holidays... manpower is a bit stretched.
We have a lot of paperwork... that case on Rue d'Antin..."
Gigot's face reddened with anger:
"Paperwork?!
Lefebvre!
Is your brain still stuck in some prostitute's navel?
It's not that wretched case on Rue d'Antin now! It's 'The Ruckus'!
It's 'Decadent City'!
It's that 'Honest Parisian'!
Public opinion! International public opinion!
Do you understand?
What we need now is action!
Strong action!
To show all of Paris, all of Europe, our determination to crack down on vice!"
He took a deep breath, which finally turned into a series of stern orders:
"Listen!
I order you, immediately!
Right now!
Take your men and seal 'The Ruckus' newspaper office!"
"Confiscate all copies of 'Decadent City' and that damned 'supplementary booklet'!"
"Arrest Gabriel Marrel!
Pry his mouth open and drag out that 'Honest Parisian' for me!"
"This is a crucial battle to salvage our police department's reputation!
Mess it up, and you can prepare to manage fishing boats down the Seine River!"
Only that last sentence made the flesh on Sergeant Lefebvre's belly tremble almost imperceptibly.
Manage fishing boats?
That certainly wouldn't do!
What was the difference between the lower Seine and a cesspool?
Only a bunch of poor wretches scavenging for trash, with no gains to be squeezed out.
He was extremely reluctant to shut down "The Ruckus," confiscate "Decadent City," or arrest Gabriel.
Because for every day "The Ruckus" was published, he could get 5 francs, and his brothers could each get 3 francs.
As long as "Decadent City" was on the stalls of illicit booksellers, it was his never-ending pocket money.
Compared to extorting money from prostitutes and madams, this was simply clean and hygienic.
As for Gabriel... he didn't believe that slippery fellow was still in Paris waiting to die.
But an order was an order.
Lefebvre could only straighten his enormous physique and give a rather sloppy salute:
"Yes, sir!
Mission assured!
I am sworn enemy to vice!"
Stepping out of the director's office, Sergeant Lefebvre's "resolute" expression instantly collapsed, replaced by a look of worry.
He slowly ambled back to his office.
It was nearly three in the afternoon, and only a few scattered officers were sitting there.
Lefebvre bellowed:
"Wake up, everyone!
Time to get to work!"
Dupont didn't even lift an eyelid:
"What's the hurry, chief?
What time is it?
The brothels aren't even open yet..."
Mathieu was startled awake, wiping drool blankly:
"Huh?
Chief?
Going to... make an arrest?
I... I haven't had lunch yet."
The others were also listless, not taking it seriously at all.
Lefebvre grumpily repeated the director's orders, and the office immediately erupted in groans.
Dupont's nail file dropped to the floor:
"Seal 'The Ruckus'?
Arrest Gabriel?
God!
He treated us to blood duck at 'La Tour d'Argent' just before Easter!
Oh my goodness, that duck..."
Lefebvre waved his hand irritably:
"Don't ever mention that again!
What's the use of complaining?
The director is serious this time!
Pack your things, prepare to leave!"
Mathieu looked troubled:
"Leave?
Now?
Chief, it's almost three.
It'll take over half an hour to get to Rue des Saints, then sealing, arresting, inventorying... that won't be done until dark, will it?
It's my wife's birthday today, and I promised to go home early..."
Dupont quickly chimed in:
"Yes, yes, yes!
I... I have a dentist appointment!
It's been hurting for days!"
Lefebvre felt his temples throbbing.
He took a deep breath and unleashed his trump card:
"Anyone who doesn't go won't be doing any 'field duty' next month!"
Each "field duty" for the Vice Squad meant at least 30 francs for an ordinary officer, a significant source of income.
So, the threat of money temporarily outweighed personal difficulties.
Half an hour later, a vice task force, personally led by Sergeant Lefebvre, finally lumbered out of the police station.
But an hour later, Lefebvre, with his belly protruding, intercepted Director Gigot in his office, just as Gigot was about to leave for the day.
Director Gigot was surprised: "Have you completed your mission?"
Lefebvre slowly said:
"Confiscating 'Decadent City' and that 'supplementary booklet' will take time, don't worry, we'll make sure this book disappears from the market.
But 'The Ruckus' has been sealed.
However, it was basically an empty building—only one person named 'Pierre' was left, who should be Gabriel's valet.
And a typesetter who knew nothing.
According to 'Pierre', Gabriel Marrel disappeared 10 days ago, and he doesn't know where either."
Director Gigot secretly breathed a sigh of relief, but his expression remained grim:
"What about 'The Honest Parisian'?
That Pierre knows a lot about Gabriel..."
Lefebvre pulled an envelope from his pocket and placed it on Director Gigot's desk:
"He said he was only responsible for Gabriel's errands and knew nothing about the publishing.
But Gabriel left him this letter before he left, asking him to give it to you, saying you would certainly be very interested in it."
Director Gigot picked up the envelope, inspected it, found the seal intact, and waved Lefebvre away.
Only after closing the office door did he open the envelope and pull out the letter.
On the paper, there was only one sentence:
[Find Lionel Sorel, and you will find "The Honest Parisian."]
(End of Chapter)
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