“Oh, of course, please go ahead,” Fouche said, stepping aside to let the officer through.
After all, he was merely a low-ranking policeman. The fact that he could guard Necker here all depended on the permission issued by Count Robel of the Secret Police.
The tall officer nodded and smiled at him and then approached the prisoner to take a careful look at this man with messy hair and a shaggy beard to confirm he was indeed Necker before pretending to search him.
“We’ve already searched him, you can rest assured. No dangerous items or valuables,” Fouche assured him from the side.
The officer moved to Necker’s side as if he was checking his trouser pockets but leaned in close to his ear and whispered rapidly, “As long as you say nothing, you will be rescued within three days and then taken to England.”
Necker was startled and turned his head to look at the officer, who had already put on his gloves and was walking toward the door: “No problems here, I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Fouche waited for him to leave, immediately closed the door securely, and signaled to his subordinates: “Come on, make it quick!”
The interrogation of Necker had already begun that very evening.
The two Chief Examiners were Police Commissioners from the Secret Police, with Fouche and his colleagues listening in—such a case that agitated the Queen would undoubtedly have to be officially handled by the “claws” of the Secret Police.
However, the interrogation continued till dawn, and yet Necker barely spoke a word.
Even when faced with irrefutable evidence, he only looked at the Chief Examiner who was raging and neither admitted nor denied anything, as if he was not the person involved at all.
The two Chief Examiners, exhausted, decided to take a break for a while.
Fouche ordered Prosper to keep a close watch on Necker, forbidding even the Secret Police from leaving without permission, and then returned to the cell on the third floor of the Bastille with an assistant.
The officer from the Police Affairs Department guarding the cell saluted him, “Everything is normal, sir.”
Fouche nodded and glanced through the small window in the door, then pulled over a chair and dozed off next to the door. Continue your saga on M V L
It wasn’t until noon that the clinking of dishes and cutlery woke him up.
He squinted and saw an officer and two soldiers approaching with food in their hands.
Fouche’s subordinate immediately stepped up, exchanged a few words with the officer, who then smiled, took some spare utensils, and tasted each dish.
Once the officer from the Police Affairs Department gave the all-clear, the door was opened and they motioned inside: “Please come in.”
The officer entered, and in front of several guards, placed the lavish food on the table. However, no one noticed that as he lifted the dish of creamed pea soup, his thumbnail dipped into it.
After the food was served, the officer gestured to Necker, who was sitting rigidly on the couch, and to the woman and child huddled in the corner of the room: “Your meal is served.”
Almost an hour later, a disturbance erupted in the cell with loud voices and a woman’s scream.
Fouche, who was still catching up on sleep, abruptly opened his eyes, sprang from his chair, and rushed into the room.
There he saw Necker lying on the couch in pain, his body spasming occasionally, with dark blood trickling down his stubbled face onto the floor.
Fouche touched Necker’s neck to feel his pulse and turned to his subordinates asking, “Has he been poisoned?”
The officer from the Police Affairs Department pointed at the food on the table: “It appears so, sir. He started having stomach pains soon after he ate, and then this happened.”
“The hand is quick,” Fouche said with a cold smile, instructing those around him, “Arrest the ones who just brought the food.
“Oran, find some animals to test this food.”
“Yes, sir!”
…
Royal Palace.
The Duke of Orleans pushed open the door to a large hall on the second floor, smiling and greeting the banking magnates who had been discussing strategies, “Don’t look so glum, gentlemen, the situation isn’t that dire.
“I suggest we all enjoy a delicious dinner first, perhaps by The situation will have resolved itself by then.”
“Necker has had dealings with you too, so how can you be so carefree?” asked the owner of Belanger Bank, looking at him, “What exactly is your plan?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the Duke of Orleans gestured towards the hallway, “The dining room is this way.”
Count of Isaac, catching something in his demeanor, said in surprise, “You’ve really solved it?”
Seeing the Duke’s silent smile, the others were instantly overjoyed: “Oh, God, you have saved us all!”
“Wonderful, looks like there’s no trouble after all…”
“I swear, you are the finest, greatest of the Cape![note 1]”
As the banking tycoons heaped empty flattery, they bowed to the Duke of Orleans, each secretly relieved that choosing him as their patron had been such a wise decision!
Just then, the butler Donnadieu hurried over, presenting a small, seal-waxed scroll respectfully to the Duke of Orleans.
The latter lifted the scroll smugly to show everyone in the room, then broke the seal and slowly unfurled it.
However, upon seeing the two lines of text, his expression darkened instantly. He turned and demanded of the butler, “Didn’t Ravier say it was done?!”
“Yes, that’s what he reported at noon,” the butler answered tremulously.
The Duke of Orleans tore the note into dozens of pieces with a vicious motion, dropping them on the floor: “How can this be possible?”
The note was from his mole within the Secret Police. It contained only two sentences: Necker would be interrogated in the afternoon, he had not implicated any other banks.
But Ravier had told him Necker had been poisoned at lunch!