Part 15 (1/2)

”What sort?”

”A boy and a girl.”

”And how old are they?”

”Pierre is three and Jeanne is one and a half ...”

And so on and so forth. It was a relief when we reached my door. ”Why don't you wait in here,” I said, ”while I check what's going on.”

”Thank you, Major.”

He went inside and I closed the door. I checked my watch again. Ten to nine. For several minutes I paced up and down the corridor like a sentry, repeatedly glancing at my closed door, willing the time to pa.s.s, wondering if perhaps he had climbed out of the window and s.h.i.+nned down the drainpipe, or was at that moment rifling through my desk for secrets. At last, at two minutes to the hour, I went in to fetch him. He was sitting on the edge of a chair with his bowler hat on his knees. The papers on my desk were undisturbed. It didn't look as if he'd moved a centimetre.

”Your telegram is quite correct,” I said brightly. ”There is an inspection.”

”What a relief!” exclaimed Dreyfus, getting to his feet. ”I really thought some of the fellows were playing a joke on me-they sometimes do, you know.”

”I need to see the general myself. I'll walk over with you.”

Off we set again.

Dreyfus said, ”I hope I get the opportunity to have a word with General Boisdeffre. We had a really good talk about artillery formations in the summer. There are one or two additional points that have occurred to me since.” I made no reply. Then he said, ”You don't happen to know how long this inspection is likely to take, do you, Major?”

”I'm afraid I don't.”

”The thing is, I told my wife I'd be home for lunch. Well, it doesn't matter.”

We had reached the wide, high-ceilinged pa.s.sage leading to the office of the Chief of the General Staff.

Dreyfus said, ”I say, it's awfully quiet, isn't it? Where is everyone?”

The double doors were up ahead. His pace was slowing. I willed him to complete the distance.

I said, ”I think they must all be inside waiting for you.” I placed my hand in the small of his back and gently pressed him forward.

We reached the door. I opened it. He turned to me, puzzled. ”Aren't you coming in as well, Major?”

”I'm sorry. I just remembered something I have to do. Goodbye.”

I turned on my heel and walked away. Behind me I heard the click of a lock, and when I looked back the door was closed and Dreyfus was gone.

”Tell me,” I say to Gribelin, ”what exactly happened that morning after I delivered Dreyfus to you and Colonel du Paty?”

”I don't understand what you mean, Colonel.”

”You were there to act as a witness?”

”Yes.”

”Well, what was it you witnessed?” The archivist stares at me as I pull out a chair. ”Forgive all these questions, Monsieur Gribelin. I'm simply trying to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. It is a continuing case, after all.” I indicate the chair opposite. ”Sit down with me for a moment.”

”If that is what you want, Colonel.” Without taking his eyes off me, as if he suspects I might make a sudden lunge at him, Gribelin lowers his bony frame into the seat. ”What do you want to know?”

I light a cigarette, and make a great show of pulling the ashtray towards me. ”We wouldn't want a stray spark up here!” I say with a smile, shaking out the match and placing it carefully in the ashtray. ”So Dreyfus comes through the door, and then what?”

It is as difficult as pulling teeth, but gradually I extract the story from him: how Dreyfus walked in, looked around and asked where General Boisdeffre was; how du Paty replied that he had been delayed, invited Dreyfus to sit down, indicated his gloved hand, and inquired if he wouldn't mind taking down a letter for him as he had sprained his wrist; how Dreyfus did as he was asked, watched by Cochefort and his a.s.sistant, and by Gribelin, who was sitting opposite him.

”He must have started to get nervous,” I suggest. ”He must have wondered what was happening.”

”He did, most definitely. You can see it in his handwriting. I can show you, in fact.” Gribelin goes once again to his filing cabinet and returns with a bulging folder, several centimetres thick. He opens it. ”The first item is the actual doc.u.ment Dreyfus wrote down at Colonel du Paty's dictation.” He pushes the file over to me. ”You can see how his writing changes halfway through, as he realises he's been trapped and tries to disguise it.”

It starts like an ordinary letter: Paris, 15 October 1894. Having the most serious reasons, sir, for temporarily retaking possession of the doc.u.ments I had pa.s.sed on to you before taking off on manoeuvres ...

I say, ”I don't see any change halfway through ...”

”Yes, there is, it's obvious. Here.” Gribelin leans across and taps the letter. He sounds exasperated. ”Exactly here, where the colonel made him write the hydraulic brake of the 120 millimetre cannon-that was when he understood what was happening. You can see the way his writing suddenly gets larger and less regular.”

I look again. I still don't see it. ”Perhaps, if you say so ...”

”Believe me, Colonel, we all noticed the change in his demeanour. His foot began to tremble. Colonel du Paty accused him of changing his style. Dreyfus denied it. When the dictation was finished, the colonel told him he was under arrest for treason.”

”And then what happened?”

”Superintendent Cochefort and his a.s.sistant seized him and searched him. Dreyfus continued to deny it. Colonel du Paty showed him the revolver and offered him the honourable course.”

”What did Dreyfus say to that?”

”He said, 'Shoot me if you want to, but I am innocent!' He was like a character in a play. At that moment Colonel du Paty called out for Major Henry, who was hidden behind the screen, and Major Henry took him away to prison.”

I start to turn the pages of the file. To my astonishment, every sheet is a copy of the bordereau. I open it at the midpoint. I flick to the end. ”My G.o.d,” I murmur, ”how many times did you make him write it out?”

”Oh, a hundred or more. But that was over the course of several weeks. You'll see they're labelled: 'Left hand,' 'right hand,' 'standing up,' 'sitting down,' 'lying down ...' ”

”You made him do this in his cell, presumably?”

”Yes. Monsieur Bertillon, the handwriting expert from the Prefecture of Police, wanted as large a sample as possible so that he could demonstrate how he managed to disguise his writing. Colonel du Paty and I would visit Dreyfus at Cherche-Midi, usually around midnight, and interrogate him throughout the night. The colonel had the idea of surprising him while he was asleep-springing in and s.h.i.+ning a powerful lantern in his face.”

”And what was his mental state during all this?”

Gribelin looks s.h.i.+fty. ”It was rather fragile, to be frank with you, Colonel. He was held in solitary confinement. He was not allowed any letters or visitors. He was often quite tearful, asking after his family and so forth. I remember he had some abrasions on his face.” Gribelin touches his temple lightly. ”Around here. The warders told us he used to hit his head against the wall.”

”And he denied any involvement in espionage?”

”Absolutely. It was quite a performance, Colonel. Whoever trained him taught him very well.”

I continue to leaf through the file. I am forwarding to you, sir, several interesting items of information ... I am forwarding to you, sir, several interesting items of information ... I am forwarding to you, sir, several interesting items of information ... The writing deteriorates as the days pa.s.s. It is like a record from a madhouse. I start to feel my own head reeling. I close the file and push it back across the table.