The colonel looked up, his hazel eyes blinking several times. “Would it stop you if I did?” he asked, leaning back in his own chair as Sebastian sat down.
The Frenchman was tall and well built, although illness and injury had left him thin and his face sallow. Sebastian could see scattered strands of white in his sandy hair and thick mustache; lines dug deep by weather and endured pain fanned the skin beside his eyes.
Sebastian cast a significant glance around the crowded room. “Popular place.”
“It is, is it not?”
“I assume that’s why you come here?”
A slow gleam of amusement warmed the other man’s gaze. “I find I enjoy the company of military men, whatever their uniform.”
“I hear you were in Russia.”
“Yes.”
“There aren’t many who staggered out of that fiasco alive. With the exception of Napoléon himself, of course.”
“No.”
Sebastian rested his forearms on the tabletop and leaned into them. “Let’s get over rough ground as quickly as possible, shall we? I know why Vaundreuil is here. What I don’t know is why someone would stab Damion Pelletan in the back and cut out his heart. The most obvious reason would be to disrupt your mission. The mutilation of the corpse seems rather macabre, but it could be a subtle warning directed at Monsieur Vaundreuil, who I understand suffers from a heart condition.”
The colonel took a slow sip of his coffee and said nothing.
“Then again,” said Sebastian, “Pelletan could have been killed because he had in some way become a threat to the success of your mission.”
“Is that why you are here? Because you consider me a reasonable suspect?”
“You don’t think you should be?”
Foucher eased one thumb and forefinger down over his flaring mustache. “If he had simply been killed, I could see that, yes. But the very flamboyance of his murder tends to work against such an argument, does it not?”
“It does. Unless the killer were fueled by anger or the kind of bloodlust one sometimes sees on the battlefield.” Sebastian let his gaze drift around the noisy room. “We’ve both known men who enjoy mutilating the bodies of their fallen enemies.”
Again the colonel sipped his coffee and remained silent.
Sebastian said, “There is of course a third possibility: that Pelletan was killed for personal reasons. It’s unlikely, given that he was only in London for three weeks. But it is still an option.”
The French colonel reached for his cup again with a care that suggested his lingering injury might be to his right arm or shoulder. “You know about the woman, I assume?”
Sebastian watched the other man’s face, but Foucher was very good at giving nothing away. “What woman?”
“The wife of some duke—or perhaps it is the son of a duke.”
“You mean Lord Peter Radcliff?”
“Yes, that is it; his wife is very beautiful. So you do know her?”
“Yes.”
The Frenchman drained his coffee and set it aside. “The husbands of beautiful women are frequently subject to passionate fits of jealousy; jealousy and possessiveness. If you seek a personal motive, that might be a good place to start, yes? Particularly given the removal of Pelletan’s heart.”
“Did you know that Pelletan was killed on the twentieth anniversary of the execution of Louis XVI?”
“No, I did not. You believe that to be significant?”
“Rather a coincidence if it is not, wouldn’t you agree?”
The colonel wiped his mustache again and rose to his feet. “Life is full of coincidences.”
He started to turn.
Sebastian stopped him by saying, “Why do you think Ambrose LaChapelle attended Pelletan’s funeral mass?”
“Perhaps you should ask him,” said the colonel.
Then he pushed his way through the laughing, jostling crowd, a tall, erect man with the bearing of a military officer surrounded by his nation’s enemies.
Chapter 20
By the time Sebastian reached the Half Moon Street town house of Lord and Lady Peter Radcliff, thick white clouds were pressing down on the city, and he could smell a hint of snow in the frosty air.
He didn’t expect to find Radcliff at home, and in that he was not disappointed. Lady Peter, also, was out. But a friendly conversation with a young kitchen maid scrubbing the area steps, her hands red with cold, elicited the information that the mistress had taken her small brother and a friend to Green Park. Sebastian thanked the girl and turned his steps toward the park.