Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [154]
Lacroix raised a forefinger and looked as if he’d ask some other question, but just then Captain Paltre appeared, hurrying across the Place du Gouvernement and seeming to lean toward them as he walked.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “You are wanted by General Boudet.”
“What is it?” Lacroix said, already rising.
“I am not certain,” said Paltre. “He has found something. A box, a coffer.”
Maillart, who had hung back to leave a coin on the table, shot a quick glance at Lacroix. One of the successes of the French debarcation here had been to secure the treasury. Whether because they were intent on defending the town, or through sheer disorganization, the black troops had not removed the funds. Though it was at the treasury that they’d made their first real stand since being routed on the road from Léogane, soon enough they had been driven off, and Boudet’s men had taken charge of a sum in the neighborhood of two and a half million francs.
Perhaps the mysterious box was some other treasure chest that had been found elsewhere? Lacroix ventured no more than an arched eyebrow. Riau walked at Maillart’s other side, his face calm and expressionless.
General Boudet awaited them in an inner office of the Government, drumming his fingers on the lid of a sizable mahogany letter box. The junior officers filed in, Riau last of the four. Boudet looked for a moment as if he would object to his remaining, but after a glance at Maillart and Lacroix he seemed to swallow whatever he had meant to say.
“Are you familiar with this coffer?” he inquired.
“Somewhat,” Maillart answered. Boudet was often putting him such questions, since he’d served in the colony for so long. “Toussaint uses it for his correspondence, I believe, when he is in Port-au-Prince.”
“So much we know,” said Boudet, gesturing toward a fan of letters on the table beside the box. “This is certainly his hand?”
Maillart glanced at the signature, with the underswept loop of the final e enclosing the customary three dots. “It is,” he said, and squinted more closely. “These letters are copies, I suppose.”
“And of no great moment now,” said Boudet. “They are well out of date, along with those that he has received—well, there is this one, from an American merchant, which seems to treat of a purchase of guns?” Boudet raised inquiring eyes to Maillart.
“I have not been privy to such transactions, mon général, ” Maillart said.
“Well, that is not why I sent for you.” Boudet stood over the empty box. “Look here.” He flattened one palm on the velvet lining of the interior and the other on the table top beside it. “There is a false bottom, do you see?”
“Yes, it is so,” Lacroix said. There was a three- or four-inch space quite evident between the levels of Boudet’s two hands.
“Try as I may, I cannot divine the method of its opening.” Boudet straightened and flexed his fingertips together. “And it is a well-made article; one does not like to spoil it. I thought perhaps you might know its secret.”
“Oh,” said Maillart, turning his shoulder to include Riau, who stood in the open doorway. “You might do better to ask Captain Riau, who has often assisted Toussaint in writing his letters.”
Riau saluted, smartly enough, and remained silent where he stood. After a moment, Maillart stepped up to the table and ran his fingers around the edges of the lining. He could feel no catch or any other clue to its opening.
“We will have to force it then,” Boudet sighed.
Maillart brushed back the flap of his jacket and drew from his belt a short, broad-blade knife he found expedient to carry. He drove the point into a corner of the false bottom, twisted and pried. The panel of wood split along its grain and slipped out of the grooves that held it fixed. Maillart lifted it out, the two pieces hinged together by the velvet.
“Look,” he said. “It is not so much damaged after all.”
But Boudet and Lacroix had put their heads together to peer inside. A musty scent of stale perfume diffused from the hidden compartment.