| General Fiction posted October 21, 2018 | Chapters: |
...18 19 -20- 21... 
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Chapter 20 - Help comes from an unexpected direction.
A chapter in the book The French Letter
Rag-and-Bone Man
by tfawcus
| Background Charles decides to tail Helen, and see if he can find out what this mysterious meeting with 'JD' is all about. |
From Chapter 19
Shortly afterwards, the Citroen turned left down Rue Paul Vaillant-Courturier, a street named in honour of one of the founders of the French Communist Party. I imagined that, if his spirit still lingered, it would have approved of the old carter exercising the rights of the common man – possibly almost as much as I had done.
A few moments later, Helen’s abductors pulled up opposite a small urban park. As I drove past, I saw ‘Jeanne Durand et Cie, Literary Agents’ painted in bold white lettering on the fascia panel above the door. My suspicions were confirmed. JD clearly stood for Madame Jeanne Durand.
I stopped a little further up the street, and watched in the rear-view mirror as Helen was hustled into the building. What now? I thought.
Chapter 20
When I set out, my original idea had been to contact Madame Durand, on the pretext of having a travel article for her consideration. I thought that, with a face-to-face meeting, I might find out what was going on. If Helen was there at the same time, so much the better. I could confront the two of them together.
Now the situation had changed. The two strong-arm men knew me by sight. They'd been tailing us for days. Helen was obviously not conspiring against me with this Durand woman after all. On the contrary, she had been dragged here against her will, and was clearly in trouble. So what could her knight in shining armour do about it?
Frankly, I had not got a clue. I sat there with futile schemes spinning in my head. However, something had to be done. The Citroen was parked in the shade of some trees on the other side of the street. It occurred to me that letting down its tyres might be a good start ... and reasonably safe. Skirting furtively from tree to tree, and using the car to shield me from the Durand office window, I depressed the valve of one of the front tyres with a ballpoint pen, and was rewarded with a gentle hissing sound.
In the middle of doing the same to the rear tyre, I heard the rag-and-bone man clattering down the street. His old carthorse clip-clopped at a leisurely pace, and the old man was whistling. He drew up alongside me and beamed with delight.
"Bravo, mon ami! That will teach those pigs not to swear at Henri Caron." He leant down and patted the bull mastiff laying at his feet. "Eh, Bonaparte?" Bonaparte gave a low growl of assent.
This touching scene between man and dog was rudely interrupted by a commotion on the other side of the street. The door of Madame Durand's office burst open, and Helen came stumbling out. Dishevelled, and staring wildly behind her, she started to run down the street. I tore back to the hire car. As I turned the ignition on, one of the men appeared, bent almost double and clutching his private parts. His partner, just two steps behind, pushed him to one side and took off after Helen.
He would have caught her easily if it had not been for Monsieur Caron, who slipped Bonaparte off the leash, gave him a friendly clip on the backside and, with a quiet command, sent him flying. Bonaparte shot away like a greyhound out of the traps. A few seconds later, there was a whirlwind of mobster and mongrel, followed by a sharp and agonised cry.
As I passed Henri's cart, he rose to his feet and levelled a shotgun at the second hoodlum. "Arrête - ou je te tire!" The man stopped in his tracks, and raised his hands in surrender.
I accelerated down the street and, drawing abreast of Helen, shouted, "Quick! Get in!"
She scarcely had time to close the door before I wrenched the steering wheel around, fish-tailing the car with a screech of tortured rubber, and came to an abrupt halt twenty yards in front of Henri's carthorse. To his credit, the old nag scarcely turned a hair.
Leaping out of the car, I raced back towards Henri. "Here! Take this," he said, tossing the shotgun down to me as he fumbled in his jacket pocket. He drew out a mobile phone.
"Allô! Alphonse? I need your help, my friend. We have two scoundrels under citizen's arrest here, in Rue Paul Vaillant-Courturier, opposite the park."
As soon as he had made his call, Henri leant forward and tapped me on the shoulder. "I'd better have that back, monsieur."
I handed him the shotgun. Strangely enough, it was nowhere to be seen when the sleek blue and white police car appeared at the end of the street, lights flashing and siren wailing.
Ten minutes later, it was all over. Helen's abductors had been handcuffed and bundled into the back seat. Alphonse leant in through the side window and spoke to the driver. "I will stay here and take statements from the witnesses," he said self-importantly.
As soon as the car had driven off, he removed the kepi from his head, brushed the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and strolled across towards Henri with a broad grin on his face.
Bonaparte nudged the gendarme just behind the knee, and wagged his tail expectantly. Alphonse responded by fumbling about in his pocket and withdrew half a sandwich, the remains of his lunch. "Bon chien!" he said, patting the dog as he wolfed it down.
My eyes were moist with gratitude as I thanked Henri. I pulled out my wallet and peeled off several notes. "Here, my friend - please accept this small recompense for your trouble."
He waved the money aside. "No need for that, monsieur." Thinking perhaps I had offended him, I started to put the notes back. The look of dismay on his face made it clear that he was wrestling with his better nature, and losing. I hesitated for a moment, giving him an opportunity to revise his answer. This time, with evident relief, he said, "Well, if you insist."
I then turned to Alphonse and gave him a brief, and judiciously edited, account of what had happened. He listened patiently, but I had the distinct impression that he had not understood a word. Finally, he took out a small notebook, and asked me to write my name and contact information in it.
"I will get all the details from Henri," he said. "We will need written statements from you and the young lady, but for that you must come down to the station. Perhaps in a little while, after mademoiselle has recovered from the shock of this terrible ordeal."
I thanked him and walked back to the car. There appeared to be no sign of Helen. For a brief moment I panicked, but then I saw her, curled up in a foetal position on the back seat.
"Are you all right, darling?"
"What do you think, you chump? Do I look all right?"
I took her hand and helped her climb unsteadily from the car, whereupon she threw her arms around me, and burst into a flood of tears.
Shortly afterwards, the Citroen turned left down Rue Paul Vaillant-Courturier, a street named in honour of one of the founders of the French Communist Party. I imagined that, if his spirit still lingered, it would have approved of the old carter exercising the rights of the common man – possibly almost as much as I had done.
A few moments later, Helen’s abductors pulled up opposite a small urban park. As I drove past, I saw ‘Jeanne Durand et Cie, Literary Agents’ painted in bold white lettering on the fascia panel above the door. My suspicions were confirmed. JD clearly stood for Madame Jeanne Durand.
I stopped a little further up the street, and watched in the rear-view mirror as Helen was hustled into the building. What now? I thought.
Chapter 20
When I set out, my original idea had been to contact Madame Durand, on the pretext of having a travel article for her consideration. I thought that, with a face-to-face meeting, I might find out what was going on. If Helen was there at the same time, so much the better. I could confront the two of them together.
Now the situation had changed. The two strong-arm men knew me by sight. They'd been tailing us for days. Helen was obviously not conspiring against me with this Durand woman after all. On the contrary, she had been dragged here against her will, and was clearly in trouble. So what could her knight in shining armour do about it?
Frankly, I had not got a clue. I sat there with futile schemes spinning in my head. However, something had to be done. The Citroen was parked in the shade of some trees on the other side of the street. It occurred to me that letting down its tyres might be a good start ... and reasonably safe. Skirting furtively from tree to tree, and using the car to shield me from the Durand office window, I depressed the valve of one of the front tyres with a ballpoint pen, and was rewarded with a gentle hissing sound.
In the middle of doing the same to the rear tyre, I heard the rag-and-bone man clattering down the street. His old carthorse clip-clopped at a leisurely pace, and the old man was whistling. He drew up alongside me and beamed with delight.
"Bravo, mon ami! That will teach those pigs not to swear at Henri Caron." He leant down and patted the bull mastiff laying at his feet. "Eh, Bonaparte?" Bonaparte gave a low growl of assent.
This touching scene between man and dog was rudely interrupted by a commotion on the other side of the street. The door of Madame Durand's office burst open, and Helen came stumbling out. Dishevelled, and staring wildly behind her, she started to run down the street. I tore back to the hire car. As I turned the ignition on, one of the men appeared, bent almost double and clutching his private parts. His partner, just two steps behind, pushed him to one side and took off after Helen.
He would have caught her easily if it had not been for Monsieur Caron, who slipped Bonaparte off the leash, gave him a friendly clip on the backside and, with a quiet command, sent him flying. Bonaparte shot away like a greyhound out of the traps. A few seconds later, there was a whirlwind of mobster and mongrel, followed by a sharp and agonised cry.
As I passed Henri's cart, he rose to his feet and levelled a shotgun at the second hoodlum. "Arrête - ou je te tire!" The man stopped in his tracks, and raised his hands in surrender.
I accelerated down the street and, drawing abreast of Helen, shouted, "Quick! Get in!"
She scarcely had time to close the door before I wrenched the steering wheel around, fish-tailing the car with a screech of tortured rubber, and came to an abrupt halt twenty yards in front of Henri's carthorse. To his credit, the old nag scarcely turned a hair.
Leaping out of the car, I raced back towards Henri. "Here! Take this," he said, tossing the shotgun down to me as he fumbled in his jacket pocket. He drew out a mobile phone.
"Allô! Alphonse? I need your help, my friend. We have two scoundrels under citizen's arrest here, in Rue Paul Vaillant-Courturier, opposite the park."
As soon as he had made his call, Henri leant forward and tapped me on the shoulder. "I'd better have that back, monsieur."
I handed him the shotgun. Strangely enough, it was nowhere to be seen when the sleek blue and white police car appeared at the end of the street, lights flashing and siren wailing.
Ten minutes later, it was all over. Helen's abductors had been handcuffed and bundled into the back seat. Alphonse leant in through the side window and spoke to the driver. "I will stay here and take statements from the witnesses," he said self-importantly.
As soon as the car had driven off, he removed the kepi from his head, brushed the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and strolled across towards Henri with a broad grin on his face.
Bonaparte nudged the gendarme just behind the knee, and wagged his tail expectantly. Alphonse responded by fumbling about in his pocket and withdrew half a sandwich, the remains of his lunch. "Bon chien!" he said, patting the dog as he wolfed it down.
My eyes were moist with gratitude as I thanked Henri. I pulled out my wallet and peeled off several notes. "Here, my friend - please accept this small recompense for your trouble."
He waved the money aside. "No need for that, monsieur." Thinking perhaps I had offended him, I started to put the notes back. The look of dismay on his face made it clear that he was wrestling with his better nature, and losing. I hesitated for a moment, giving him an opportunity to revise his answer. This time, with evident relief, he said, "Well, if you insist."
I then turned to Alphonse and gave him a brief, and judiciously edited, account of what had happened. He listened patiently, but I had the distinct impression that he had not understood a word. Finally, he took out a small notebook, and asked me to write my name and contact information in it.
"I will get all the details from Henri," he said. "We will need written statements from you and the young lady, but for that you must come down to the station. Perhaps in a little while, after mademoiselle has recovered from the shock of this terrible ordeal."
I thanked him and walked back to the car. There appeared to be no sign of Helen. For a brief moment I panicked, but then I saw her, curled up in a foetal position on the back seat.
"Are you all right, darling?"
"What do you think, you chump? Do I look all right?"
I took her hand and helped her climb unsteadily from the car, whereupon she threw her arms around me, and burst into a flood of tears.
Book of the Month contest entry
 Recognized |
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Glossary:
kepi - a French policeman's hat
Cast of Main Characters
Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer
Helen Culverson: A woman of mystery, also purporting to be a travel writer
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister.
Madame Jeanne Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church
Madame Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise
Estelle Gaudin [deceased]: mother of Francoise and Alain
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased]: Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. kepi - a French policeman's hat
Cast of Main Characters
Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer
Helen Culverson: A woman of mystery, also purporting to be a travel writer
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister.
Madame Jeanne Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church
Madame Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise
Estelle Gaudin [deceased]: mother of Francoise and Alain
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased]: Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
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