Dying On the Vine
“How did he come to be on the scene so promptly? was my first thought. I wasn’t sure how long Edouard Morel had been dead but the blood was only just beginning to congeal, so it wasn’t very long.
Pertois was also a very stern detective. The affable front he had presented to me after the murder of Elwyn Fox had disappeared and I didn’t like the hard glint in his eyes. His small black mustache was menacing and even his short, bristly black hair looked threatening. It was evident that my association with corpses was getting too frequent for him.
Veronique sat with a woman detective at a hard, cold steel table in the gendarmerie at Saint Remy, the post nearest to Herculanum. I sat on the other side of the woman detective and Pertois was opposite. The woman had taken our fingerprints and footprints. Veronique had been invited to empty her handbag on the table and Pertois had examined her revolver after giving her a look of reproof.
“You have a permit for this weapon, of course?”
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