An Officer and a Spy

self-importantly wearing a monocle and flicking through a file, and I realised it was Colonel du Paty de Clam, Blanche’s former lover. He saw me looking at him, closed his file, removed his monocle, and strutted towards me.
    ‘Picquart,’ he said, returning my salute. ‘What an appalling business this is.’
    ‘I didn’t know you were involved in it, Colonel.’
    ‘Involved!’ Du Paty laughed and shook his head. ‘My dear Major, I’ve been put in charge of the entire investigation! I’m the reason you’re here!’
    I always found something disconcerting about du Paty. It was as if he were acting the central part in a play for which no one else had been shown the script. He might laugh abruptly, or tap his nose and adopt an air of great mystery, or disappear from a room in the middle of a conversation without explanation. He fancied himself a detective in the modern scientific manner and had made a study of graphology, anthropometry, cryptography and secret inks. I wondered what role in his drama he had chosen for me to play.
    I said, ‘May I ask how the investigation is going?’
    ‘You are about to hear.’ He patted the file and nodded to the minister’s door, which at that moment was being opened by one of his staff officers.
    Inside, Mercier was seated at his desk, signing a pile of correspondence. ‘Please, gentlemen,’ he said in that quiet voice of his without looking up, ‘take a seat. I shan’t be a moment.’
    We arranged ourselves around the conference table in order of rank, leaving the place at the head free for Mercier, with Boisdeffre to the right and Gonse to the left, then Sandherr and du Paty facing one another, and finally we three junior officers at the far end.
    ‘Henry,’ said the burly officer, leaning across the table to extend his hand to me.
    ‘Picquart,’ I replied.
    The commissioner from the Sûreté also introduced himself: ‘Armand Cochefort.’
    For a minute we sat in awkward silence while the minister finished signing his papers, then gave them to his aide, who saluted and left.
    ‘So,’ said Mercier, taking his seat at the table, and placing a sheet of paper in front of him, ‘I have informed the President and the Prime Minister of where things stand, and this is the warrant for Dreyfus’s arrest; all it needs is my signature. Have we received the results of the handwriting expert? I gather the first man, from the Banque de France, concluded that the writing wasn’t Dreyfus’s after all.’
    Du Paty opened his file. ‘We have, Minister. I have consulted Alphonse Bertillon, head of the identification branch of the Préfecture of Police. He says the bordereau contains strong elements of Dreyfus’s handwriting, and where it differs, the discrepancies are deliberate. If I might spare you the technical detail and just read you his conclusion: “It appears clear to us that it was the same person who wrote the various items submitted and the incriminating document.”’
    ‘So one says yes and one says no? That’s experts for you!’ Mercier turned to Sandherr. ‘Is Dreyfus back in Paris yet?’
    Sandherr said, ‘He’s having dinner with his wife’s parents, the Hadamards: his father-in-law is a diamond merchant – you know how they specialise in portable property. We have the building under watch.’
    Boisdeffre interrupted: ‘Isn’t it quite tempting, Colonel, if we know where he is, simply to have him arrested tonight?’
    ‘No, General,’ replied Sandherr, shaking his head emphatically, ‘with the greatest respect, absolutely not. You don’t know these people as well as I do. You don’t know the way they operate. The moment they discover we have Dreyfus in custody, the whole force of upper Jewdom will swing into action to agitate for his release. It’s essential that he simply disappears with the minimum of fuss and we have him to ourselves for at least a week. I think Colonel du Paty’s plan is a good one.’
    Mercier turned his impassive, masklike face to du Paty. ‘Go on.’
    ‘I have concluded that the most secure location in which to arrest Dreyfus is inside the ministry itself. General Gonse has already sent him a telegram ordering him to attend a duty inspection in General Boisdeffre’s office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning . . .’
    ‘In civilian dress,’ put in Gonse, ‘so that if anyone sees him afterwards, when he arrives at the prison, they won’t realise he’s an army officer.’
    ‘. . . so we’ll arrest