An Officer and a Spy

of course! The whole episode was highly irregular.’ He pokes gingerly at the pieced-together letters with a long, slim forefinger. ‘There was a meeting in the minister’s office soon after Dreyfus was convicted. I was present with Colonel Sandherr. General Mercier specifically ordered him to break up the file. The intercepted letters were to be returned to the archive, the commentaries destroyed – he was absolutely clear about it.’
    ‘Well, I don’t know what to say, General.’ Now I am the one who is bewildered. ‘Colonel Sandherr didn’t disperse it, as you can see. In fact he was the one who told me where to find it if I ever needed it. But if I may say so, perhaps the existence of the file is not the main issue we have to worry about.’
    ‘Meaning what?’
    ‘Well, the bordereau – the handwriting – the fact that Dreyfus is innocent . . .’ My voice trails away.
    Boisdeffre blinks at me for a few moments. Then he starts gathering together all the papers and photographs that are spread across the table. ‘I think what you need to do, Colonel, is to go and see General Gonse. Don’t let us forget he is the head of the intelligence department. Really you should have gone to him rather than me. Ask his advice on what needs to be done.’
    ‘I shall do that, General, absolutely. But I do think we need to move quickly and decisively, for the army’s own sake . . .’
    ‘I know perfectly well what’s good for the army, Colonel,’ he says curtly. ‘You don’t need to worry on that account.’ He holds out the evidence. ‘Go and talk to General Gonse. He’s on leave at the moment, but he’s only just outside Paris.’
    I take the papers and open my briefcase. ‘May I at least leave my report with you?’ I search through the bundle. ‘It’s a summary of where matters stand at the moment.’
    Boisdeffre eyes it as if it’s a snake. ‘Very well,’ he says reluctantly. ‘Give me twenty-four hours to consider it.’ I stand and salute. When I am at the door he calls to me: ‘Do you remember what I told you when we were in my motor car, Colonel Picquart? I told you that I didn’t want another Dreyfus case.’
    ‘This isn’t another Dreyfus case, General,’ I reply. ‘It’s the same one.’
    The next morning I see Boisdeffre again briefly, when I go to retrieve my report. He hands it back to me without a word. There are dark semicircles under his eyes. He looks like a man who has been punched.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘to bring you a potential problem at a time when you have issues of such immense importance to deal with. I hope it isn’t too much of a distraction.’
    ‘What?’ The Chief of the General Staff lets out his breath in a gasp of exasperated disbelief. ‘Do you really think, after what you told me yesterday, that I got a moment’s sleep last night? Now go and talk to Gonse.’
    The Gonse family house lies just beyond the north-west edge of Paris, in Cormeilles-en-Parisis. I send a telegram to the general announcing that Boisdeffre would like me to brief him on an urgent matter. Gonse invites me to tea on Thursday.
    That afternoon I take the train from the gare Saint-Lazare. Half an hour later I alight in a village so rural I might be two hundred kilometres from the centre of Paris rather than twenty. The departing train dwindles down the track into the distance and I am left entirely alone on the empty platform. Nothing disturbs the silence except birdsong and the distant clip-clop of a carthorse pulling a wagon with a squeaking wheel. I walk over to the porter and ask for directions to the rue de Franconville. ‘Ah,’ he says, taking in my uniform and briefcase, ‘you’ll be wanting the general.’
    I follow his instructions along a country lane out of the village and up a hill, through wooded country, then down a drive to a spacious eighteenth-century farmhouse. Gonse is working in the garden in his shirtsleeves, wearing a battered straw hat. An old retriever lopes across the lawn towards me. The general straightens and leans on his rake. With his tubby stomach and short legs he makes a more plausible gardener than he does a general.
    ‘My dear Picquart,’ he says, ‘welcome to the sticks.’
    ‘General.’ I salute. ‘My apologies for interrupting your vacation.’
    ‘Think nothing of it, dear fellow. Come and have some tea.’ He takes my arm and leads me into the house. The interior is crammed with Japanese artefacts of the highest quality