“He is rather intractable,” I offered.
“I was so upset by this time, I didn’t know what to do. He sat looking at me from across that small table, seemingly quite pleased with himself. I wanted to leave, but I wanted to, well, to make him mad, so I stood up and said, ‘If I were you I’d be a little more careful. More than one of us believes you killed Marcel,’ and I turned to go. He spoke my name then, so abruptly that everyone looked up, and I came back to the table.
“ ‘Let’s not be ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I am an acquaintance of Monsieur Giraud. In fact, I’ve spoken to him at some length. For now, you are upset, and I suggest you go home and get some rest.’
“With that, he called for a carriage and sent me on my way. What should I think of him, Jules? Is he a friend of yours?”
Of course, Lupa had told her nothing about our real relationship, leaving it to me to make that decision. I’d tried to be honest with Tania as much as possible, though I hadn’t told her what I really was. There had been no need. And now, I was reluctant to tell her because I was afraid of her. Afraid that she might not understand or, on the other hand, would understand too well. So I temporized.
“I wouldn’t worry about Monsieur Lupa, dear,” I said. “I spent the night at his place on Wednesday after my walking took me downtown. He’d come to the gathering only to try my beer, and was genuinely upset at the way things turned out. He’d only met Marcel that afternoon and they had had no disagreements. They seemed to get on quite well. Certainly, he had no reason to kill him.”
“But which of us did?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I really don’t know. I don’t know.” I slumped and stared down at the well-kept gravel of her terrace. “I can’t believe he killed himself.”
“Maybe Henri is right,” she said, “with his rumors.”
“What are those?”
“He said that he’s heard for the past several months that Marcel had something to do with espionage, with the war.”
A chill passed through me. “Henri said that? Where did he hear that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s absurd. I’ve known Marcel all my life, and—”
“But what if he was? What if he was, and another of us is, and we don’t know, and he was killed by one of his friends to keep . . . Oh, Jules,” she said, “I’m afraid.”
I stood up and she rose to embrace me.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be such a baby. It’s just with all of this, and the boys away at the front . . . I just don’t know what to make of things.”
