Read In the Shadows of Paris (The Predator Of Batignolles) for Free Online Page A

betrayed none of their dreadful anxiety. Only outside did they let their disappointment show.
    This perennial drama was drowned out by snatches of trivial chat or profound observations. A neglected poet vented his spleen.
    ‘Novels and plays are churned out as if by machine. Today’s literary manufacturers cater to all tastes! I despise such publishers!’
    ‘What can I say, my friend, money is more important than art.’
    ‘Guess what he had the cheek to say to the author!’ bawled a gossip columnist. ‘“Monsieur, I’ve read your manuscript; choose your weapon.” Have you seen his new play? It doesn’t stand up at all; it’s completely overblown and then it just fizzles out! Ah! At last! Leglantier!’
    A general murmur greeted the arrival of the man whom fellow club patrons considered as something of a mentor. A score of men in black tailcoats, most of them sporting monocles, immediately gathered round the manager of l’Échiquier. A heterogeneous bunch, they included military men, aristocrats and members of the middle classes, like the gossip columnist and the thwarted poet. Edmond Leglantier was good at smoothing away tensions. His inside knowledge of the latest Paris gossip, the favours he received from a few well-known actresses and the subtle way he had of denigrating his peers made him a leading light who was much in demand. And yet the moment his back was turned, his admirers attacked him viciously.
    ‘My dear fellow, we were just waiting for you in order to begin,’ exclaimed a retired colonel.
    ‘Apologies for the delay. I was so caught up in the renovations at the theatre that I lost all sense of time.’
    ‘And yet there’s a rumour going round that work has been suspended due to lack of funds.’
    ‘“Slander, Monsieur, I’ve seen honest men all but destroyed by it”, 11 my dear Colonel de Réauville. Lady Luck will soon be smiling on me and I shall reap the full benefits!’
    ‘By what miracle?’
    Edmond Leglantier spread out his twenty-five share certificates on the green baize.
    ‘Thanks to these beauties. It’s a pity I’m short of funds otherwise I’d have bought more. They’re about to soar – I’d swear to it.’
    ‘Ambrex? Never heard of it,’ remarked the gossip columnist.
    ‘Ah, that’s because the company isn’t listed on the stock market yet, but next month…Expect a coup de théâtre – rest assured this investment will revive my finances. Your health, gentlemen,’ he concluded, waving one of the shares in the air.
    Colonel de Réauville muttered, ‘Ambrex, Ambrex, dashed funny name!’
    ‘Come on, Leglantier, stop beating about the bush. Tell us the whole story. What is this Ambrex?’ demanded an art dealer from Rue Laffitte.
    ‘There’s no mystery. Look,’ said Edmond Leglantier, holding up a cigar holder. ‘What do you suppose this is made of?’
    ‘Amber.’
    ‘Wrong. It’s a perfect imitation, an invention that will revolutionise the jewellery industry.’
    ‘Come on, Leglantier, we’ve all seen imitation amber before, it’s just yellow glass!’ exclaimed Colonel de Réauville.
    ‘This isn’t glass.’
    ‘Gum lacquer?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Tortoiseshell?’
    ‘No, no! I assure you it’s an original formula. Believe me, I’d never have put money on this company if I wasn’t convinced of its success.’
    He slipped the cigar holder into his pocket, pretended to hesitate then reopened his briefcase.
    ‘Here, a gift for the future audience of Heart Pierced by an Arrow . Help yourselves, and be sure to bring your wives, daughters and mistresses to Théâtre de l’Échiquier!’
    Every man examined the cigar holders, going into raptures about their quality. The transparency, the colour, even the tiny insects trapped in the resin looked uncannily like Baltic amber.
    ‘I can’t tell the difference,’ muttered the gossip columnist.
    ‘The patent has just been registered,’ added Edmond Leglantier.
    ‘Are you in partnership with the