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Retancourt and defamation of character.’ Adamsberg looked round to count the number of officers in the room.
    ‘Twelve eye-witnesses,’ he added.
    Voisenet had made him sit down, pulled back the sleeve from his left arm and was applying first aid.
    ‘Confrontation proceeded as follows,’ Adamsberg continued in a tired voice. ‘Superior officer issued a reprimand, accompanied by a show of violence and intimidation, without making physical contact or injuring any part of the body of the said Joseph Favre.’
    Adamsberg clenched his teeth while Voisenet pressed a cotton pad on his arm to stop the bleeding.
    ‘Brandishing of service weapon and sharp implement on the part of the brigadier , occasioning slight injury caused by a piece of glass. You can do the rest, write the report without my signature, and send it to the disciplinary tribunal. Don’t forget to photograph the state of the room.’
    Justin got up and came over to the commissaire .
    ‘What shall we say about the bottle of wine,’ he whispered. ‘Do we say you took it out of Danglard’s bag?’
    ‘We say I picked it up off the table.’
    ‘Reason for the presence of a bottle of wine in the office at three-thirty in the afternoon?’
    ‘A little party at midday,’ suggested Adamsberg, ‘to celebrate the squad’s decision to go to Quebec.’
    ‘Ah yes,’ said Justin in relief. ‘Good idea.’
    ‘What do we do about Favre?’ asked Noël.
    ‘Suspension from duty and confiscation of his gun. The magistrate can decide whether he was an aggressor or whether it was a case of self-defence. We’ll deal with the rest when I get back.’
    Adamsberg rose to his feet, leaning on Voisenet’s arm.
    ‘Be careful,’ Voisenet said to him. ‘You’ve lost an awful lot of blood.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ said Adamsberg. ‘I’m going to the police doctor right away.’
    Leaning on Danglard’s arm, he went out leaving his officers stupefied, unable to collect their thoughts or, for the moment at least, to pass judgment on what had happened.

VIII
    ADAMSBERG HAD GONE HOME WITH HIS ARM IN A SLING, AND PUMPED full of the antibiotics and painkillers that Dr Romain, the staff doctor, had made him swallow. The cut had needed six stitches.
    His left arm being numb because of the local anaesthetic, he opened his bedroom cupboard clumsily with one hand, and called Danglard to help him pick up a box file from the lower shelf where it was sitting among old pairs of socks. Danglard put the box on a coffee table and the two men sat down facing each other.
    ‘Can you take out the papers, Danglard? Sorry, I can’t do anything with this arm.’
    ‘Why in heaven’s name did you break the bottle?’
    ‘Are you defending that scumbag?’
    ‘I agree, Favre’s full of shit. But when you smashed the bottle, you drove him to violence. He’s that kind of character. And as a rule, you’re not.’
    ‘Well, maybe when I come across that kind of character, I change my habits.’
    ‘Why didn’t you simply suspend him, like you did last time?’
    Adamsberg made a gesture of impotence.
    ‘Pressure?’ suggested Danglard cautiously. ‘Neptune?’
    ‘Could be.’
    Meanwhile Danglard had pulled eight files out of the box, all labelled with a title: ‘Trident no. 1’, ‘Trident no. 2’, and so on up to 8.
    ‘And talking of the bottle in your briefcase, things are going too far on that front.’
    ‘And that’s none of your business,’ said Danglard using the commissaire ’s own words.
    Adamsberg nodded agreement.
    ‘Anyway,’ Danglard went on, ‘I’ve made a new resolution.’
    Touching his pompom, but deeming it best not to mention that, he announced, ‘If I get back from Quebec alive, I’ll only drink one glass at a time.’
    ‘Of course you’ll get back, because I’ll be holding the string. So you can start on the new regime right now.’
    Danglard nodded vaguely. In the commotion of the last few hours, he had forgotten that Adamsberg would be keeping the