Nine o’clock on a March Sunday morning was no time to be standing on a quayside, even in Cannes. Egbert Rose, with only the contents of a stale croissant inside him, shared his views. A wave of longing for Highbury with the comforting sight of the Sunday roast on the kitchen table, and fatty bacon and overdone eggs before him, overcame him. But when the news reached him by way of a young gendarme sent by Fouchard, there had been no alternative. It might well be that Chesnais had incontrovertible evidence. It might also be that Chesnais needed an hour of glory quickly. With all of Paris still talking of l’affaire Dreyfus and the merits and demerits of Monsieur Zola’s imprisonment, a blow needed to be struck for French justice – whether it hit the target or not. They did not have long to wait for the inspector. A police van soon disgorged Chesnais, Fouchard and an eager-looking gendarme, excited at this unexpected promotion from his usual surveillance sur îlot at the Flower Market.
