Baron De Valfort: A Fictional Narrative

“Glad to meet you again, Captain Morsirisse,” said Henri de Valfort, as a coughing spell forced him to cover his reddened face with a white handkerchief, quickly pulled out of his pocket. “How are you, Henri?” I asked, showing concern over the respiratory distress in which I found him struggling. The death of his brother had taken its toll. He seemed to be in a febrile state of health. He nodded to me with friendliness, a novel familiarity, uncharacteristic of what I had been able to observe in his behavior during previous encounters. As I was precisely mingling with the memory of our past conversations, out of my recollections, jumped the familiar sensation that there was a ‘je ne sais quoi’ unusual in him. What was it, again?! I was still

“And if that is the case,” I concluded, “… if this anonymous message tells the truth, I feel the responsibility to discover who killed the Baron de Valfort… As you know, he was my client….” Henri did not answer. “You don’t seem to be surprised,” I said. "“Are you the one who sent me the clumsy messenger with his clumsy message?” “Don’t be absurd!” He now, exploded. “Why should I do that? Why should I need a note to tell you, anonymously, what I already told you directly, and many times? Someone murdered my brother!” “Do you suspect anyone?” “No. Of course not! Nevertheless, I maintain that he didn’t take his own life. I couldn’t say why, but I know he didn’t. What does it matter, anyway? The Commissaire Girodot is formal in his conclusion!” “He may change his mind if I showed him a proof. So far, he remains obnubilated by the room locked from the inside. It is, indeed, a fact that appears to defy logic when it comes to any murder scenario. I cannot blame him for that. It’s for me to discover the