Page 95 of The Grey Wolf
Frère Simon was on his stomach, on the stone floor, his body half under Gamache’s bed.
The monk scrambled up, not an easy thing to do in robes, brushed himself off with as much dignity as possible, which was very little, and faced the Sûreté officer.
“So, you found it,” said Frère Simon.
“We did. How did you know I had it?”
“I went to the study to make sure it was still there.”
“Dom Philippe showed you?”
“He told me not to tell anyone.”
Gamache suppressed a smile, thinking of the wily Abbot. Though, to be fair to Frère Simon, he hadn’t yet coughed up that secret. Jean-Guy had had to find the map himself.
“I can explain.”
“I think you’d better. But not here.”
A few minutes later they walked into Dom Philippe’s study. Frère Simon stopped at the threshold. There, in the middle of the room, was another monk. Not as old as Simon, but more grizzled, more solid. More stolid.
They looked at each other in awkward silence.
Simon nodded a greeting.
The other monk did not.
“Let me introduce Frère Roland,” said Beauvoir. “He was the Keeper of the Keys under Dom Philippe.Merci, mon frère.I’ll let you get back to your chores. He’s now,” Beauvoir explained to Gamache, “assigned by Frère Simon to look after the physical plant, or at least the part of it having to do with the septic system.”
They turned to the acting Abbot, who had the grace to look embarrassed and step aside to let Brother Roland pass. There was a slight pause while Roland glared. And Simon dropped his eyes.
It was the monastic equivalent of a thrashing.
The day had barely begun and already it was very bad for the acting Abbot. And about, he knew, they all knew, to get worse.
When they were alone, Armand closed the door and gestured with the map toward the chairs. Then he nodded to Beauvoir to take the lead.
“Let’s not waste time. We know you opened the mail. We know the Abbot found out and told Frère Roland to hand it out himself, and bypass you. He didn’t explain why, but Roland guessed.”
Simon sat silent. Neither protesting nor confirming.
“When the Abbot left, he put you in charge, and you replaced Roland with your own person and went back to opening all the correspondence.”
The color had returned to Simon’s cheeks. They could have warmed their hands by it.
Beauvoir leaned toward the monk.
“We don’t care about that. In fact, for our purposes, we’re very glad you did. We just need to know what those letters from the Vatican said.”
There was a pause that seemed to elongate. Light was now pouring into the room, into the entire abbey. The original architect monk had positioned the windows of Saint-Gilbert just so, to capture every available ray and draw it down. So that the entire building, from the chapel to the bathrooms, was bathed in light so giddy it was almost impossible not to smile.
It was like being immersed, baptized, in brightness.
Now Frère Simon sighed, setting the dust motes dancing in the sunshine. “That first letter, from the American monk to Frère Sébastien, was vague. It said that he’d heard about a plot, something so terrible he’d traveled from his place in the States to Rome. He wanted Sébastien to join him there.”
The Sûreté officers exchanged glances.
“No specifics?”
