Les Brigades du Tigre

The development of the anarchist movements had marked the end of the 19th century

of a genuine terrorist epidemic.

The attacks followed one another.

But the principle of individual reclamation

would soon transform these acts of desperate people into common crimes

committed by organized gangs claiming anarchist principles.

The response was swift.

And the vogue of these criminal gangs came to an end.

The last survivors of the Bonneau gang are all behind bars.

All, except one.

Louis Lacombe, the least known, but perhaps the most dangerous.

Ready to do anything to free them,

even if he had to blow up the guillotine platform.

Meanwhile, in the novels.

Some explain to us how.

To pull off a robbery calmly.

To kill time.

I would like to see them there.

In our place.

So as not to get twenty years.

I am speaking to you.

Here, read this.

To the father of the cops, all your serving dogs

will not prevent me from keeping my word.

Your end is near. I am coming, dog nose.

Another madman.

It remains to be seen whether he will carry out his threat.

I fear so.

There exists a letter from Bonneau.

Will of a Spartan.

Supported outside by young bourgeois youths, it seems.

And perhaps because of it.

It is said that one day,

Lacombe seized a glowing ember and clenched it in his fist

without his face showing the slightest grimace.

Lacombe? We have nothing on him in our files.

There are few with his strength.

We know very little about him. He has always escaped investigations.

Bonneau speaks of a true sixth sense

that would let him scent danger a mile away.

Hence his nickname “the Hyena”.

Is that unbelievable?

Not much more than what I have just told you.

No report, no testimony refers to him.

No description, no ties, no lead.

Tough times ahead, if I understand correctly.

That is why I am entrusting the case to you.

Do we know where it was posted?

Toulouse. According to the postmark.

If he is not bluffing, he must already be on his way.

That is quite possible.

The position of the body.

Lacombe struck him down at point-blank range.

His name was Tardy.

Francis Tardy.

How did it happen?

According to the witnesses,

Tardy entered the compartment to check

the tickets. There, we know for example that he

must have known Lacombe in the past. In any case,

he tried to make himself recognized by him.

That was imprudent.

He probably did not know what Lacombe had become.

And then?

After that, everything happened very quickly.

Lacombe drew his revolver and shot him dead with two bullets.

Then he pulled the alarm and fled into the woods. The

searches yielded nothing. Lacombe vanished like a will-o'-the-wisp.

Do you have the witness statement?

Yes.

Here.

The first says, as far as I remember,

the murderer seemed tall and thin to me, with chestnut hair.

The second: a frail individual of short stature,

with dark hair and wearing a moustache.

As for the third, a pale boy with ember-like eyes,

rather broad-shouldered and wearing a thin beard line.

That does not get us far. All that we

know is that Lacombe is roaming somewhere in Paris.

That is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Yes. And not just any one.

Comrades, it is over for tonight. Next meeting in fifteen days.

See you tomorrow.

Good evening, Guillaume.

Good evening, François.

Ah, it is you.

A private meeting.

The private part is closed, I can receive whoever I want at my home.

After all, that is not the matter.

So, what do you want?

Lacombe.

What makes you think that I would want to help you?

Listen, Guillaume,

I know that you do not approve of Lacombe.

A man like him serves neither your cause nor any other, except his own.

Therefore your interest, like ours,

is to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

Do not bother, Valentin.

For one thing, I do not know where Lacombe is located.

And even if I knew, you would never make an informer out of an anarchist.

Lacombe, that's your business, not mine.

Ah, believe me, Paul.

Lacombe, he is not crazy.

Come hide here? He is the most famous anarchist in Paris, never in a million years.

Don't you believe it?

There is someone for you.

Who?

Good evening, comrade.

I am Lacombe.

What are you looking for here?

The help of the Parisian comrades to free my imprisoned brothers.

Listen, Lacombe.

You and yours are on the wrong path.

I did not come here to hear a sermon.

So, yes or no, are the Parisian anarchists ready to help me?

The answer is no, Lacombe.

Without a shadow of hesitation.

Thank you.

I have everything I wanted to know.

I will therefore go alone.

Without a shadow of hesitation.

I am sorry, Lacombe.

Deeply sorry to see you waste your courage in a hopeless struggle.

Cowardice always finds an excuse.

We have no need for heroes. That kind of romanticism is still a bourgeois luxury.

I see that here people prefer words to actions.

That is the best thing here.

From prosecutor Presseur.

He himself must prosecute the Bonneau gang.

Look, this is what I received this morning.

This boy seems to have a high opinion of himself.

Yes, the one admitted by the Keeper of the Seals is much less flattering.

As for mine,

better to remain silent.

If he were in his place, he would not have time to play.

One would still have to know what he looks like.

Ah, summon all the passengers from the compartment again and question them yourself.

Good.

It's not serious.

There.

The bastards are at the end of the corridor.

You can stay a long time.

That depends.

It is so dark, you know, in that compartment.

But when the conductor came in, he must have turned on the light.

Yes, but everyone was looking at their tickets.

In your opinion,

between the moment when Tardif, the conductor, entered,

and the moment when Lacombe shot him, how much time passed?

I could not say.

But they first talked together for a while.

And do you remember what they said?

Well...

The conductor wanted him to recognize him,

and the other did not seem to understand.

I remember he even said: « Come on, Lacombe, we went to school together »,

or something like that.

Good. Thank you, miss.

Goodbye, sir.

Find out about Tardif and locate the village where he went to school.

There we may have information about Neptune.

Good day, sir.

Tell me, is Ferdinand here?

Ferdinand, it's for you.

Thank you.

Come on, come along.

The explosive was the same in both cases.

Yes, that is obvious.

The fragments?

The hermit of Fontaine, classic.

Nothing else?

All right, thank you.

Ah, more yellow.

So?

Good.

Very good.

No, my friend, a dreadful hole.

Are you thirsty?

Thank you.

Tardif's parents did what they could to

help me, but the Lacombe family no longer exists there.

I was lucky. I met a young farmer

who had done his military service with our man.

He searched through his old keepsake box and

look what he found for me.

There, Lacombe, that's the one.

Yes?

Excuse me, it's about the room.

I wanted to know if you were keeping it. - I don't know.

That doesn't matter.

Excuse me.

It's him, I tell you. I knew him well at the newspaper.

I am going up to his room to make sure of it.

You would have done better to refrain. I hope

it is not too late. Pujol, Thérasson, let's go.

He may have gone out, but I'm not sure.

Lacombe, open up!

Open up, Lacombe!

The bird has flown. Go ahead.

May I? Thank you.