Les Brigades du Tigre

1909. The year looks particularly turbulent.

The Clemenceau ministry, which governs France,

faces bleak prospects.

And yet a certain privileged elite continues

to carelessly maintain the myth of the Belle Époque.

People are fascinated by Diaghilev’s Russian ballets, and

they are excited by the revolution that the fashion designer

Poiret has just imposed on women’s fashion, and people forget

often the serious problems of the international stage.

Mr. Clemenceau,

your cops have now become secret agents.

Incognitos.

They have left their bicycles, their horses.

Meanwhile, in novels, some describe how

to calmly pull off a dirty trick to kill time.

I would like to see them there

in our place, to avoid getting twenty years.

Mr. Fèvre. - Yes, that's me.

If you want to come up, we are waiting for you inside.

Sit down, Fèvre.

If I receive you like this, it is because I insist that

no one knows about this meeting.

Mr. Clemenceau, it is always for me

an honor and a pleasure to hear you.

No formalities. It is not the president speaking to you.

It is the chief cop of France.

I’m listening. - Fèvre, it’s serious. Very serious.

There are leaks somewhere in the upper administration.

All the plans of my Moroccan policy are known

to the chanceries as I develop them.

The ambassador of the United States complained to me that,

as soon as the dispatches arrive in Washington,

anyone, by knocking on the right door, can get a copy.

Fèvre, that is the door I need.

At any price, but quickly. Very quickly.

So I am counting on you.

I have followed your orders, Mr. Clemenceau.

Back to the guards. Back to the guards. It seems so.

Alright. It seems so.

Better than that. Back to the guards, first.

What does this touching little ceremony mean?

It means, sir, that in one hour I will be on the train.

I doubt it.

Yet you authorized me to take a week off.

Yes, but that was the day before yesterday.

I suspected as much.

This job is not for dilettantes.

Besides, you will be able to satisfy your taste for luxury and mingle

a bit with the cream of all Paris. What more do you want?

Good evening.

Two bouquets of violets, please.

Thank you, Hector. Thank you.

Mr. Chatignac.

Excuse me, ladies, a moment to

say to a friend. I’ll rejoin you right away.

What do you want from me, Mr. Valentin?

Don’t make that face, Marquis. I mean you no harm.

Besides, I am no longer in jewelry, and

small improprieties no longer interest me.

What do I owe this honor, then?

I have a favor to ask of you, Mr. Chatignac.

If it is within my scope…

I need a social advisor

who will get me into all of Paris, into the world of

the aristocracy, the arts, diplomacy, politics.

Yes, I see. A luxury informant, right?

Let’s say, a mentor.

But I don’t know if I am qualified.

Come now, you are underestimating yourself.

And you will have certain non-negligible financial advantages.

Unfortunate, but tempting.

When I think that I have at hand the son of

your Prémoinsons, the heir of the Northern Spinning Mills.

Of course, I will be glad to help you, commissioner.

I had no doubt. Excuse me.

Ah, Brumel.

You don’t look well.

We don’t talk. Nothing is more exhausting than the idleness of these salons.

Yet it is more fun than the Spinning Mills, isn’t it?

Don’t think so. At dawn this morning, end of the game at Cattelan’s.

Ten o’clock: horseback ride.

At noon: reception at the Spanish embassy.

At sixteen hours: art opening.

A man named Picasso.

Protégé of the baroness of I don’t remember what.

And it has been like this for a week.

This Chatignac is killing me.

The ‘blase’ obliges.

Filon Lavard wants to gather some tips, yes?

An address that seemed interesting to me.

Madame Solange de…

Vanbrochy.

Haute couture.

Are you interested in fashion now?

No, but Madame de Vanbrochy is also at the center of a circle where

senior officials and diplomats meet. Curious, isn’t it?

What are you waiting for to go there?

For my liver to allow it.

At Razade’s.

Please, miss.

May I?

Thank you.

Firebird.

The heat.

Him, I will be useful, madam.

She is kind.

Jean, Mrs de Vanbrochy is calling us.

Do it, do it yourself.

John.

Come now, ladies, gentlemen, my friends.

I am truly confused. It's nothing, just a fainting spell.

At this moment, I think it would be preferable

to postpone the rest of this presentation.

I am truly confused, believe me, but...

Well, we're leaving.

Sarah, may I help you?

No, no, please, leave, leave at once.

Ah, a doctor should be called.

I'll take care of it, I'll take care of it.

Really, you don't want to?

No, my dear friend, I will keep you informed.

Thank you.

Who are you, sir?

What are you doing there?

Commissioner Valentin, madam.

May I see the injured woman?

The police?

But what's the point? One of my models

has just had a fainting spell, a simple fainting spell.

Why are you talking about injury?

Madam, madam, she is dead.

If you permit.

It's a murder, madam.

She was probably shot with a revolver.

No, no, that's not possible.

No, no, that's not possible.

I need the testimony of all present persons.

It is understood that you do not touch

the body before the arrival of the medical examiner.

One more moment, miss, please.

Don't move.

Don't move. - I'm fine.

There. Thank you, you can stand up.

But really!

Come now, Commissioner, you are insane, insane.

What are you looking for?

She cannot have been injured here.

No one heard a gunshot.

You know it very well, since you were there.

You don't touch anything, right?

So, doctor, your conclusions?

Death was instantaneous, a bullet through the heart.

So she was shot here?

Apparently, yes.

Do you still need me, Commissioner?

No, no, thank you doctor, you may go.

Very well. - All of this is absurd.

Miss, would you redo the route

from the café to Emilienne Darcy?

Yes, it must be roughly the same as yours.

Come on, Commissioner.

Leave that girl alone.

You see she is upset.

Miss, please.

Stop!

That's when she must have been hit.

The shot could have been fired from here.

It likely came from there.

Thank you, miss.

And there we are.

That's not ordinary.

Yet no one heard a gunshot.

Unless...

Unless, unless, unless what?

I just read an article

about a recent American discovery.

It is a tube

that is fitted to a revolver barrel

and that suppresses the detonation.

Bandits use it

to neutralize paralyzed doctors.

If that's the case,

we are dealing with seasoned professionals,

not amateurs.

I remember now.

He had a strange look. - Who?

A photographer with a reddish-blond beard and somewhat hazy eyes.

I had never seen him here.

That girl is delirious.

I didn't notice any of that.

I assure you, madam.

He even photographed me.

Could you describe him in detail?

I think so, yes.

No.

No.

Not that one either.

This time we've reviewed them all.

Are you sure he wasn't among them?

I still see him as if he were in front of me.