Maigret and the Spinster (18 page)

“And then, one fine day, he turns up in Paris, in furnished rooms on Rue Delambre, debarred forever not only from his own profession but from respectable society as a whole…”

“Where did they meet again? It doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say that they became lovers once more. And before long the husband was getting in their way…”

“In Juliette’s way, especially. I’m quite sure of that. It may even have been her idea to get rid of the husband who stood in the way of her freedom…”

“That she sought and obtained the advice of her lover we know from his letters…”

“Letters which I challenge you to produce!” interrupted the lawyer, making a show of referring to his papers.

“Letters which I shall not produce, because, on their account, your client was driven to commit a second murder, and that’s a fact.”

“In that case…”

A broad sweep of the arm. The lawyer had perhaps forgotten that he was not in a courtroom, wearing his black gown with its billowing sleeves.

“Patience, my dear Maître…The husband dies at last…The husband is dead…He was given to overeating, heavy drinking, and overwork…His doctor is easily persuaded that the cause of death is a heart attack. And it was at this point…”

He paused, turning first to Monsieur Charles, then to Spencer Oats, his eyes alight with mischief:

“And it was at this point that our friend Juliette turned overnight into the crazy old woman of her later years! Possibly she was still attracted to the man who had been her accomplice, but she was also afraid of him…She became deeply suspicious of everything, because she now knew how easy it was to take a life. She became a miser. Monsieur Charles went to live in her house, occupying the apartment just below hers; but she had become jealous of her reputation, and would only meet him outside…Then, out of the blue, two nieces and a nephew fell into her lap…Later, on account of her infirmities, she ceased to be able to go out, and in order to confer in safety with her accomplice at night she took the precaution of drugging Cécile with bromide.…If Cécile had not had a weak stomach…if she had not been in the habit of drinking herb tea every night, God knows…”

“Madame Boynet had kept those old letters safely locked up in her desk in the sitting room…Dandurand had put her in the way of a number of highly profitable, even though unsavory, investments…She, who had once been a passionate lover, was now old, miserly, and helpless…As illicit relationships go, this was a particularly odious one. The nephew and one of the nieces had escaped, and good riddance to them! Only poor Cécile, endowed with the temperament of a slave or a saint, stuck it out.”

“Permit me to ask you a question, Chief Superintendent,” put in the lawyer. “What are your grounds for…?”

“I’ll tell you later, Maître. In the meantime, I would appreciate your attention for a little while longer…Love had turned to avarice. One passion had been superseded by another, because, as every blacksmith knows, it takes a nail to knock out a nail. It took only the merest mischance, the trivial accident whereby Gérard drank the herb tea intended for Cécile, for the situation to explode into tragedy…”

“Dandurand, downstairs in his apartment, hears every word. He knows that up there now there are two people who have just learned the whole truth. He knows that Cécile has made up her mind to tell me everything, to hand over the letters to me…”

“Dare he take the risk of going up to the fifth floor, right then, in the middle of the night, to forestall…?”

“You must have had a rough night of it, Dandurand.”

Dandurand did not flinch. On the contrary, he responded with his usual bleak, fleeting smile.

“Early next morning, while the concierge is out in the yard with her garbage cans, the brother and sister creep downstairs. Dandurand, his door open a crack, sees them go by. If only Cécile were by herself! But he couldn’t tackle two people at once…”

“Out in the street, the brother and sister go their separate ways. Dandurand follows Cécile in the fog, hoping for a chance at least to snatch her bag and its incriminating contents.”

“The streetcar is not the right place…Between Pont Saint-Michel and police headquarters, no opportunity arises…”

“She is inside the building…She is going up the stairs…Can anything save Monsieur Charles now?”

“But there is one thing on his side: time.…It is not yet eight o’clock…I am still at home…And that morning, as it so happens, I decide, for no particular reason, except perhaps to savor Paris in the fog, to walk to work. Meanwhile, Cécile is waiting for me in the room we call the ‘aquarium.’ Dandurand meanwhile is lurking nearby.”

“Forgive me, Chief Superintendent, but I feel obliged to repeat my question: Have you any proof? Have you any witnesses?”

“I have here in front of me, Maître Planchard, a list of everyone who entered this building on the morning in question, and I see that there are at least three names…You, who are, in a sense, one of us, must surely understand…It would have been much too risky for Dandurand to go up and speak to Cécile himself. Knowing all there was to know, nothing on earth would have persuaded her to go anywhere with him…”

“But as luck would have it, who should turn up just then at police headquarters but a shady youth, a member of that very fraternity of which Monsieur Charles had established himself as a leading light…”

“Dandurand accosts him eagerly: ‘
Hi there! There’s a wench up there waiting to see the Chief Superintendent, and she’s got to be stopped…It’s absolutely essential that I should have a word with her…She doesn’t know you
…”

“Bear in mind that Dandurand knows his way about the corridors of this building and those of the Palais de Justice as well as we do.”

“‘
Think of some excuse to bring her to me
…
I’ll be waiting beyond the glass door that
…!’ ”

“And that, gentlemen, is the only way it could have been managed. Needless to say, the accomplice had no notion that a murder was about to be committed, or he would have been reluctant, I assume, to do as he was asked, and I’m quite sure he’s regretted it since…And so the drama unfolds: ‘
Do you wish to see Chief Superintendent Maigret
?’ ”

“Cécile has just seen me go past…She is waiting…Unsuspectingly, she follows the spurious messenger…”

“He leads her through the glass door…”

“You’d be wise to admit that that’s how it happened, Dandurand,
because it is the only way it could have happened!
”

“At the sight of you, she is terrified. The broom closet is close at hand. You push her. She struggles. You try to grab her bag, but she clings to it. You strike her, and then…”

“All this is pure conjecture, Chief Superintendent.”

The lawyer, who had been making copious notes, had lost none of his composure. After all, in such cases, it is not the lawyer’s neck that is in jeopardy.

And then, directing an almost imperceptible wink at his transatlantic colleague, Maigret murmured:

“Would a letter meet the case?”

“A letter from the man who took Cécile to my client?”

“
A letter from your client himself, my dear Maître.
”

Dandurand’s expression was steely.

“Show it to me, then. I’m waiting.”

“And I,” sighed Maigret, “am waiting for it to be found.”

“In other words, all this is…”

“Pure conjecture…yes, I’m afraid so.…All the same, Monsieur Charles did slip away from me and go into Juliette’s bedroom…And he must have had a reason for doing so…1 have instituted a thorough search of the room.…I don’t know if you are familiar with the workings of an old woman’s mind. Old women, as a class, tend to be deeply suspicious. Even though she did keep most of the letters in her desk, you can take it from me that…”

Monsieur Dandurand sniggered. They all stared at him.

At this point, if the truth were told, Maigret was very close to admitting defeat.

He had only one shred of hope to cling to. Had not Juliette Boynet said, in one of her letters to Monfils, that if any mishap should befall her…?

The Chief Superintendent had staked his all on this. He still refused to believe that, during those few minutes alone in the bedroom, Dandurand had…

The very fact that he had gone into that room, lifted the lid of the tapestry stool and touched the bundles of bills, even at the risk of leaving fingerprints, and yet had not taken them, must surely mean that he had been looking for something else, which was even more important to him.

Was it conceivable that the old woman had been so foolish as to keep so crucial a document in the apartment, where he could find it?

And what if Maître Leloup had failed to telegraph to Monfils? What if Monfils had gone off fishing or shooting or whatever? What if he were anywhere but at home? If…?

The telephone rang. Maigret quite literally leaped upon the instrument.

“Hello!…Yes…Very well…Keep trying.”

As he replaced the receiver, try as he might to conceal the fact, his face told Spencer Oats more plainly than words that the search in the apartment at Bourg-la-Reine had yielded nothing.

“Permit me to point out, Chief Superintendent…”

“You can point out anything you wish.…As things are…”

“Your entire case rests upon a nonexistent letter, and, in these circumstances, as you know, my client has the right to…”

The telephone rang again.

“Hello!…Very well!…Three or four hours?…Yes, he’s here. I’ll tell him.”

And turning to Gérard:

“You’d better go to your wife. I don’t think it will be long now before you are a father.”

“I repeat, Chief Superintendent, that…”

Maigret gave the lawyer a look, but said nothing. Then he turned to the American, winked, and went out with him into the corridor.

“It’s beginning to look,” he said, “as if this case, in which you have been so good as to take an interest, will end by making me look an awful fool, and you will go back to the United States with a very poor impression of my methods…All the same, I’m certain, absolutely certain, d’you see, that…”

And then, abruptly and without preamble, Maigret interrupted himself:

“What do you say to a beer?”

He hustled his companion out. In passing, he looked broodingly into the “aquarium,” where two or three people were waiting.

They walked along in the shadow of the Palais de Justice and went into the Brasserie Dauphine, which was quiet and warm, and redolent of draught beer.

“Two beers!…Bumpers!”

“What’s a bumper?” asked the American.

“It’s a special glass, reserved for regulars.…It holds a full liter…”

Somewhat inflated, they retraced their steps.

“I could swear…Oh, well, never mind! If I have to start again from scratch, so be it.”

Spencer Oats was in the state of embarrassment felt by a man who attempts to express condolences without resorting to outworn phrases.

“Do you understand? Psychologically speaking, I know I’m right.…It isn’t possible that…”

“What if Dandurand got to the letter first?”

“Show me the lover that can match his mistress in cunning!” retorted the Chief Superintendent. “And old Juliette…”

They went up the dusty staircase, patterned with damp footprints. A man came up to them, self-important and very much on his dignity, carrying a brief case.

“I trust you have some explanation, Chief Superintendent…”

Maigret had disliked Maître Leloup on sight. Now, he fell upon him as if he were a dear friend whom he had not seen for twenty years.

“The telegram? Why didn’t he address it to me direct? Come on! Come on! Hand it over!”

“Here it is, but I doubt if you’ll be able to make anything of it, and I’m not sure I ought to let you have it, unless you are prepared to tell me more.”

Maigret snatched the telegram out of his hand.

Inform Chief Superintendent Maigret portrait photograph only present received from late aunt (Stop) Dismantled frame on off-chance (Stop) Found concealed letter somewhat cryptic but in my opinion highly damaging to third party (Stop) Situation regarding succession completely altered since Joseph Boynet’s death not due to natural causes and murderer and accomplice cannot inherit (Stop) Desirous of doing my duty but without prejudice (Stop) Arriving Paris tonight (Stop) Etienne Monfils

“Don’t you think my client…?” ventured the lawyer.

“Your client is the hero of the house, Maître Leloup. He raises a point that I hadn’t even thought of. Once it is established that Joseph Boynet was murdered by his wife and her lover, she is retrospectively dispossessed of his fortune, which reverts to the Boynets and the Machepieds.”

“But…”

The Chief Superintendent was no longer listening. He stood motionless in the middle of the vast corridor of police headquarters, within sight of the door of his own office. Close by was the glass-walled waiting room in which, one foggy morning…

A child was in process of being born somewhere or other, little dreaming that the fees for his delivery would be paid by a small band of gentlemen whose fingers were adorned with flashy rings…And they, for their part, were no doubt engaged, at this hour, in the complexities of a game of
belote
at Chez Albert on Rue Blanche.

And what of Monsieur Charles, closeted with his lawyer under the discreet eye of the benign Torrence? What was he thinking?

“Not a bad idea!”

He was startled by the sound of his own voice, and he was not alone in this. Spencer Oats and Maître Leloup, taken unawares, nearly jumped out of their skins.

“I was thinking of that dodge with the photograph,” he explained apologetically.

“The old woman sized up her cousin pretty accurately. She understood provincial life…Well, gentlemen, back to work.”

And, with a little snort, he embarked upon the interrogation of all those who had visited police headquarters on the morning of the murder.

He finished with the last of them, a small-time pimp, at one o’clock in the morning. In conclusion, dropping his burned-out cigarette on the floor, the man said:

“Well, there it is! I try to do someone a favor, and I land myself in the soup…What’s the best I can hope for, Chief Superintendent? Two years?”