Maigret (6 page)

‘The hunting season's not
over yet, is it, Louis?'

This time it was Louis who was
bemused.

‘How do I know? Why are you
asking?'

‘Because I was thinking about
going after rabbits.'

Again, it was Maigret who was the butt
of his comment. The explanation followed, as the cards were dealt and each player
arranged them in a fan in his left hand.

‘I went to see the man,
earlier.'

Which translated as: ‘I went to
warn Cageot'.

Audiat abruptly looked up.

‘What did he say?'

Louis frowned, probably thinking that
they were going too far.

‘He's laughing! Apparently
he's on home ground and he's planning a little party.'

‘Diamonds trumps …
Tierce
haute
… OK?'

‘Four of a kind.'

Eugène was all keyed up and it was clear
he was not concentrating on the game but on coming up with fresh witticisms.

‘The Parisians,' he stated,
‘go and spend their holidays in the country – in the Loire, for example. The
funny thing is, that the people from the Loire come and spend their holidays in
Paris.'

At last! He hadn't been able to
resist the urge to let Maigret know that he knew all about him. And Maigret sat
there, puffing away on his pipe and warming his calvados in the hollow of his hand
before taking a sip.

‘Keep your eyes
on the game,' retorted Louis, who kept darting anxious glances in the
direction of the door.

‘Trumps … and double trumps. A
twenty-point bonus, plus ten for the last trick …'

An individual who looked like a modest
Montmartre shopkeeper walked in and went over to wedge himself between Eugène and
his friend from Marseille, without saying a word. He shook both their hands and sat
slightly back, still without opening his mouth.

‘All right?' asked
Louis.

The newcomer's lips parted, and a
thin, reedy sound came out. He had lost his voice.

‘All right!'

‘You got it?' Eugène bawled
in his ear, revealing that the man was deaf as well.

‘Twigged what?' replied the
reedy voice.

They must have kicked him under the
table. Finally the deaf man's gaze lighted on Maigret and rested on him for a
long moment. He gave a faint smile.

‘I get it.'

‘Clubs trumps … Pass …'

‘Pass …'

Rue Fontaine was coming back to life.
The neon signs were lit and the doormen were at their posts on the pavement. The
Floria's doorman came in to buy cigarettes, but no one took any notice of
him.

‘Hearts trumps …'

Maigret was hot. He felt stiff all over
but he gave no sign of it and his expression remained the same as when he had begun
his long vigil.

‘I say!'
said Eugène suddenly to his hard-of-hearing neighbour, whom Maigret had recognized
as the owner of a brothel in Rue de Provence. ‘What do you call a locksmith
who doesn't make locks any more?'

The comical aspect of this conversation
came from the fact that Eugène had to shout, while the other man answered in an
angelic voice:

‘A locksmith who—? I don't
know.'

‘Well, I'd call him a
nobody.'

He played a card, picked up and played
again.

‘And a cop who's no longer a
cop?'

The penny had dropped. His
neighbour's face lit up and his voice was reedier than ever as he said:

‘A nobody!'

Then they all burst out laughing, even
Audiat, who gave a snigger. Something was stopping him from joining wholeheartedly
in the general mirth. He was visibly anxious, despite the presence of his friends.
And it was not solely on account of Maigret.

‘Léon!' he shouted to the
night waiter. ‘Bring me a brandy and water.'

‘You're drinking brandy
now?'

Eugène had noticed that Audiat was
losing his nerve and he was keeping a close eye on him.

‘You'd better go
easy.'

‘Go easy on what?'

‘How many Pernods did you have
before dinner?'

‘Damn you!' replied Audiat
stubbornly.

‘Calm down, boys,' broke in
Louis. ‘Spades trumps!'

By midnight, their cheerfulness was more
forced. Maigret
was still sitting immobile in his overcoat, his
pipe in his mouth. He looked like part of the furniture. Or even better, he blended
in with the walls. Only his eyes were alive, roving slowly from one player to the
other.

Audiat had been the first to display
signs of unease, and then the deaf man soon began to show some impatience. At
length, he stood up:

‘I have to go to a funeral
tomorrow. I should go to bed.'

‘Oh, drop dead!' said Eugène
under his breath, certain he wouldn't be heard.

He said that the way he would have said
anything else, to keep his spirits up.

‘
Rebelote
… and trumps …
and trumps again … Give me your cards …'

Despite the disapproving looks he was
getting, Audiat had drunk three brandies and his face was furrowed. He had turned
pale and his forehead was clammy.

‘Where are you going?'

‘I'm off too,' he
said, rising.

He clearly felt sick. He had drunk his
third brandy to perk himself up, but it had finished him off. Louis and Eugène
exchanged glances.

‘You look like a wet rag,'
Eugène said after a moment.

It was just after one o'clock in
the morning. Maigret took out his money and put it on the table. Eugène drew Audiat
into a corner and spoke to him in hushed but urgent tones. Audiat was reluctant, but
eventually allowed himself to be persuaded.

‘See you tomorrow!' he said,
his hand on the door handle.

‘Waiter! How much?'

The saucers rattled.
Maigret buttoned up his overcoat, filled a fresh pipe and lit it with the gas
lighter by the bar.

‘Good night, gentlemen.'

He left the café and identified the
sound of Audiat's retreating footsteps. Meanwhile, Eugène slipped behind the
bar, as if to have a word with the owner. Louis immediately understood and
discreetly opened a drawer. Eugène plunged his hand inside then put it in his pocket
and headed for the door with the man from Marseille in tow.

‘See you later,' he said,
stepping out into the night.

In the glow from the nightclubs'
neon signs, Rue Fontaine was busy with doormen on the pavement and drivers
manoeuvring to park their cars. It was only after Place Blanche, when Maigret and
his quarry turned right on to Boulevard Rochechouart, that the situation became
clearer.

Joseph Audiat walked ahead with a
feverish, irregular step, never once turning round.

Twenty metres behind him came
Maigret's burly form taking great, calm strides, his hands thrust in his
pockets.

Audiat and Maigret's footsteps
echoed each other in the silence of the night, Audiat's more rapid,
Maigret's tread heavier and more solemn.

Behind them, the purring of
Eugène's engine could be heard – for Eugène and the man from Marseille had
jumped into the car. They drove at a crawl, hugging the kerb and trying to keep a
distance from the two men. Sometimes they had to change gear to maintain their
speed. Sometimes too they would put on a sudden spurt and then slow down to allow
Audiat and Maigret to get ahead.

Maigret had no need to look over his
shoulder. He knew what was going on. He was aware that the big blue limousine was
behind him. He could picture the faces behind the windscreen.

It was classic. He was
following Audiat because he had the feeling that Audiat would allow himself to be
intimidated more easily than the others. Meanwhile, the others, who knew this, were
following him in turn.

At first, this made Maigret smile
inwardly.

Then, he was no longer smiling, but
frowning. Audiat was not heading towards Rue Lepic, where he had a room, nor towards
the centre of Paris. He continued along the boulevard beneath the overground section
of the métro in the direction of La Chapelle, without stopping at the Barbès
intersection.

It was highly unlikely that he had any
business in this neighbourhood at such an hour. There could only be one explanation.
Audiat had been instructed by the two men in the car to lure Maigret into the
deserted back streets.

Already, the only signs of life were the
occasional girl hidden in the shadows, or the hesitant form of a North African going
from one to the other before making up his mind.

Maigret did not feel frightened straight
away. He remained calm, puffing away on his pipe and listening to his footsteps, as
regular as a pendulum.

The boulevard passed over the railway
lines coming out of the Gare du Nord, which loomed in the distance with its
illuminated clock and empty platforms. The time was 2.30. The car was still purring
behind them, when, for no reason, it gave a little hoot of its horn. Then Audiat
began walking faster, so fast that he seemed to be trying not to run.

For no apparent reason either, he
crossed the road. Maigret
crossed too. For a second, he was
sideways on. He saw the car out of the corner of his eye, and that was when it
dawned on him what they were up to.

The overground métro made the boulevard
darker than any other part of Paris. A police cycle patrol rode past and one of the
officers turned round to look at the car, saw nothing untoward and vanished with his
colleagues.

The pace was hotting up. After a hundred
metres, Audiat crossed the road again, but this time he lost his cool and ran the
last few steps. Maigret stopped and he could hear the car revving up. The situation
was perfectly clear. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead, for it was
pure chance that he had avoided being run over.

So that was it! Audiat's job was
to entice him through the empty streets. And then, when Maigret was halfway across
the road, the car would mow him down.

As if in a nightmare, Maigret was
conscious of the sleek limousine gliding through the streets and its two occupants,
especially Eugène, with his brilliant white teeth and angelic smile, sitting with
his hands on the wheel waiting for the right moment.

Could this be called a crime? Maigret
was in danger of dying a stupid and horrible death any moment now: lying in the
dirt, severely wounded, and howling with pain for hours before anyone would come to
his aid.

It was too late to turn back. In any
case, he didn't want to. He was no longer counting on Audiat, he had abandoned
his plan of catching up with him and getting him to talk, but he was determined to
continue following him. It was a question of self-respect.

His only precaution was
to take his gun out of his trouser pocket and to cock it.

Then he walked a little faster. Instead
of staying twenty metres behind Audiat, he was so close on his heels that Audiat
thought Maigret was going to arrest him, and he too hastened his step. For a few
seconds, it was comical, and the two men in the car must have realized what was
going on because they came much closer.

The trees on the boulevard and the
pillars supporting the overhead métro filed past. Audiat was afraid, afraid of
Maigret and perhaps too of his accomplices. When the car hooted once more to prompt
him to cross the road, he stopped, breathless, on the kerb.

Close on his heels, Maigret saw the
car's headlamps, Audiat's soft hat and anxious eyes.

He was about to step off the pavement
close behind his companion when a sixth sense held him back. Perhaps Audiat had the
same intuition, but for him it was too late. He was already in the road, advancing
one metre, two metres …

Maigret opened his mouth to shout a
warning. He could see that the two men in the car, tired of this fruitless chase,
had suddenly decided to put their foot down, even if it meant hitting their comrade
at the same time as Maigret.

There was no scream. A rush of air, the
sound of an engine going at full throttle. A dull thud too, and perhaps a vague
shout.

The car's red rear lights were
already receding, and then it vanished down a side street. On the ground, the little
man in black was struggling to raise himself up on his hands, gazing wild-eyed at
Maigret.

He looked like a madman
or a child. His face was covered in dust and blood. His nose had changed shape,
which distorted his entire face.

He managed to sit up and raise a hand to
his forehead, limply, as in a dream, grimacing.

Maigret gathered him up and sat him down
on the kerb, and, without thinking, went to pick up the hat that was sitting in the
middle of the road. Then it took him a few moments to recover his own equilibrium,
even though he had not been hit.

There were no passers-by. A taxi could
be heard, but it was a long way off, probably near Barbès.

‘You had a narrow escape!'
grunted Maigret, leaning over the injured man.

He probed Audiat's head with his
thumbs, slowly, to check whether his skull was fractured. He flexed his legs one
after the other, for his trousers were torn, or rather ripped off below the right
knee, and Maigret glimpsed an ugly wound.

Audiat seemed to have lost not only the
power of speech, but also his mind. His jaw worked up and down, as if to get rid of
a nasty taste in his mouth.

Maigret looked up. He had heard the
sound of an engine. He was convinced it was Eugène's car driving down a back
street. Then the noise drew closer and the blue limousine shot across the boulevard
barely a hundred metres from the two men.

They could not stay there. Eugène and
his sidekick would not go away. They wanted to know what was going to happen. They
drove around the neighbourhood in
another big circle, the purring
of the engine barely audible in the still night. This time, they drove along the
boulevard within a few metres of Audiat. Maigret held his breath, expecting
gunfire.

‘They'll be back,' he
thought. ‘And next time …'

He lifted Audiat, carried him across the
road and sat him down on the ground behind a tree.

And the car did drive past again. Eugène
failed to spot the two men and pulled up a hundred metres further on. There must
have been a brief discussion between him and the other man, and the outcome was that
they gave up the chase.

Audiat groaned and writhed as the light
from a gas lamp revealed a huge pool of blood on the ground in the spot where he had
been knocked over.

There was nothing they could do but
wait. Maigret did not dare leave the injured man to go off in search of a taxi, and
he was loath to ring a doorbell and have a crowd gather. They only had to wait for
ten minutes before a half-drunk Algerian came past, and Maigret got him to
understand that he must fetch a taxi.

The night was cold. The sky had the same
icy tinge as the night Maigret had left Meung. From time to time the whistle of a
freight train reached them from the Gare du Nord.

‘It hurts!' said Audiat at
last in a mournful tone.

And he looked up at Maigret as if
expecting him to alleviate his suffering.

Fortunately, the Algerian had done as he
had been asked and a taxi pulled up. The driver was wary:

‘Are you sure it
was an accident?'

He couldn't make up his mind
whether to turn off the engine and help Maigret or not.

‘If you don't believe me,
take us to the police station,' Maigret replied.

The driver was won over and a quarter of
an hour later they pulled up opposite the Hôtel des Quais, where Maigret was
staying.

Audiat, who had not closed his eyes, was
watching people and things with such an ineffable gentleness that the sight made
people smile. The hotel doorman misinterpreted it.

‘Your friend looks as though
he's had one too many.'

‘Perhaps he was a bit drunk. A car
knocked him over.'

They carried Audiat up to the room.
Maigret ordered a rum and had towels brought. He did not need any help for the rest.
While people slept in the neighbouring room, he silently removed his shoes, his
jacket and his detachable collar and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

Half an hour later, he was still working
on Audiat, who was stretched out on the bed, scrawny and naked, with the mark of his
garters on his calves. The ugliest wound was the one on his knee. Maigret
disinfected and dressed it. He had put sticking plasters on the few minor scratches
and finally got the injured man to drink a large glass of rum.

The radiator was scalding hot. The
curtains weren't drawn, and the moon was visible against a patch of sky.

‘Well, your friends are utter
bastards, aren't they?' sighed Maigret suddenly.

Audiat pointed to his
jacket and asked for a cigarette.

‘What alerted me was that you were
so twitchy. You'd guessed that they'd go after you too!'

His gaze steadier, Audiat eyed Maigret
with suspicion. When he did open his mouth, it was to ask a question.

‘What does it matter to
you?'

‘Keep still, you're still
very shaken. Let me tell you why it matters to me. A thug – someone you know –
killed Pepito, probably because he was afraid he'd say too much about the
Barnabé business. At around two in the morning, the thug in question came looking
for you at the Tabac Fontaine.'

Audiat knitted his brow and stared at
the wall.

‘You remember! Cageot called you
outside. He asked you to bump into the fellow who'd be coming out of the
Floria
at any moment. And thanks to your testimony, that's the fellow
who's been locked up. Now supposing that were a member of my
family—'

His cheek on the pillow, Audiat
murmured:

‘Don't count on
me!'

It was around four. Maigret sat down
beside the bed, poured himself a glassful of rum and filled a pipe.

‘We have plenty of time to
chat,' he said. ‘I've just looked at your papers. So far you only
have four convictions and they're not serious: pickpocketing, fraud, accessory
to the burglary of a villa—'

Audiat was pretending to be asleep.

‘Only, if I've done my sums
correctly, one more conviction and it's exile to the colonies for you. What do
you think?'

‘Let me sleep.'

‘I'm not stopping you from
going to sleep. But you
won't stop me from speaking. I know
that your friends aren't home yet. Right now, they're arranging things
so that tomorrow, if I report their registration number, a garage owner will swear
that their car didn't leave his garage this evening.'

Audiat's swollen lips stretched in
a blissful smile.

‘Except that I'll tell you
one thing: I'll get Cageot! Whenever I've made up my mind to get
someone, I've nabbed them in the end. Now the day when Cageot is hauled in,
you will be too, and no matter how much you protest—'

By five in the morning Maigret had drunk
two glasses of rum and the air was blue with pipe smoke. Audiat had tossed and
turned so many times that he had ended up sitting up in bed, his cheeks red and his
eyes shining.