The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin (15 page)

Maigret and
Delvigne looked at each other.

‘Let him in.'

The accountant was nervous. He
didn't know what to do with his bowler hat and hesitated when he saw Maigret
in the office.

‘Forgive me for …'

‘You had something to say to
me?'

He had timed it badly. It was not the
moment for pleasantries.

‘That is … Forgive me,
but … I wanted to thank you so much for …'

‘Your son is back home?'

‘Yes, he got in an hour ago. He
told me …'

‘What did he tell you?'

It was both grotesque and pitiful.
Monsieur Chabot was trying to find the right expression. He was full of good will.
But direct questions unsettled him and he forgot the words he had prepared.

A few poorly prepared words, which fell
flat because of the unsympathetic atmosphere.

‘He said … That is to
say, I wanted to thank you for your kindness … He's not a bad boy at
heart. But he's easily led by bad influence. He has promised … His
mother's in bed and he's at her side … I promise, monsieur,
that in future … He is innocent, isn't he?'

The accountant was choking on his words.
But he was making a great effort to remain calm and dignified.

‘He's my only
son … and I wanted. Perhaps I have been too lenient …'

‘Yes, far too lenient!'

And now Monsieur
Chabot lost control entirely. Maigret turned away, since he sensed that this
forty-year-old man, with his thin shoulders and curled moustaches, was about to
weep.

‘I guarantee that in
future …'

And not knowing what else to say, he
stammered:

‘Should I write to the examining
magistrate too, to thank him?'

‘Yes, yes,' muttered
Delvigne, pushing him towards the door. ‘Excellent idea.'

He picked up the bowler hat, which had
fallen to the floor, put it into the hand of its owner, who was slowly backing
out.

‘Delfosse senior won't think
of thanking us,' remarked Delvigne once the door was shut. ‘It's
true he dines every week with the provincial governor, and he's on first-name
terms with the royal prosecutor. Well, so now …'

That ‘so now' expressed
weariness and disgust, as did the discouraged gesture with which he collected the
papers from his desk.

‘So what do we do?'

At this time of day, Adèle was probably
still asleep in her untidy bedroom, with its odours of intimacy and cooking. In the
Gai-Moulin, Victor and Joseph would be moving slowly from table to table, wiping
down the marble tops and polishing the mirrors with whiting.

‘Sir! Someone from the
Gazette
de Liège
– you promised him—'

‘He'll have to
wait.'

Maigret had gone to sit down in a
corner, looking irritable.

‘What we
know beyond all doubt,' said Delvigne suddenly, ‘is that Graphopoulos is
dead.'

‘There's an idea!'
said Maigret.

The other man looked at him, supposing
he was being ironic.

And Maigret went on:

‘Yes, that's the best thing
to do. How many inspectors have you got here at the moment?'

‘Two or three. Why?'

‘Can this office be
locked?'

‘Of course!'

‘I imagine you would trust your
inspectors more than you would the prison guards?'

Delvigne still did not understand.

‘Right, give me your revolver.
Don't worry. I'm going to fire a shot. You will go outside shortly
afterwards and announce that the broad-shouldered man has killed himself, which
amounts to a confession, and that the investigation is over.'

‘And you want—'

‘Listen. I'll fire this
shot. After that, don't let anyone come in here. I assume it's possible
to exit from this window?'

‘What are you going to
do?'

‘I've got an idea. All
right?'

And Maigret fired into the air, after
taking up position in a chair with his back to the door. He didn't even bother
to take his pipe out of his mouth. It didn't matter anyway. As people came
running from the other offices, Delvigne stood in the doorway, announcing without
conviction:

‘It's nothing! It's the murderer.
He's confessed.'

And he went out, locking the door, while
Maigret scratched his head, looking extremely gloomy.

Adèle, Génaro, Victor, Delfosse and
Chabot, he recited to himself like a litany. In the large office outside, the
reporter from the
Gazette
was taking notes.

‘You say he's confessed? But
his identity is still unknown? Perfect. Can I use your phone? The late stock market
edition comes out in an hour.'

‘I say,' a cheerful
inspector announced from the doorway, ‘the pipes have arrived. Come and choose
your own.'

But Chief Inspector Delvigne was pulling
on his moustache without enthusiasm.

‘Presently—'

‘And guess what! Two francs
cheaper than I thought!'

‘Really?'

But he betrayed his real thoughts by
muttering between his teeth.

‘Him and his
mafia …'

‘You're sure of your
men?'

‘Well, no one will guess
they're from the police, for the simple reason that they aren't. At the
bar in the Gai-Moulin, I've posted my brother-in-law, who lives in Spa and
who's only in Liège for a day or two. The one keeping an eye on Adèle is a tax
clerk. And the others are hidden or well camouflaged.'

It was a cool evening and the fine rain
was making the asphalt slippery. Maigret had buttoned his heavy black coat up to his
chin, and tucked a scarf round the bottom half of his face.

As an extra precaution, he did not
venture outside the shadows of the little side-street from which he could see the
Gai-Moulin's illuminated sign.

Chief Inspector Delvigne, whose death
had not been reported in the press, had no need to take such measures. He
wasn't even wearing an overcoat, and when it started to rain, he muttered
crossly under his breath.

Their watch had begun at half past
eight, before the doors of the club had opened. They had seen arrive in turn Victor,
well ahead of the others, then Joseph, then the owner. It was Génaro who had
switched on the sign, just as the musicians were approaching from Rue du
Pont-d'Avroy.

At nine o'clock exactly, the sound
of jazz music began
issuing faintly from
inside, and the doorman took up position at the entrance, counting the change in his
pockets.

A few minutes later, Delvigne's
brother-in-law strolled into the club, followed soon after by the tax clerk. And the
Belgian chief inspector summed up his strategic plan.

‘Apart from those two, and the two
men watching the back door, I've got someone outside Adèle's place, Rue
de la Régence, another at the Delfosse home and one outside Chabot's. And the
room that Graphopoulos occupied in the Hôtel Moderne is being watched as
well.'

Maigret said nothing. It was his idea.
The papers had announced that the murderer of Graphopoulos had committed suicide.
They had let it be understood that the investigation was over, and that it could be
regarded as a crime of little importance.

‘Now, either we'll get to
the bottom of it tonight,' Maigret had said to his colleague, ‘or
we're likely to spend months traipsing about looking for the
answer.'

And he paced heavily and slowly up and
down, up and down, puffing at his pipe, hunching his shoulders, and only replying
with grunts to his companion's attempts at conversation.

Delvigne, lacking the same degree of
sangfroid, felt the need to talk, if only to pass the time.

‘Which direction do you think
we'll see any action from?'

But the other man simply looked at him
with an incredulous expression as if to say: ‘What's the point of
disturbing all that air?'

It was a little before ten when Adèle
appeared, followed
by the shadow of the
man from police headquarters. He passed close by his chief and whispered out of the
corner of his mouth:

‘Nothing.'

And he walked on by. In the distance,
Rue du Pont-d'Avroy was brightly lit, with trams going past almost every three
minutes and crowds of people promenading slowly, despite the rain.

It was the traditional evening parade of
the inhabitants of Liège. In the main street was a throng of people, families, girls
linking arms, young men ogling passing women and a few elegant figures were
strolling past as stiffly as if they were clad in gold.

In the little side-streets, there were
other nightclubs of a more or less seedy kind, similar to the Gai-Moulin. Shadows
lurked against the walls. Sometimes a woman would step out of the lamp light into
the dark, waiting for a follower to catch up.

The two chief inspectors held a short
consultation. Then walked a little way towards a hotel with its luminous globe of
cloudy glass.

‘Do you really expect something
from this?'

Maigret simply shrugged his shoulders.
His expression was so bland that he seemed devoid of intelligence.

‘At any rate, I doubt very much
that Chabot will fancy coming out tonight. Especially since his mother's taken
to her bed.'

Delvigne found it hard to accept his
companion's obstinate silence. He looked at his new pipe, which had not yet
been seasoned.

‘By the
way, remind me to give you one of these tomorrow. Then you'll have a souvenir
from Liège.'

Two customers entered the
Gai-Moulin.

‘A tailor from Rue Hors-Château
and a garage owner,' Delvigne announced. ‘Regulars, the pair of them.
Good-time Charlies, as they call them here.'

But someone was coming out, and they had
to peer through the gloom to recognize him.

It was Victor, who had exchanged his
work clothes for a suit and overcoat. He was walking quickly. An inspector at once
started shadowing him.

‘Well, well!' whistled
Delvigne.

Maigret heaved a sigh and looked daggers
at his companion. Could this Belgian not keep his mouth shut for a couple of
minutes?

Maigret's hands were thrust deep
inside his pockets. And although nothing betrayed it, he missed not the slightest
changes in his surroundings.

He was the first to spot René Delfosse,
with his scrawny neck and his look of an overgrown schoolboy, who appeared in the
street, hesitated, then changed pavements a couple of times, before at last heading
for the door of the Gai-Moulin.

‘Well, well!' repeated
Delvigne.

‘Yes.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Nothing.'

Maigret might not wish to talk, but he
was so interested that he lost a little of his determined neutrality. He even
moved forward, a little imprudently,
since the gas lamp then lit up the top half of his face.

Not for long. Delfosse spent scarcely
ten minutes in the club. When he came out, he started walking fast, straight towards
Rue du Pont-d'Avroy.

A few seconds later, Delvigne's
brother-in-law came out in turn and looked around inquiringly. A whistle attracted
him over.

‘Well?'

‘Delfosse sat down with the
dancer.'

‘And?'

‘They went off together to the
cloakroom, then he left, while she went back to her seat.'

‘Did Adèle take her handbag with
her?'

‘Yes, a little black velvet
pouch.'

‘Come on!' said Maigret.

And he strode off at such a pace that
his companions could hardly keep up with him.

‘What shall I do?' asked the
brother-in-law.

‘Go back inside, of
course!'

And Maigret dragged Delvigne away. In
the main street, they could no longer see the young man, who had a hundred-metre
start on them, since there were so many people about. But when they reached the
corner of Rue de la Régence, they glimpsed a figure almost running, keeping close to
the houses.

‘Well, well,' Delvigne could
not help saying.

‘He's going to her
place,' said Maigret. ‘He'll have asked her for the
key.'

‘Which
means?'

Delfosse went inside the building and
closed the door into the hallway, before heading for the stairs.

‘What are we going to
do?'

‘Wait. Where's your
man?'

He was coming in after them, in fact,
wondering whether he ought to speak to his chief or pretend not to recognize
him.

‘Come here, Girard.
Well?'

‘Five minutes ago, a man came in.
I saw a light in the room, as if someone was using a pocket torch.'

‘Here we go, then,' said
Maigret.