Maigret and the Spinster (15 page)

And, without a pause, Maigret went on with a sigh:

“I’d give a lot to know what Charles Dandurand was doing in Juliette’s bedroom…Was he putting the bills back in the footstool or…? It seems to be clearing up a little.”

They emerged from the shelter of the porch, the Chief Superintendent with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets, the American as unconcerned as if the sun were shining.

“Would you mind having lunch at a bistro?”

“On the contrary, I should be delighted. So far, I have been shepherded about by the officials of my Embassy, and have eaten only in the smartest restaurants.”

They took a streetcar to the Porte d’Orléans, going past the wedge-shaped house, its bricks darkened by the rain.

“The problem is to be able to put oneself in their place, to think and feel as they do. This is even harder for a judge, whose life is of necessity remote…The apartment house where I live isn’t so very different from this one…Here we are!”

The restaurant chosen by Maigret was in a little side street. It had no frills, just a zinc counter, a few marble-topped tables, and sawdust on the floor. The proprietor, a pleasant man with a florid, somewhat blotchy complexion, wearing a blue denim apron, came and shook hands with the Chief Superintendent.

“It’s ages since you last came to see us! Wait till my old woman hears about this!…Mélanie! What have you got that’s special for Monsieur Maigret?”

Mélanie, pot-bellied, wiping her hands on her apron, emerged from the kitchen.

“If only you’d called to say you were coming…Oh, well, never mind!…There’s
coq au vin,
and some quite good
cèpes,
fresh from the country this morning…I hope your friend likes
cèpes
?”

The place was empty, except for a few regulars. The windows were so steamed up that it was impossible to see out of them.

“Your usual Beaujolais, Monsieur Maigret?”

Maigret went to make a telephone call. The American watched him through the glass panes of the cramped little booth as he dialed the number, looking grave and preoccupied.

“That idiot Gérard hasn’t been found yet,” he said when he returned to their table. “I’ll look in on his wife tonight.”

“I think you mentioned that they are hard up?”

“That has been attended to, of course. I wonder if that child will ever learn of the circumstances surrounding its birth…But what I should dearly like to know is why the hell Charles Dandurand…”

Whatever else he might talk about, it was plain that he was obsessed with this one question.

“Why did Dandurand…?”

“If he killed the old lady…” ventured Spencer Oats.

“If he killed the old lady, then I’m a bigger fool than you take me for, Monsieur Spencer, and I’ll have to start the whole inquiry again from scratch…To begin with, why should he have killed her? She was worth more to him alive than dead…He knew he could expect nothing from her heirs…As for stealing the eight hundred thousand francs from her apartment, you saw for yourself that he didn’t.”

“And besides, how could he have done it? She indicated that their interview was at an end…She saw him to the door…And I’m quite sure she locked it carefully behind him. He says she bolted it, and I believe him…She returned to her bedroom…She undressed…She was sitting on her bed, and had already taken off one of her stockings when…no, Monsieur Spencer, it wasn’t Dandurand…He didn’t go back upstairs or open the front door or…”

“And yet, four days later, he didn’t hesitate, almost in my presence, to bring suspicion on himself by going back into that room…What for?”

“Remember that the old woman’s papers—receipts, property deeds, all the documents she kept in the desk in her sitting room, in fact-none of any value to her murderer, since he couldn’t make use of them without giving himself away—have vanished…”

“The bills, on the other hand, which in theory at least are untraceable, were left in their hiding place. Even if they were removed for a short while, they were subsequently put back…How do you like these
cèpes à la bordelaise
?”

“Your mind must be on other things, if I may say so, Chief Superintendent, or you would have noticed that I have already had three helpings, and if I hadn’t been promised
coq au vin
to follow…As for the Beaujolais, all I can say is that if you find me rather a dull companion this afternoon, you’ll know why.”

“Wait till you’ve tasted the
coq au vin
!…The proprietress worked twenty years as cook for a cabinet minister. He came to a dubious end, but he did appreciate good cooking…Would you believe that Juliette was quite a beauty in her day? There’s a photograph of her in the apartment. I wonder if, by any chance, her husband was a jealous man…”

Having said this, he became once again lost in thought, from which he did not emerge until the proprietress came to the table to inquire whether the
coq au vin
had been to his liking. Every now and then, Maigret would glance toward the door.

“Are you expecting someone?”

“I’m expecting a visit from a gentleman who is not one of my favorite characters. Apparently he’s done nothing but hang around the Quai des Orfèvres for the past two days. I’ve arranged for him to meet me here.”

A few minutes later, a taxi drew up outside. Maître Leloup, fat and self-important, paid the driver and came into the bistro.

“I’ve brought those papers I mentioned, as promised,” he announced, putting down his leather brief case on an unoccupied table.

“As you will see presently, my valued client, Monsieur Monfils, was not exaggerating when he claimed…”

The lawyer had probably had no lunch, but the Chief Superintendent did not invite him to share their meal, nor did he suggest that he should take off his coat.

“I’ll look into all that later.”

“How is the case progressing?”

“Slowly, Maître Leloup…slowly.”

“May I venture to draw your attention to one point which may have escaped your notice. Please don’t imagine for one moment that I’m criticizing the methods for which you are justly famous…But I, for my part, have not been idle. I made it my business to send someone to Fontenay, a thoroughly reliable man, to interview various elderly persons who had known Madame Boynet as a girl, when she was still Juliette Cazenove…”

Maigret, unimpressed, went on eating. He seemed to take no interest in what was being said. The American, watching, could not make him out.

“I learned one or two things which I think will surprise you…”

At this, almost under his breath, the Chief Superintendent murmured:

“I very much doubt it…”

“Juliette Cazenove had the reputation of being a rather flighty girl, at least in her conduct with men…”

“And she is reputed to have been the mistress of Charles Dandurand, is that it?”

“Who told you?”

“Nobody told me, but I thought it probable…Dandurand was about ten years older than she was…No doubt, even as long ago as that, he had developed a taste for unripe fruit.”

“It created quite a scandal at the time…”

“Not such a scandal, apparently, as to prevent Juliette from marrying her building contractor and moving with him to Paris…None of this is news to me, Maître Leloup.”

“What do you make of it?”

“I don’t make anything of it..
.
. It’s too soon to jump…Ah, there’s the telephone. I bet you it’s for me…”

Wearing an eager expression, he hurried to the phone. The call must have been for him, because he was away for some minutes. He came back looking relieved.

“Let’s have some more of your
coq au vin, patron.
”

He realized suddenly that up to now he had barely touched his food. He was feeling quite peckish. He drank a whole glass of Beaujolais, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His eyes sparkled.

“They’ve found Gérard!” he said at last, with a sigh. “Poor kid…!”

“Why do you say ‘poor kid’?”

“Because he’s been behaving like the idiot he is…Another bottle, Désiré…Would you believe it, he tried to get to the Belgian frontier by train, just as I said he would. When he got there, he found that the carriages were being searched more thoroughly than usual. He lost his head and jumped out of the train on the wrong side. He started running across the fields, stumbling through puddles and mud, with the police force close at his heels. He made a dash for the first farm he came to…Can you guess where they found him when they caught up with him at last, after searching for an hour?…In the lavatory…He resisted so violently that they practically had to knock him out. They’re bringing him back to Paris. His train is due in at three-fifty.”

“Has he confessed?” asked Maître Leloup.

Disingenuously, Maigret retorted:

“Confessed to what…? Good God! I almost forgot the most important thing. I’d be obliged to you, Maître, if you would send a telegram to your client on my behalf…In view of the good relations between him and his aunt Boynet, I’ve been wondering whether she ever put anything in his safe-keeping which she would have found embarrassing to keep in her apartment…Don’t ask me what! I’ve no idea! Maybe she used to send him presents…I simply can’t wait to hear!”

At last they were rid of the pestilential lawyer. They could savor Mélanie’s coffee and Desire’s old Armagnac in peace. Désiré had come originally from the Gers region, and he had kept in touch with his old friends, many of whom owned vineyards. By now, they had the clean, plainly furnished little restaurant, with its steamy windows, all to themselves. The table had been wiped, and was now covered with the documents furnished by the lawyer. They were all letters, handwritten on the black-edged paper used by Juliette Boynet after she became a widow.

My dear cousins,

Thank you for your good wishes, which I heartily reciprocate. It is a sad state of affairs when an old woman like me finds herself surrounded by ungrateful people. When I think of all I have done for my sister’s children, and how
…

As Maigret finished reading each of the letters, he handed it to his companion, who glanced through it in his turn. They were all alike, all dated the second or third of January, since each was in reply to Monfils’s New Year greetings.

They can afford to be patient, believing as they do that they will one day inherit all I have.
…

And elsewhere:

Gérard is a good-for-nothing who never comes near me except to ask for money…As if it grew on trees…!

Berthe fared no better.

It’s a great relief to have her off my hands. There was always the risk that she might be put into a condition, and think of the talk that would have caused among the neighbors.
…

“A condition?” echoed Mr. Oats, puzzled.

“An interesting condition…It’s a delicate way of saying that she feared that her niece might become pregnant…”

They felt blissfully warm, with the flavor of the Armagnac on their palates and its aroma in their nostrils.

It’s a terrible affliction to be alone and helpless, and to realize that all anyone cares about is one’s money…I am haunted by the dread that, sooner or later, some misfortune may befall me…

You are fortunate to be living in your quiet little town, free from all the anxieties which are ruinous to one’s health. Cécile makes a show of being devoted to me, but she’s always ready to take her brother’s part against me.

And there is another person who is deeply indebted to me, but whom I cannot wholly trust.
…

Maigret pointed out this passage to his companion.

“There was no one whom she wholly trusted,” he murmured.

“With good reason, surely?”

“Read the rest of it!”

Luckily for me, I am not such a fool as they think, and I have taken certain precautions.
…
If anything happens to me, I can promise you they won’t profit by it.

“‘
They
,’ ” sighed Maigret. “As far as she was concerned, they were all tarred with the same brush, everyone who came near her, all those whom she suspected of envying her for her wealth, including Monsieur Dandurand…Are you beginning to see…?”

“To see what?”

Maigret smiled.

“I don’t blame you…I’m beginning to talk in innuendo, just as she did…To see what, indeed?…I should have said ‘feel’ rather than ‘see.’ I’m afraid you must be feeling let down if, as you mentioned this morning, you were hoping to learn something from my method of work…I’ve taken you sloshing through puddles, looking up old records in a dreary town hall, and I’ve fed you on
coq au vin
…How can I explain myself to you?
I feel things.
…Dandurand, recently released from prison, comes to Paris and goes into furnished lodgings…He seeks out Juliette, who is not yet a widow…What kind of a man was her husband? We have nothing to go on but old photographs. A man of forty-five, tall, thickset, nondescript. Juliette and Dandurand resume their former relationship. No doubt they meet in Dandurand’s rooms on Rue Delambre. The husband dies, and, as soon as he decently can, Dandurand moves into the same house as his mistress, though their relationship remains a well-kept secret.”

“I can’t see why they should have wanted to keep it secret,” demurred the American.

There was a long silence. Maigret sat gazing at his glass. At length he sighed, and drank a mouthful of Armagnac.

Then he said abruptly:

“We shall see!…Désiré!…The check, if you please. If I get no work done this afternoon, I shall have you and your wife to thank for it.”

“What was that bastard doing in Juliette’s bedroom? For God’s sake, Monsieur Spencer, can’t you help me? Just think, if we could find the right answer to that question…”

Spencer Oats, like a model secretary, began gathering up the black-edged letters, which were spread out on the table.

“Taking precautions?” he ventured.

“Precautions?”

Maigret frowned.

Now he came to think of it, had not the old woman, in one of the letters, mentioned taking certain precautions to safeguard herself against those who were envious of her wealth? She had been mistrustful of everyone, including her former lover.