Maigret's Dead Man (21 page)

‘Do you still want me to wake Monsieur
Richard?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you have a warrant?'

‘No.'

‘Very good. Please wait here.'

Before leaving the room, he took from a cupboard
a starched shirt-front, a collar and a black tie. Then he put on his morning coat which was
hanging up.

There was only one chair in the butler's
pantry. Neither Maigret nor Justin Minard sat down. They were enveloped by silence. The entire
house was in semi-darkness. It was all very solemn, very daunting.

Twice, Maigret took out his fob watch. Twenty
minutes went by before Louis reappeared, still as frosty.

‘If you would be so good as to step this
way …'

Minard attempted to follow Maigret, but the
butler turned to him.

‘Not you. Unless you are also a police
officer.'

Maigret had a ridiculous thought. It seemed
cowardly to leave the pallid flautist behind. The butler's pantry with dark wood panelling
fleetingly made him think of a sort of dungeon, and he had a vision of the butler with his five
o'clock shadow coming back to beat up his victim.

He followed Louis across the colonnaded hall and
up the red-carpeted stairs.

A few solitary lamps with yellowish filaments
gave out a wan glow, leaving vast areas of darkness. A door on to the first-floor landing was
open. A man in a dressing gown stood framed in the light.

‘I understand you wish to speak to me? Do
come in. That will be all, Louis.'

The room was a sitting room-cum-study with
leather-covered walls. A smell of Havana cigar and a fragrance that Maigret could not identify
hung in the air. A half-open door led into a bedroom where there was a rumpled four-poster
bed.

Richard Gendreau-Balthazar was wearing pyjamas
beneath his dressing gown, and on his feet were Russian leather slippers.

He appeared to be around thirty years old. He was
dark-haired and his face would have been quite ordinary were it not for his crooked nose.

‘Louis tells me you are from the local
police station?'

He opened a carved cigarette box and pushed it
towards his visitor, who refused.

‘You don't smoke?'

‘Only a pipe.'

‘I shan't invite you to smoke in here
as I can't stand the smell of pipe tobacco. I presume you telephoned my friend Le Bret
before coming here?'

‘No.'

‘Ah! Forgive me if I'm not familiar
with the ways of the police. Le Bret is a regular visitor to our house – not, I must
emphasize, in a professional capacity. One would never guess he's a police chief! He
really is a very charming man and his wife is delightful. Now, let's get to the point.
What time is it?'

He made a show of looking for his watch, and it
was Maigret who pulled his fat silver turnip watch out of his pocket.

‘Twenty-five past two.'

‘And it gets light at around five
o'clock at this time of year, doesn't it? I know because I often go riding in the
Bois de Boulogne very early. I thought that during the hours between sunset and sunrise a
citizen's privacy was sacrosanct.'

‘That is correct, but—'

He interrupted Maigret.

‘Mind you, I only mention it by way of a
reminder. You are young and probably new in the job. You're lucky to have come across a
friend of your chief's. I imagine you have good reason to enter this house as you have
done. Louis told me about it. No doubt the individual he threw out is dangerous? Even so, young
man, you could have waited until morning, don't you think? Do please sit down.'

He himself remained on his feet, pacing up and
down and exhaling the smoke from his gold-tipped Egyptian cigarette.

‘Now that I've taught you the little
lesson you deserved, tell me what it is you wanted to know.'

‘Whose is the bedroom upstairs?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I'm sorry. I know you are under no
obligation to reply, at least for the time being.'

‘Obligation to …?' echoed
Richard in utter amazement.

And Maigret, his ears beetroot:

‘A short while ago, a shot was fired in the
bedroom.'

‘What? … What … You are in your
right mind, I hope? …'

‘Even though it's been a night of
street celebrations, I assume you haven't been drinking excessively?'

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs. The door
had remained ajar, and Maigret glimpsed a new figure on the landing, a silhouette straight off
the cover of
La Vie Parisienne
. The man was wearing a tailcoat, a cape and an opera
hat. He was bony and elderly, and his thin moustache curling up at the ends was visibly
dyed.

He hovered in the doorway, hesitant, surprised,
perhaps afraid.

‘Come in, father. Listen to this, it will
make you laugh. Monsieur, here, is one of Le Bret's men …'

It was strange; Félicien Gendreau-Balthazar,
the father, couldn't have been drunk, and yet there was something vague about him,
something insubstantial, fluttery.

‘Have you seen Louis?' his son
continued.

‘He's downstairs with
someone.'

‘Exactly. Earlier, a drunkard –
unless he's a madman escaped from Villejuif – practically kicked the door down.
Louis went down and had a terrible job keeping him out. And now, Monsieur—'

He paused with an inquiring look.

‘Maigret.'

‘Monsieur Maigret, who is the secretary to
our friend Le Bret, is here to ask me … What was it exactly that you wanted to
know?'

‘Whose bedroom is above us, the one that
has the second window on the left?'

He sensed that the father was worried, but it was
a strange disquiet. For example, since his arrival the old man had been gazing at his son with a
sort of fear, almost submissiveness. He didn't dare open his mouth. It was as if he were
waiting for Richard's permission.

‘It's my sister's,'
Richard said at length. ‘Now you know.'

‘Is she in the house at the
moment?'

And Maigret looked not at the son, but at the
father. But once again, it was the son who replied.

‘No. She is at Anseval.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘Our chateau, the Chateau d'Anseval,
near Pouilly-sur-Loire, in the Nièvre.'

‘So the room is empty?'

‘I have every reason to believe
so.'

He added sarcastically:

‘I imagine you would like to see for
yourself. I'll show you up. Then tomorrow I shall be able to congratulate our friend Le
Bret on the zeal of his subordinate. Please come this way.'

To Maigret's surprise, the father followed
too, somewhat timorously.

‘This is the room you mentioned.
Fortunately it's not locked.'

He switched on the light. The furniture was of
white lacquered wood, the walls covered in blue silk. A side door opened into a boudoir, and
everything was in order, each object seemed to be in its rightful place.

‘Carry out your search, I beg you. My
sister will be delighted to know that the police have been poking their noses into her
things.'

Unfazed, Maigret walked over to the window. The
heavy silk curtains were of a darker blue than the walls. He opened them to find net curtains
designed to soften daylight, and noticed that a corner of the netting was caught in the
window.

‘I don't suppose anyone has been in
here this evening?' he asked.

‘Unless one of the maids …'

‘Are there several in the house?'

‘Naturally!' sneered Richard.
‘There are two, Germaine and Marie. There's also Louis' wife, who is our cook,
and there's even a laundress, but she's married and only comes in during the
day.'

Félicien Gendreau, the father, kept glancing
from one to the other.

‘What is this about?' he asked
eventually, after clearing his throat.

‘I don't know exactly. Ask Monsieur
Maigret.'

‘Someone who was walking past the house
just before one thirty heard this window opening. He looked up and saw a distraught woman who
was shouting for help.'

Maigret noticed the father clench the gilt knob
of his cane.

‘And then what?' asked Richard.

‘The woman was pulled backwards, and a
gunshot rang out.'

‘Really?'

The younger Gendreau looked about him with an
expression of mock concern, pretending to try to find traces of a bullet on the silk walls.

‘What I find surprising, Monsieur Maigret
– it is Maigret, isn't it? – is that, given the seriousness of the
accusation, you didn't take the elementary precaution of informing your superiors. You
rushed straight here rather rashly, it seems to me. Did you take the trouble to find out
anything about this passer-by who has such a fertile imagination?'

‘He's downstairs.'

‘I'm happy to hear that he is under
my roof. In short, not only did you come in here in the middle of the night, in defiance of the
law protecting civil liberties, but you have brought with you an individual whom I consider
somewhat dubious, to say the least. But now you are here, please proceed with your routine
search so that you can make a full report to our friend Le Bret tomorrow. I presume you want to
ascertain that the bed hasn't been slept in tonight?'

He pulled back the satin bedspread to reveal
sheets without a single crease, a pristine pillow.

‘Take your time, please. Search every nook
and cranny. I presume you have a magnifying glass?'

‘I don't need one.'

‘I'm sorry. Apart from Le Bret, my
only acquaintance with the police is through novels. A shot was fired, you say? Maybe
there's a body somewhere? Follow me. Let's hunt for it together! In this wardrobe
perhaps? Who knows?'

He flung open the doors, but it contained nothing
but dresses on hangers.

‘In here? These are Lise's shoes.
She's crazy about shoes, as you can see. Let's go into her boudoir
…'

He was tense, becoming more and more
sarcastic.

‘This door? It has been boarded up since
mother's death. But we can enter the apartment from the corridor. Come. Oh yes, I insist
…'

Maigret spent a nightmare half-hour. He had no
option but to obey. For Richard was literally ordering him about. There was something spooky
about the whole scene as they combed through the house followed closely by old
Gendreau-Balthazar, who still had his opera hat on his head, his cape around his shoulders and
his cane with its gilt knob in his hand.

‘Oh no! We're not going downstairs
yet. You're forgetting that there's a floor above us, an attic floor, where the
servants sleep.'

The lightbulbs in the corridor were bare and the
ceiling was slanted. Richard knocked on each door.

‘Open the door, Germaine. Yes please! It
doesn't matter if you're in your nightdress. It's the police.'

A plumpish girl who was half-asleep and gave off
a musty smell, a damp bed, a comb clotted with hair on a dressing table.

‘Did you hear a gunshot?'

‘A what?'

‘What time did you go to bed?'

‘I came upstairs at ten
o'clock.'

‘And you didn't hear
anything?'

Richard was asking all the questions.

‘Next! … Open up, Marie … No,
no, dear, it's not important …'

A girl of sixteen who had slipped a coat over her
nightdress and was trembling from head to toe.

‘Did you hear a gunshot?'

She stared at Richard and Maigret with a sort of
terror.

‘Have you been asleep long?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Did you hear anything?'

‘No. Why? What's going on?'

‘Any questions, Monsieur
Maigret?'

‘I'd like to ask her where she comes
from.'

‘Where do you come from, Marie?'

‘From Anseval.'

‘What about Germaine?'

‘Also from Anseval.'

‘And Louis?'

‘From Anseval, Monsieur Maigret,'
replied Richard with disdain. ‘You are clearly unaware of the fact that people who own a
chateau tend to hire their servants from the village.'

‘The next door?'

‘Madame Louis' room.'

‘Does her husband sleep there
too?'

‘He sleeps downstairs, in the
lodge.'

It took Madame Louis longer to open the door. She
was short, swarthy and very fat, and had wary eyes.

‘Have you finished making a racket?
Where's Louis?'

‘Downstairs. Tell me, did you hear a
gunshot?'

She almost threw them out, muttering furiously.
And Richard carried on opening more doors, into empty rooms, junk closets, garret rooms. Maigret
wasn't spared the attic, and then he had to go down to the first floor and visit the
apartments of the father and the son.

‘There are still the drawing rooms. Oh yes,
I absolutely insist.'

Richard switched on the great chandelier with
tinkling crystal droplets.

‘No dead body? No one wounded? Have you
seen the whole house? Don't you want to go down into the cellar? You'll note that it
is now a quarter past three.'

He opened the pantry door and they saw Justin
Minard sitting on a chair, with Louis standing in a corner guarding him as if he were a
prisoner.

‘Is this the young man who heard the shot?
Delighted to have seen his interesting face. I presume, now, Monsieur Maigret, that I am
entitled to file a complaint for slander and attempted forced entry.'

‘You are indeed within your rights to do
so.'

‘I wish you good night. Louis, show these
gentlemen out.'

Old Gendreau opened his mouth but said nothing.
As for Maigret, he managed to say: