Thomas Godfrey (Ed) (49 page)

“Yesterday morning, as a
matter of fact. I was very busy with the holiday rush, but he asked to speak to
me personally. I forget what name he gave. He said he had an extremely
important message for Jean Martin, so I told him how to get in touch with
Martin in Bergerac.”

“He asked you nothing
else?”

“No. He hung up at once.
Is anything wrong?”

“I hope not. Thank you
very much, Monsieur.”

The screams of children
began again in the background and Maigret said goodbye.

“Were you listening?”

“I heard what you said. I
didn’t hear his answers.”

“A man called the office
yesterday morning to get Martin’s address. The same man undoubtedly called
Bergerac that evening to make sure Martin was still there, and therefore would
not be at his Boulevard Richard-Lenoir address for Christmas Eve.”

“The same man who
appeared last night as Father Christmas?”

“More than likely. That
seems to clear Paul Martin. He would not have to make two phone calls to find
out where his brother was. Madame Martin would have told him.”

“You’re really getting
excited about this case. You’re delighted that it came up, aren’t you? Confess!”
And while Maigret was racking his brain for excuses, she added: “It’s quite
natural. I’m fascinated, too. How much longer do you think the child will have
to keep her leg in a cast?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I wonder what sort of
complications she could have had?”

Maigret looked at her
curiously. Unconsciously she had switched his mind onto a new track.

“That’s not such a stupid
remark you just made.”

“What did I say?”

“After all, since she’s
been in bed for two months, she should be up and around soon, barring really
serious complications.”

“She’ll probably have to
walk on crutches at first.”

“That’s not the point. In
a few days then, or a few weeks at most, she will no longer be confined to her
room. She’ll go for a walk with Madame Martin. And the coast will be clear for
anyone to enter the apartment without dressing up like Father Christmas.”

Mme. Maigret’s lips were
moving. While listening to her husband and watching his face, she was counting
stitches.

“First of all, the
presence of the child forced our man to use trickery. She’s been in bed for two
months—two months for him to wait. Without the complications the flooring could
have been taken up several weeks ago. Our man must have had urgent reasons for
acting at once, without further delay.”

“Monsieur Martin will
return to Paris in a few days?”

“Exactly.”

“What do you suppose the
man found underneath the floor?”

“Did he really find
anything? If not, his problem is still as pressing as it was last night. So he
will take further action.”

“What action?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, Maigret, isn’t the
child in danger? Do you think she’s safe with that woman?”

“I could answer that if I
knew where Madame Martin went this morning on the pretext of doing her shopping.”
He picked up the phone again and called Police Judiciaire.

“I’m pestering you again,
Lucas. I want you to locate a taxi that picked up a passenger this morning
between 9 and 10 somewhere near Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. The fare was a woman
in her early thirties, blonde, slim but solidly built. She was wearing a gray
suit and a beige hat. She carried a brown shopping bag. I want to know her
destination. There couldn’t have been so many cabs on the street at that hour.”

“Is Paul Martin with you?”

“Not yet.”

“He’ll be there soon.
About that other thing, the Lorilleux matter, the Palais-Royal boys are
checking their files. You’ll have the data in a few minutes.”

Jean Martin must be
taking his train in Bergerac at this moment. Little Colette was probably taking
her nap. Mlle. Doncoeur was doubtless sitting behind her window curtain,
wondering what Maigret was up to.

People were beginning to
come out now, families with their children, the children with their new toys.
There were certainly queues in front of the cinemas....

A taxi stopped in front
of the house. Footsteps sounded in the stairway. Mme. Maigret went to the door.
The deep bass voice of Torrence rumbled: “You there, Chief?”

Torrence came in with an
ageless man who hugged the walls and looked humbly at the floor. Maigret went
to the sideboard and filled two glasses with plum brandy.

“To your health,” he
said.

The man looked at Maigret
with surprised, anxious eyes. He raised a trembling, hesitant hand.

“To your health, Monsieur
Martin. I’m sorry to make you come all the way up here, but you won’t have far
to go now to see your daughter.”

“Nothing has happened to
her?”

“No, no. When I saw her
this morning she was playing with her new doll. You can go, Torrence. Lucas
must need you.”

Mme. Maigret had gone
into the bedroom with her knitting. She was sitting on the edge of the bed,
counting her stiches.

“Sit down, Monsieur
Martin.”

The man had touched his
lips to the glass and set it down. He looked at it uneasily.

“You have nothing to
worry about. Just tell yourself that I know all about you.”

“I wanted to visit her
this morning,” the man sighed. “I swore I would go to bed early so I could wish
her a Merry Christmas.”

“I know that, too.”

“It’s always the same. I
swear I’ll take just one drink, just enough to pick me up....”

“You have only one
brother, Monsieur Martin?”

“Yes, Jean. He’s six
years younger than I am. He and my wife and my daughter were all I had to love
in this world.”

“You don’t love your
sister-in-law?”

He shivered. He seemed
both startled and embarrassed.

“I have nothing against
Loraine.”

“You entrusted your child
to her, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, that is to
say, when my wife died and I began to slip....”

“I understand. Is your
daughter happy?”

“I think so, yes. She
never complains.”

“Have you ever tried to
get back on your feet?”

“Every night I promise
myself to turn over a new leaf, but next day I start all over again. I even
went to see a doctor. I followed his advice for a few days. But when I went
back, he was very busy. He said I ought to be in a special sanatorium.”

He reached for his glass,
then hesitated. Maigret picked up his own glass and took a swallow to encourage
him.

“Did you ever meet a man
in your sister-in-law’s apartment?”

“No. I think she’s above
reproach on that score.”

“Do you know where your
brother first met her?”

“In a little restaurant
in the Rue Beaujolais where he used to eat when he was in Paris. It was near
the shop where Loraine was working.”

“Did they have a long
engagement?”

“I can’t say. Jean was on
the road for two months and when he came back he told me he was getting
married.”

“Were you his best man?”

“Yes. Loraine has no
family in Paris. She’s an orphan. So her landlady acted as her witness. Is
there something wrong?”

“I don’t know yet. A man
entered Colette’s room last night dressed as Father Christmas. He gave your
girl a doll, and lifted two loose boards from the floor.”

“Do you think I’m in fit
condition to see her?”

“You can go over in a
little while. If you feel like it you can shave here. Do you think your brother
would be likely to hide anything under the floor?”

“Jean? Never!”

“Even if he wanted to
hide something from his wife?”

“He doesn’t hide things
from his wife. You don’t know him. He’s one of those rare humans—a scrupulously
honest man. When he comes home from the road, she knows exactly how much money
he has left, to the last centime.”

“Is she jealous?”

Paul Martin did not
reply.

“I advise you to tell me
what you know. Remember that your daughter is involved in this.”

“I don’t think that
Loraine is especially jealous. Not of women, at least. Perhaps about money. At
least that’s what my poor wife always said. She didn’t like Loraine.”

“Why not?”

“She used to say that
Loraine’s lips were too thin, that she was too polite, too cold, always on the
defensive. My wife always thought that Loraine set her cap for Jean because he
had a good job with a future and owned his own furniture.”

“Loraine had no money of
her own?”

“She never speaks of her
family. I understand her father died when she was very young and her mother did
housework somewhere in the Glacière quarter. My poor wife used to say, ‘Loraine
knows what she wants.’”

“Do you think she was Lorilleux’s
mistress?”

Paul Martin did not
reply. Maigret poured him another finger of plum brandy. Martin gave him a
grateful look, but he did not touch the glass. Perhaps he was thinking that his
daughter might notice his breath when he crossed the street later on.

“I’ll get you a cup of
coffee in a moment.... Your wife must have had her own ideas on the subject.”

“How did you know? Please
note that my wife never spoke disparagingly of people. But with Loraine it was
almost pathological. Whenever we were to meet my sister-in-law, I used to beg
my wife not to show her antipathy. It’s funny that you should bring all that up
now, at this time in my life. Do you think I did wrong in letting her take
Colette? I sometimes think so. But what else could I have done?”

“You didn’t answer my
question about Loraine’s former employer.”

“Oh, yes. My wife always
said it was very convenient for Loraine to have married a man who was away from
home so much.”

“You know where she lived
before her marriage?”

“In a street just off
Boulevard Sébastopol, on the right as you walk from the Rue de Tivoli toward
the Boulevard. I remember we picked her up there the day of the wedding.”

“Rue Crenelle?”

“That’s it. The fourth or
fifth house on the left side of the street is a quiet rooming house, quite
respectable. People who work in the neighborhood live there. I remember there
were several little actresses from the Châtelet.”

“Would you like to shave,
Monsieur Martin?”

“I’m ashamed. Still,
since my daughter is just across the street....”

“Come with me.”

Maigret took him through
the kitchen so he wouldn’t have to meet Mme. Maigret in the bedroom. He set out
the necessary toilet articles, not forgetting a clothes brush.

When he returned to the
dining room, Mme. Maigret poked her head through the door and whispered: “What’s
he doing?”

“He’s shaving.”

Once more Maigret reached
for the telephone. He was certainly giving poor Lucas a busy Christmas Day.

“Are you indispensable at
the office?”

“Not if Torrence sits in
for me. I’ve got the information you wanted.”

“In just a moment. I want
you to jump over to Rue Pernelle. There’s a rooming house a few doors down from
the Boulevard Sébastopol. If the proprietor wasn’t there five years ago, try to
dig up someone who lived then. I want everything you can find out on a certain
Loraine....”

“Loraine who?”

“Just a minute, I didn’t
think of that.”

Through the bathroom door
he asked Martin for the maiden name of his sister-in-law. A few seconds later
he was on the phone again.