A Man's Head (8 page)

The door swung on its hinges. Crosby, bare-headed, made for his car. The two women followed, laughing at something funny one of them had said.

And nothing at all happened! Heurtin did not look harder at the Americans than at the rest of the passers-by. And neither William nor his wife paid any attention to him.

All three got into the car. The door slammed shut.

People were still leaving, forcing back the escaped prisoner, who had come nearer once more.

All at once, in the mirror, Maigret caught sight of a face, two flashing eyes beneath thick eyebrows, and the faintest of smiles which pulsed with sarcasm.

Then the lids dropped over those all-too-eloquent eyes, though not quickly enough to prevent Maigret having the impression that it was at him that the sarcasm was directed.

The man who had been watching him, and who was now not watching anybody or anything in particular, was the man with red hair who had been eating yogurt.

When an Englishman who had been reading
The Times
had gone, there was no one left on the high bar stools, and Bob said:

‘I'm going to lunch.'

His two assistants wiped the mahogany counter, cleared away the glasses and the half-eaten bowls of olives and potato chips.

But there were still two customers at the tables: the man with red hair and the Russian girl in black. Neither seemed aware that they were alone in the bar.

Outside, Joseph Heurtin was still prowling around, and his eyes were so weary, his face so pale, that one of the waiters who had been watching him through the window said to Maigret:

‘There's another poor devil who's going to fall down in a fit at any moment … It's as if they just can't keep away from café terraces. I'll just go and get a porter …'

‘Don't do that.'

Yogurt man was within hearing distance. Yet Maigret hardly lowered his voice as he said:

‘Go and phone the Police Judiciaire. Say you're phoning for me. Tell them to send two men here … preferably Lucas and Janvier … Got that?'

‘Is it about the tramp?'

‘Never mind why.'

The bar was completely quiet now that the noisy aperitif hour was over.

The red-haired man had not moved or reacted. The girl in black turned a page of her newspaper.

The other bartender was looking curiously at Maigret. The minutes ticked by, flowing drop by drop as it were, second by second.

The man behind the bar was doing his reckoning up. There was a rustle of banknotes and a jingle of coins. The one who had gone to phone returned:

‘They said they'd do it.'

‘Thanks.'

The inspector's bulk dwarfed the slender bar stool. He smoked one pipe after another, unaware of emptying his glass of whisky, and forgot that he had had no lunch.

‘Give me a café au lait.'

The words came from the corner where yogurt man was sitting. The waiter glanced at Maigret, gave a shrug and called towards the service hatch:

‘Café au lait! Just the one!'

And, turning to the inspector, he murmured:

‘That's all he'll order between now and seven o'clock … It's just the same with the other one there …'

He pointed his chin in the direction of the Russian girl.

Twenty minutes went by. Heurtin, wearying of walking up and down, had come to a stop on the edge of the pavement. A man getting into his car mistook him for a beggar and held out a coin, which he dared not refuse.

Did he have any of the twenty francs left? Had he eaten anything since the night before? Had he slept?

The bar still attracted him. Again he approached, sheepishly, keeping his eyes open for the waiters and porters who had already kicked him off the terrace.

But now it was a slack time, and he was able to stand outside the window, where he could be seen pressing his face to the glass, flattening his nose comically, while his small eyes peered inside.

The red-haired man was raising his cup of coffee to his lips. He did not turn to look outside.

So how was it that the same smile as before now made his eyes glint?

A Coupole employee, who could not have been more than sixteen, shouted at the ragged man, who moved away yet again, dragging one foot.

Sergeant Lucas got out of a taxi, came in, obviously surprised, then looked all round the almost deserted bar with even greater astonishment.

‘Was it you who …?'

‘What'll you have?'

And in a whisper:

‘Take a look through the window.'

Lucas took a moment to locate the figure outside. His face lit up.

‘Well I'll be damned! So you managed to …'

‘I did nothing at all … Waiter! Cognac!'

The Russian girl called out in a strong accent:

‘Waiter, bring me
Illustration
. Also business telephone directory.'

‘Drink up, Lucas. I want you to go out and keep an eye on him, all right?'

‘You don't think it would be better to …?'

And one of the sergeant's hands could be seen feeling for his handcuffs.

‘Not yet … Go to it.'

Maigret's nerves were so taut that, for all his outward calm, he almost crushed the glass in his large hand as he drank from it.

The man with red hair seemed in no hurry to leave. He wasn't reading, he wasn't writing, he was looking at nothing in particular. And, outside, Joseph Heurtin was still waiting!

At four in the afternoon, the situation had not changed in any way, except that the man on the run from the Santé had now moved to a bench, from which he kept his eyes trained on the entrance to the bar.

Maigret had eaten a sandwich, though he was not hungry. The Russian girl left after taking an age freshening her make-up.

So the only one now left in the bar was yogurt man. Heurtin had watched the girl leave without batting an eye. The lights were switched on, though the branched street lamps were not yet lit.

A drinks steward replenished the stock of bottles. Another employee quickly brushed the floor.

The sound of a spoon on a saucer, especially because it came from the corner where the man with red hair was sitting, came as much of a surprise to the bartender as to Maigret.

Without getting to his feet, without trying to conceal his disdain for such a niggardly customer, the bartender called out:

‘One yoghurt, one café au lait. Three francs plus one franc fifty … that comes to four francs fifty!'

‘Excuse me, I'd like you to bring me some caviar sandwiches.'

The voice was calm and collected. In the mirror, the inspector caught the laughter in the man's half-closed eyes.

The bartender raised the hatch.

‘One caviar sandwich! Just the one!'

‘Three!' said the customer, correcting him.

‘Three caviar sandwiches! That's three!'

The bartender looked suspiciously across at the man and asked, in an ironic voice:

‘You want vodka with that?'

‘Yes, bring vodka.'

Maigret was trying hard to understand. The man had changed. His unusual stillness had vanished.

‘And cigarettes!'

‘Marylands?'

‘Abdullahs.'

He smoked one while the sandwiches were being made and amused himself doodling on the packet. Then he ate so fast that he was on his feet by the time the bartender had barely returned to his post.

‘Thirty francs for the sandwiches, six for the vodka, twenty-two for the Abdullahs plus the previous orders …'

‘I'll call in and pay you tomorrow.'

Maigret frowned. He could still see Heurtin sitting on his bench.

‘Just a moment … You'd best put that to the manager.'

The man with red hair gave a nod and, after returning to his seat, sat and waited. The manager appeared. He was in a dinner suit.

‘What is it?'

‘It's this gentleman. He wants to come back and pay tomorrow. Three caviar sandwiches, a packet of Abdullahs and so on.'

The customer did not seem at all embarrassed. He gave another polite nod, which seemed more mocking than ever, and confirmed what the bartender had said.

‘Do you have any money with you?'

‘Not a bean.'

‘Do you live locally? I'll send a man with you …'

‘There's no money at home either.'

‘And yet you order caviar?'

The manager clapped his hands. A youth in uniform appeared.

‘Go and fetch me a policeman.'

It was all happening quietly, with no fuss.

‘Are you sure you have no money?'

‘I told you.'

The youth, who had waited for this answer, left at a run. Maigret did not stir. Meanwhile, the manager stood there, calmly watching the passing interest in Rue Montparnasse.

From time to time, the bartender winked knowingly at Maigret as he wiped his bottles.

Three minutes had hardly passed when the youth came back with two officers on bicycles, which they parked outside.

One of them recognized the inspector and would have gone up to him if Maigret had not put him off with a frown. Meanwhile the manager explained simply and without unnecessary fuss:

‘This gentleman ordered caviar, expensive cigarettes and so forth and now refuses to pay.'

‘I have no money,' repeated the man.

At a nod from Maigret, the policeman simply said:

‘Very well! You can come down to the station and explain yourself there. Follow me.'

‘Can I offer you gentlemen a little something?' asked the manager.

‘No, but thanks all the same.'

Trams, cars and crowds of people filled the boulevard over which the fading light was spreading thick fog. Before leaving, the man being led away lit another cigarette and gave a friendly wave to the bartender.

And as he passed Maigret, his eyes settled on him for just a few seconds.

‘Hey! Get a move on! … And we don't want any trouble, all right?'

Then all three were gone. The manager went up to the counter.

‘That wasn't the Czech we had to throw out last week, was it?'

‘That's him,' said the bartender. ‘He's here every day from eight in the morning until eight at night. And you're lucky if he orders a couple of coffees all day.'

Maigret had walked to the door. He was thus able to see Joseph Heurtin get up from his bench and stand stock still with his eyes on the two officers who were leading away the man who liked caviar.

But it was already too dark for Maigret to make out his features.

The three men had not gone a hundred metres before the tramp went off in the other direction, followed at a distance by Sergeant Lucas.

‘Police Judiciaire!' the inspector said going back into the bar. ‘Who is he?'

‘I think he's called Radek … He has his letters sent here … You've seen all the letters we put up in the window. A Czech.'

‘What does he do?'

‘Nothing. He spends every day here in the bar … He thinks … He writes …'

‘Do you know where he lives?'

‘No.'

‘Does he have any friends?'

‘I don't think I ever remember seeing him speak to anybody.'

Maigret paid his bill, walked out, jumped into a taxi and barked:

‘Take me to the local police station.'

When he got there, Radek was sitting on a bench, waiting until the station's senior inspector was ready to see him.

There were four or five foreigners who had come to register their addresses.

Maigret walked straight into the inspector's office, where a young woman was reporting a theft of jewels in a mixture of three or four central European languages.

‘Are you here on a case?' said the inspector, rather taken aback.

‘Please finish dealing with this lady.'

‘I can't make out a word she's saying … She's been explaining the same thing over and over for the last half-hour.'

Maigret did not even smile, but the lady became angry, repeated her story point by point and held up her ringless fingers.

Finally, when she had gone, he said:

‘You're about to see a man named Radek, or something along those lines. I'll be here. Fix it so that he has to spend a night in the cells, after which you let him go.'

‘What's he done?'

‘He ordered caviar and wouldn't pay.'

‘At the Dôme?'

‘No, the Coupole.'

A bell rang.

‘Let's have Radek in.'

Radek, hands in pockets, strode into the office without a care in the world, settled down opposite the two men and waited, looking them straight in the eye, while a delighted smile played around his lips.

‘You are charged with buying goods without money.'

The man nodded and began lighting a cigarette, which the inspector angrily snatched from his fingers.

‘What have you got to say for yourself?'

‘Not a thing.'

‘You have a room somewhere? Enough money to live on?'

From his pocket, the man produced a filthy passport, which he placed on the desk.

‘You realize you face two weeks in jail?'

‘The sentence will be suspended,' said Radek, without turning a hair. ‘I think you'll find that I have never been convicted of any offence.'

‘It says here that you are a medical student. Is that correct?'

‘Professor Grollet, who you must know by name, will tell you that I was his best pupil.'

And, turning to Maigret, with a hint of mockery in his voice:

‘I assume that this gentleman also works for the police?'