Cécile is Dead (13 page)

One day, when Madame Maigret was looking
pensively at her husband, she had suddenly sighed, with almost comical candour, ‘I
do wonder why you haven't been slapped in the face more often in your
life.'

It was deeply heartfelt. In fact there were
moments when, even with her, Maigret could be extraordinarily overbearing, and his wife
was probably the only one who knew that he was entirely unaware of it. It wasn't
that you saw an ironic smile or a glint of mockery in his eyes, nothing like that. You
found yourself facing a solid block offering nothing you could get a grip on, a man who
continued to be absorbed in his internal monologue while you were talking and getting
worked up. Was the inspector listening to you? Did he see you, or only the wall above
your head? He would suddenly interrupt you in the middle of a sentence or a word, and
what he said bore no relation to your preceding remarks.

So while Charles Dandurand was still
talking, while the door, standing ajar, was letting in piano chords, Maigret froze as if
intent on the music. How long since he had stopped taking part in the conversation?
Where had his mind been straying?

‘You have a telephone, I
suppose?' he asked.

‘Why, yes. I do.'

Did he even know
that Dandurand was in front of him, waiting to be able to close his door? He hesitated,
in mid-soliloquy.

‘I wonder …'

He didn't do it on purpose, and yet
the former lawyer was not the only one to have been taken aback by his manner. What did
he want? What had he thought up now? Was it important or immaterial? You couldn't
guess from seeing him draw his thick eyebrows together in a frown, nod his head and
finally murmur, ‘Oh yes, I forgot to tell you – I gave a colleague your address,
in case he needed to telephone me. While I wait to hear from him, I'll ask you to
go upstairs with me. We'll be sure to hear if the phone rings from up
there.'

‘Is it all right if I take my
key?'

On the fifth-floor landing, the inspector
paused.

‘You said it was a little after
midnight when you visited Madame Boynet. You had your slippers on?'

He looked at Monsieur Charles's feet,
encased in brown kid slippers.

‘I don't suppose you used to
ring her bell?'

‘Juliette would wait on the other side
of the door. I didn't even have to knock.'

‘Right. Let's go in. Was there a
light on in the front hall?'

‘No, the only light came from the
sitting room. She left the door ajar.'

‘Just a moment. I'll put the
sitting-room light on.'

‘Not that one, inspector. Only the
fake alabaster night-light on the pedestal table.'

Monsieur Charles was
annoyed, but he seemed to be entering into the spirit of Maigret's game without
any sign of anxiety. He seemed to be saying: see, this trick of yours doesn't
impress me. I have nothing to fear and nothing to hide. On the contrary! Like you,
I'm looking only for the truth. So if you're after a meticulous
reconstruction, that's what you'll get.

Out loud, he said, ‘I can tell you
that I was wearing the same suit as today, but with a white muffler. And I was holding –
no, in the right-hand inside pocket of my jacket I had an envelope containing
…'

‘In a minute. If you don't mind,
first we'll put this room back in order. You must know where every piece of
furniture and every ornament should go.'

They were equally grave-faced, and Monsieur
Charles, as if ironically, took the greatest care to find the precise place where every
chair had stood, then standing back to consider the effect of his labours.

‘There! I think that was
it.'

‘One question, please. I suppose that
Madame Boynet had her stick in one hand when she went to open the door to
you?'

‘She'd have had difficulty in
walking without it.'

‘Can you tell me what she was
wearing?'

‘That's easy enough. She had a
greenish dressing gown on over her night-clothes. I remember noticing that her stockings
were drooping in wrinkles round her ankles.'

‘Both her stockings?'

‘Both of them, yes. She was in the
habit of wearing two stockings, if that's what you want to know. And old slip-on
shoes with felt soles. Juliette
wasn't vain. In fact I think she felt some satisfaction in appearing at her least
attractive – that evening her hair was down, her face shiny with night cream and her
eyes puffy.'

‘You didn't notice any other
light in the apartment and you confirm that you didn't leave this room?'

‘That's right.'

‘Where was Madame Boynet
sitting?'

‘Facing her desk, which she had
opened. She knew that I was coming to settle the accounts for her.'

‘One moment … where did she get the
key to open the desk?'

This time the lawyer hesitated slightly.

‘I … no, as a matter of fact I
don't remember. I suppose she had the key in her dressing-gown pocket.'

‘Tell me, Monsieur Dandurand … if she
opened the desk when you were coming to give her a statement of accounts, then she must
have kept her business papers in it.'

‘Well, yes.' Monsieur Charles,
looking more serious, thought about it. ‘You're right. I confess that I
hadn't thought of that.'

‘What did you talk about all that
time?'

‘We never talked much. I must have
told her that I thought I'd caught a cold in town, which explained my muffler. And
I told her that I would probably have to go to Béziers.'

After looking round the room, Maigret asked
an even more unexpected question. ‘Were all these clocks working?'

Some of them had stopped now, and the
inspector
automatically went to wind them
up. They showed different times.

‘I didn't notice.'

What possible importance could that
have?

‘You'll notice, Monsieur
Dandurand, that although three floors separate us from Mademoiselle Paucot's
apartment we can hear her piano here almost as clearly as in yours. Sound carries well
in this building. That's reassuring, because if my colleagues telephone me then
we'll be sure to hear them. Let's go on. You were sitting where you are now?
At this point we come to the envelope, which contained …'

‘Fifty-two thousand francs. The
quarterly profits of the house in Rue d'Antin.'

‘Did she count the notes?'

‘She always counted them.'

‘And was she aware that you were
keeping a record of the numbers?'

‘I never told her that. While she was
sorting the thousand-franc notes ten by ten, I mentioned to her that Béziers has avoided
replying to our letters for the last few weeks. The manager we installed there, who
…'

Looking at Maigret, he felt sure that the
inspector wasn't really listening. Indeed, he got the impression that Maigret
thought what he was saying was of no importance. He was smoking his pipe and looking at
the pictures of the family, particularly those of the three children, and another
photograph, the only one of its kind in the apartment, showing a shapely young woman of
thirty with provocation in her eyes and in the curve of her throat: in fact a beautiful
woman who must be Juliette.

‘Carry on,
Monsieur Dandurand.'

‘It's difficult, if not
impossible, to supervise business of this kind. As you have already been told, in the
case of any irregularities we can't turn to the law. That explains why
…'

Maigret had opened the dining-room door and
then shut it again.

‘Go on, go on. Take no notice of
me.'

This time he went right out of the sitting
room, while Dandurand was talking in a voice that carried no conviction.

‘I offered to go to Béziers myself to
question the residents in person, as the only way to establish the average of the
receipts coming in, which …'

‘Yes, go on,' the
inspector's distant voice insisted.

‘If you say so … I do remember
pointing out to Madame Boynet that the winter season was not enough to explain such a
drop in those receipts; they went down by a third last month …'

At last the inspector reappeared in the
doorway, giving Monsieur Charles a curious look, as if wondering: what's this man
doing here, and why is he talking to himself?

‘Tell me, while you were discussing
these matters with her, did you hear any noise in the apartment? And were you speaking
at the same volume as now?'

‘No, I kept my voice very low, because
Juliette was always afraid her niece might wake up in spite of the bromide. She
didn't trust the Hungarians next door either; she could hear their strident voices
and their arguments all day. She had been trying to give them notice for several months,
but they clung on for all they were worth.'

‘What did she
do with the fifty-two thousand francs?'

‘She had them in her hand when she
escorted me back to the door.'

‘In the envelope?'

‘I think she'd put them back in
the envelope, yes.'

‘An ordinary envelope?'

‘A used envelope that I picked up from
my desk. Wait a moment … it was yellow. Now what post did I receive that day? Yes …
I'm almost sure it was a Crédit Lyonnais envelope, with my address typed on
it.'

‘Did you ever see that envelope
again?'

‘No, I didn't.'

He couldn't keep a touch of sarcasm
out of his voice. Did Maigret think he was throwing him off balance by suddenly changing
the subject like this?

‘Do you mind if I smoke,
inspector?'

‘Come to think of it, when you visited
your friend Juliette, did you happen to smoke here?'

‘Yes, often.'

‘What did you smoke?'

‘I see that you are better informed
than I was aware, and if I didn't have a clear conscience … But how can you know?
You never met Juliette Boynet when she was alive, did you?'

This time, if he was not actually uneasy he
would have admitted to being intrigued.

‘I mean, there isn't an ashtray
in this room. I'm sure I never left cigarette ends lying about, and as for the
ashes from my pipe …' He laughed nervously. ‘I confess that I don't
understand, inspector. I'll tell you what the situation
was, and then you will see why I'm surprised. Long
ago, I came here with my pipe one day, and Juliette, who had her own ideas on such
subjects, told me that she didn't like to see a man smoking a pipe in front of a
woman. Some nights we worked for several hours, so I brought cigarettes with me. To
avoid leaving ash around, I put a piece of paper on this corner of the desk to act as an
ashtray, and took it away with me when I left.'

Maigret was still looking at him with the
same impersonal expression.

‘But how you know that is more than I
can … Unless …'

‘Unless?' repeated the
inspector.

‘Unless there was someone hidden in
the apartment, following everything we said and did. But that someone would still have
had to be able to get in touch with you and tell you …'

‘Well, it hardly matters, does it?
When Juliette Boynet went back to the door with you, she was holding the fifty-two
banknotes … and you were using the envelope to take your cigarette ash away. I suppose
Juliette locked the door after you?'

‘Yes, and she bolted it
too.'

‘Did you go straight back to your own
apartment? Did you meet anyone on the way? Or hear anything? I don't suppose you
know whether your old friend went to bed at once?'

‘I've no idea.'

They both pricked up their ears. The sound
of a telephone ringing could be clearly heard, and Maigret hurried to the
door, asking, ‘May I? I think that
must be the phone call I'm expecting.'

The door of the fourth-floor apartment was
still closed, and the lights inside were on. The telephone was on Dandurand's
desk.

‘Hello? Torrence?'

‘Is that you, sir? I'm still in
Rue du Pas-de-la-Mule.'

‘Gérard?'

‘I haven't seen him. Listen …
it's rather complicated. I'm not sure about telling you all this over the
phone …'

‘Quiet … Wait a minute.'

Inspector Torrence must be wondering why he
was asked to keep quiet. The fact was that Maigret had just heard footsteps overhead. He
worked out that they must be in Juliette Boynet's bedroom. The sound was perfectly
distinct. It was all very well for Monsieur Charles to wear slippers and take
precautions; his movements were audible all the same.

‘Hello … are you still there,
sir?'

‘Quiet, I said.'

‘Shall I stay on the line?'

‘Keep quiet, I tell you.'

Suddenly he ran for the door, leaving the
telephone receiver lying on the desk. When he reached Madame Boynet's apartment,
Monsieur Charles was already at the front door, his expression impassive but sombre.

‘Was that your telephone call?'
he asked.

‘I haven't finished it yet. Will
you come downstairs, please …'

‘I'm
sorry, I was afraid of being indiscreet.'

This time Maigret had the impression that
there was annoyance or perhaps anxiety in the eyes of that cold fish Monsieur
Charles.

‘I'll follow you down,
inspector. If I'd known that …'

‘You first, please.'

‘Where are we going?'

‘Back to your study. Right … close the
door and stay where you are. Would you be good enough to put your hands on the
table?' He had picked up the receiver again.

‘All right, Torrence, I'm
listening.'

‘Oh, I thought we'd been cut
off. Well, it's like this, sir. When I got here I questioned the concierge, and
she told me that Gérard Pardon hadn't come home, but his wife was in. So I
positioned myself less than three metres from the entrance, and it began to rain
…'