Maigret's Holiday (23 page)

It was 11.30 in the morning, and Maigret
automatically jotted the time down in his notepad, then the name of the bar …

‘I've thought of every
conceivable solution … I approached a policeman on Place du Châtelet
…'

‘When?'

‘Half an hour ago. One of the men was
very close. It was the small, dark one. There are several of them, they work in relays.
I'm not sure if I could recognize them all. But I know the small dark man is one
of them …'

Then silence.

‘Hello?' said Maigret.

The silence continued for several moments,
then the voice came again:

‘Sorry. I heard someone coming into
the bar and thought it was him. I opened the door an inch but it was only a delivery man
… Hello? …'

‘What did you say to the
policeman?'

‘That some men had been following me
since last night … No, actually since yesterday afternoon … And that they
must be waiting for an opportunity to kill me … I asked him to arrest the one who
was standing behind me …'

‘And he refused?'

‘He asked me to point the man out, and
when I turned round to do so I couldn't see him. So he didn't believe me. I
made the most of the opportunity and ran down into the Métro. I jumped on the first
train and then jumped off it again just before the doors closed, as it was about to
leave. I walked along all the passages. I came out opposite the department store, Bazar
de l'Hôtel-de-Ville and walked through all the shops too …'

He must have been walking very briskly, even
running, because his breathing was still rapid and wheezy.

‘What I'm asking is for you to
send a plainclothes officer to me right away. Here, in the Caves du Beaujolais. He
mustn't speak to me. He must act all casual. I'll leave. I'm pretty
sure the man tailing me will follow. He can then be arrested, and I'll come to see
you and explain everything …'

‘Hello?'

‘I said I …'

Then nothing. Confused sounds.

‘Hello? … Hello?
…'

But there was no one at the other end of the
line.

When she saw Maigret hang up, the old woman
who was being poisoned resumed imperturbably: ‘As I was saying …'

‘Excuse me for a moment, would
you?'

He went to the door which communicated with
the office occupied by the inspectors.

‘Janvier, put your hat on and run over
to Quai des Grands-Augustins. There's a small bar there, Aux Caves du Beaujolais
it's called. Ask if the man who just used the phone is still there.'

He lifted the receiver of his phone.

‘Get me the Caves du Beaujolais
…'

As he did so, he looked out of the window.
On the opposite bank of the Seine, where Quai des Grands-Augustins rises to the level of
Pont Saint-Michel, he had a clear view of the narrow front of a bar which catered mostly
for regulars. He had occasionally stopped there to drink a beer at the counter. He
remembered that there was a step down to go in, that it was cool inside and that the
landlord always wore a cellar man's black apron.

A lorry parked outside the bar blocked his
view of the door. Pedestrians passed by on the pavement.

‘You see, inspector …'

‘One moment, madame, please
…'

Still looking out, he very carefully filled
his pipe.

This old woman, with her tales of poison,
would waste his entire morning for him, if not more. She had brought with her reams of
paper, plans, certificates, even analyses of various kinds of foodstuffs which she must
have ordered from her own pharmacist.

‘I've always been a mistrustful
sort of person, you know …'

She gave off a powerful, nauseating perfume
which had invaded the office and had managed to get the better of the wholesome smell of
pipe smoke.

‘Hello? … Haven't you got
that number I asked you for yet?'

‘I'm calling it, sir. I
haven't stopped calling it. The number is constantly engaged. Unless someone
forgot to put the receiver back on the hook …'

Moments later, Janvier, not wearing a
jacket, crossed the bridge in an ungainly lope and went into the bar. The lorry decided
to drive off, but Maigret still could not see inside the bar as it was too dark. A few
more moments elapsed, then the phone rang …

‘There, sir. I've got that
number for you. It's ringing now.'

‘Hello? … Who is this? Is that
you, Janvier? … The phone was off the hook? … Well?'

‘Yes, there was a shortish man here
phoning …'

‘Did you see him?'

‘No. He'd gone by the time I got
here. Apparently he kept looking out through the window of the booth and opening the
door …'

‘Anything else?'

‘A customer walked in, and the first
thing he did was look towards the phone booth. Then he ordered a brandy at the counter.
As soon as the man in the booth saw him, he broke off his conversation.'

‘Did both of them leave?'

‘Yes, one behind the other.'

‘Try to get the landlord to give you
as detailed a description as possible of both men … Hello? And while you're
at it come back via Place du Châtelet. Question all the officers on duty. Try and
find out if one of them, about three-quarters of an hour ago, was approached by the same
shortish man who asked him to arrest someone who was following him.'

When he hung up, the old woman looked at him
with satisfaction and evident approval, as though she were about to award him a very
good mark:

‘Now that's exactly how I
understand policemen operate. You don't waste any time. You think of
everything.'

He sat down again with a sigh. He had been
about to open the window because he was beginning to suffocate in his overheated office,
but he did not want to miss any opportunity of cutting short the visit of this woman who
had been recommended by the minister.

Aubain-Vasconcelos. That was her name. It
would remain engraved on his memory, even if he never saw her again. Did she die in the
days immediately following? Probably not. He would have heard about it. Perhaps she had
been locked away? Perhaps she had felt let down by the official police and had instead
turned to a private detective agency? Or perhaps she had woken up next morning with some
other fixation?

Be that as it may, he was stuck there for
another hour listening to her talking about all the people in that vast mansion in Rue
de Presbourg – where life could not have been much fun – who were feeding
her poison at all hours of the day.

At noon he was at long last able to open his
window. Then, pipe between his teeth, he walked into the commissioner's
office.

‘Did you get rid of her
gently?'

‘As gently as could be.'

‘I gather that in her day she was one
of the most beautiful women in Europe. I knew her husband slightly, the mildest,
dullest, most boring man imaginable. Are you going out, Maigret?'

He hesitated. The streets were beginning to
smell of spring. Tables and chairs had been brought out on to the terrace of the
Brasserie Dauphine and the commissioner's question was an invitation to stroll
down for a pre-prandial drink.

‘I think I'd better stay here. I
got a very odd phone call this morning.'

He was about to explain when the phone rang.
The commissioner answered then passed him the receiver.

‘It's for you.'

Maigret recognized the voice immediately. It
sounded even more frightened than before.

‘Hello! We were interrupted earlier.
He came in. He could have heard through the door of the phone booth. I was scared
…'

‘Where are you now?'

‘In the Tabac des Vosges, on the
corner of Place des Vosges and Rue des Francs-Bourgeois. I tried to give him the slip. I
don't know if I managed to. But I swear I'm not mistaken, that he really is
out to kill me. It would take too long to explain. I thought the others wouldn't
take me seriously, but that you …'

‘Hello?'

‘He's here … I …
Sorry …'

The commissioner stared at Maigret, who was
wearing his irritated look.

‘Something wrong?'

‘I don't know. This is a very
strange business. Do you mind if …?'

He picked up another phone.

‘Get me the Tabac des Vosges at once
… The owner, yes …'

Then, to the commissioner:

‘Provided this time he didn't
forget to hang up.'

The phone rang almost straight away.

‘Hello … Is that the Tabac des
Vosges? Am I speaking to the owner? … Is the customer who just phoned still there?
… What was that? … Yes, you go and check … Hello? … Just left?
… Did he pay? … Tell me – did another customer come in while he was on
the phone? … No? … On the terrace? … Go and look if he's still
there … He left too? … And without waiting for the drink he'd ordered?
… Thanks … No … Who am I? … Police … No, nothing for you
to worry about …'

It was at this point that he decided not to
go to the Brasserie Dauphine with the commissioner. When he opened the door of the
inspectors' office, he found Janvier, who was back and waiting for him.

‘Come into my office. Tell me
everything.'

‘He's an oddball, sir. Shortish
and nondescript, wore a raincoat, a grey hat and black shoes. He rushed into the Caves
du Beaujolais and made straight for the phone booth, telling the man behind the counter
to serve him a drink. He said, “Anything'll do”. Through the window of
the booth, the bar owner saw him talking animatedly and waving his arms about. Then,
when the other customer walked in, the first one shot out of the booth like an imp out
of a bottle, without saying a word and headed off quickly towards Place Saint-Michel
…'

‘What about the second man?'

‘He was short too … Anyway not
very big, but strong, jet black hair.'

‘What about the uniformed officer in
Place du Châtelet?'

‘It did happen. The man in the
raincoat approached him, out of breath, looking wild-eyed. He waved his arms about and
asked him to arrest someone who was following him but he couldn't point him out in
the crowd. The officer decided to make a note of it in his report, just in
case.'

‘I want you to go to Place des Vosges.
There's a tobacconist's on the corner of Rue des
Francs-Bourgeois.'

‘Got it …'

A shortish man, waves his arms about,
wears a beige raincoat and a grey hat
. That was the sum total of all that was
known about him. There was nothing else to do now but stand by the window and watch the
crowds stream out of offices and invade the bars, the pavement cafés and the
restaurants. Paris was all light and life. As always happens, more pleasure was taken
around the middle of February in the first gusts of spring than when spring finally
arrived. And the newspapers would doubtless soon be talking of the famous chestnut tree
on Boulevard Saint-Germain, which would be in flower a month from now.

Maigret phoned down to the Brasserie
Dauphine.

‘Hello? … Joseph? …
Maigret … Can you bring me up a couple of beers and some sandwiches? …
That's right, for one …'

Before the sandwiches arrived, the phone
rang. He recognized the voice at once: he had told the switchboard to put these calls
through immediately, without wasting a moment.

‘Hello? This time I think I've
well and truly given him the slip …'

‘Who are you?'

‘Nine's husband. But
that's not important. There are at least four of them, not counting the woman
… Someone absolutely must come at once and …'

This time, he hadn't had time to say
where he was phoning from. Maigret called the woman at the exchange. It took a few
minutes. The call had come from the Quatre Sergents de la Rochelle, a restaurant on
Boulevard Beaumarchais, at no distance from the Bastille.

This location wasn't very far from
Place des Vosges either. It was possible to track the meanderings of the shortish man in
a raincoat within, or almost, the same neighbourhood of Paris.

‘Hello? Is that you Janvier? … I
thought you might still be there …'

Maigret was phoning him at the bar in Place
des Vosges.

‘Go to the Quatre Sergents de la
Rochelle
…
Yes … Keep the taxi …'

An hour went by without a single phone call,
without anything more being learned about Nine's husband. When the phone did ring,
it wasn't him at the other end of the line but a café waiter.

‘Hello? Am I speaking to Detective
Chief Inspector Maigret? … Inspector Maigret in person? … I am the waiter at
the Café de Birague in Rue de Birague. I'm speaking on behalf of a customer
who asked me to call you.'

‘How long ago was this?'

‘Maybe a quarter of an hour. I was
supposed to phone straight away but it's our busy time.'

‘A shortish man, wearing a
raincoat?'

‘Yes. Right. I was afraid it was some
sort of practical joke. He was in a terrible hurry. He kept looking out into the street
… Wait, I want to get this right … As I remember, in his own words, he said
to tell you that he'd try to lead the man to the Canon de la Bastille. Do you know
it? It's the brasserie on the corner of Boulevard Henri IV. He wanted you to send
somebody pronto … Wait, that's not all. I expect you'll understand. He
said, and these are his exact words: “It's a different man. Now it's
the tall one with red hair, he's the worst.”'

Maigret went there himself. He got into a
taxi, which took less than ten minutes to reach Place de la Bastille. The brasserie was
a great barn of a place and quiet. Its customers were mostly regulars who ordered the
dish of the day or a plate of charcuterie. He looked round for a man in a raincoat, then
toured the coat racks hoping to spot a beige raincoat.