The Hanged Man of Saint-Pholien (7 page)

It was Madame Belloir and her son. He
caught sight of them from the street, through the drawing-room curtains.

It was 2 p.m., and Maigret had just
finished lunch at the Café de Paris when he noticed Van Damme come in and look
around as if searching for someone. Spotting Maigret, he smiled and came over with
his hand outstretched.

‘So this is
what you call having other engagements! Eating alone in a restaurant! I understand:
you wanted to leave us in peace.'

He was clearly one of those people who
latch on to you without any invitation, ignoring any suggestion that their
attentions might be unwelcome.

Maigret took selfish pleasure in his
chilly response, but Van Damme sat down at his table anyway.

‘You've finished? In that
case, allow me to offer you a
digestif
 … Waiter! Well, what will
you have, inspector? An old Armagnac?'

He called for the drinks list, and after
consultation with the proprietor, chose an 1867 Armagnac, to be served in
snifters.

‘I was wondering: when are you
returning to Paris? I'm going there this afternoon, and since I cannot bear
trains, I'll be hiring a car … If you like, I'll take you
along. Well, what do you think of my friends?'

He inhaled the aroma of his brandy with
a critical air, then pulled a cigar case from his pocket.

‘Please, have one, they're
quite good. There's only one place in Bremen where you can get them, and
they're straight from Havana!'

Maigret had emptied his eyes of all
thought and made his face a blank.

‘It's funny, meeting again
years later,' remarked Van Damme, who seemed unable to cope with silence.
‘At the age of twenty, starting out, we're all on the same footing, so
to speak. Time passes, and when we get together again, it's astonishing how
far away from one another we seem … I'm not saying anything against
them, mind you, it's just that, back at Belloir's house, I
felt … uncomfortable.
That
stifling provincial atmosphere! And Belloir himself, quite the clothes horse!
Although he hasn't done badly for himself, seeing as he married the daughter
of Morvandeau, the one who's in sprung mattresses. All Belloir's
brothers-in-law are in industry. And him? He's sitting pretty in the bank,
where he'll wind up director one of these days.'

‘And the short man with the
beard?' asked Maigret.

‘That one … He may yet
find his way and make good. Meanwhile, I think he's feeling the pinch, poor
devil. He's a sculptor, in Paris. And talented, it seems – but what do you
expect? You saw him, in that get-up from another century … Nothing modern
about him! And no business sense.'

‘Jef Lombard?'

‘They don't make them any
better! In his younger days, he was a real joker, could keep you laughing yourself
silly for hours on end. He was going to be a painter … He earned a living
as a newspaper artist, then worked as a photoengraver in Liège. He's married.
I believe they're expecting their third child.

‘What I'm saying is, when I
was with them I felt as if I couldn't breathe! Those petty lives, with their
petty preoccupations and worries … It isn't their fault, but I
can't wait to get back to the business world.'

He drained his glass and considered the
almost deserted room, where a waiter at a table in the back was reading a
newspaper.

‘It's settled, then?
You're returning to Paris with me?'

‘But aren't you travelling
with the short bearded fellow who came with you?'

‘Janin? No, by this time he has
already taken the train back.'

‘Married?'

‘Not exactly. But he always has
some girlfriend or other who lives with him for a week, a year – and then he gets a
new one! Whom he always introduces as “Madame Janin”. Oh, waiter! The
same again, here!'

Maigret had to be careful, at times, not
to let his eyes give away how keenly he was listening. He had left the address of
the Café de Paris back at headquarters, and the proprietor now came over to tell him
personally that he was wanted on the phone.

News had been wired from Brussels to the
Police Judiciaire:
The 30,000-franc notes were handed over by the Banque
Générale de Belgique to one Louis Jeunet in payment of a cheque signed by
Maurice Belloir.

Opening the door to leave the telephone
booth, Maigret saw that Van Damme, unaware that he was being observed, had allowed
himself to drop his mask – and now seemed deflated and, above all, less glowing with
health and optimism.

He must have felt those watchful eyes on
him, however, for he shuddered, automatically becoming the jovial businessman once
again.

‘We're set, then?' he
called out. ‘You're coming with me?
Patron!
Would you arrange
for us to be picked up here by car and driven to Paris? A comfortable car! See to
it, will you? And in the meantime, let's have another.'

He chewed on the end of his cigar and
just for an instant, as he stared down at the marble table, his eyes lost their
lustre, while the corners of his mouth drooped as if the tobacco had left a bitter
taste in his mouth.

‘It's when you live abroad
that you really appreciate the wines and liqueurs of France!'

His words rang
hollow, echoing in the abyss lying between them and the man's troubled
mind.

Jef Lombard went by in the street, his
silhouette slightly blurred by the tulle curtains. He was alone. He walked with long
strides, slowly and sadly, seeing nothing of the city all around him.

He was carrying an overnight bag, and
Maigret found himself thinking about those two yellow
suitcases … Lombard's was of better quality, though, with two straps
and a sleeve for a calling card. The man's shoe heels were starting to wear
down on one side, and his clothes did not look as if anyone brushed them regularly.
Jef Lombard was walking all the way to the station.

Van Damme, sporting a large platinum
signet ring on one finger, was wreathing himself in a fragrant cloud of cigar smoke
heightened by the alcohol's sharp bouquet. Off in the background, the
proprietor could be heard on the phone, arranging for the car.

Belloir was probably setting out from
his new house for the marble portal of the bank, while his wife took their son for a
walk along the avenues. Everyone would wish Belloir a good afternoon. His
father-in-law was the biggest businessman around. His brothers-in-law were ‘in
industry'. A bright future lay ahead of him.

As for Janin, with his black goatee and
his artistic
lavallière
bow tie, he was on his way to Paris – in third
class, Maigret would have bet on it.

And down at the bottom of the heap was
the pale traveller of Neuschanz and Bremen, the husband of the herbalist in Rue
Picpus, the milling machine operator from Rue de la Roquette, the solitary drinker
who went to gaze at his wife through the shop window, sent himself
banknotes as if they were a package of old newspapers,
bought sausages in rolls at a station buffet and shot himself in the mouth because
he'd been robbed of an old suit that wasn't even his.

‘Ready, inspector?'

Maigret flinched and stared in confusion
at Van Damme, his gaze so vacant that the other man tried uneasily to laugh and
botched it, stammering, ‘Were you daydreaming? Wherever you were, it was far
away … I suspect it's that suicide of yours you're still
worried about.'

Not entirely. When startled from his
reverie, Maigret – and even he did not know why – had been concentrating on an
unusual list, counting up the children involved in this case: one in Rue Picpus, a
small figure between his mother and grandmother in a shop smelling of mint and
rubber; one in Rheims, who was learning to hold his elbow up by his chin while
drawing his bow across the strings of a violin; two in Liège, in the home of Jef
Lombard, where a third was on the way …

‘One last Armagnac, what do you
say?'

‘Thank you: I've had
enough.'

‘Come on! We'll have a
stirrup cup, or in our case one for the road!'

Only Joseph Van Damme laughed, as he
constantly felt he must, like a little boy so afraid to go down into the cellar that
he tries to whistle up some courage.

As they drove at a fast clip through the
gathering dusk, there was hardly a moment's silence. Joseph Van Damme was
never at a loss for words and, fuelled by the Armagnac, he managed to keep up a
stream of convivial patter. The vehicle was an old sedan, a saloon car with worn
cushions, flower holders and marquetry side pockets. The driver was wearing a trench
coat, with a knitted scarf around his neck.

They had been driving for about two
hours when the driver pulled over to the side of the road and stopped at least a
kilometre from a village, a few lights of which gleamed in the misty evening.

After inspecting the rear wheels, the
driver informed his passengers that he had found a flat tyre, which it would take
him fifteen minutes or so to repair.

The two men got out. The driver was
already settling a jack under the rear axle and assured them that he did not need
any help.

Was it Maigret or Van Damme who
suggested a short walk? Neither of them, actually; it seemed only natural for them
to walk a little way along the road, where they noticed a path leading down to the
rushing waters of a river.

‘Look! The Marne!' said Van
Damme. ‘It's in spate …'

As they strolled slowly along the little
path, smoking
their cigars, they heard a
noise that puzzled them until they reached the riverbank.

A hundred metres away, across the water,
they saw the lock at Luzancy: its gates were closed, and there was no one around.
Right at their feet was a dam, with its milky overspill, churning waters and
powerful current. The Marne was running high.

In the darkness they could just make out
branches, perhaps entire trees, smashing repeatedly into the barrier until swept at
last over its edge.

The only light came from the lock, on
the far side of the river.

Joseph Van Damme kept talking away.

‘Every year the Germans make
tremendous efforts to harness the energy of rivers, and the Russians are right
behind them: in the Ukraine they're constructing a dam that'll cost 120
million dollars but will provide electricity to three provinces.'

It was almost unnoticeable, the way his
voice faltered – briefly – at the word electricity. And then, coughing, Van Damme
had to take out his handkerchief to blow his nose.

They were on the very brink of the
river. Shoved suddenly from behind, Maigret lost his balance, turning as he fell
forwards, and grabbed the edge of the grassy riverbank with both hands, his feet now
in the water, while his hat was already plunging over the dam.

The rest happened quickly, for he had
been expecting that push. Clods of earth were giving way under his right hand, but
he had spotted a branch sturdy enough for him to cling to with his other hand.

Only seconds later, he was on his knees
on the towpath and then on his feet, shouting at a figure fading away.

‘Stop!'

It was strange: Van Damme didn't
dare run. He was heading towards the car in only a modest hurry and kept looking
back, his legs wobbly with shock.

And he allowed himself to be overtaken.
With his head down and pulled like a turtle's into the collar of his overcoat,
he simply swung his fist once through the air, in rage, as if he were pounding on an
imaginary table and growled through clenched teeth, ‘Idiot!'

Just to be safe, Maigret had brought out
his revolver. Gun in hand, without taking his eyes off the other man, he shook the
legs of his trousers, soaked to the knees, while water spurted from his shoes.

Back at the road, the driver was tapping
on the horn to let them know that the car was roadworthy again.

‘Let's go!' said the
inspector.

And they took their same seats in the
car, in silence. Van Damme still had his cigar between his teeth but he would not
meet Maigret's eyes.

Ten kilometres. Twenty kilometres. They
slowed down to go through a town, where people were going about their business in
the lighted streets. Then it was back to the highway.

‘You still can't arrest me,
though,' said Van Damme abruptly, and Maigret started with surprise. And yet
these words – so unexpected, spoken so slowly, even stubbornly – had echoed his own
misgivings …

They reached Meaux. Countryside gave way
to the outer suburbs. A light rain began to fall, and whenever the car passed a
streetlamp, each drop became a star. Then the inspector leaned forwards to speak
into the voice-pipe.