The Little Man From Archangel (19 page)

Angèle had retorted, leaning over a basket of spinach, with her great behind in the air:

'If he is, I hope he croaks!'

Which had not prevented her from asking:

'Why do you say that?'

'His shop's shut.'

'Can they have arrested him already?'

A little while later, when she was free of customers, she went to have a look for herself, pressed her face to the window, but everything appeared to be in order within the house except for Jonas' hat, which stood on a straw-bottomed chair.

'Have you seen Jonas, Mélanie?' she asked, on her way past the Chaignes. 'Not this morning.'

When Louis came back, and parked his three-wheeler, she told him: 'It seems that Jonas has been arrested.'

'So much the better.'

'The handle isn't in the door and I couldn't see anything going on inside.'

Louis went for a drink at Le Bouc's. 'They've arrested Jonas.'

Constable Benaiche was there, having a glass of white wine. 'Who?'

'The police, I presume.'

Benaiche frowned, shrugged his shoulders, said: 'Strange.'

Then he emptied his glass. 'I didn't hear anything up at the station.'

The only one to seem uneasy was Le Bouc. He said nothing, but after a few minutes' thought, he retired to the back room where there was a telephone by the lavatory door. 'Get me the police station, please.'

'The number's ringing now.'

'Police here.'

He recognized the sergeant's voice. 'That you Jouve?'

'Who's that?'

'Le Bouc. I say, is it true that you've arrested Jonas?'

'The bookseller?'

'Yes.'

'I haven't heard anything about him this morning. But it doesn't concern me. Wait a second.'

His voice came back, a little while later:

'No one here knows anything about it. The superintendent's out to lunch, but Basquin, who's here, would have heard.'

'His door's closed.'

'So what?'      

'I don't know. No one's seen him this morning.'

'I'd better put you on to the inspector. Hang on.' Another pause, and it was Basquin's voice: 'Jouve tells me Jonas hasn't been seen today?'

'Yes. His shop's shut. There's nothing going on inside.'

'Do you think he would have gone?'

That was not what Fernand had in mind, but he preferred not to volunteer any opinion.

'I don't know. It seems odd to me. He's a queer chap.'

'I'll be right round.'

When he arrived ten minutes later, several people emerged from the bar and walked over to Jonas' shop.

The inspector knocked at the door, normally at first, then louder and louder, finally called out, looking up towards the open window on the first floor:

'Monsieur Jonas!'

Angèle, who had come up, had lost her habitual caustic wit. At Fernand's, Louis, who was gulping down two glasses of
grappa
one after the other, growled:

'I'll bet he's gone to earth in some corner, like a rat.' He didn't believe it. He was blustering, uneasiness reflected in his red-rimmed eyes.

'Is there a locksmith nearby?' asked Basquin, who had tried shaking the door in vain.

'Old Deltour. He lives in . . .'

Madame Chaigne interrupted the woman who was speaking.

'It's not worth the trouble of forcing the door. You only have to get over the wall of the yard by climbing on a chair. Follow me, Inspector.'

She led him through her shop, then through the kitchen where
a
stew was simmering, as far as the yard, which was littered with barrels and crates.

'It's Jonas!' she called out as she passed her husband, who was hard of hearing. Then:

'Look! A barrel will do even better than a chair.'

She remained standing, in her white apron, her hands on her hips, watching the inspector hoisting himself onto the wall.

'Can you get down the other side?'

He did not reply at once, for he had just found the little man from Archangel hanging from the branch which grew out over the yard. The kitchen door was open with, on the wax tablecloth, a cup containing the remains of some coffee, and a blackbird crossed the doorstep, coming from inside the house, and flew off to the top of the lime-tree where it had its nest.

'Golden Gate',

Cannes.

29 April, 1956.