The Night at the Crossroads (13 page)

‘Take him away, by force if you have to!' Maigret shouted to Lucas, pointing to the tottering Andersen.

In the thin light of dawn, now everything happened at once.

Lucas signalled to one of his men. The two of them approached the wounded man, spoke with him briefly and, as he would not cooperate, tipped him over and carried him away, struggling and protesting hoarsely.

Meanwhile, Maigret was approaching the well but stopped in his tracks when the policeman yelled, ‘Watch out!'

And another bullet whistled through the air as the underground report reverberated in long echoing waves.

‘Who's down there?'

‘The girl … and a man. They're fighting hand to hand …'

The inspector went over cautiously, but could see almost nothing down the well.

‘Your flashlight …'

He had time to get only the briefest impression of what was happening before a bullet almost hit the flashlight.

The man was Michonnet. The well was not deep. It was wide, however, and completely dry.

There were two of them down there, locked in a struggle. As far as Maigret could tell, the insurance agent had a hand around Else's throat as if to strangle her. She had a revolver in one fist, but Michonnet's other hand was around
hers, controlling where the gun was aimed.

‘What are we going to do?' asked the appalled policeman.

They could hear occasional groans; it was Else, suffocating, battling ferociously.

‘Michonnet, give yourself up!' Maigret called out clearly, as a matter of form.

Without a word the other man fired the revolver into the air, and the inspector did not hesitate any longer. The well was three metres deep. Maigret suddenly jumped in, landing literally on Michonnet's back and pinning down one of
Else's legs as well.

It was total chaos. One more shot went off, grazing the wall of the well before vanishing into the blue, while Maigret punched Michonnet's skull with both fists, just to be on the safe side. At the fourth blow, the man looked at
him like a wounded animal, staggered and fell backwards with a black eye and dislocated jaw.

Else, who was holding her throat with both hands, was gasping for breath.

It was both tragic and absurd, this battle in the murky light at the bottom of a well smelling of saltpetre and slime.

The epilogue was even more absurd: Michonnet was hauled up by the pulley rope, limp and groaning; Else, whom Maigret held up to the policeman, was filthy, her black velvet dress blotched with big smears of greenish moss.

Neither she nor her adversary had completely lost consciousness. They were exhausted and sore, however, like clowns after a fake boxing match who lie collapsed in a disheartened heap together, still swinging feebly at nothing.

Maigret had picked up the revolver. It was Else's, the one taken from the niche in her bedroom. There was one bullet left.

Arriving from the house, Lucas looked worried and sighed as he took in the scene.

‘I had to tie him to his bed.'

The policeman had moistened a handkerchief with water and was dabbing the girl's forehead.

‘And where'd these two come from?' the sergeant continued.

Suddenly Michonnet, despite not having even enough strength left to stand up, threw himself at Else, his face convulsed with fury. He never reached her, for Maigret gave him a kick that sent him tumbling a good two metres away.

‘That's enough of this farce!' he bellowed.

Then he laughed almost to tears, the look on Michonnet's face was so funny. He was like one of those infuriated kids you carry off under your arm, spanking them as you go, yet they keep wriggling, howling, crying, lashing out and trying to
bite, refusing to accept that they're helpless.

For Michonnet was crying! Crying and grimacing miserably! He was even shaking his fist!

Else was finally back on her feet, rubbing her hand over her forehead.

‘I really thought I was done for,' she sighed, smiling weakly. ‘He was squeezing so hard …'

One cheek was black with dirt and there was mud in her tangled hair. Maigret wasn't much more presentable.

‘What were you doing in the well?' he asked.

She looked at him sharply. Her smile vanished. In a single moment, she seemed to have recovered all her sang-froid.

‘Answer me.'

‘I … I was taken there by force …'

‘By Michonnet?'

‘That's not true!' screamed the man.

‘It is true. He tried to strangle me … I think he's insane.'

‘She's lying! She's the one who's insane! Or rather, she's …'

‘She's what?'

‘I don't know! She's … She's a viper whose head should be crushed on a stone!'

Meanwhile, dawn had broken. Birds were twittering in all the trees.

‘Why did you take your revolver?' Maigret asked Else.

‘Because I was afraid of a trap …'

‘What trap? Hold on a minute! One thing at a time. You just said that you were attacked and put into the well.'

‘She's lying!' repeated Michonnet, gulping convulsively.

‘Then show me,' Maigret went on, ‘where this attack took place.'

Looking around her, Else pointed over to the front steps.

‘It was there? And you didn't scream?'

‘I couldn't …'

‘And this scrawny little fellow managed to carry you all the way over to the well, lugging fifty-five kilos?'

‘Yes, it's true.'

‘She's lying!'

‘Make him be quiet!' she said wearily. ‘Don't you see he's crazy? And has been for a while, too.'

They had to restrain Michonnet, who was about to go after her again.

They formed a small group in the kitchen garden: Maigret, Lucas, two inspectors, all looking at the insurance agent with the swollen face and Else, who even while talking had been trying to clean herself up.

For some strange reason, this entire episode had not risen to the level of tragedy, or even drama. It was more like buffoonery.

The feeble morning light might well have had something to do with it. And perhaps everyone's fatigue, even their hunger.

Things got worse when they saw a simple soul walking
hesitantly down the road, a woman who peered through the bars of the front gate, finally opened it and caught sight of Michonnet.

‘Émile!' she exclaimed.

It was Madame Michonnet, more bewildered than distressed, who now pulled a hankie from her pocket and burst out crying.

‘It's that woman again!'

She looked like someone's good old mother, battered by events and falling back on the soothing bitterness of tears.

Maigret noticed with amusement how Else's face seemed to come into tight focus as she looked at everyone around her in turn. A pretty face, delicate, gone suddenly sharp-featured and tense.

‘What were you planning on doing in the well?' he asked cheerfully, as if he were saying, ‘Enough of this! Admit it, there's no point in pretending any more.'

She understood. Gave him an ironic smile.

‘I think we're done for,' she conceded. ‘Only, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I'm cold and I'd really like to clean myself up a bit. And then we'll see …'

She wasn't playing a part. On the contrary, she was admirably to the point.

All alone in the middle of the group, she was relaxed, watching the pitiful Michonnet and his weeping wife with an amused air, and when she turned to Maigret her eyes said, ‘Poor things! Us, we're two of a kind, aren't we!
We'll talk later. You've won … but admit it: I put on quite a show!'

No fear, no embarrassment, either. No theatrics at all.

It was the real Else at last – and she was enjoying this moment of truth.

‘Come along with me,' said Maigret. ‘Lucas, you take care of the other one … As for his wife, she can go home or stay here, either way.'

‘Come in! You're not disturbing me …'

It was the same room, up there, with the black divan, the insistent perfume, the hiding place behind the watercolour. It was the same woman.

‘Carl is well guarded, at least?' she asked, jerking her chin towards his room. ‘Because he'd be even harder to control than Michonnet! … You may smoke your pipe.'

She poured some water into the basin, calmly pulled off her dress as if that were the most natural thing in the world, and stood there in her slip, without any fuss or provocation.

Maigret recalled his first visit to the Three Widows house, when Else had been as enigmatic and distant as a cinema vamp, and he remembered the disturbing, enervating atmosphere with which she could surround herself.

Had she played her part well, the alluring, wilful young thing who talked about her parents' castle, the nannies and governesses, her father's strict principles?

Well, that was yesterday! One gesture was more eloquent than any words: the way she'd stripped off her dress and was now looking at herself in the mirror before washing her face.

The classic tart, earthy, vulgar and sly.

‘Admit that you fell for it!'

‘Not for long!'

She wiped her face with a corner of the Turkish towel.

‘Sure! … Just yesterday, when you were here and I flashed you a peek at one breast, your mouth was dry and your forehead sweaty, like the nice fat old fellow you are. That won't work with you now, of course. Even though I
haven't lost any of my looks …'

She threw out her chest and happily admired her lithe and barely clad figure.

‘Between us, what tipped you off? I made a mistake?'

‘Several.'

‘Such as?'

‘Talking a mite too much about the castle and the grounds … When you really live in a castle, you usually call it the house, for example.'

She had pulled aside the curtain of a wardrobe and was studying her dresses.

‘You'll be taking me to Paris, naturally! And there will be photographers there … What do you think of this green dress?'

She held it up to herself to judge the effect.

‘No: black is still my best colour … Will you give me a light?'

She laughed, for, in spite of everything, Maigret was slightly affected by the subtle eroticism she managed to instil in the atmosphere, especially when she went over for him to light her cigarette.

‘Well! Time to get dressed … The whole thing's a scream, don't you think?'

Her accent made even common slang sound strangely appealing …

‘How long have you been Carl Andersen's mistress?'

‘I am not his mistress. I am his wife.'

She ran a mascara wand along her eyelashes, freshened the pink in her cheeks.

‘Were you married in Denmark?'

‘You see, you still don't know a thing! And don't count on me to talk, I'm no snitch … Anyway, you won't hold me for long. How soon after I'm arrested do I get booked?'

‘Right away.'

‘Too bad for you! Because they'll find out that my real name is Bertha Krull and that for just over three years now the Copenhagen police have had a warrant out for my arrest. The Danish government will ask for
extradition … There! I'm ready. Now, if you'll allow me, I'd like a bite to eat … Don't you think it smells musty in here?'

She went over to open the window, then came back to the door. Maigret left the bedroom first. She then slammed the door shut, slid the bolt, and he could hear her running to the window.

Had Maigret been ten kilos lighter, she would probably have got away. The bolt had only just gone home when, without losing a second, he hurled himself full tilt against the door.

And it gave way at once, falling flat with its lock and hinges ripped off.

Else was sitting astride the window-sill. She hesitated …

‘Too late!' he said.

She turned around, breathing a touch heavily, her forehead slightly damp.

‘I don't know why I bothered to dress myself up!' she remarked sarcastically, pointing out a tear in her dress.

‘Will you promise me you won't try again to escape?'

‘No!'

‘In that case, I warn you that I will shoot at the slightest false move.'

And he kept his revolver in his hand from then on.

‘Do you think he'll make it?' she asked as they passed Carl's door. ‘He's got two bullets in him, hasn't he?'

He looked at her and although at that moment he would have been hard put to read her mind, he thought he detected in her face and voice a mixture of pity and resentment.

‘It's his fault too!' she decided, as if to set her conscience at rest. ‘I only hope there's still something to eat in the house …'

Maigret followed her into the kitchen, where she searched the cupboards and finally unearthed a tin of rock lobster.

‘Won't you open it for me? … Don't worry, I promise I won't take advantage and make a run for it.'

There was a strangely companionable feeling between the two of them that Maigret rather enjoyed. There was even something intimate in their relationship, and the faintest undercurrent of possibilities.

She was having fun with this big, placid man who had bested her but whom she knew she was impressing with her dash and daring. As for him, he was savouring this most unusual familiarity perhaps a little too much.

‘Here you are … Eat quickly.'

‘We're leaving already?'

‘I've no idea.'

‘Just between us … Exactly what have you found out?'

‘Doesn't matter.'

‘Are you carting off Michonnet as well, that idiot? Still, he's the one who scared me the most … Back in the well I really thought I'd had it. His eyes were bulging out of his head … He was squeezing my
throat with everything he had.'

‘Were you his mistress?'

She shrugged, the kind of girl for whom such details have almost no importance.