Maigret in New York (2 page)

‘I was sure you wouldn't believe me … I've
underlined each passage in his letters where he writes of the future with a kind of implicit
terror.

‘You'll see that certain words crop up again and
again, words he never used before.

‘“
If you should find yourself on your own
…”

‘“
If I were to be lost to you
…”

‘“
When you will be alone
…”

‘“
When I am no longer there …
”

‘These words recur more and more frequently, as
if they
haunt him, yet I know my father has an iron
constitution. I cabled his doctor for reassurance; I have his reply. He makes fun of me and
assures me that, barring some accident, my father has a good thirty years ahead of him.

‘Do you understand?'

It's what they all say:
Do you
understand?

‘I went to see my legal adviser, Monsieur
d'Hoquélus, whom you doubtless know by reputation. He's an old man, as you know, a man of
experience. I showed him these latest letters … I saw that he was almost as worried as I
was.

‘And yesterday he confided in me that my father
had instructed him to carry out some inexplicable transactions.

‘Monsieur d'Hoquélus is my father's agent in
France, a man he relies on. He is the one who was authorized to give me all the money I might
need. Well, recently my father has told him to make lifetime gifts of considerable sums to
various people.

‘Not in order to disinherit me – believe me, on
the contrary: according to signed but not notarized contracts, these sums will be handed over to
me in the future.

‘Why, when I am his sole heir?

‘Because he is afraid, don't you see, that his
fortune may not be passed on to me in the proper manner.

‘I've brought Monsieur d'Hoquélus with me. He's
in the car. If you would like to speak to him …'

How could anyone not be impressed by the gravity
of the old notary? And he says almost the same things as the young man.

‘I
am convinced,' he begins, weighing his words, ‘that some important event has occurred in the
life of Joachim Maura.'

‘Why do you call him Joachim?'

‘It is his real first name. In the United States,
he adopted the more common name of John. And I, too, am certain that he feels he is in serious
danger. When Jean admitted to me that he intended to go over there, I did not venture to
dissuade him but I did advise him to go accompanied by a person of some experience …'

‘Why not yourself?'

‘Because of my age, first of all. And then for
reasons which you will perhaps understand later on … I am confident that what is required
in New York is a man familiar with police matters. I will add that my instructions have always
been to give Jean Maura whatever money he might want and that in the present circumstances, I
can only approve his desire to …'

The conversation had lasted for two hours, in
hushed voices, and Monsieur d'Hoquélus had not been indifferent to the appeal of Maigret's aged
brandy. From time to time, the inspector had heard his wife come to listen at the door, not from
curiosity, but to find out if she could finally set the table.

After the car had left, what was her amazement
when Maigret, none too proud of having let himself be persuaded, had told her bluntly, ‘I'm
leaving for America.'

‘What did you say?'

And now a yellow cab was taking him through
unfamiliar streets made depressing by drizzle.

Why
had Jean Maura disappeared at the very moment when they reached New York? Was Maigret to believe
that he had met someone or that, in his haste to see his father again, he had cavalierly left
his companion in the lurch?

The streets were becoming more elegant. The cab
stopped at a corner of what Maigret did not yet know was the famous Fifth Avenue, and a doorman
hurried over to him.

A fresh quandary about paying the cab driver with
this unfamiliar money. Then off to the lobby of the St Regis and the reception desk, where he
finally found someone who spoke French.

‘I would like to see Mr John Maura.'

‘One moment, please …'

‘Can you tell me if his son has arrived?'

‘No one has asked for Mr Maura this morning.'

‘Is he in?'

Picking up the receiver, the clerk replied
frostily, ‘I will ask his secretary.'

‘Hello … Mr MacGill? … This is the
front desk … There is someone here asking to see Mr Maura … What was that? …
I'll ask him … Might I have your name, sir?'

‘Maigret.'

‘Hello … Mr Maigret … I see …
Very well, sir.'

Hanging up, the clerk announced, ‘Mr MacGill
asked me to tell you that Mr Maura sees people only by appointment. If you wish to write to him
and give him your address, he will certainly send you his reply.'

‘Would you be kind enough to tell this Mr MacGill
that
I have arrived from France expressly to see Mr
Maura and that I have important information for him.'

‘I am sorry … These gentlemen would never
forgive me for disturbing them a second time, but if you would take the trouble to write a note
here, in the lobby, I will have it sent up with a bellboy.'

Maigret was furious. More with himself than with
this MacGill, whom he did not know but had already begun to detest.

Just as he detested, immediately and completely,
everything around him: the gilt-encrusted lobby, the bellboys smirking at him, the pretty women
coming and going, the cocky men who jostled him without deigning to apologize.

Monsieur,

I have just arrived from France,
entrusted with an important mission by your son and M. d'Hoquélus. My time is as precious as
yours, so I would be grateful if you would see me right away.

Yours sincerely,

Maigret

For a good quarter of an hour he was left to fume
off in his corner, so angry that he smoked his pipe even though he knew this was hardly the
place for it. At last a bellboy arrived, who accompanied him up in the elevator, led him along a
corridor, knocked on a door and abandoned him.

‘Come in!'

Why
had he envisioned MacGill as a middle-aged person of forbidding aspect? He was a tall, muscular
young man, fashionably dressed, who came towards him holding out his hand.

‘Forgive me, sir, but Mr Maura is besieged by so
many solicitants of all sorts that we must create a strong barrier around him. You tell me
you've just come over from France … Am I to understand that you are the … the former
… that is to say …'

‘The former Detective Chief Inspector Maigret,
yes.'

‘Please, do sit down. Cigar?'

Several boxes of them were set out on a table. A
huge mahogany desk dominated the immense drawing room yet did not make it seem at all like an
office.

Disdaining the Havana cigars, Maigret had
refilled his pipe and now studied the other man rather coolly.

‘You wrote that you've brought us news of
Monsieur Jean?'

‘If you will allow me, I'll speak personally of
that to Monsieur Maura when you've been kind enough to take me to him.'

MacGill showed all his teeth, which were quite
beautiful, in a smile.

‘It's easy to see, sir, that you are from Europe.
Otherwise you would know that John Maura is one of the busiest men in New York, that even I have
no idea where he is at this moment and, finally, that I handle all his affairs, including the
most personal ones. You may therefore speak candidly and tell me …'

‘I'll wait until Mr Maura agrees to receive
me.'

‘He
would still have to know what all this is about.'

‘I told you, it's about his son.'

‘Am I, given your profession, to assume that the
young man has done something foolish?'

Unflinching, Maigret continued to stare coldly at
the other man.

‘Forgive me for insisting, inspector. Although
you have retired, according to the newspapers, I suppose that you are still addressed by your
title? Forgive me, as I said, for reminding you that we are in the United States, not France,
and that John Maura's time is limited. Jean is a charming boy, perhaps a bit too sensitive, but
I wonder what he could have …'

Maigret calmly rose and picked up the hat he had
placed on the rug beside his chair.

‘I'll be taking a room in this hotel. When Mr
Maura has decided to see me …'

‘He will not be back in New York for about two
weeks.'

‘Can you tell me where he is at present?'

‘That's hard to say. He travels by plane and was
in Panama the day before yesterday. Today he might have landed in Rio or Venezuela …'

‘Thank you.'

‘Do you have friends in New York, inspector?'

‘No one besides a few police chiefs with whom
I've worked on occasion.'

‘Would you allow me to invite you to lunch?'

‘I think I would rather have lunch with one of
them …'

‘And if I insisted? I am sorry about the role my
position forces me to play and I do hope you won't hold it
against me. I'm older than Jean, but not by much, and am quite
fond of him. You haven't even given me any news of him …'

‘Excuse me, but may I know how long you've been
Mr Maura's private secretary?'

‘About six months. What I mean is, I've been with
him for six months but have known him a long time, if not for ever.'

Someone was walking in the next room. Maigret saw
MacGill's face change colour. The secretary listened anxiously to the approaching footsteps,
watched the gilt knob on the door to the next room slowly turn, then open slightly.

‘Come here a moment, Jos …'

A thin, nervous face, crowned with hair that was
still blond although streaked with white. Eyes that took in Maigret; a forehead folding into a
frown. The secretary hurried over, but the new arrival had already changed his mind and entered
the office, still staring at Maigret.

‘Have we …?' he began, as when one appears
to recognize somebody and tries to remember more.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret of the Police
Judiciaire. More precisely, former Inspector Maigret, as I've been retired for a year now.'

John Maura was shorter than average, lean, but
apparently endowed with exceptional energy.

‘Is it to me that you wish to speak?'

He turned to MacGill without waiting for a
reply.

‘What is it, Jos?'

‘I don't know, chief … The inspector
…'

‘If
you wouldn't mind, Mr Maura, I would like to speak to you in private. It's about your son.'

But there was not a single reaction in the face
of the man who wrote such affectionate letters.

‘You may speak in front of my secretary.'

‘Very well … Your son is in New York.'

And Maigret's eyes never left the two men. Was he
mistaken? He felt distinctly that MacGill was shaken, whereas Maura's sole response was simply
to say casually, ‘Oh …'

‘Aren't you surprised?'

‘You must know that my son is free to do whatever
he likes.'

‘Aren't you at least astonished that he hasn't
yet come to see you?'

‘Given that I don't know when he may have arrived
…'

‘He arrived this morning, with me.'

‘In that case, you must know.'

‘I know nothing, that's just it. In the rush of
disembarkation and arrival formalities I lost sight of him. The last time I saw and spoke to him
was when the ship was anchored at the Quarantine Landing.'

‘It's quite possible that he met up with some
friends.'

And John Maura slowly lit a long cigar with his
initials on the band.

‘I'm sorry, inspector, but I do not see how my
son's arrival—'

‘Has any connection with my visit?'

‘That is more or less what I wanted to say. I am
very busy this morning. With your permission, I will leave you
with my secretary, to whom you may speak freely. Please excuse me,
inspector.'

A rather abrupt nod. He turned on his heel and
vanished next door. After a moment's hesitation, MacGill murmured, ‘With your permission
…'

And he disappeared in the wake of his employer,
closing the door behind him. Maigret was alone in the office, alone and not very proud of
himself. He heard whispering in the neighbouring room. He was about to leave angrily when the
secretary reappeared, brisk and smiling.

‘You see, my dear sir, you were wrong to distrust
me.'

‘I thought Mr Maura was in Venezuela or Rio
…'

The young man laughed.

‘Back at Quai des Orfèvres, where you had heavy
responsibilities, didn't you ever use a little white lie to get rid of a visitor?'

‘Thanks anyway for having treated me to the same
thing!'

‘Come, don't hold a grudge against me …
What time is it? Eleven thirty … If it's all right with you, I'll phone the desk to
reserve you a room, otherwise you'd have some difficulty getting one. The St Regis is one of the
most exclusive hotels in New York. I'll give you time to take a bath and change, and, if you
like, we'll meet at the bar at one o'clock, after which we'll have lunch together.'

Maigret was tempted to refuse and walk out
wreathed in his surliest expression. He would have been quite capable, had there been a ship
that very evening for Europe, of sailing home without pursuing any closer acquaintance with this
city that had welcomed him so harshly.

‘Hello … Front desk, please … Hello, MacGill here. Would you please reserve a suite
for a friend of Mr Maura … Yes … Mr Maigret. Thank you.'