The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin (8 page)

‘Whose is that?'

‘He must have left it here. He was
holding it last night.'

‘Get dressed!'

‘Are you arresting me?'

‘I've got a warrant here
made out in the name of a certain Adèle Bosquet, occupation dancer. I presume
that's you.'

‘All right, all right!'

She didn't panic. She seemed to be
more distressed at being the victim of theft than by the prospect of arrest. While
combing her hair, she repeated several times:

‘The little bastard! And there was
I, fast asleep!'

The two policemen looked knowingly round
the room, exchanging glances: they'd seen it all before.

‘Will this take long, do you
think?' she asked them. ‘Because if so, I'll bring a change of
clothes.'

‘Don't know. We were just
told …'

She shrugged her shoulders and
sighed:

‘Well, since I haven't done
anything wrong …'

And, as she headed for the door:

‘OK, I'm ready. You've
got a car, at least? No? Then I'd prefer to walk ahead on my own, you can
follow behind me.'

And she angrily snapped her handbag shut
and picked
it up, while the inspector
slipped the cigarette-case into his pocket.

Once outside, Adèle made straight for
police headquarters, and marched in confidently, stopping only once she was in the
wide corridor.

‘Over here!' said Girard.
‘Just a minute. I'm going to ask the chief—'

But she had dodged him and walked
straight in. She grasped the situation at a glance. They were waiting for her, it
seemed, because nothing was happening. The chief inspector with the ginger moustache
was pacing round the large room.

Jean Chabot, leaning on a table, was
trying to eat a sandwich they had brought him. His father was standing in a corner,
his head bowed.

‘What about the other boy?'
asked the chief, as he saw Adèle accompanied only by Girard.

‘Lost him! He must have slipped
out by a back door. According to mademoiselle here, he pinched the contents of her
purse.'

Chabot dared not look at anyone. He put
down the sandwich, which he had hardly touched.

‘A proper pair of rascals,
inspector! Catch me being nice to the likes of them again!'

‘Calm down, can't you! Just
answer my questions please.'

‘But he's walked off with my
savings!'

‘I asked you to be quiet,
mademoiselle.'

Girard whispered to his boss, and passed
him the gold cigarette-case.

‘And for a start, tell me how this
object came to be in
your bedroom. I
presume you recognize it. You were with the man Graphopoulos on his last evening
alive. He brought this cigarette-case out several times, as various witnesses have
told us. Did he give it to you?'

She looked at Chabot, then at the chief
inspector. ‘No!'

‘So how did it get into your
room?'

‘Delfosse—'

Chabot looked up sharply and made as if
to rush forward.

‘That's not true.
She—'

‘You, sit down! So mademoiselle,
you claim that René Delfosse was in possession of this object. You realize the
gravity of that accusation.'

She laughed:

‘You bet I do! He ran off with the
money in my handbag, that—'

‘Have you known him
long?'

‘About three months. Since he
started coming every night to the Gai-Moulin, with that other so-and-so! Pair of
crybabies they are, anyway! I should have been more suspicious. But you know how it
is. They're so young! It was relaxing to chat with them. I treated them as
pals, see? And when they bought me a drink, I took care not to order anything too
expensive.'

Her expression was stony.

‘Were you the mistress of these
two youths?'

She gave a short laugh.

‘Hardly! Yeah, that's
probably what they wanted. Too shy to ask, though. They used to come up to my place,
one at a time, on silly excuses, just to watch me getting dressed.'

‘On the
night of the murder, you were drinking champagne with Graphopoulos. Did you have an
arrangement to follow him out at the end of the evening?'

‘What do you take me for?
I'm a dancer.'

‘Well, more precisely,
you're a hostess. And we all know what that means. So did you leave with
him?'

‘No, I did not!'

‘Did he proposition
you?'

‘Oh! Yes and no. He was on at me
to go and see him at his hotel, can't remember which one. I didn't pay
attention.'

‘But you didn't leave the
Gai-Moulin on your own.'

‘No, that's right. Just when
I was on my way out, this other customer – I don't know him, he must be French
– anyway he asked me the way to Place Saint-Lambert. I said I was going that way,
and he walked along with me for a bit, then he suddenly said, “Oh, I left my
tobacco in the bar,” and he turned back.'

‘Was this man heavily
built?'

‘Yeah, that's
right.'

‘So you went straight
home?'

‘Like I do every night.'

‘And you learned about the crime
next day from the papers?'

‘That young man there was at my
place. It was him that told me.'

Twice or three times already, Chabot had
tried to interrupt, but the chief inspector had quelled him with a glance. As for
the boy's father, he had remained rooted to the spot.

‘And you
have no idea who could have committed the murder?'

She didn't reply at once.

‘Answer the question, please!
Chabot has already admitted that he and his friend were hiding on the cellar steps
at the Gai-Moulin.'

She laughed at that.

‘He claims that all they wanted to
do was steal from the till. When they went back inside, a quarter of an hour after
closing time, they apparently saw Graphopoulos lying dead on the floor.'

‘No kidding?'

‘So who, in your view, could have
committed the crime? Wait. We have only a small number of possible suspects. Génaro,
the club owner. He claims he went out soon after you, with Victor. And he says
Graphopoulos had already left the club by then.'

She shrugged, while Chabot looked at her
both angrily and imploringly.

‘You don't think either
Génaro or Victor was responsible?'

‘That's ridiculous,'
she said, indifferently.

‘Then there's this unknown
customer. You said he came out at the same time as you. He might have returned to
the club, either alone or with you.'

‘But how would he have got back
in?'

‘You've been working there
long enough to have got yourself a secret key, haven't you?'

Another shrug.

‘Well, anyway, it was Delfosse who
had the cigarette-case,' she said. ‘
And
he was
hiding.'

‘That's not true! I saw the cigarette-case in
your room at midday!' Chabot burst out. ‘I saw it. I swear.'

She repeated:

‘No! It was Delfosse that had
it.'

A shouting match broke out between the
two of them, but was interrupted when a detective walked in. He whispered something
to the chief inspector.

‘Bring him in.'

There now entered a respectable-looking
man of about fifty, with an impressive stomach, across which a gold watch chain was
stretched. He felt it incumbent on him to adopt a dignified, indeed solemn
expression.

‘I was asked to come to see
you,' he said, looking round in surprise.

‘Ah, Monsieur Lasnier,' said
the chief inspector. ‘Take a seat, please. Forgive me for troubling you, but I
would like to know whether in the course of yesterday, you missed any money from
your till.'

The owner of the chocolate shop in Rue
Léopold, round-eyed with astonishment, repeated:

‘My till?'

And Monsieur Chabot, Jean's
father, gazed at him in anguish, as if on his answer depended what he himself would
think of the affair.

‘I imagine that, for instance, if
someone had taken two thousand francs, that would have been noticed?'

‘Two thousand francs? I really
don't see—'

‘Never mind. Just answer my
question. Did you notice any money missing from the shop's takings?'

‘No, none at all.'

‘Your nephew
did come to see you, didn't he?'

‘Wait a minute. Yes, I think he
did drop in, as he does from time to time. Not to see me, more to get some
chocolate.'

‘And you never noticed that he was
stealing from the till?'

‘Monsieur!'

The chocolatier swelled with anger and
seemed to call on them to witness the insult to his family.

‘My brother-in-law can well afford
to give his son all the money he needs.'

‘My apologies, Monsieur Lasnier.
And thank you.'

‘Was that all you wanted me
for?'

‘Yes, that's all, thank
you.'

‘But what makes you think
that—'

‘I can't reveal that at the
moment. Girard! Please see Monsieur Lasnier out.'

And the chief began to pace the room
again, as Adèle asked, brazenly:

‘Do you need me any
more?'

He glared at her with an expression
which was enough to silence her. And for the next ten minutes, nobody said a word.
They must have been waiting for someone or something. Monsieur Chabot did not dare
smoke. Nor did he dare look at his son. He was as ill at ease as a poor patient in
an eminent doctor's waiting room. Jean followed the chief inspector with his
eyes and every time he came near, seemed to want to say something.

At last, steps were heard in the
corridor. A knock at the door.

‘Come
in!'

Two men entered the room: Génaro, short
and stocky, in a light-coloured Norfolk jacket, and Victor the waiter, whom Chabot
had never seen in street clothes, and who now, dressed in black, might have been
taken for a cleric.

‘So, monsieur,' the Italian
began volubly, ‘I received your summons just an hour ago, and—'

‘Yes, yes. Now can you just tell
me whether last night you saw Graphopoulos's cigarette-case in the hands of
René Delfosse?'

Génaro made a gesture of apology.

‘Personally, you know, I
don't pay much attention to the customers, but Victor will be able to tell
you—'

‘All right. You, then, can you
answer the question?'

Jean Chabot stared the waiter in the
eye, breathing heavily. But Victor looked down slyly and murmured:

‘I wouldn't want to say
anything against the young men who have always been very nice to me, but I suppose I
must tell you the truth.'

‘I want a yes or a no!'

‘Well … yes, he did have
it. I almost warned him to be prudent—'

‘I don't believe it!'
Jean burst out. ‘Victor, how can you say that? Please listen,
monsieur—'

‘Be quiet! Now tell me what you
think about the financial position of the two young men.'

And Victor, sighing awkwardly, and
speaking as if with reluctance, said:

‘Well, of course they always owed
me a bit of money.
And not just for
drinks. They sometimes borrowed a little cash from me.'

‘And what was your impression of
Graphopoulos?'

‘A rich foreigner, passing
through. They're our best customers. He ordered champagne straight away,
didn't ask the price. He gave me a tip of fifty francs.'

‘And did you see any
thousand-franc notes in his wallet?'

‘Oh yes, he was loaded. Mainly
French francs, not Belgian ones.'

‘And that's all you
noticed?'

‘He had a very fine pearl in his
tie-pin.'

‘And when did he leave?'

‘A little after Adèle, who went
out with another customer. A big man, who just drank beer and gave me twenty
sou
s as a tip. A Frenchman. He was smoking dark tobacco.'

‘So you were left alone with the
boss?'

‘Yes, just long enough to turn out
the lights and lock up.'

‘And you went straight
home?'

‘Yes, as usual. Monsieur Génaro
left me at the bottom of Rue Haute-Sauvenière, where he lives.'

‘Next morning, when you arrived
back at work, did you notice anything out of place in the room?'

‘No, nothing. No blood or
anything. The cleaners were in and I was supervising them.'

Génaro was listening unconcernedly.

The inspector spoke to him:

‘Is it true that you usually leave
the night's takings in the till?'

‘Who told you that?'

‘Never mind! Answer my
question.'

‘No, I
certainly don't, I take it all home, except for the small change.'

‘And how much would that
be?'

‘About fifty francs on average,
just coins that I leave in the drawer.'

‘But that's not true!'
shouted Jean Chabot. ‘I've seen him go out, oh, ten times, or twenty
times, and leaving—'

And Génaro asked:

‘What's going on? Is he
saying that …'

He looked genuinely amazed as he turned
to the dancer.

‘Adèle will tell you—'

‘Yes, of course!'

‘What I don't understand,
Chief Inspector, is how the young men can claim they saw the corpse inside the club.
Because Graphopoulos left before I did. He couldn't have got back in. The
crime must have been committed outside, I have no idea where. I am sorry to be so
definite about that. They are my customers, after all. And I myself felt quite
kindly disposed towards them. If you want proof of that, I allowed them credit. But
the truth is the truth, and this is a serious enough case for—'