Thomas Godfrey (Ed) (45 page)

“Not a hole exactly, but
you could see that the floor boards had been moved.”

“Tell me, Madame Martin,
have you any idea what might have been hidden under the flooring?”

“No, Monsieur.”

“How long have you lived
in this apartment?”

“Since my marriage, five
years ago.”

“And this room was part
of the apartment then?”

“Yes.”

“You know who lived there
before you?”

“My husband. He’s 38. He
was 33 when we were married, and he had his own furniture then. He liked to
have his own home to come back to when he returned to Paris from the road.”

“Do you think he might
have wanted to surprise Colette?”

“He is six or seven
hundred kilometers from here.”

“Where did you say?”

“In Bergerac. His
itinerary is planned in advance and he rarely deviates from his schedule.”

“For what firm does he
travel?”

“He covers the central
and southwest territory for Zenith watches. It’s an important line, as you
probably know. He has a very good job.”

“There isn’t a finer man
on earth!” exclaimed Mlle. Doncoeur. She blushed, then added, “Except you,
Monsieur l’lnspecteur.”

“As I understand it then,
someone got into your apartment last night disguised as Father Christmas.”

“According to the little
girl.”

“Didn’t you hear
anything? Is your room far from the little girl’s?”

“There’s the dining room
between us.”

“Don’t you leave the
connecting doors open at night?”

“It isn’t necessary.
Colette is not afraid, and as a rule she never wakes up. If she wants anything,
she has a little bell on her night table.”

“Did you go out last
night?”

“I did not, Monsieur l’lnspecteur.”
Madame Martin was annoyed.

“Did you receive visitors?”

“I do not receive
visitors while my husband is away.”

Maigret glanced at Mlle.
Doncoeur whose expression did not change. So Madame Martin was telling the
truth.

“
Did you go to bed late?”

“I read until midnight.
As soon as the radio played
Minuit, Chrétiens,
I
went to bed.”

“And you heard nothing
unusual?”

“Nothing.”

“Have you asked the
concierge if she clicked the latch to let in any strangers last night?”

“I asked her,” Mlle.
Doncoeur volunteered. “She says she didn’t.”

“And you found nothing missing
from your apartment this morning, Madame Martin? Nothing disturbed in the
dining room?”

“No.”

“Who is with the little
girl now?”

“No one. She’s used to
staying alone. I can’t be at home all day. I have marketing to do, errands to
run....”

“I understand. You told
me Colette is an orphan?”

“
Her mother is dead.”

“So her father is living.
Where is he?”

“Her father’s name is
Paul Martin. He’s my husband’s brother. As to telling you where he is—” Madame
Martin sketched a vague gesture.

“
When did you see him last ?”

“About a month ago. A
little longer. It was around All Saint’s Day. He was finishing a novena.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I may as well tell you
everything at once,” said Madame Martin with a faint smile, “since we seem to
be washing our family linen.” She glanced reproachfully at Mlle. Doncoeur. “My
brother-in-law, especially since he lost his wife, is not quite respectable.”

“What do you mean
exactly?”

“He drinks. He always
drank a little, but he never used to get into trouble. He had a good job with a
furniture store in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. But since the accident...”

“The accident to his
daughter?”

“No, to his wife. He
borrowed a car from a friend one Sunday about three years ago and took his wife
and little girl to the country. They had lunch at a roadside inn near
Mantes-la-Jolie and he drank too much white wine. He sang most of the way back
to Paris—until he ran into something near the Bougival bridge. His wife was
killed instantly. He cracked his own skull and it’s a miracle he’s still alive.
Colette escaped without a scratch. Paul hasn’t been a man since then. We’ve
practically adopted the little girl. He comes to see her occasionally when he’s
sober. Then he starts over again....”

“Do you know where he
lives?”

Another vague gesture. “Everywhere.
We’ve seen him loitering around the Bastille like a beggar. Sometimes he sells
papers in the street. I can speak freely in front of Mlle. Doncoeur because
unfortunately the whole house knows about him.”

“Don’t you think he might
have dressed up as Father Christmas to call on his daughter?”

“That’s what I told Mlle.
Doncoeur, but she insisted on coming to see you anyhow.”

“Because I see no reason
for him to take up the flooring,” said Mlle. Doncoeur acidly.

“Or perhaps your husband
returned to Paris unexpectedly....”

“It’s certainly something
of the sort. I’m not at all disturbed. But Mlle. Doncoeur—”

Decidedly Madame Martin
had not crossed the boulevard light-heartedly.

“Do you know where your
husband might be staying in Bergerac?”

“Yes. At the Hotel de
Bordeaux.”

“You hadn’t thought of
telephoning him?”

“We have no phone. There’s
only one in the house—the people on the second floor, and they hate to be
disturbed.”

“Would you object to my
calling the Hotel de Bordeaux?”

Madame Martin started to nod,
then hesitated. “He’ll think something terrible has happened.”

“You can speak to him
yourself.”

“He’s not used to my
phoning him on the road.”

“You’d rather he not know
what’s happening?”

“That’s not so. I’ll talk
to him if you like.”

Maigret picked up the
phone and placed the call. Ten minutes later he was connected with the Hotel de
Bordeaux in Bergerac. He passed the instrument to Madame Martin.

“Hello.... Monsieur
Martin, please.... Yes, Monsieur Jean Martin. ... No matter. Wake him up.”

She put her hand over the
mouthpiece. “He’s still asleep. They’ve gone to call him.”

Then she retreated into
silence, evidently rehearsing the words she was to speak to her husband.

“Hello?... Hello
darling.... What?... Yes, Merry Christmas!... Yes, everything’s all right....
Colette is fine.... No, that’s not why I phoned.... No, no, no! Nothing’s
wrong. Please don’t worry!” She repeated each word separately. “Please... don’t...
worry! I just want to tell you about a strange thing that happened last night.
Somebody dressed up like Father Christmas and came into Colette’s room.... No,
no! He didn’t hurt her. He gave her a big doll.... Yes,
doll!
... And he did queer things to the floor. He removed
two boards which he put back in a hurry….

Mille. Doncoeur thought I
should report it to the police inspector who lives across the street. I’m there
now.... You don’t understand? Neither do I. ... You want me to put him on?” She
passed the instrument to Maigret. “He wants to speak to you.”

A warm masculine voice
came over the wire, the voice of an anxious, puzzled man.

“Are you sure my wife and
the little girl are all right?... It’s all so incredible! If it were just the
doll, I might suspect my brother. Loraine will tell you about him. Loraine is
my wife. Ask her.... But he wouldn’t have removed the flooring.... Do you think
I’d better come home? I can get a train for Paris at three this afternoon....
What?... Thank you so much. It’s good to know you’ll look out for them.”

Loraine Martin took back
the phone.

“See, darling? The
inspector says there’s no danger. It would be foolish to break your trip now.
It might spoil your chances of being transferred permanently to Paris….”

Mlle. Doncoeur was
watching her closely and there was little tenderness in the spinster’s eyes.

“...
I
promise to wire you or phone you if there’s anything new.... She’s playing
quietly with her new doll.... No, I haven’t had time yet to give her your
present. I’ll go right home and do it now.”

Madame Martin hung up and
declared: “You see.” Then, after a pause, “Forgive me for bothering you. It’s
really not my fault. I’m sure this is all the work of some practical joker...
unless it’s my brother-in-law. When he’s been drinking there’s no telling what
he might do.”

“Do you expect to see him
today? Don’t you think he might want to see his daughter?”

“That depends. If he’s
been drinking, no. He’s very careful never to come around in that condition.”

“May I have your
permission to come over and talk with Colette a little later?”

“I see no reason why you
shouldn’t—if you think it worthwhile....”

“Thank you, Monsieur
Maigret!” exclaimed Mlle. Doncoeur. Her expression was half grateful, half
conspiratorial. “She’s such an interesting child! You’ll see!”

She backed toward the
door.

A few minutes later
Maigret watched the two women cross the boulevard. Mlle. Doncoeur, close on the
heels of Madame Martin, turned to look up at the windows of the Maigret
apartment.

Mme. Maigret opened the
kitchen door, flooding the dining room with the aroma of browning onions. She
asked gently:

“Are you happy?”

He pretended not to
understand. Luckily he had been too busy to think much about the middle-aged
couple who had nobody to make a fuss over this Christmas morning.

It was time for him to
shave and call on Colette.

He was just about to
lather his face when he decided to make a phone call. He didn’t bother with his
dressing gown. Clad only in pajamas, he dropped into the easy chair by the
window—
his
chair—and watched the smoke curling up from all the chimney pots while his call
went through.

The ringing at the other
end—in headquarters at the Quai des Orfèvres —had a different sound from all
other rings. It evoked for him the long empty corridors, the vacant offices,
the operator stuck with holiday duty at the switchboard.... Then he heard the
operator call Lucas with the words: “The boss wants you.”

He felt a little like one
of his wife’s friends who could imagine no greater joy—which she experienced
daily—than lying in bed all morning, with her windows closed and curtains
drawn, and telephoning all her friends, one after the other. By the soft glow
of her night-light she managed to maintain a constant state of just having
awakened. “What? Ten o’clock already? How’s the weather? Is it raining? Have
you been out yet? Have you done all your marketing?” And as she established
telephonic connection with the hurly-burly of the workaday world, she would
sink more and more voluptuously into the warm softness of her bed.

“That you, Chief?”

Maigret, too, felt a need
for contact with the working world. He wanted to ask Lucas who was on duty with
him, what they were doing, how the shop looked on this Christmas morning.

“Nothing new? Not too
busy?”

“Nothing to speak of.
Routine....”

“I’d like you to get me
some information. You can probably do this by phone. First of all, I want a
list of all convicts released from prison the last two or three months.”

“Which prison?”

“All prisons. But don’t
bother with any who haven’t served at least five years. Then check and see if
any of them has ever lived on Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. Got that?”