Thomas Godfrey (Ed) (51 page)

“Send him to me.”

“He’s a little squiffed.”

“No matter. Where are
you?”

“The Barbès garage.”

“Then it won’t be much
out of your way to stop by the Gare du Nord. Go to the check room. Unfortunately
it won’t be the same man on duty, but try to find out if a small new valise was
checked between 9: 30 and 10 this morning. It’s made of fiber and shouldn’t be
too heavy. Get the number of the check. They won’t let you take the valise
without a warrant, so try to get the name and address of the man on duty this
morning.”

“What next?”

“Phone me. I’ll wait for
your second taxi driver. If he’s been drinking, better write down my address
for him, so he won’t get lost.”

Mme. Maigret was back in
the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. She hadn’t dared ask whether Lucas
would eat with them.

Maigret wondered if Paul
Martin was still across the street with his daughter. Had Madame Martin tried
to get rid of him?

The bell rang again. Two
men stood at the door.

The first driver had come
back from Madame Martin’s and had climbed Maigret’s stairs behind the luggage
dealer.

“Did you recognize her?”

“Sure. She recognized me,
too. She turned pale. She ran to close a door behind her, then she asked me
what I wanted.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I had the wrong
floor. I think maybe she wanted to buy me off, but I didn’t give her a chance.
But she was watching from the window when I crossed the street. She probably
knows I came here.”

The luggage dealer was baffled
and showed it. He was a middle-aged man, completely bald and equally
obsequious. When the driver had gone, Maigret explained what he wanted, and the
man objected vociferously.

“One just doesn’t do this
sort of thing to one’s customers,” he repeated stubbornly. “One simply does not
inform on one’s customers, you know.”

After a long argument he
agreed to call on Madame Martin. To make sure he didn’t change his mind,
Maigret sent Lucas to follow him.

They returned in less
than ten minutes.

“I call your attention to
the fact that I have acted under your orders, that I have been compelled—”

“
Did you recognize her?

“Will I be forced to
testify under oath?”

“
More than likely.”

“That would be very bad
for my business. People who buy luggage at the last minute are very often
people who dislike public mention of their comings and goings.”

“You may not have to go
to court. Your deposition before the examining magistrate may be sufficient.”

“Very well. It was she.
She’s dressed differently, but I recognized her all right.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“
She asked immediately who had sent
me.”

“What did you say?

“I... I don’t remember. I
was quite upset. I think I said I had rung the wrong bell.”

“Did she offer you
anything?”

“What do you mean? She
didn’t even offer me a chair. Luckily. It would have been most unpleasant.”

Maigret smiled, somewhat
incredulously. He believed that the taxi driver had actually run away from a
possible bribe. He wasn’t so sure about this prosperous-looking shopkeeper who
obviously begrudged his loss of time.

“Thank you for your
cooperation.”

The luggage dealer
departed hastily.

“And now for Number
Three, my dear Lucas.”

Mme. Maigret was
beginning to grow nervous. From the kitchen door she made discreet signs to her
husband, beckoning him to join her. She whispered: “Are you sure the father is
still across the street?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I can’t
make out exactly what you’re up to, but I’ve been thinking about the child, and
I’m a little afraid....”

Night had long since
fallen. The families were all home again. Few windows across the street
remained dark. The silhouette of Mlle. Doncoeur was still very much in
evidence.

While waiting for the
second taxi driver, Maigret decided to put on his collar and tie. He shouted to
Lucas:

“Pour yourself another
drop. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I’m full of sandwiches,
Chief. Only one thing I’d like when we go out: a tall beer, right from the
spigot.”

The second driver arrived
at 6: 20. At 6: 35 he had returned from across the street, a gleam in his eye.

“She looks even better in
her négligée than she does in her street clothes,” he said thickly. “She made
me come in and asked who sent me. I didn’t know what to say, so I told her I
was a talent scout for the Folies Bergère. Was she furious! She’s a fine hunk
of woman, though, and I mean it. Did you get a look at her legs?”

He was in no hurry to
leave. Maigret saw him ogling the bottle of plum brandy with envious eyes, and
poured him a glass—to speed him on his way.

“What are you going to do
next, Chief?” Lucas had rarely seen Maigret proceed with such caution,
preparing each step with such care that he seemed to be mounting an attack on
some desperate criminal. And yet the enemy was only a woman, a seemingly
insignificant little housewife.

“You think she’ll still
fight back?”

“Fiercely. And what’s
more, in cold blood.”

“What are you waiting
for?”

“The phone call from
Torrence.”

As if on cue, the
telephone rang. Torrence, of course.

“The valise is here all
right. It feels practically empty. As you predicted, they won’t give it to me
without a warrant. The check-room attendant who was on duty this morning lives
in the suburbs near La Varenne Saint-Hilaire.” A snag at last? Or at least a
delay? Maigret frowned. But Torrence continued. “We won’t have to go out there,
though. When he finishes his day’s work here, he plays cornet in a
bal musette
in the Rue de Lappe.”

“Go get him for me.”

“Shall I bring him to
your place?”

Maigret hesitated,
thinking of Lucas’s yearning for a glass of draft beer.

“No, I’ll be across the
street. Madame Martin’s apartment, fourth floor.”

He took down his heavy
overcoat. He filled his pipe.

“Coming?” he said to
Lucas.

Mme. Maigret ran after
him to ask what time he’d be home for dinner. After a moment of hesitation, he
smiled.

“The usual time,” was his
not very reassuring answer.

“Look out for the little
girl, will you?”

At 10 o’clock that
evening the investigation was still blocked. It was unlikely that anyone in the
whole building had gone to sleep, except Colette. She had finally dozed off,
with her father sitting in the dark by her bedside.

Torrence had arrived at
7:30 with his part-time musician and checkroom attendant, who declared:

“She’s the one. I
remember she didn’t put the check in her handbag. She slipped it into a big
brown shopping bag.” And when they took him into the kitchen he added, “That’s
the bag. Or one exactly like it.”

The Martin apartment was
very warm. Everyone spoke in low tones, as if they had agreed not to awaken the
child. Nobody had eaten. Nobody, apparently, was even hungry. On their way
over, Maigret and Lucas had each drunk two beers in a little café on the Boulevard
Voltaire.

After the cornetist had
spoken his piece, Maigret took Torrence aside and murmured fresh instructions.

Every corner of the
apartment had been searched. Even the photos of Martin’s parents had been taken
from their frames, to make sure the baggage check had not been secreted between
picture and backing. The dishes had been taken from their shelves and piled on
the kitchen table. The larder had been emptied and examined closely. No baggage
check.

Madame Martin was still
wearing her pale blue négligée. She was chainsmoking cigarettes. What with the
smoke from the two men’s pipes, a thick blue haze swirled about the lamps.

“You are of course free
to say nothing and answer no questions. Your husband will arrive at 11:17.
Perhaps you will be more talkative in his presence.”

“
He doesn’t know any more than I do.”

“Does he know as much?”

“There’s nothing to know.
I’ve told you everything.”

She had sat back and
denied everything, all along the line. She had conceded only one point. She
admitted that Lorilleux had dropped in to see her two or three times at night
when she lived in the Rue Pernelle. But she insisted there had been nothing
between them, nothing personal.

“In other words he came
to talk business—at 1 o’clock in the morning?”

“He used to come to town
by a late train, and he didn’t like to walk the streets with large sums of
money on him. I already told you he might have been smuggling gold, but I had
nothing to do with it. You can’t arrest me for his activities.”

“Did he have large sums
of money on him when he disappeared?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t
always take me into his confidence.”

“But he did come to see
you in your room at night?”

Despite the evidence, she
clung to her story of the morning’s marketing. She denied ever having seen the
two taxi drivers, the luggage dealer, or the check-room attendant.

“If I had really left a
package at the Gare du Nord, you would have found the check, wouldn’t you?”

She glanced nervously at
the clock on the mantel, obviously thinking of her husband’s return.

“Admit that the man who
came last night found nothing under the floor because you changed the hiding
place.”

“I know of nothing that
was hidden under the floor.”

“When you learned of his
visit, you decided to move the treasure to the check room for safekeeping.”

“I haven’t been near the
Gare du Nord. There must be thousands of blondes in Paris who answer my
description.”

“I think I know where we’ll
find the check.”

“You’re so very clever.”

“Sit over here at this
table.” Maigret produced a fountain pen and a sheet of paper. “Write your name
and address.”

She hesitated, then
obeyed.

“Tonight every letter
mailed in this neighborhood will be examined, and I’ll wager we will find one
addressed in your handwriting, probably to yourself.”

He handed the paper to
Lucas with an order to get in touch with the postal authorities. Much to his
surprise, the woman reacted visibly.

“You see, it’s a very old
trick, Little One.” For the first time he called her “Little One,” the way he
would have done if he were questioning her in his office, Quai des Orfèvres.

They were alone now.
Maigret slowly paced the floor, while she remained seated.

“In case you’re
interested,” Maigret said slowly, “the thing that shocks me most about you is
not what you have done but the cold-blooded way you have done it. You’ve been
dangling at the end of a slender thread since early this morning, and you still
haven’t blinked an eye. When your husband comes home, you’ll try to play the
martyr. And yet you know that sooner or later we’ll discover the truth.”

“But I’ve done nothing
wrong.”

“Then why do you lie?”

She did not reply. She
was still far from the breaking point. Her nerves were calm, but her mind was
obviously racing at top speed, seeking some avenue of escape.

“I’m not saying anything
more,” she declared. She sat down and pulled the hem of her négligée over her
bare knees.

“Suit yourself.” Maigret
made himself comfortable in the chair opposite her.