People took off their hats and coats.
‘One moment. Did everyone take off their coats here?’
‘Everyone except Any and me,’ said Madame Popinga. ‘We went up to our rooms to tidy ourselves up.’
‘And you didn’t go into any other room? Who put the light on in the parlour?’
‘Conrad.’
‘So please go upstairs.’
And he went up with them.
‘Any didn’t stay in your room, although she had to go through it to get to hers. Is that right?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Would you be so good as to repeat exactly what you did? Mademoiselle Any, please go and put the cap with your hat and coat in your room. What did you do next, both of you?’
Madame Popinga’s lower lip quivered.
‘I … I just powdered my nose,’ she said in a childlike voice. ‘And combed my hair. But I can’t … It’s so awful. I seem to … I could hear Conrad’s voice. He was talking about the wireless, and saying he wanted to listen to Radio-Paris.’
Madame Popinga threw her coat on the bed. She was weeping without tears, from nervous tension. Any, in the study which was her temporary bedroom, was standing still and waiting.
‘And you came down together?’
‘Yes. No. I can’t remember. I think Any came down a little after me. I was thinking about getting the tea made.’
‘So in that case, would you go downstairs now, please.’
He remained alone with Any, didn’t say a word but took the cap from her, looked around and hid it under the divan.
‘Come on.’
‘How can you think …?’
‘No. Just come along. You didn’t powder your nose?’
‘No, never!’
There were shadows under her eyes. Maigret made her go down ahead of him. The stairs creaked. Below, there was absolute silence. So much so that when they entered the parlour, the atmosphere was surreal. The room looked like a waxworks museum. Nobody had dared sit down. Madame Wienands was the only one moving, as she tidied her older child’s hair.
‘Take your places as you did the other night. Where’s the wireless?’
He found it himself, and switched it on. There was crackling at first, then some voices and strains of music, and finally he tuned it to a station playing a comedy sketch between two Frenchmen:
So this feller says to the captain …
The voice grew louder as the set was tuned. A few more crackles.
… And the captain, he’s a good sort. But the other feller, nudge nudge, know what I mean? …
And this voice, that of a Parisian music-hall performer, echoed around the impeccable parlour, where everyone was standing absolutely still.
‘Right, sit down, everyone,’ Maigret thundered. ‘Let’s have some tea. Talk among yourselves.’
He went to look out of the window, but the shutters were closed. He opened the door and called:
‘Pijpekamp!’
‘Yes,’ came a voice from the gloom.
‘Is he there?’
‘Yes, behind the second tree!’
Maigret came back inside. The door slammed.
The sketch was over and an announcer’s voice said:
And now record number 2-8-6-7-5 from Odeon!
Some scratchy sounds. Then jazz music. Madame Popinga was huddled against the wall. Underneath the surface broadcast another voice could be heard, singing nasally in some foreign language, and sometimes there was a further spell of crackling before the music came through once more.
Maigret looked over at Beetje. She had collapsed into an armchair and was weeping bitterly. Through her sobs, she was whispering:
‘Oh, poor Conrad, poor Conrad!’
And Barens, all the blood having drained from his face, was biting his lip.
‘Tea!’ Maigret ordered, looking at Any.
‘We didn’t bring it yet. They rolled back the carpet. Conrad was dancing.’
Beetje gave an even louder sob. Maigret looked at the carpet, the solid oak table with its lace cloth, the window and Madame Wienands, who didn’t know what to do with her children.
10. Someone Waiting for the Right Moment
Maigret dominated them by his size, or rather his bulk. The room was small. Standing with his back to the door, he seemed too big for it. He looked serious. Perhaps he was never more human than when he said slowly, in a neutral voice:
‘The music goes on playing. Barens helps Popinga to roll back the carpet. In a corner, Jean Duclos is talking to Madame Popinga and Any and listening to his own voice. Wienands and his wife are thinking it’s time to leave because of the children, and are talking about doing so in low voices. Popinga has drunk a glass of brandy. That’s enough to make him merry. He laughs. He hums the tune. He goes over to Beetje and asks her to dance.’
Madame Popinga was looking fixedly at the ceiling. Any’s piercing eyes were directed at the inspector, who finished what he was saying:
‘The murderer knows who is going to be the victim. Someone is watching Conrad dancing and knows that, in two hours, this man who’s laughing a bit too loudly, who wants to be jolly in spite of everything, who is hungry for life and emotions, will be nothing more than a corpse.’
The shock made itself felt, literally. Madame Popinga’s mouth opened to utter a cry that never came. Beetje was still sobbing.
The atmosphere had changed at a stroke. They might almost have been looking around expecting to see Conrad. Conrad dancing! Conrad, who was being watched by the eyes of the assassin!
Only Jean Duclos spoke, to say:
‘That’s a bit strong!’
And since no one was listening to him, he went on to himself, hoping Maigret might overhear him:
‘Now I see your method, and it isn’t original! Terrorize the suspect, suggest certain possibilities, place him in the context of the crime, to force a confession out of him. Sometimes when this is tried, the criminal repeats the same gestures in spite of himself.’
But it came across just as muffled muttering. Such words were hardly appropriate at a moment like this.
Music was still coming through the loudspeaker, and that was enough to lift the atmosphere a little.
Wienands, after his wife had whispered something in his ear, stood up timidly.
‘Yes, yes! You can go,’ Maigret told him, before he could say anything.
Poor Madame Wienands! A well-brought-up and most respectable citizen, who would have preferred to bid everyone goodbye politely, to get her children to do the same, but who didn’t know how to manage it, and ended by shaking hands with Madame Popinga, without finding any of the right words!
There was a clock on the mantelpiece. The time it showed was five past ten.
‘Not time for tea yet?’ asked Maigret.
‘Yes, it is!’ Any replied, as she got up and went to the kitchen.
‘Excuse me, madame. But didn’t you go to make the tea with your sister?’
‘A little later.’
‘And you joined her in the kitchen?’
Madame Popinga passed her hand across her forehead. She was making an effort not to slump into stupor. She stared despairingly at the loudspeaker.
‘I don’t know. Wait a minute. I think Any came out of the dining room, because the sugar’s kept in the sideboard there.’
‘Was the light on?’
‘No. Maybe. No, I think not.’
‘And you didn’t speak to each other?’
‘Oh yes! I said: Conrad mustn’t have any more to drink or he’ll start misbehaving.’
Maigret went into the corridor, just as the Wienands were closing the front door. The kitchen was well lit and meticulously clean. Water was being heated on a gas cooker. Any was taking the top off a teapot.
‘Don’t bother actually making the tea.’
They were alone. Any looked him in the eye.
‘Why did you make me take that cap?’ she asked.
‘Never mind.
Come back in.’
In the parlour, nobody spoke or moved.
‘Are you going to let this music go on playing for ever?’ Jean Duclos managed nevertheless to protest.
‘Perhaps. There’s one more person I wish to see: the maid.’
Madame Popinga looked at Any, who answered: ‘But she’s in bed. She always goes to bed at nine.’
‘No matter. Get her to come downstairs for a few minutes. She needn’t bother getting dressed.’
And in the same flat voice he had used at first, he repeated obstinately:
‘You were dancing with Conrad, Beetje. Over in the corner, other people were having a serious conversation. And someone knew there would be a death. Someone knew this was Conrad Popinga’s last night on earth.’
The sound of steps was heard and a door banged on the second floor of the house, where the attic bedroom was. Then a murmur of voices. Any came in first. A shadow remained standing in the corridor.
‘Come on,’ said Maigret gruffly. ‘Someone tell her not to be afraid to come in.’
The maid had indistinct features in a large plain face, and looked dazed. Over her cream flannelette ankle-length nightdress, she had simply thrown an overcoat. Her eyes were half-closed with sleep and her hair tousled. She smelled of her warm bed.
Maigret spoke to Duclos:
‘Ask her, in Dutch of course, if she was Popinga’s mistress.’
Madame Popinga turned her head away in pain. The sentence was translated.
The maid shook her head energetically.
‘Repeat the question. Ask her whether her employer ever made any advances to her.’
More protestations.
‘Tell her if she does not tell the truth, she risks a prison sentence. Divide the question up. Did he ever kiss her? Did he sometimes come into her bedroom when she was there?’
The girl standing there in her nightdress burst into tears, and cried out in her own language:
‘I haven’t done anything. I swear I haven’t done anything wrong.’
Duclos translated. With pinched lips, Any was staring at the maid.
‘Was she in fact his mistress, then?’
But the maid was unable to speak. She was protesting vehemently and crying. Asking to be forgiven. Her words were half drowned by her sobs.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ the professor finally translated. ‘From what I can gather, he did pester her. When they were alone in the house, he kept hanging around her in the kitchen. He kissed her. Once he came into her bedroom when she was getting dressed. He gave her chocolate in secret. But it didn’t go any further.’
‘She can go back to bed now.’
They heard the girl go back upstairs. A few minutes later, there was the sound of footsteps coming and going on the second floor. Maigret spoke to Any:
‘Would you be good enough to go and see what she’s doing?’
The answer was not long in coming.
‘She wants to leave here at once. She’s ashamed. She doesn’t want to stay a minute longer in this house. She begs my sister’s forgiveness. She says she’ll go to Groningen or somewhere. But she won’t stay in Delfzijl.’
And Any added aggressively: ‘Is that what you wanted to achieve?’
The clock was now showing ten forty. A voice from the loudspeaker announced:
Our programme is over. Good night, ladies and gentlemen.
Then the sound of some other station’s music came faintly through.
Maigret irritably switched the wireless off, and there was suddenly total silence. Beetje was no longer weeping, but was still hiding her face in her hands.
‘And the conversations went on after that?’ asked the inspector, with obvious weariness.
No one replied. Faces now looked even more drawn than in the Van Hasselt ballroom.
‘Please accept my apologies for this painful evening.’
Maigret was speaking principally to Madame Popinga.
‘… but don’t forget that your husband was still alive. He was here, in rather high spirits because of the brandy. He probably drank some more …’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘He was a condemned man, you understand! Condemned by someone watching him. And others here, now, are refusing to say what they know, and are making themselves accomplices of the murderer.’
Barens gulped and started to shake.
‘Aren’t they, Cornelius?’ said Maigret point-blank, looking him in the eyes.
‘No! No! That’s not true.’
‘So why are you shaking?’
‘I … I …’
He was about to have a panic attack, as he had on the way to the farm.
‘Listen to me! It’s about the time Beetje went off with Popinga. And you went out straight afterwards, Barens. You followed them for a while. And you saw something …’
‘No. It’s not true.’
‘Wait. After the three of you had left, the only people in the house were Madame Popinga, Any and Professor Duclos. These three all went upstairs.’
Any nodded.
‘And each of them went into his or her bedroom, yes? So tell me what you saw, Barens.’
He was casting about him desperately now. Maigret fixed the squirming boy with a look.
‘No, no! Nothing.’
‘You didn’t see Oosting, hiding behind a tree?’
‘No.’
‘But all the same, you were hanging around the house. So you saw something.’
‘I don’t know, I don’t want to … No, it’s impossible.’
Everyone was looking at him. He dared not look at anyone. Maigret remained pitiless.
‘It was on the road that you first noticed something. The two bikes had gone off together. They would have to pass through the place which is lit up by the lighthouse. You were jealous. You were waiting. And you had to wait a long time … A time that didn’t correspond to the distance they had to cover.’
‘Yes.’
‘In other words, the couple stopped in the shelter of the timber stacks. That wasn’t enough to frighten you. It would merely have made you angry, and perhaps despair of your chances. So you must have seen something else that frightened you. Something frightening enough, in any case, to make you stay put, although it was time for you to be back at college. You were between here and the timber yard. You could only see one of the windows of the house.’
At these words, Barens gave a start and lost control completely.
‘You can’t … You can’t know that. I … I …’
‘The window of Madame Popinga’s bedroom. And there was someone at the window. Someone who, like you, had seen that the couple took far too long before they appeared in the beam of light from the lighthouse … Someone who knew therefore that Conrad and Beetje had stopped in the shadows for a long time …’
‘It was me!’ said Madame Popinga, in a clear voice.
Now it was Beetje’s turn to react, and to stare at her, wide-eyed with terror.
Contrary to expectation, Maigret asked no further questions. Indeed, this created an atmosphere of unease. People in the room felt that having reached a culminating point, everything had stopped dead.
And the inspector went to open the front door, calling:
‘Pijpekamp! Come here, please. Leave Oosting where he is. I imagine you have been able to see the lights going on and off in the Wienands house. They must be in bed.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Oosting?’
‘Still behind the tree.’
The Groningen inspector looked around him in astonishment. Everything was very quiet. The faces were those of people who had spent night after night without sleeping.
‘Would you stay here for a moment? I’m going to accompany Beetje Liewens outside, as Popinga did. Madame Popinga will go up to her room and so will Any and Professor Duclos. I would ask them just to do exactly what they did the other night.’
And turning to Beetje:
‘Come along, please.’
> It was cool outside. Maigret went round the building to the shed containing Popinga’s bike and two women’s bicycles.
‘Take one of these.’
Then, as they rode calmly along the towpath towards the timber yard:
‘Who suggested stopping?’
‘Conrad.’
‘He was still in a jolly mood?’
‘No. As soon as we got outside, I saw that he was getting sad.’
They had reached the stacks of timber.
‘Let’s stop here. Was he in an amorous mood?’
‘Yes and no. He was unhappy. I think it was because of the brandy, It cheered him up at first. He put his arms round me here. He said he was miserable, that I was a sweet little girl. Yes, those were his words, a sweet little girl, but I’d come along too late, and if we didn’t take care, this would end in tears.’
‘And the bikes?’
‘We leaned them up here. I thought he was going to cry. I’d seen him like that before, when he’d had too much to drink. He said he was a man, so it wasn’t so important for him, but a girl like me shouldn’t throw away her life by having an affair. Then he swore that he was fond of me, but he didn’t have the right to ruin my life, that Barens was a nice boy, and that I’d be happy with him at the end of the day.’
‘And then?’
She breathed in deeply. Then she burst out:
‘I shouted at him that he was a coward and I went to get on my bike.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He grabbed the handlebars. He tried to stop me. He said: “Let me explain … It’s not because of me … It’s …”’
‘And what did he explain?’
‘Nothing. Because I said if he didn’t let go of me, I’d scream. He let me go. I pedalled off. He came after me, still talking … But I was going faster. All I could hear was him saying: “Beetje, Beetje, wait, listen!”’
‘And that’s all?’
‘When he saw me reach the farm gate, he turned back. I looked behind me. I saw him bending over his bicycle, looking very sad.’
‘And you ran back to him?’
‘No! I hated him because he wanted me to marry Barens. He wanted a quiet life, didn’t he? But then just as I was going in, I realized I didn’t have my scarf. Someone might find it. So I went back to look for it. I didn’t meet anyone. But by the time I finally got home, my father wasn’t there. He came in later. He didn’t say good night to me. He was looking pale and his eyes were angry. I thought he had been spying on us, and that perhaps he’d been hiding behind the timber stack. Next day, he must have searched my room. He found Conrad’s letters, because I didn’t see them after that. Then he shut me in.’
A Crime in Holland Page 11
