The Double Alibi

by Noel Vindry

  ‘Nothing at all.”

  ‘Thank you, my friend.’

  Proto left, shaking their hands as he departed, and giving them three restaurant addresses.

  ‘I’ve prepared a rogatory letter requesting judicial assistance,’ M. Allou told his partner. ‘Hurry up and get it subdelegated by an examining magistrate and we’ll breathe in the air of the Clermon residence.’

  ‘Mustn’t count too much on Proto,’ growled the superintendent.

  ‘Quite. But we can’t afford to vex him, he could be useful.’

  ‘Don’t you believe in a slanderous accusation, Dupont?’

  ‘I don’t know. Everything’s possible. I hate to admit there are such things as coincidences, but they do occur sometimes.’

  ‘If I understand correctly,’ said Sallent, ‘that’s why you questioned Proto. You asked him whether the theft here wasn’t the real one, and the one in Limonest, coincidentally, had been stage managed?’

  ‘Exactly. Even though I hate to admit there’s such a thing as chance, I would have been prepared to accept it if Allevaire had been seen in Bordeaux shortly before the fateful night. But it didn’t happen, so I come back to the only theory which rules out coincidence: the miscreant manufactured two successive alibis to cover the theft at Limonest which, by clumsiness or excessive haste, ended up covering the same exact time.’

  ‘That certainly seems to be the most likely,’ said Sallent.

  ‘All the same,’ continued M. Allou, ‘we can’t afford to stick to one single point of view. The situation in Bordeaux could just be a slanderous accusation and not collusion. The first thing we have to establish is this: is Madras Allevaire’s enemy or his friend? In fact, stubborn though Proto is, he could be helpful. I’ll put him in charge of keeping an eye on Madras. Obviously, he’ll become suspicious if he is indeed an accomplice. But who knows? He thinks he’s not a suspect, so he might get careless.’

  They sought out the inspector and Sallent conveyed M. Allou’s request, adding:

  ‘Pointless, obviously… Well aware… Necessary for report… Understand?... Paperwork.’

  Proto shrugged his shoulders in resignation.

  ‘You can count on me,’ he said. ‘Might as well do that as anything else. But you’ll have to explain it to my boss. He’ll accuse me of wasting my time.’

  Chapter VIII

  A PECULIAR FIANCÉE

  By eleven o’clock, M. Allou and Sallent were in Clermon’s office.

  He was a young man with alert eyes in a thin face. He received the visitors cordially, without exuberance or reserve.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I’ll obviously help you as much as I can, but I’m afraid I won’t be of much help. I didn’t see anything and don’t know anything more than you do.’

  ‘You can at least provide some basic facts,’ replied M. Allou. ‘First of all, are you absolutely sure nothing was stolen?’

  ‘Absolutely. As you would expect, I checked everything with great care. Besides, the two drawers that were damaged contained only business papers, of no interest to anyone but myself.’

  ‘But in the third, or so I’ve been told, the intruder could have found money?’

  ‘Yes, ten thousand francs, money I leave there permanently, in order to pay small bills without opening the safe or writing a check.’

  ‘Is your secretary aware of that?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Very well. So we can eliminate one hypothesis.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘That he helped himself by means of an accomplice, in order to pull the wool over our eyes.’

  ‘Are you suggesting he was looking to rob me of ten thousand francs?’

  ‘I was, but I recognise that it doesn’t hold water. He would have broken into the third drawer, because he knew it was there.’

  M. Allou had only raised the possibility in order to get the merchant to speak spontaneously about his secretary, and the tactic had worked perfectly.

  ‘No, gentlemen, that accusation must be refuted, not just for the reason you cited, but because of Serge Madras’s character. First of all, I consider him to be perfectly honest. And secondly, with his fortune, he wouldn’t be interested in such a small sum.’

  ‘You never know. A gambling debt… an expensive mistress….’

  ‘He leads an exemplary life and thinks only of his job.’

  ‘Still, you don’t follow him around.’

  ‘He hardly ever leaves here, and never at night. His work takes up all his time, so he never gets to go outside.’

  M. Allou smiled.

  ‘I admire him for consecrating all his waking hours to you. Is it entirely because of your conversation?’

  It was Clermon’s turn to smile.

  ‘I understand what you’re suggesting. But don’t you think your question is indiscreet?’

  ‘I’ve often been accused of that during my career.’

  ‘Well,’ continued Clermon, laughing out loud. ‘I can’t hide it from you, I’ve already said too much. You’re right, if Serge never leaves here, it’s not just because of me. I gather you’re aware I have a young sister.’

  ‘And why would you conceal your secretary’s feelings?’ responded M. Allou indulgently. ‘From what you say, you couldn’t wish for a better marriage for Miss Clermon?’

  ‘There’s no doubt about it.’

  ‘Then forgive me for having for one moment suspected your future brother-in-law of theft…’

  M. Allou waited impatiently for the response to his obvious insinuation. He’d just learnt that Madras loved the young woman, which corroborated the hypothesis of the slanderous accusation. But that would have been pointless if Marthe Clermon loved Serge in return, which would mean Allevaire wasn’t a dangerous rival after all.

  Concealing his avid interest, M. Allou put on his most innocent expression and left the question hanging in the air.

  ‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t reveal the project,’ replied the merchant. ‘It’s not yet official, and I wouldn’t want you to announce it before I’ve had the chance to tell my friends. That said….’

  ‘The proposal has been made and accepted,’ concluded M. Allou.

  ‘Yes, and the ring will be placed on her finger in a few days.’

  ‘I’m overjoyed for the future bride.’

  ‘You’re too kind.’

  ‘A reciprocal feeling is so important,’ M. Allou continued persistently, looking for a more precise confirmation. ‘It’s so sad when a young woman is resigned to a marriage.’

  ‘Happily, that’s not the case. My sister is as eager as her fiancé.’

  Clermon replied amiably enough, but was perplexed by such sentimental considerations coming from a police inspector. He told himself ironically that it took all sorts to make a world.

  ‘Yes,’ continued M. Allou, ‘I’m so glad that the circumstances didn’t spoil the young woman’s dream.’

  ‘The circumstances?’

  ‘Surely you know about the accusation made about her fiancé? A slanderous accusation is something quite serious.’

  ‘But I don’t believe a word of it!’ exclaimed the merchant.

  ‘So, do you think he really recognised Allevaire?’

  ‘No, obviously not, but he thought, in good faith, that he did.’

  ‘The error seems difficult to believe. He saw the man close up and in the beam of an electric torch.’

  Clermon smiled indulgently.

  ‘At least, that’s what he says.’

  ‘Don’t you believe him?’

  ‘Frankly, no. I get the impression that he embellished his role in order to impress his fiancée. As soon as he set foot in my office, the burglar ran off, and he ran after him. He didn’t walk up to him, as he claims.’

  ‘Is this a supposition on your part, or did he confide in you?’

  ‘Oh, it’s pure supposition. He would never confess to his boast, even if he were about to be hanged. So, having only seen the man from beh
ind, he could have been mistaken. And, because he didn’t like Allevaire much, his suspicions—.’

  ‘He didn’t like him very much?’ asked M. Allou casually.

  ‘No. People in love are so sensitive. He accused Allevaire of wooing my sister and he was jealous.’

  ‘Nevertheless, if Miss Clermon’s sentiments….’

  ‘One doesn’t reason in these matters. He didn’t like him, and that’s that. Maybe he was more sensitive than I was and guessed the true nature of that odious individual.’

  ‘You have full confidence in him?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely! When you arrest Allevaire and look at his face, you’ll be hard pressed to believe he’s a confidence trickster.’

  ‘Thank you for the information. Might I speak to Miss Clermon now?’

  ‘Is that really necessary? She’s been quite shaken by the events, and she’s already been questioned by the examining magistrate. I’d prefer her to be left alone.’

  ‘I understand your concern,’ continued M. Allou, with a gentle stubbornness. ‘But we’re obliged to do so for our report… Rest assured, we’ll be as brief as possible. And, to intimidate her less, I’ll do it myself, one on one. My colleague will not be present.’

  Sallent, who hadn’t said a word so far, got up.

  ‘I’ll meet you in the restaurant,’ M. Allou told him. ‘Wait for me.’

  After the superintendent had left, he continued:

  ‘Where can I meet your sister?’

  ‘Here. I’ll call her in.’

  ‘No, the rules say that witnesses must be questioned separately. In the present case that’s pointless, I agree. But rules are rules, it’s not up to us.’

  Clermon had pressed a button and a servant entered.

  ‘Show the inspector to the salon and ask my sister to join him.’

  ***

  Whilst contemplating the Louis XVI furniture, which included some spectacular pieces, M. Allou was thinking hard.

  If the feelings of the two young people were indeed reciprocal, the theory of the slanderous accusation would have to be abandoned. It was far too serious a charge to have been levelled as the result of a bad mood.

  That would leave the theory of complicity, or mere boastfulness, as Clermon had suggested.

  There was no time to ponder the matter further, because the door was opening.

  Marthe Clermon was indeed pretty, as Maître Tissot had told him. Not exactly beautiful, for her features were not regular enough, but nice to look at, with her big blue eyes, turned up nose, and slender but curvaceous figure. She looked sixteen, even though she was much older.

  But it wasn’t just her pleasing appearance which caused M. Allou to stare at her. He was observing something else. The smile on her lips was tense and there was no corresponding light in her eyes. Her eyelids were reddened.

  Embarrassed by the examination—M. Allou’s stare was always hard and disquieting—Marthe Clermon fiddled with a ribbon of her blouse and attempted to accentuate her smile.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ demanded M. Allou brutally.

  ‘B-because….’

  Her entire face tensed and all traces of forced joy vanished.

  ‘Because you want to appear happy? My dear child, at my age one is not fooled so easily.’

  Now he was speaking in a gentle voice.

  ‘You’re not very good at pretence, miss, and I congratulate you for that. Please sit down. You’ve been crying, haven’t you? Don’t try to deny it, I can see it quite clearly. You’ve been crying and you’re going to cry a lot more….’

  Marthe couldn’t restrain herself; two tears ran down her cheeks and she started to sob. M. Allou clutched the arm of his chair, which was a sign of intense emotion on his part.

  “I’m a brute,” he said to himself. “I’m about to exploit her grief… it’s odious of me.”

  He was on the point of standing up and calling off the questioning, when he controlled himself.

  “No,” he said to himself, “I’m as implacable as a surgeon. The very fact that this child is unhappy means that I can’t abandon her.”

  He continued in a loud voice:

  ‘I was expecting more joy from a fiancée.’

  She didn’t reply, but the tears started to flow more quickly.

  ‘You are engaged, aren’t you?’

  She shook her head gently.

  ‘I was led to believe so by your brother. He wants it very much, it seems.’

  She nodded her head.

  ‘And what about you?’

  This time she burst into tears, with her head in her hands.

  ‘Listen to me, child, I’m old enough to be your father. You mustn’t, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be pushed into marriage. Don’t be afraid of me, I’ll defend you. If you need my help, don’t hesitate to ask.’

  Sobbing convulsively, she didn’t reply.

  M. Allou left the room quietly.

  ***

  Out in the street, he walked slowly.

  It was obvious to him that Serge Madras was a despicable individual. Doubtless his money was necessary to the success of Clermon’s business. According to Maître Tissot, he’d started out with minimal capital and must have found himself in trouble at a time when credit was limited.

  Madras hadn’t hesitated to take advantage of the situation and made his financial help contingent upon marriage to a young woman who didn’t love him, but was willing to sacrifice herself to help her brother. It was the most ignoble of bargains and had to be stopped at all costs.

  But what was the best way to reach Madras?

  Was he Allevaire’s enemy or his friend?

  Once in the restaurant, he explained his thoughts to the ever-placid Sallent. He knew he could count on the other’s frankness. But Sallent listened to him in silence, raising no objection and not favouring one hypothesis over the other.

  ‘What I need to do now,’ concluded M. Allou, ‘is to meet Serge Madras. I’ll try not to show my hand, so as not to put him on guard. I’ll see him after lunch. This time you’ll come with me, for it would be good to for you to make his acquaintance.’

  Chapter IX

  SERGE MADRAS

  At around half past two they once again rang the door bell of the Clermon townhouse and asked to see Serge Madras. They were led directly to his office.

  M. Allou entered first and stood still for a moment, such was his surprise. Even though experience teaches magistrates not to trust first impressions—the most ignoble scoundrels can have deceptive appearances—and despite the current example of Allevaire, M. Allou, like everyone else, believed in his subconscious that character was reflected in the face.

  And he’d never seen a face more frank and open than that of Serge Madras. The blue eyes that looked straight at him, candidly and even naïvely; the fine features, rounded but energetic; the well-modulated voice; all corresponded so little to what M. Allou subconsciously expected that he stood still momentarily.

  He recovered quickly, cursing himself for being influenced by an impression. He introduced himself with the cordiality he’d already decided to show, but which was now incontestably less painful than he’d feared.

  ‘I’m happy to make your acquaintance. M. Clermon has spoken about you in the most flattering terms.’

  ‘He’s too kind, don’t believe the half of it. But please be seated, gentlemen. I fear your visit will be a disappointment, for I’ve racked my brain in vain but can’t find anything to add to my original deposition.’

  He expressed himself so frankly, and with so much ease, that it was becoming difficult to ask him questions. M. Allou adopted his most paternal attitude, and began:

  ‘How—.’

  The young man interrupted him.

  ‘How did the events transpire? It’s very simple. It was one o’clock in the morning and I was working here, at this table, when I heard a noise in the next room, which is my employer’s office. I thought he must not have gone to bed, so, because I need
ed some information, I went in. There was a man in there rifling the drawers, with a small torch in his hand which he extinguished immediately. I grabbed it from him and shone it in his face long enough to take a good look. I tried to detain him, but I had only one hand because the other was holding the lamp. He ran off and I pursued him in vain.’

  M. Allou finally managed to get a word in.

  ‘That wasn’t my question. I was about to ask how you explained a man being in Bordeaux and Lyon at the same time.’

  ‘There’s no doubt, gentlemen, that I was mistaken. It must have been just an extraordinary resemblance.’

  ‘I find that hard to accept. One can be mistaken about someone one hardly knows, or only glimpses. But you’ve just confirmed that wasn’t the case. You said you got a long look at him: several seconds.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ interjected Sallent. ‘I read your deposition this morning, when I visited the examining magistrate, the one you made just a few hours after the incident. Those were your exact words.’

  ‘Then I misspoke. Several seconds seems highly improbable: the man wouldn’t have stayed still for that long. I wanted to say I got a good look at him and my words were imprecise.’

  The retraction rekindled M. Allou’s suspicions.

  ‘Even if it’s only for a moment, one can recognise someone,’ he replied.

  ‘Maybe the man was made up to look like Allevaire?’

  ‘No, that won’t wash. Maybe a professional actor could imitate a silhouette by the clothes, the hair and the posture. But Allevaire had only added a small blond moustache, so his face would not have deceived someone so close to him.’

  ‘You do agree that I was mistaken, however,’ retorted Madras rather curtly.

  ‘I find that surprising.’

  ‘Are you thinking, by chance, that he wasn’t in Lyon that night, but here?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m thinking.’

  ‘What, then?’

  M. Allou remembered just in time that he’d resolved not to give the young man cause for concern. He adopted an anxious tone in his response:

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder whether it wasn’t a double, which would complicate matters enormously.’