The Double Alibi

by Noel Vindry

  His tone had been so natural that Sallent looked at him in surprise. The superintendent knew that, even though a resemblance could fool someone who scarcely knew a person, it could not fool someone who saw them every day.

  ‘I can well believe it,’ declared Madras, nevertheless.

  ‘And perhaps,’ continued M. Allou, ‘you didn’t look at him quite as attentively as you claimed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Listen, I promise not to repeat anything. Your account suggests considerable courage on your part. Maybe, in reality, it was somewhat less, and you only got a look at him from behind.’

  ‘I won’t allow anyone to doubt my word on that point!’ exclaimed Madras brusquely, getting to his feet.

  ‘Very well, I won’t press the matter. One last piece of information: with whom did Allevaire associate?’

  ‘In our circle he saw a lot of people.’

  And he rattled off a list of fifteen or so names.

  ‘And outside your circle?’

  ‘Outside? I don’t know. I only saw him here.’

  ‘You didn’t like him, then?’

  ‘No,’ replied Madras tersely.

  ‘The impressions aren’t justified.’

  ‘Come now… a little jealousy perhaps?’

  ‘No, that would have been stupid.’

  ‘Are you sure of his sister’s feelings towards you?’

  ‘Sir, do not abuse your authority by insulting me. If I hadn’t been sure, would have I asked for her hand in marriage and would she have accepted?’

  His indignation appeared extraordinarily natural, which was exactly what M. Allou wanted by way of reassurance. He himself had questioned the young woman, which served as the touchstone with which to measure Madras’s capacity for lying.

  Which appeared to be formidable.

  ‘We’ve finished,’ announced the magistrate. ‘Would you be good enough to tell M. Clermon we’d like to see him again?’

  Without a word the young man got up and went into the adjacent room.

  ‘About the double—,’ began Sallent rapidly.

  ‘I know,’ said M. Allou, cutting him off.

  ‘Think he didn’t see the man’s face but will never admit it.’

  ‘He seems courageous, my dear superintendent.’

  ‘Can’t trust appearances,’ growled Sallent.

  Madras came back into the room.

  ‘You can go in, gentlemen,’ he said curtly.

  And, without another word, he sat down.

  ***

  M. Allou put on his most benign face.

  ‘Excuse me for troubling you again, M. Clermon,’ he said. ‘I forgot to ask you for a piece of information this morning. With whom did Allevaire associate?’

  ‘Oh, he inspired confidence in everyone in our circle.’

  ‘I know. And outside?’

  ‘Outside? I don’t quite see….’

  ‘Who was his closest friend?’

  ‘I was, undoubtedly.’

  ‘You’ve never seen him with anyone suspicious?’

  ‘Well, maybe, but suspicious is too strong a word.’

  ‘Please explain.’

  ‘I’ve seen him a couple of times with Le Borgne.’ (1)

  ‘Le Borgne?’

  ‘It’s a nickname. His real name is… wait a minute… Etrillat, I think. But nobody ever calls him anything else, because he does only have one eye, as the result of an accident.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘A wine broker.’

  ‘And what is he accused of?’

  ‘Nothing. Only laziness. He works irregularly and people think he’s not serious. I suggested to Allevaire, by the way—being a stranger to the town, he couldn’t have known—that he would be lowering himself if he continued. I was naïve: now it seems it was the contrary.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  (1) le borgne = the one-eyed man

  M. Allou stood up. He looked Clermon straight in the eye and, maintaining his most naïve tone, said:

  ‘By the way, I spoke to your sister. Her happiness is a joy to behold….’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ replied the other, with a beatific smile.

  For once in his life, M. Allou was disconcerted by the cynicism of someone. He found himself lost for words and left.

  ***

  Once in the street, his anger exploded.

  ‘No one has ever mocked me so brazenly!’ he exclaimed. ‘Did you hear that “Isn’t it?” said with a straight face, Sallent? If you’d seen that poor girl this morning….’

  ‘Should probably excuse him,’ said the superintendent.

  ‘Excuse who?’

  ‘Clermon. And also Serge Madras.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘If the girl’s in love with Allevaire, they’re doing everything they can to hide it. Afraid of scandal. Prefer to make believe engaged to secretary.’

  ‘Your sentences aren’t very long,’ said M. Allou, ‘but they’re full of good sense. Hell’s Bells! What you say is very plausible… In which case, Madras wouldn’t be the cynical liar I took him for.’

  ‘Mustn’t judge appearances,’ growled Sallent.

  ‘Meaning what? Come, my dear superintendent, what are your impressions?’

  ‘Never impressions on a case.’

  ‘Decidedly, Sallent, you’ve a hundred times more common sense than I do.’

  ‘Means nothing without intelligence.’

  ‘Come, come!’

  ‘Know myself well. Next to you, imbecile. Find many things. Don’t know what to do about them.’

  ‘You’re being too modest, Sallent. In any case, your observations are better than mine.’

  ‘Possible. You’re often distracted. Notice anything now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Café terrace, over there.’

  There were thirty or so customers seated at tables and M. Allou scanned them all. It took him more than a minute to recognise the massively square inspector Proto.

  ‘What! He’s there doing nothing, when we were counting on him to watch Madras. I’ll tell him a thing or two!’

  M. Allou started towards the terrace. Sallent restrained him by the arm.

  ‘Mustn’t talk to him here.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘See who’s sitting nearby?’

  M. Allou looked at the tables again and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  ‘Behind him,’ explained Sallent. ‘Thin young man with long face?’

  ‘I don’t recognise him.’

  ‘His eyes?’

  ‘Sallent, you’re speaking in riddles.’

  ‘One of them’s not moving. Only one eye.’

  ‘You’re incredible. Nothing escapes you. Now, there’s no proof that he’s that friend of Allevaire… whatsisname….’

  ‘Etrillat,’ said the superintendent.

  ‘Yes, Etrillat.’

  ‘When in doubt, be careful. Better for him not to see us. Zut, too late, Proto has seen us.’

  The inspector had, in fact, stood up and was waving his arms in a manner which they couldn’t pretend not to see.

  ‘Too bad,’ said M. Allou. ‘Let’s go over there, but not to sit down.’

  They walked towards the café.

  ‘So,’ shouted Proto when they were fifteen metres away, ‘we ignore our friends now?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure it was you,’ replied M. Allou when he reached the table. ‘I thought you’d be elsewhere.’

  ‘If there are any observations to be made, it’s for the superintendent to say, not you. You may be a Parisian, but you’re only an inspector like me, with all due respect. Now we’ve settled accounts, what’ll it be? You do have a minute, don’t you, superintendent, sir?’

  ‘No,’ replied Sallent. ‘After lunch I always go for a walk.’

  ‘In this heat? Well then, I’ll come with you.’

  He paid for his drinks and followed them.

  ‘I thought,’ said Sallent, when
they were out of earshot, ‘that you were supposed to be watching Madras?’

  ‘But I can’t spend the whole day in front of the house.’

  ‘Obviously. But I thought you’d be replaced by a colleague if you took a break.’

  ‘I thought about it. But, to be frank about it, superintendent, sir, it all seems such a waste of time.’

  ‘Not for you to judge,’ cut in Sallent. ‘Can have your chief order you to do it, if necessary.’

  ‘All right, all right. But here in Bordeaux we don’t like make-work. Au revoir.’

  ‘Wait. Who was sitting behind you on the terrace?’

  ‘Behind me?’

  ‘Try to think. Young man with glass eye.’

  ‘Oh, him. A wine broker, Etrillat.’

  ‘Anything to tell about him?’

  ‘Nothing, superintendent, sir. You seem to suspect everybody.’

  ‘That’s my business. Does he work?’

  ‘Not much, I believe. But I don’t know much about him.’

  ‘Then find out. And discreetly.’

  ‘You can count on me.’

  ‘As far as discretion goes, that remains to be seen. Start by not shouting our names and titles on café terraces.’

  ‘I didn’t shout.’

  ‘Right. That’s your natural voice. And the accent.’

  ‘So I don’t have a Paris accent like you. You do what you can.’

  ‘Don’t get upset. And keep a sharp eye out. Au revoir.’

  ‘Au revoir.’

  ‘What an imbecile they’ve stuck us with,’ continued Sallent, after the inspector had left.

  ‘If he could at least agree to work,’ said M. Allou, smiling. ‘Until he’s given us his report, we’re at a loose end. I can’t see anything to do this afternoon but take a walk. Fortunately, there’s a lot to see in this town.’

  And they set out for the Saint-André cathedral.

  Chapter X

  A STRANGE DISCOVERY

  That evening, after dinner in the hotel dining room, M. Allou and Sallent sat down to read. At eleven o’clock, Sallent stood up and folded the newspaper he’d been reading.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ he announced. ‘All that walking has tired me out.’

  ‘Me too. At least we got to see some beautiful monuments.’

  ‘Better that than nothing,’ growled Sallent unenthusiastically.

  ‘Console yourself. Proto is sure to tell us something tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘One must always go to bed in a state of optimism. Let’s try to persuade ourselves that, this very night, he’ll find something.’

  ‘Tonight? He’ll be sleeping,’ retorted the superintendent.

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘If we want to find something out about Madras, we’ll have to do it ourselves.’

  ‘But where would we find cover?’

  ‘Didn’t you notice that small square with thick bushes thirty metres from Clermon’s townhouse?’

  ‘I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Dupont, as you insist on calling yourself, you’d be useless as an inspector. Let’s go!’

  ***

  Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the square. It was immediately obvious that all the streets were deserted and that Proto was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘That useless pig!’ exclaimed Sallent.

  ‘Maybe he’s following Madras somewhere in town?’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. He’s asleep somewhere. Let’s hide.’

  They climbed over the gate of the small garden and found a dark corner, from which they could see the entire length of R … street where Clermon’s townhouse was situated. The night was overcast but quite warm.

  ‘Not very well lit, this area,’ observed Sallent.

  They waited. M. Allou dared not smoke and suffered in silence. A nearby clock chimed midnight, then one o’clock, then two o’clock.

  ‘We’re being totally ridiculous,’ announced M. Allou suddenly. ‘Nothing’s going to happen. We’re better off in bed. I’m going to light my pipe, for a start.’

  ‘Don’t do things by halves,’ retorted Sallent. ‘Surveillance started must be finished. Don’t move. Put away your matches. The job’s the job.’

  Ten minutes later, they saw a figure in the distance, walking towards them.

  ‘Is that Madras?’ asked M. Allou.

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him in the street. I wouldn’t recognise his walk. These wretched gas lamps don’t provide any light.’

  There was nothing unusual about the man’s walk. It wasn’t the moment for them to show themselves. If he had something to hide, he would run away if he saw two silhouettes suddenly emerge from the garden. They had to wait for him to get closer.

  Now he was fifty metres away… then forty. They could make out a hat rammed down over his eyes, casting a dim shadow over his face.

  Thirty metres at most… He was drawing level with the Clermon townhouse… He looked around, stopped dead and knocked three times on the door so lightly that M. Allou couldn’t hear. The door opened immediately and the man went inside.

  ‘Damn!’ said Sallent. ‘That was quick.’

  ‘Did you recognise him?’

  ‘No. It could have been Madras or anyone else.’

  ‘We’ll know soon enough. If no one comes out again, it was him. But I’d be surprised.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He must have a key. He doesn’t need anyone else to open the door for him.’

  ‘Good point. Let’s wait. It’s a quarter past two… We need to be ready to pounce when he comes out again. But we mustn’t leave the garden: he could see us and become suspicious.’

  The wait only lasted five minutes and ended more eventfully than the two watchers had expected.

  The door opened so abruptly that M. Allou and Sallent, sensing something abnormal and throwing all caution to the winds, had jumped over the garden gate and were running towards the house.

  The unknown man came out at the same time. He appeared to be trying to escape, but in the direction from which the detectives were coming. In his panic, he only spotted them when they were ten metres away, when he made an abrupt turn and sped off in the other direction.

  But, because he was no longer wearing his hat and had turned right below a gas lamp, his face had been perfectly visible.

  ‘Allevaire!’ shouted Sallent.

  He only knew him from the photographs in his file, which M. Allou had sent him. But that was all he needed to be sure he was right.

  Needless to say, they ran after the fugitive. As they reached the townhouse, they saw someone in the doorway: it was Clermon. But they didn’t stop and continued in hot pursuit.

  Allevaire appeared athletic and not about to let himself be captured.

  ‘Stop or I’ll fire!’ shouted Sallent.

  But the threat was in vain. The man had arrived at a narrow cross street. They could only watch him turn and disappear out of sight. Pursuit being futile, they stopped, out of breath.

  ‘He came back. Of all the nerve!’ exclaimed M. Allou.

  ‘That’s because we assumed he was on the run: there’s no town where they’re less likely to be looking for him than here.’

  ‘True enough. What the devil was he doing chez Clermon?’

  ‘Well soon find out,’ said Sallent. ‘In any case, if he was indeed welcomed here, it didn’t last very long. Did you see his face?’

  ‘Yes, he seemed to be bleeding.’

  ‘I’ll say. From the lip and the nose. He must have been thumped pretty hard!’

  ‘Let’s hurry,’ said M. Allou. ‘The first thing is to alert the Sûreté.’

  ***

  They found Clermon in front of the door, waiting for them in his dressing-gown.

  ‘Telephone?’ asked M. Allou.

  ‘Here.’

  The magistrate rapidly notified the Sûreté of the criminal’s presence in the town, in order for the stations, the r
oads and the port to be watched.

  That precaution taken, he returned to the vestibule where he noticed the bruises on the man’s face.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘That villain got in again!’ exclaimed Clermon. ‘Did he escape?’

  ‘Yes. How did you discover his presence?’

  ‘I heard a noise in my office. I was asleep, but it woke me up immediately. Did you know my bedroom was next door?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, on the side opposite my secretary’s office. Mine is right in the middle of the house. I suddenly remembered I’d left my safe open; it doesn’t happen very often, because I keep bonds there and sometimes large sums of money. As I went in, I could see the man methodically searching my desk. Luckily it has several drawers. Doubtless the cash interested Allevaire more than the bonds—difficult to get rid of—which is why his search was taking so long.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly explained that very well,’ muttered M. Allou. ‘Now can I see the safe?’

  ‘We need to go upstairs. Follow me.’

  M. Allou and Sallent followed him into the office.

  The safe was indeed open. M. Allou noted that the drawers were all shut and opened one or two of them.

  ‘Your thief is a very careful man,’ he observed. ‘There’s no disorder. All the stacks are intact. And, most curious of all, he didn’t bother to take the money immediately to hand, on the shelf. It seems to be quite a large amount, which ought to have satisfied him. What do you think?’ he added sharply, turning suddenly to face Clermon.

  ‘Me? Nothing at all. It’s not for me to judge his methods.’

  There was a certain curtness in his tone, all the more surprising because of his normal affability.

  ‘Let’s go over your account again. So you heard a noise?’

  ‘I only took the time to put on a dressing-gown.’

  ‘You weren’t armed?’

  ‘I don’t possess a revolver. I went into the office and saw a man with an electric torch going through the contents of the safe. I went for him and punched him right in the face. But he’s well-built and didn’t fall down. He retaliated and hit me in the eye, as you can see. Then I hit him again. The fight didn’t last long, and he fled.

  ‘I tried to go after him, but in vain. That’s all I can tell you, gentlemen.’