The Double Alibi

by Noel Vindry

  ‘My word, sir, since I found the door open, I thought it might be the upstairs lodger.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Barely. I do housecleaning all day long, and I’ve only seen him three times.’

  ‘Has he been living here a long time?’

  ‘About six months. That’s when they installed the telephone.’

  ‘Oh, he has a telephone?’

  ‘Yes, gentlemen.’

  ‘And can you hear it ring?’

  ‘Yes, when I’m in the house.’

  ‘Obviously,’ groaned the superintendent.

  ‘Tonight, did you hear the phone ring?’ continued M. Allou.

  ‘Yes, gentlemen, five minutes before you got here.’

  M. Allou took Sallent to one side.

  ‘Just checking if I remember correctly. The taxi took about four minutes go get here from R…street?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Tell me, my good woman, do you mean five minutes exactly? Did you look at the clock?’

  ‘Oh, no, sir, I said “five minutes” in a manner of speaking.’

  ‘So it could have been three?’

  ‘Or seven or eight. Roughly five.’

  ‘Good. One last question: what’s the name of the owner of the building?’

  ‘M. Allevaire.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said: M. Allevaire: A, double L—.’

  ‘Yes, yes. What’s the lodger’s name?’

  ‘Gustave, simply. I’ve seen letters in that name in the box.’

  ‘And to whom do you pay your rent?’

  ‘To a bank collector, who comes with a bill.’

  ‘And how did you find your lodgings?’

  ‘Through an agency.’

  ‘Whose owner you’ve never seen, I suppose?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘At least, as far as you know….’

  ‘I swear to it!’

  ‘You must never swear to anything. Au revoir, my good lady.’

  Leaving her speechless with his parting words, they began to climb the stairs.

  ‘Someone alerted him,’ growled Sallent.

  ‘There’s no doubt. And just before our arrival. Thirty seconds later and we’d have got him.’

  They stopped on the landing.

  ‘I think we blundered,’ said the superintendent.

  ‘How?’

  ‘We listened to Madras’s account beneath the windows of the Clermon house. That was idiotic.’

  ‘I agree,’ admitted M. Allou. ‘But we couldn’t have known what that young man was about to tell us.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you should never talk about anything when you could be overheard. It was even more careless when we knew who would be in the house, because you’d just made an appointment.’

  ‘You’re thinking of Miss Clermon.’

  ‘Of course. I can’t think of anyone else. Can you?’

  ‘I agree,’ murmured M. Allou.

  ‘You’re still indulgent.’

  ‘What can I say? She acted out of love.’

  ‘That’s not a reason,’ growled Sallent. ‘Anyway, there’s no doubt where the call came from.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said M. Allou, putting an end to the discussion. ‘Let’s see what we find in his room. Not much, I’ll bet.’

  ‘And furthermore, the door isn’t even locked. Let’s go in anyway, if only out of curiosity.’

  They entered a small vestibule of no more than three metres square, from which opened two other rooms.

  The first, which overlooked the street, was a kitchen. They could see that it was frequently used, but there was almost no furniture. There was nothing to see there.

  They went into the second room, which overlooked the waste land behind the house. It also had been lived in. There were a few pieces of furniture: a bed, a table, a bowl, a wardrobe, and a few chairs. The only luxury—or was it a precaution?—was a pair of tulle curtains, thick enough to hide the lodger during the daytime. A pair of interior shutters, currently open, performed the same function at night.

  The two men had made all those observations from the doorway, by means of the single light in the vestibule, without switching on the bedroom light.

  The superintendent pressed the switch and went into the bedroom.

  He had only taken five paces when the glass of one of the windows exploded, and the sound of a bullet whistled in his ear. Out of instinct, he ducked.

  Someone had fired on him from outside, from the waste land.

  Chapter XII

  THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR

  Sallent’s reflexes were those of boldness, not caution. Without thinking, he bounded to the window, opened it, and looked out. It was stupid: he could see nothing in the night and was offering himself as a target.

  Luckily, M. Allou, particularly when it came to others, acted more sagely in times of danger. At the very moment the superintendent was showing himself at the window, his companion switched the light off, plunging the room into darkness once again.

  Sallent, abandoning the idea of seeing anything outside, returned to the back of the room.

  ‘You probably saved my life,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, and I was probably wrong. There are already too many idiots like you.’

  ‘Oh, monsieur le juge, in the case of the necklace, you did much worse.’

  And they chuckled together at the memory.

  ‘So, we’re equal,’ said M. Allou. ‘But our man’s becoming dangerous, by heaven! According to the police reports, he limits himself to thefts and is as meek as a lamb. But last night he attacked Clermon. And tonight he knocked Madras out and fired on us… By the way, has poor Madras regained consciousness?’

  ‘I can assure you, it wasn’t serious.’

  ‘I was just checking. You know, you can see the whole street from the kitchen, if you lean out of the window. I’m going to take a look.’

  ‘Stick your head out so he can get a clear shot,’ mocked Sallent. ‘Here, let me do it.’

  ‘Excuse me, it was my idea.’

  And M. Allou leant out as he’d said he would. The street was absolutely deserted. The wounded man must have regained consciousness.

  ‘Perfect,’ he declared. ‘You see, no one fired on me. Besides, it would have been much more risky from the street.’

  ‘What the devil has he got against us?’ asked Sallent, after a few seconds. ‘Is he afraid of our perspicacity? That would be flattering, but the results we’ve obtained so far don’t justify it. Could it be, monsieur le juge, that he’s guessed who you really are?’

  The superintendent was being serious. M. Allou looked at him and smiled.

  ‘I’m rather inclined to think that he forgot some compromising article as he was fleeing, and is afraid we’ll find it. So therefore we must look for it. But, before we do so, there’s a precaution we have to take.’

  ‘What might that be?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  M. Allou went into the bedroom, shut the window, and closed the shutters.

  ‘There,’ he said, ‘that’s better.’

  ‘Decidedly,’ growled Sallent, ‘you must think I’m useless.’

  ‘We’re dividing the work: you opened them, I shut them. But I was smart enough to do it with the lights out.’

  ‘Your presence can be detected anyway, from the movement of the windows.’

  ‘It had to be done. I was beginning to get nervous. Now we can switch on the lights.’

  Once again the room was illuminated.

  ‘We’ll examine everything,’ continued M. Allou. ‘I’ll take the wardrobe. Meanwhile, you slit open the mattress and the pillow. After that, we’ll dismantle the furniture.’

  They had been working for less than five minutes when Sallent suddenly stopped, making a sign to M. Allou not to move. He listened attentively, then murmured under his breath:

  ‘Someone just came into the building.’

  ‘Yes, I heard them. They’re comi
ng upstairs.’

  ‘What a nerve! Well, if he wants to meet me, I’ll be happy to oblige.’

  And Sallent, after turning off the light, drew his revolver.

  ‘I left mine at the hotel,’ whispered M. Allou.

  ‘Naturally, you never do anything otherwise. Luckily, mine will be enough. Take my electric torch. Shush!’

  There was absolute silence except for the sound of the doorknob of the entrance door turning cautiously. A moment later, someone entered the vestibule.

  Sallent couldn’t contain himself. He should have waited until the intruder reached the bedroom, which would have been less dangerous. But he flung open the door whilst M. Allou, at the same time, switched on the torch.

  There was no need for the superintendent to fire. The man had immediately raised his arms. At the same time, they recognised the long face: it was Etrillat, nicknamed Le Borgne.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked M. Allou.

  ‘I must have mistaken the house,’ replied the other.

  ‘That’s odd. Your key seems to fit the door downstairs.’

  ‘That’s how I made the mistake.’

  ‘Enough of the nonsense,’ growled Sallent. ‘You’re in deep trouble, my lad. Let’s look in your pockets.’

  He searched carefully, but could find no weapon or anything else of interest.

  ‘Did you come in alone?’ he asked next. ‘Be careful how you reply. If I find an accomplice on the stairs, you might well take a stray bullet.’

  ‘I’m alone.’

  ‘I’ll double check,’ said M. Allou. ‘Yes, it’s my job because I’m holding the lamp.’

  He shone it on the stairs and the vestibule below. There was no one hiding there.

  He came back in, turned on the lights and announced, while filling his pipe:

  ‘We’re going to have a little chat, M. Etrillat, because you’ve been kind enough to pay us a visit.’

  ‘I’m not much one for talking, I prefer to play cards.’

  ‘Alas! There aren’t any cards in the house. Admittedly I haven’t searched everywhere. But we can discover other interesting things instead. Would you like to help us with our enquiries, M. Etrillat?’

  ‘No, I’m tired,’

  ‘It’s not nice to leave us to do all the work. For I assume that you, too, are looking for something?’

  ‘Thank you, I don’t need anything.’

  ‘You didn’t drop by just out of curiosity? Tell me what you’re looking for and I’d be delighted to help you find it.’

  ‘A bottle of cognac.’

  ‘You’re too modest. I’m going to search this place, and I’m sure I’m going to find something more interesting than that. All I ask is that you keep your hands behind your back. And, to assist you in that, the superintendent will tie them together with that rope over there in the corner.’

  Sallent promptly executed the order.

  ‘Now,’ continued M. Allou, ‘make yourself comfortable on that chair in the middle of the room. And please be patient, we’ll do our best to be quick.’

  They resumed their search. Whilst Sallent was checking the mattress, M. Allou, who had already unfolded all the linen on the shelves, now took them down.

  Next, they stripped the straw seating from the chairs, and the superintendent examined the tiles on the walls, one by one.

  Etrillat watched the two men impassively, but there was a mocking gleam in his good eye. Occasionally he smiled.

  ‘Take your jackets off,’ he said after a while, ‘or you’ll catch cold when you leave.’

  The superintendent frowned. He felt ridiculous. All their efforts appeared to be in vain: they’d found nothing.

  ‘But, instead of knocking ourselves out,’ exclaimed Sallent suddenly, ‘we should look at the last piece of furniture.’

  ‘There’s another one?’ asked M. Allou in astonishment.

  ‘Not here. In the vestibule. You didn’t notice?’

  ‘No’

  ‘Naturally! The large coat hanger?’

  ‘Of course! Look behind it. It won’t take long, anyway.’

  Sallent went into the vestibule and moved the coat hanger away from the wall. His face lit up in a broad smile:

  ‘Here we are!’ he exclaimed, bending down.

  An object which had previously been jammed between the hanger and the wall had just fallen to the floor. It was a wallet.

  The superintendent picked it up and turned to Etrillat. The latter’s expression had changed and it appeared that any inclination to joke had disappeared.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Sallent.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Why don’t you take a look?’ replied the other, his tone now bitter.

  The superintendent inspected his discovery and seemed disappointed. All it contained was a few papers and a driving licence, all in the name of Pierre Fumage. The name meant nothing to the policeman.

  ‘Fake papers, no doubt,’ he observed.

  M. Allou had moved closer to take a look. Suddenly he seized the driving licence and stared at it.

  ‘I’ve seen that face before,’ he said, after a while.

  ‘Where?’ asked Sallent.

  ‘I can’t remember. I’m certain I’ve seen it… but the name doesn’t ring a bell… Wait! I’ve got it!’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘That fellow who was murdered in Aubagne! Who was carrying Allevaire’s papers!’

  ‘Hell’s bells!’ gasped Sallent. ‘What a discovery!’

  M. Allou turned to Le Borgne.

  ‘What were you going to do with this?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Someone was killed in Aubagne?’

  ‘Stop wasting our time. You came here to find the wallet.’

  ‘And what exactly would I have done with it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Taken it so we couldn’t find it, maybe.’

  ‘I didn’t even know about it until now.’

  ‘What did you come here for? No more joking, please. I don’t have the time.’

  ‘Ah, well, I might as well tell you the truth because it’s all going wrong. Allevaire owed me five thousand francs and I wanted to demand them.’

  ‘It’s ten o’clock at night, not a good time to come.’

  ‘He wouldn’t let me come earlier for fear of being seen.’

  ‘How did you get hold of the downstairs key?’

  ‘He gave it to me, so I could get in without waking the old witch on the ground floor.’

  ‘So you’ve come here often?’

  ‘Often enough, I admit. Allevaire was a good friend. It wasn’t up to me to tell you where he lived.’

  ‘He’s been here a long time?’

  ‘About six months. His official address was in town, but he used to come here every night to pick up the important stuff.’

  ‘If he didn’t sleep here, how did you manage to meet him at such a late hour?’

  ‘I would drop a note in the box before seven o’clock. He’d find it and then come back later. That’s what I did today, although in the circumstances I assume he’s not coming. I wanted to be sure to meet him because of the five thousand francs, which I needed.’

  ‘Why didn’t you admit all that at the beginning?’

  ‘I had no reason to tell you anything about him. It was the discovery of the wallet which changed my mind. I sensed that everything was going wrong.’

  ‘That much is true,’ growled Sallent.

  He didn’t believe a word of the story, which he judged to have been invented on the spot. What troubled him was that M. Allou seemed to believe it.

  During the interrogation, the magistrate’s tone had become softer and softer, until now there was no harshness in his voice at all.

  Sallent’s irritation reached its peak when he heard the witness being asked, gently:

  ‘Have you’ve told me the truth?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

  ‘Will you swear to it?’

  Frustrated, the sup
erintendent was on the point of intervening, but refrained from doing so out of respect for his colleague.

  ‘I swear!’ exclaimed Le Borgne.

  ‘Obviously, we can’t reproach you for not betraying a friend. Anyone would have done the same in your position. But you have a poor choice of associates….’

  ‘Whom I remain faithful to in adversity!’ exclaimed Etrillat grandiloquently.

  Sallent shot M. Allou a reproachful look, but when he saw the audacious and thoughtful gleam in the other’s eyes, he bit his tongue.

  Without saying a word, he undid the rope.

  ‘Au revoir, Etrillat,’ said M. Allou in conclusion. ‘Forgive us for subjecting you to this treatment, but we didn’t know everything at the start.’

  This time, it was too much! M. Allou was excusing himself. Sallent, indignant, clenched his fists inside his pockets.

  ‘I don’t begrudge you,’ replied Le Borgne. ‘You behaved quite correctly. Anyone can make a mistake. Au revoir.’

  And, after bowing slightly, he left. Hardly had the door closed when Sallent, beside himself, made a move to follow him. M. Allou restrained him by the arm.

  ‘But don’t you understand?’ exclaimed the superintendent. ‘He’s played us for fools.’

  ‘Do you really think he was the one who fired on us just now?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m not that stupid. He wouldn’t have come into the lion’s den afterwards if he had. No, it was Allevaire who fired, to try to stop us finding the wallet. Having failed to kill me, he sent his accomplice over to retrieve it. Le Borgne was hoping that, whilst we were occupied in the bedroom, we wouldn’t hear him slip into the vestibule. And if by chance we caught him, he would run less of a risk than Allevaire himself. He could tell whatever story he wanted! It’s true—and this is the weak point of my theory—that he couldn’t have counted on a credulity like yours. That’s very rare.’

  The superintendent ran out of breath and stopped. M. Allou, whose hand had been on the telephone, profited from the silence to make a call to the Sûreté. He was given the home number of the chief and Sallent, stupefied, didn’t say another word.

  ‘The head of the Sûreté, please.’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘I’m Superintendent Sallent,’ said M. Allou. ‘Tell me please: don’t you have a more capable inspector than Proto?’

  ‘Quite a few, but we put him on that case because it appeared to be straightforward.’