‘Let’s sit down for a moment,’ said Maigret when he joined Castaing across the road from the hotel he was watching.
The upstanding citizens who protest against the number of bars are unaware that they are a godsend for the police. As if by chance, there was one fifty metres from the Hôtel de la Plage and, by craning their necks, they could watch Théo’s window from their table.
Castaing had thought that Maigret wanted to speak to him, to give him instructions.
‘I fancy a shot of Calvados in my coffee,’ confessed Maigret. ‘It’s not very warm this evening.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I haven’t, as a matter of fact.’
‘Aren’t you going to?’
‘Not now.’
But he wasn’t drunk. He must have consumed a lot of alcohol during the day, here and there, and that was probably why he seemed so leaden.
‘He might be going to bed,’ he remarked, looking at the window.
‘Shall I carry on watching the place?’
‘You carry on, son. So long as you don’t take your eyes off the hotel entrance, which is more important than the window, you can stay here. Meanwhile, I think I’ll drop into Valentine’s to say good night.’
But he sat there for a good fifteen minutes more, in silence, staring vacantly in front of him. Finally he got up, sighing, and left, his pipe in his mouth, his hands in his pockets, heading off into the empty streets; Castaing heard his footsteps fade.
It was a few minutes before ten when Maigret reached the gate of La Bicoque, on the road lit by a crescent moon surrounded by a dense halo. He hadn’t met a soul on the way. Not a dog had barked, no cat had leaped into a hedge as he passed. The only sound was the regular croaking of the frogs in some pond.
Raising himself up on to his tiptoes, he tried to see if there was still a light on in the old lady’s house, thought he saw one on the ground floor and walked through the open gate.
It was damp in the garden, and there was a powerful smell of compost. He had difficulty following the path without getting caught on some of the branches, and the rustling of the foliage must have been audible inside the house.
He reached the paved area close to it, saw the sitting room with the lights on and, there, Valentine, who rose from her armchair, straining to listen. She stood still for a moment before going over to the wall and, just when he least expected it, turning off the light.
Just then, he sneezed. A creaking sound told him that one of the windows was being opened.
‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s me, Maigret.’
A little laugh, not without a hint of nervousness, like that of someone who nonetheless had been scared.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll put the light on again straight away.’
And, softly, as if to herself:
‘The stupid thing is, I can’t find the switch. Ah! Here it is.’
She must have pushed two, because not only did the light come back on in the living room, but another one came on in the garden, almost above Maigret’s head.
‘I’ll come and open the door.’
She was dressed as usual and, on a pedestal table in front of the armchair where he had caught her unawares, a deck of playing cards was spread out for a game of patience.
She worked her way slowly through the empty house, going from room to room, turning keys, drawing bolts.
‘You see I’m not as brave as I claim and I’m barricading myself in. I wasn’t expecting you.’
She didn’t want to ask him any questions, but she was intrigued.
‘Do you have a minute? Come in and sit down.’
And seeing him glance at the cards:
‘You have to entertain yourself when you’re on your own. What would you like to drink?’
‘Do you know that since I’ve been in Étretat I’ve been drinking all day long? Your stepson Charles arrives in the morning and has me drink picon-grenadines. Théo joins us and buys a round. When I meet Inspector Castaing, we go into a bar for a chat. I come here and the bottle of Calvados automatically appears on the table. The doctor is no less hospitable. The Trochus serve me cider.’
‘Were they friendly?’
‘Not too bad.’
‘Did they tell you anything helpful?’
‘Possibly. At this stage it’s hard to tell what’s helpful and what isn’t. Has anyone been to see you since I left?’
‘No one. But I paid a visit. I went to say hello to the elderly Seuret sister. She is so old that everyone thinks she’s dead and no one goes to see her any more. She’s my close neighbour. I could just hop over the hedge if I were still young enough.
‘You see. Now I’m alone. My dragon left ages ago. I was intending to hire a new girl who would live in, but I’m not sure that I will, I so enjoy being on my own.’
‘Aren’t you afraid?’
‘Sometimes, as you saw. Earlier, when I heard your footsteps, I slightly lost my nerve. I wondered what I’d do if I had a visit from a prowler. You tell me if this is a good plan. First of all, switch off the light in the house and then switch on the one outside, so as to see without being seen.’
‘That sounds like an excellent plan to me.’
‘The thing is that earlier I forgot to switch the outside light on. I must try and remember next time and be able to find the switch.’
He looked at her feet and noticed that she was wearing shoes rather than slippers. But would she permit herself to wear slippers, even in her own house, anywhere other than in her bedroom?
‘Still nothing to report, Monsieur Maigret?’
He was sitting in what had already almost become his armchair, and the room was even cosier at night than during the day, with its circles of soft light beneath the lamps and large areas of shadow. The cat was downstairs, on one of the armchairs, and it soon came over to rub itself against Maigret’s leg, its tail raised.
‘You don’t understand cat language, do you?’ she joked.
‘No. Why?’
‘Because he’s asking you to stroke him. Were you worried about me?’
‘I wanted to reassure myself that all was well.’
‘Are you reassured? Tell me! I hope you’re not making some poor police officer spend the night out on the road to protect me? If you are, you must tell me and I’ll set up a camp bed for him in the kitchen.’
She was very cheerful, with a little twinkle in her eyes. She had brought in the bottle and poured herself a glass as full as Maigret’s.
‘Does your wife complain about your job?’
‘She’s used to it by now.’
Numb in his armchair, he had filled a pipe and could see the time on a bronze clock flanked by chubby cupids.
‘Do you play a lot of patience?’
‘There aren’t many card games for one, you know.’
‘Did young Rose play?’
‘I tried to teach her belote, but I never managed it.’
She must be wondering why he’d come. Perhaps, at one point, he seemed so lacklustre that she must have been afraid that he would doze off in his chair, as he had done that afternoon.
‘I’d better go back to my hotel and my bed,’ he sighed.
‘One last drink?’
‘Will you have one with me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well. I know the way now and am in no danger of getting lost. I presume you’re also about to go to bed?’
‘In half an hour.’
‘Sleeping draught?’
‘No. I didn’t buy any. I’m a little afraid now.’
‘Are you still able to get to sleep?’
‘I nod off eventually. Elderly people don’t need a lot of sleep.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
Again he caused a few twigs to snap and the gate creaked slightly. He stood by the roadside for a moment, looking at the edge of the roof and the chimney that rose out of the greenery in the pale moonlight.
&
nbsp; Then he turned up the collar of his jacket against the cold damp and strode in the direction of the town.
He did the round of the town’s bars that were still open, not to go in but purely to have a quick check. He was surprised not to see Henri, who must still have been trying to find Théo.
Did Henri know that he’d returned to his hotel? Had he gone there to see him?
Maybe he had set off again disappointed? Maigret didn’t know what time his boat sailed from Fécamp for two weeks’ fishing in the North Sea.
He went into the casino bar, which was empty, and Charlie was cashing up.
‘Have you seen a fisherman?’
‘The Trochu boy? He came in at least an hour ago. He was already four sheets to the wind.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘Not to me. He was talking to himself. He almost forgot his bag and then, as he slung it over his shoulder, he swept the bar with it and broke two glasses.’
Castaing was outside again, probably to keep himself awake, and the light was still on in Théo’s room.
‘Did you bump into Rose’s brother, chief? He came lurching past earlier.’
‘Did he go into the hotel?’
‘I don’t even know whether he noticed there was a hotel.’
‘Did he speak to you?’
‘I pressed myself against the wall.’
‘Which way was he heading?’
‘He was going down the street, then he turned right, probably so as not to have to step off the pavement. What do we do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Do we stay here?’
‘Why not?’
‘Do you think he’ll come out?’
‘I don’t know. It’s possible.’
Then, for the second time, Castaing wondered whether Maigret’s reputation wasn’t overrated. In any case, he shouldn’t drink.
‘Go and find out from the hotel if anyone came to ask for him and if anyone went up to his room.’
Castaing came back a few moments later with a negative reply.
‘Are you certain that while you were following him from bar to bar he didn’t speak to anyone?’
‘Only to order a drink. He knew I was tailing him. He looked at me from time to time with an air of uncertainty. I think he was wondering whether it might not be easier for us to drink together.’
‘Did anyone give him a letter?’
‘I didn’t see anything of the sort. Don’t you think you’d better go and have a sandwich?’
Maigret appeared not to hear, took a cold pipe out of his pocket and slowly filled it. The halo around the crescent moon was growing denser and a thick mist was rolling in from the sea and gradually invading the streets.
It wasn’t a proper fog yet, because the siren wasn’t wailing.
‘In a week’s time,’ said Castaing, ‘there’ll be no one left but the locals. The hotel staff will go down to the south to start a new season, with new customers.’
‘What time do you make it?’
‘Twenty to eleven.’
Something must have been niggling Maigret, who said, after a long pause:
‘I have to leave you for a minute. I’m going to my hotel to make a telephone call.’
He made it from the booth, and called Charles Besson’s home in Fécamp.
‘Maigret here. I’m sorry to disturb you. I hope you hadn’t gone to bed?’
‘No. Have you any news? Now my wife has caught bronchitis but wants to go to the funeral tomorrow all the same.’
‘Tell me, Monsieur Besson, did your wife ever own a ring set with a large emerald?’
‘A what?’
He repeated his question.
‘No.’
‘And you’ve never seen such a ring in your entourage? Arlette, for example?’
‘I don’t think so!’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘Hello! Monsieur Maigret—’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s this ring business? Have you found one?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’ll tell you about it one of these days.’
‘Is everything all right over there?’
‘Everything’s quiet at the moment.’
Maigret hung up, hesitated, and ended up asking for Arlette’s number, in Paris. He got through immediately, faster than the previous call. A man’s voice answered, and this was his first contact with Julien.
‘Julien Sudre speaking,’ said the calm, deep voice. ‘Who’s calling?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret. I’d like to have a word with Madame Sudre.’
He heard him say, unruffled:
‘It’s for you. The inspector.’
‘Hello! Is there any news?’
‘I don’t think so. Not yet. I’d simply like to ask you a question. Have you ever had any jewellery stolen?’
‘Why are you asking me that?’
‘Answer me.’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Do you have a lot?’
‘Some. It was given to me by my husband.’
‘Have you ever owned a ring set with a large emerald?’
There was a brief silence.
‘No.’
‘You don’t recall a ring like that?’
‘I don’t, no.’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘Don’t you have anything else to tell me?’
‘Nothing tonight.’
She didn’t want him to hang up. He could sense that she would have liked him to carry on talking. Perhaps she would like to have said something as well, but couldn’t in front of her husband.
‘Nothing unpleasant?’ she merely asked.
‘Nothing. Good night. I presume you were both about to go to bed?’
She thought she detected a note of sarcasm and snapped:
‘Yes. Good night.’
There was no one but the night porter in the hotel lobby. At the very end was the armchair where he had found Arlette waiting for him on the first evening. At that point he hadn’t known her yet. He hadn’t known anyone yet.
He wished he’d brought his overcoat, nearly telephoned Madame Maigret to say good night, shrugged and went out to join Castaing, who was still watching Théo’s hotel with a glum expression. In that hotel too the lobby was empty. Nearly all the windows were dark, with the exception of two or three, and another light went off, but not the one in Théo’s room.
‘I wonder what he can be doing,’ muttered Castaing. ‘He’s probably reading in bed. Unless he’s fallen asleep and forgotten to switch off the light.’
‘What’s the time?’
‘Midnight.’
‘Are you certain that no one—?’
And suddenly Castaing smacked his forehead, cursed and grumbled:
‘What an idiot I am! I forgot to tell you—’
‘What?’
‘No one spoke to him, it’s true. Nor did anyone give him a letter. But, while we were in the Bar de la Poste, the second he walked in, the owner called to him:
‘“Telephone call for you.”’
‘What time was that?’
‘Just after eight o’clock.’
‘He didn’t say who was calling?’
‘No. He went into the booth. I watched him through the glass. He wasn’t doing the talking. He was listening, occasionally saying: “Yes … Yes …”’
‘Is that all?’
‘How on earth I could have forgotten. I hope it’s not serious, chief?’
‘We’ll find out. How did he look as he came out of the booth?’
‘I couldn’t say exactly. Perhaps a little surprised? Perhaps intrigued? But not angry.’
‘Come. Wait for me in the lobby.’
He asked the porter:
‘Monsieur Besson’s room?’
‘Number 29, on the second floor. I think he’s asleep. He asked not to be disturbed.’
Maigret walked past without offering any explanation. He made his way up the stairs, pa
using to catch his breath, and was soon outside the white door with 29 on it in brass numbers. He knocked and there was no reply. He knocked harder, for a long time, and leaned over the banister.
‘Castaing?’
‘Yes, chief.’
‘Ask for a master key. They must have a tool that opens all the doors.’
That took a while. Maigret emptied his pipe on to the carpet, just next to a large earthenware pot filled with sand and cigarette stubs.
The porter walked in front, disgruntled.
‘As you wish! You can explain yourselves to the boss in the morning. Police or no police, this is no way to behave.’
He selected a key from a bunch hanging from a chain, but before opening he knocked discreetly and pressed his ear to the door.
They finally saw the room, which was empty, and the bed had not been slept in. Maigret opened a wardrobe to find a navy blue suit, black shoes and a gabardine. A razor and toothbrush were in the bathroom.
‘The gentleman’s entitled to go out, isn’t he?’
‘Do you know if his car’s in the garage?’
‘That’s easy enough to find out.’
They walked back down. Instead of heading towards the main entrance, they went along a corridor, descended a few steps and Maigret noted that a little door, which wasn’t locked, led directly into the garage.
The garage was completely open on to a deserted square.
‘It’s that one.’
Poor Castaing looked like a schoolboy wondering what sort of punishment awaited him for bad behaviour.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Where’s your car?’
‘Opposite the hotel.’
It was a stone’s throw. Just as they were about to get in, the night porter dashed out on to the front steps.
‘Monsieur Maigret! Monsieur Maigret! There’s a phone call for you.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘A woman?’
‘It was a man’s voice. He asked you to go to the old lady’s house right away. He said you’d understand.’
They were there within moments. There was already a car outside the gate.
‘The doctor’s car,’ said Castaing.
But they heard no sound of voices, even as they neared the house. All the lights were on, including in the upstairs rooms. A very calm Théo Besson opened the door to them, and Maigret looked at him in surprise.
Maigret and the Old Lady Page 12
