‘Wait. Killed or tried to kill—’
‘You see, you do have some information I don’t.’
‘No, very little. The only difference between us is that you’ve been spending your time dashing about between here and the courts, getting phone calls, seeing people, while I was able to enjoy the peace and quiet of my cell in Saint-Léonard.’
‘So you thought about your thirteen points,’ said Delvigne, not without a trace of bitterness in his voice.
‘Well, not all of them. Some.’
‘For instance, the laundry basket.’
Maigret gave an innocent smile.
‘I’d better come clean right away. It was me. I took it out of the hotel.’
‘Empty?’
‘Not at all! With the corpse inside.’
‘So you’re saying that the crime—’
‘… was committed inside the Hôtel Moderne, in Graphopoulos’s room. And that is what is so provoking about the whole thing. Do you have a match?’
9. The Informer
Maigret settled into his chair, hesitated, as was his habit when about to launch into a long explanation, and sought for the right tone: plain speaking.
‘You’ll soon understand as much as I do, and you’ll be prepared to forgive me for cheating a little. Let’s start with Graphopoulos’s visit to police headquarters in Paris, asking for our protection. He doesn’t explain why he wants it. And next day, he behaves as if he regrets ever having applied to us.
‘The first explanation that might occur to you is simply that the man’s mad, or perhaps suffering from some kind of persecution mania. The next one is that he knows he’s in real danger, but on second thoughts, he doesn’t think he’s really protected, even by the police. The third theory is that he actually needed, for a short while, to be under observation.
‘I’ll explain. Here’s a man, not so young, in possession of a considerable fortune, and apparently quite free in his movements. He can take a plane, a train, stay in any palace he likes. What possible threat could scare him so much that he goes to the police? A jealous woman who says she’s going to kill him? Hardly. He could easily put plenty of distance between them. A personal enemy? But a man like ours, with a banker for a father, has the means to get anyone threatening him arrested. Not only is he frightened in Paris, he’s frightened on the train, and still frightened when he gets to Liège. From which I conclude that it isn’t an individual who is after him, but an organization, probably an international one.
‘I repeat, he’s rich. If some gang were after his money, they wouldn’t be threatening his life, and in any case, he could quite effectively be protected from them by going to the authorities. But he goes on being scared, even with a policeman at his heels. The threat burdens him, and it exists in whichever town he goes to, in any circumstances. Exactly as if he had belonged to some secret society and somehow betrayed it, so that the members had passed judgement on him. Some kind of mafia, for example. Or a spy ring. There are quite a few Greeks in espionage. The intelligence people can tell us what Graphopoulos senior did during the last war … Let’s suppose that the son betrayed this kind of group, or perhaps simply decided he had had enough and wanted out. He’s threatened with death. And he’s informed that the sentence will be executed sooner or later. He comes to see me, but next day, he’s gathered that this won’t help, and he panics and starts acting as if he’s lost control. But the opposite is also possible.’
‘The opposite?’ asked Delvigne in surprise. He had been following the account closely. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Graphopoulos is a rich man’s son. At a loose end. During his travels, he joins some kind of outfit, let’s say the mafia or a spy ring, as an amateur, just for kicks. He promises to obey his chiefs faithfully. And one day, they order him to kill someone—’
‘So he goes to the police?’
‘Follow me closely. They order him, for example, to come and kill someone here, in Liège. He’s in Paris. Nobody suspects him. He is reluctant to obey, and in order not to have to do it, he goes to the police and asks for protection. He telephones his accomplices and says it’s impossible to carry out his orders, because the French police are on his tracks. But the gang is not impressed by this, and tells him to go ahead anyway. That’s the other possible explanation. Either one of the theories is right, or else our man is simply insane – but if that were the case, there’d be no reason to kill him at all.’
‘It’s disturbing,’ agreed Chief Inspector Delvigne, doubtfully.
‘So to sum up, when he leaves Paris, he comes to Liège, either to kill someone or to be killed.’
Maigret’s pipe crackled. He had said all this in the most conversational tone.
‘And at the end of the day, he’s the one who gets killed, but that doesn’t prove anything. Let’s look again at the events of that evening. He goes to the Gai-Moulin, and spends the evening in the company of Adèle, the dancer. She says goodbye to him and leaves the club in my company. When I return, the owner and Victor are leaving, too. The club is empty, apparently. I believe that Graphopoulos has left, and go to look for him in some other night spots.
‘At four in the morning, I get back to the Hôtel Moderne. Before going to my room, I am curious to know whether my Greek is back as well. I listen at the door and can hear no breathing. I open it, and find him, fully dressed, at the foot of the bed, with his skull smashed in by some heavy implement. That, put as briefly as possible, is my point of departure. His wallet has disappeared. And in the room there’s no document to give me any information, no weapon, no clue at all.’
Maigret did not wait for his colleague to intervene.
‘I spoke at the beginning about the mafia and espionage, at any rate some kind of international organization, which in my view would be the only explanation behind this case. It’s the perfect crime. The weapon has disappeared. There isn’t any line of inquiry to follow, or the slightest lead which might give a reasonable direction to the investigation.
‘If the police investigation had started with the Hôtel Moderne in the usual conditions, it would almost certainly have run into the sands. The people who were capable of this would have taken precautions. They would have foreseen everything. And because I’m sure that’s what they’ve done, I decide to confuse the issue. They left the corpse in the hotel? Very well, I’ll stuff it into a laundry basket and take it to the Botanical Gardens, with the collusion of a cab driver who, between ourselves, agreed to keep quiet for a hundred francs, which is really not a lot of money.
‘And next day, that’s where the corpse is found. Imagine what the murderer is going to think! He’ll be extremely worried, won’t he?
‘So isn’t there a chance that he’ll panic and give himself away somehow? I decide to be so prudent that I don’t even identify myself to the local police. It wouldn’t do for anything to leak out. I was at the Gai-Moulin myself that evening. It seems highly probable that the murderer was there too. And I have the list of customers from that night, so I find out about them all, starting with the two young lads, who had seemed very on edge. The number of suspects is small: Jean Chabot, René Delfosse, Génaro, Adèle, Victor. And perhaps, at an outside guess, one of the musicians or Joseph the other waiter. But I decide I’d prefer to eliminate the boys from my list first. And just as I’m trying to finish dealing with them, you take action. You arrest Chabot! Delfosse runs away. And the papers announce that the crime was committed at the Gai-Moulin.’
Maigret gave a deep sigh and shifted his legs.
‘I thought I’d been outwitted! I don’t mind admitting it. Chabot seemed so certain that the corpse had been inside the club a quarter of an hour after closing.’
‘But he did see it,’ Delvigne interrupted.
‘I beg your pardon! He thought he saw, by the light of a flickering match, lit for only a few seconds, a shape lying on the floor. It’s Delfosse who claims it was a dead body. One eye open, one eye shut, as he said. But remember that both of th
em had just emerged from the cellar where they’d been standing in the dark a long while, and that both of them were scared stiff, it was their first real burglary …
‘Delfosse was the brains behind it. He dragged his friend along with him. But he was the first to panic when he saw the body on the ground. He’s an unhealthy boy, neurotic and vicious. In other words, he has a lively imagination. He didn’t touch the body! He didn’t even approach it! He didn’t strike another match. The pair of them fled and didn’t go near the till.
‘That’s why I advised you to look into what Graphopoulos had come back to the Gai-Moulin for, after pretending to leave. This isn’t a crime of passion, or a sordid crime, or an ordinary burglary. It’s exactly the kind of thing the police doesn’t manage to solve, most of the time, because we’re up against people who are too clever and well organized. And that’s why I allowed myself to be arrested. Keep on confusing the issue! Make the culprits think they’re safe, that the police are on the wrong track! And in that way, provoke them into making a mistake.’
Delvigne didn’t know what to think. He went on glaring at Maigret with resentment, and his face looked so comical that the other man burst out laughing, and added in gruffly cordial voice:
‘Don’t stare at me like that! Yes, all right, I cheated! I didn’t tell you at once all I knew. Or rather I concealed something: the business with the laundry basket. But there’s one thing you’ve got and I don’t have.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Perhaps it’s the most crucial thing, just now. Which is why I’ve told you all this. The basket was found in the Botanical Gardens. Graphopoulos had on him only his business card, without an address. And yet by the same afternoon, you were already turning up at the Gai-Moulin and you knew that Chabot and Delfosse had been hiding on the back stairs. How did you know all that?’
This time, Delvigne smiled. It was his turn to have the upper hand. Instead of answering at once, he lit his pipe slowly, brushing off the ash with his finger.
‘Naturally, I have my informers,’ he said.
And he took his time again, even feeling the need to shift some of his papers.
‘I imagine you’re well supplied with them in Paris, too. In theory, all the nightclub owners act as my eyes and ears. In return for which I overlook certain little irregularities.’
‘So it was Génaro?’
‘The very same!’
‘Génaro came and told you that Graphopoulos had spent the evening at his club?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he discovered the cigarette ends on the stairs?’
‘Well, it was Victor who told him about that detail, and he asked me to come and have a look myself.’
Maigret was looking stormier by the minute, as his colleague became more cheerful.
‘So you have to admit we were quick off the mark,’ Delvigne went on. ‘Chabot was arrested. And if it hadn’t been for Monsieur Delfosse intervening with the bail money, both boys would still be under lock and key. If they haven’t killed anyone, which isn’t yet confirmed, they certainly meant to rob the club.’
He looked at his companion and had difficulty suppressing an ironic smile.
‘You look worried.’
‘Because it doesn’t simplify matters at all.’
‘What doesn’t?’
‘Génaro coming forward.’
‘You had him fingered as the murderer, admit it!’
‘No more than anyone else. And his coming forward doesn’t prove anything. At most, it shows he’s very confident.’
‘So, do you want to go back to your prison?’
Maigret fiddled with a matchbox, taking his time to reply. When he did, he seemed to be talking to himself.
‘Graphopoulos came to Liège to kill or be killed.’
‘We don’t know that.’
And suddenly Maigret burst out angrily:
‘Damn those kids!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Those wretched boys, they’ve spoiled everything. Unless …’
‘Unless?’
‘Oh nothing.’
And he stood up, fuming, paced round the office where both men, smoking their pipes, had made the air unbreathable.
‘If the corpse had remained in the hotel, and if we had been able to go through the usual procedures, perhaps then—’ Delvigne began.
Maigret looked at him furiously.
They were, in fact, both feeling equally bad-tempered and their conversation reflected it. At the least word, they were ready to trade insults, and were not far off blaming each other for the lack of success of the investigation.
‘Haven’t got some tobacco, have you?’
Maigret said this in the same tone of voice he would have used to say, ‘You’re a fool!’
And he took the pouch from his colleague’s hands, tried in vain to suppress a grin, then shrugged.
And Delvigne grinned back. They understood each other. They were only maintaining their grumpy expressions for appearances’ sake.
The Belgian was the first to ask, in a more friendly voice, admitting his perplexity.
‘But what are we going to do now?’
‘All I know is that Graphopoulos was killed …’
‘… in his hotel room!’
That was the last dig.
‘Yes, in his hotel room. Whether by Génaro, Victor, Adèle, or one of the two youngsters. None of them has the slightest alibi. Génaro and Victor claim to have left each other at the corner of Rue Haute-Sauvenière and gone home. Adèle says she went to bed alone. Chabot and Delfosse ate mussels and chips—’
‘While you were running round the other nightspots!’
‘And you were fast asleep!’
They were now taking an almost jocular tone with each other.
‘The only clue we have,’ Maigret muttered, ‘is that Graphopoulos allowed himself to be shut inside the Gai-Moulin – to steal something or to kill someone. When he heard a noise, he played dead, not imagining he’d really be dead an hour or so later.’
There came a hurried knock at the door. As it opened an inspector announced:
‘Monsieur Chabot has come for a word. He hopes he’s not disturbing you.’
Maigret and Delvigne looked at each other.
‘Let him in.’
The accountant was nervous. He didn’t know what to do with his bowler hat and hesitated when he saw Maigret in the office.
‘Forgive me for …’
‘You had something to say to me?’
He had timed it badly. It was not the moment for pleasantries.
‘That is … Forgive me, but … I wanted to thank you so much for …’
‘Your son is back home?’
‘Yes, he got in an hour ago. He told me …’
‘What did he tell you?’
It was both grotesque and pitiful. Monsieur Chabot was trying to find the right expression. He was full of good will. But direct questions unsettled him and he forgot the words he had prepared.
A few poorly prepared words, which fell flat because of the unsympathetic atmosphere.
‘He said … That is to say, I wanted to thank you for your kindness … He’s not a bad boy at heart. But he’s easily led by bad influence. He has promised … His mother’s in bed and he’s at her side … I promise, monsieur, that in future … He is innocent, isn’t he?’
The accountant was choking on his words. But he was making a great effort to remain calm and dignified.
‘He’s my only son … and I wanted. Perhaps I have been too lenient …’
‘Yes, far too lenient!’
And now Monsieur Chabot lost control entirely. Maigret turned away, since he sensed that this forty-year-old man, with his thin shoulders and curled moustaches, was about to weep.
‘I guarantee that in future …’
And not knowing what else to say, he stammered:
‘Should I write to the examining magistrate too, to thank him?’
&nbs
p; ‘Yes, yes,’ muttered Delvigne, pushing him towards the door. ‘Excellent idea.’
He picked up the bowler hat, which had fallen to the floor, put it into the hand of its owner, who was slowly backing out.
‘Delfosse senior won’t think of thanking us,’ remarked Delvigne once the door was shut. ‘It’s true he dines every week with the provincial governor, and he’s on first-name terms with the royal prosecutor. Well, so now …’
That ‘so now’ expressed weariness and disgust, as did the discouraged gesture with which he collected the papers from his desk.
‘So what do we do?’
At this time of day, Adèle was probably still asleep in her untidy bedroom, with its odours of intimacy and cooking. In the Gai-Moulin, Victor and Joseph would be moving slowly from table to table, wiping down the marble tops and polishing the mirrors with whiting.
‘Sir! Someone from the Gazette de Liège – you promised him—’
‘He’ll have to wait.’
Maigret had gone to sit down in a corner, looking irritable.
‘What we know beyond all doubt,’ said Delvigne suddenly, ‘is that Graphopoulos is dead.’
‘There’s an idea!’ said Maigret.
The other man looked at him, supposing he was being ironic.
And Maigret went on:
‘Yes, that’s the best thing to do. How many inspectors have you got here at the moment?’
‘Two or three. Why?’
‘Can this office be locked?’
‘Of course!’
‘I imagine you would trust your inspectors more than you would the prison guards?’
Delvigne still did not understand.
‘Right, give me your revolver. Don’t worry. I’m going to fire a shot. You will go outside shortly afterwards and announce that the broad-shouldered man has killed himself, which amounts to a confession, and that the investigation is over.’
‘And you want—’
‘Listen. I’ll fire this shot. After that, don’t let anyone come in here. I assume it’s possible to exit from this window?’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve got an idea. All right?’
And Maigret fired into the air, after taking up position in a chair with his back to the door. He didn’t even bother to take his pipe out of his mouth. It didn’t matter anyway. As people came running from the other offices, Delvigne stood in the doorway, announcing without conviction:
The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin Page 10
