Maigret's Revolver

by Georges Simenon

  He also knew that the young man had a gun, that he was the nervous type, and that his nerves were probably at breaking point.

  ‘All I’m asking is that you don’t do anything stupid.’

  He thought he heard a slight noise coming from the direction of the bed. He wasn’t sure and did not bend down to look.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ he began, as if he were going to tell a story, ‘I saw a very funny incident, near where I live on Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. It was summertime then too, one evening after a very hot day, and the heat had lingered, so all the neighbours were outside.’

  He spoke slowly, and anyone walking in at that moment would have considered him to be eccentric at the very least.

  ‘I don’t know who first spotted the cat. I think it was a little girl who should have been in bed at that time of night. It was getting dark. She pointed at a dark shape in a tree. As usual, passers-by stopped to look. From my window, leaning out, I could see them pointing up. Other people came to join them. Before long, there were about a hundred of them around the base of the tree, so I ended up going to see for myself.’

  He interrupted his story to say:

  ‘We’re quite alone here, which makes it easier. What was attracting the attention of all these folk on the boulevard was a cat, a large ginger cat clinging to the end of a branch. It looked terrified to find itself there. It can’t have realized how high it had climbed. It didn’t dare turn round to get down. And it didn’t dare jump either. The local women looked up and felt sorry for it. The men tried to find a way of dislodging it from its precarious position.

  ‘A workman who lived opposite said:

  ‘“I’ll get a double ladder.”

  ‘So they put the ladder against the tree and he climbed up. He was about a metre short of the branch, but seeing him stretch out his arm, the cat started spitting with anger and tried to scratch him.

  ‘A small boy said:

  ‘“I’ll climb up”

  ‘“You can’t do that,” people said. “The branch isn’t strong enough.”

  ‘“Well, I could shake it, and you could stretch a sheet out underneath.”

  ‘He must have seen the firemen doing this, perhaps in a cinema newsreel. Things turned dramatic. A concierge brought out a bedsheet. The boy shinned up the tree and shook the branch, and the poor creature at the other end clung on with all its claws, looking wild-eyed.

  ‘Everyone felt sorry for it.

  ‘“Perhaps if we fetched a longer ladder?”

  ‘“Watch out, it might be rabid; there’s blood around its mouth.”

  ‘And that was true. They felt both sorry for the cat and afraid of it, understand? Nobody wanted to go to bed without knowing how the cat story would end. How could they persuade the animal that if it fell into the sheet it wouldn’t come to any harm? Or get it to turn round on its perch?’

  Maigret was almost expecting a voice to ask:

  ‘So what did happen?’

  But no one spoke, so he carried on:

  ‘In the end they managed it. A big lanky man crept along one end of the branch and used a walking stick to dislodge the cat, which fell into the sheet. When they unfolded it, the cat ran away so fast that they scarcely glimpsed it cross the road and disappear through a cellar window. And that’s all.’

  This time, he was sure someone had moved under the bed.

  ‘The cat was frightened because it didn’t realize that nobody wished it any harm.’

  Silence. Maigret puffed on his pipe.

  ‘And I don’t intend any harm to come to you either. You didn’t kill André Delteil. As for my revolver, that’s not such a serious matter. At your age, if I’d been in the state you were in, I might have done the same myself. It was my fault, really. Yes, it was. If that lunchtime I hadn’t gone for a drink first, I’d have arrived home half an hour earlier, and you would still have been there.’

  He was speaking in a neutral, even soporific voice.

  ‘What would have happened? You could have told me quite straightforwardly what you meant to tell me. Because it was to speak to me that you had come to our house. You had no idea that a revolver would be lying on the mantelpiece. You wanted to tell me the truth, and ask me to save your father.’

  He fell silent for longer this time, to allow his words time to penetrate the young man’s mind.

  ‘Don’t move yet. You don’t need to. We’re doing well like this. But I would just ask you to take great care with the automatic. It’s a special model, and the US police are very proud of it. The trigger is so sensitive that you hardly need to touch it before it discharges. I have never used it myself. It was just a souvenir, do you understand?’

  He sighed.

  ‘Now let’s see what you would have told me if I’d got back for lunch earlier. You’d have had to tell me about the corpse. Wait! There’s no hurry! In the first place, I assume you weren’t in on Tuesday night, when Delteil came round to see your father. If you had been there, things would have worked out differently. You must have got home when it was all over. Probably, by then, the body had been hidden in the spare room, or maybe it was already inside the trunk. Your father said nothing. I’m guessing that you don’t say very much to each other.’

  He caught himself once more waiting for an answer.

  ‘Very well. Perhaps you suspected something, perhaps not. But next day, you discovered the body. You said nothing. It would be difficult to raise a subject like that with one’s father.

  ‘And your father was in a state of collapse, and sick.

  ‘Then you thought of me, because you’d read the press cuttings that your father collected.

  ‘And let’s see, you’d probably have said something like this to me:

  ‘“There’s a corpse in our apartment. I don’t know what happened, but I know my father. For a start, he’s never had a gun in the house.”

  ‘Because I’ll bet there’s never been one, has there? I don’t know your father very well, but I’m pretty sure he’s scared stiff of firearms.

  ‘You would have gone on:

  ‘“He wouldn’t hurt a fly. But he’s the one who’ll be accused of murder. He won’t tell the truth, because there’s a woman involved.”

  ‘And if this was what you’d told me, I would of course have helped you. We would have tried together to find out the truth. And by now, more than likely, that woman would be in prison.’

  Was he hoping it would happen now? He mopped his brow, waiting for a reaction that wasn’t coming.

  ‘I had quite a long conversation with your sister. I imagine you’re not very fond of her. She’s an egoist, completely self-centred. I have not had time to meet your brother Philippe, but he must be even more hard-hearted. They both resent your father because of the childhood they had, and yet your father did the best he could, after all. Not everyone can be strong. But you understood.’

  Under his breath he muttered:

  ‘Please God, don’t let her come in now!’

  Because if she had, it would have probably been like the story of the cat on Boulevard Richard-Lenoir, with the entire population of the Savoy crowding round a frantic teenager.

  ‘Now, I have to say that there are things that you know and I don’t, but there are some things I know and you don’t. Your father is at present in the Special Infirmary at police headquarters. It means he is under arrest, but there’s some doubt as to whether he is entirely sane. As usual, the psychiatrists can’t agree. They never do. What must be uppermost in his mind is not knowing where you are, or what you’re going to do. He knows you, and he knows you’re capable of following through once you’ve got an idea into your head.

  ‘Jeanne Debul, at this moment, is at the cinema.

  ‘It wouldn’t help anyone if she were to be shot on returning to her room. It would in fact be extremely unhelpful, first because that would make it impossible to question her, and secondly because you would be taken in charge by the British judicial system, which would most prob
ably sentence you to hang.

  ‘So there you are, son.

  ‘It is horribly hot in this room and I’m going to open the window. I’m not armed. People wrongly imagine that inspectors from the Police Judiciaire carry guns. In fact, they have no more right to carry them than an ordinary citizen.

  ‘I am not looking under the bed. I know you’re there. I know more or less what you’re thinking. It’s hard for you, of course. It’s less spectacular than shooting a woman, and taking justice into your own hands—’

  He went over to the window, which he opened, then leaned his elbows on the sill, looking out.

  Still no sign of movement behind him.

  ‘Can you not make up your mind?’

  He grew impatient and turned once more to face into the room.

  ‘I’m beginning to think you’re less intelligent than I reckoned! What good will it do to stay there? Answer me, you silly boy! Because that’s what you are, a silly boy. You haven’t understood anything about this whole story, and if you carry on like this, you’re the one who’ll bring the law down on your father. Just put the gun down, hear me? I forbid you to touch it. Put it on the floor. And now, come out from under there.’

  He seemed genuinely angry. Perhaps he really was. At any rate, he was in a hurry to be done with this unpleasant conversation. As in the case of the cat, one false move, one thought occurring to the young man would be enough to—

  ‘And get a move on! She’ll be back before long. It will look really ridiculous if she finds us both here, you under the bed and me trying to get you to come out. I’m going to count to three. One . . . two . . . and if you’re not out by three, I’ll call the hotel detective.’

  Then, at last, two feet appeared: shoes with worn soles, then some cotton socks and the turn-ups of a pair of trousers which rode up as the boy crawled out.

  To help him, Maigret returned to the window and could hear first someone sliding on the floor, then the slight sound of the same person getting to his feet. He had not forgotten that the young man had a gun, but he was giving him time to collect himself.

  ‘Are you out now?’

  He turned round. Alain was facing him, his navy-blue suit covered in dust, his tie awry, and his hair tousled. He was very pale, his lips trembled and his gaze seemed to be staring right through the objects in the room.

  ‘Now, give me back my automatic.’

  Maigret held out his hand, and the youth felt in his right pocket and held out his hand in turn.

  ‘That’s better, don’t you think?’

  He heard a faint ‘Yes’.

  Then straight away:

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Well, first of all, have something to eat and drink. Aren’t you hungry?’

  ‘Yes . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, I am very hungry, and there’s an excellent grill room downstairs.’

  He made towards the door.

  ‘What have you done with the master key?’

  Alain took not one but a whole bunch of keys from his trouser pocket.

  ‘You’d better let me hand those back in at reception, otherwise they might make a song and dance about them.’

  In the corridor, he stopped in front of his own door.

  ‘Best if we go in here and freshen up a bit.’

  He didn’t want there to be a scene. He was aware that they were on a knife edge. That was why he was keeping the young man’s mind occupied with ordinary material details.

  ‘Do you have a comb?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, you can use mine. It’s clean.’

  He almost received a smile at this.

  ‘Why are you doing all this?’

  ‘All what?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Perhaps because I was young once. And because I had a father. Now brush your clothes a bit. Take the jacket off. The springs on that bed can’t have been cleaned for a long time.’

  He himself washed his face and hands.

  ‘I think perhaps I’m going to change my shirt again. I’ve been sweating so much today!’

  And he proceeded to take off his shirt, so that Alain saw him bare-chested, with his braces hanging down at his sides.

  ‘You have no luggage, of course?’

  ‘I don’t think I can go into the Savoy Grill like this.’

  Maigret looked at him critically.

  ‘Well, your shirt isn’t the cleanest. I suppose you slept in it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t lend you one of mine. It would be far too big.’

  This time, Alain really smiled.

  ‘Well, too bad if the waiters pull faces. We’ll have a chat in a quiet corner and we’ll try to get them to serve us a nice cold glass of white wine. They should have some of that.’

  ‘I don’t drink.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘I tried once and I was so ill I didn’t try again.’

  ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you shy?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’ve never wanted to go out with a girl?’

  ‘Perhaps. I think so. But it hasn’t happened.’

  Maigret gave up. He had understood. And on leaving the room, he put his large hand on his companion’s shoulder.

  ‘You know, you really gave me a fright, young man.’

  ‘A fright? Why?’

  ‘Would you have fired the gun?’

  ‘At who?’

  ‘At her.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘And then shot yourself?’

  ‘Maybe. Afterwards, I think I would have.’

  They passed the valet from earlier, who looked round at them. Possibly he had seen them coming out of Room 604, whereas Maigret had gone into 605.

  They took the lift down. Maigret had his own key in his hand, as well as the bunch of master keys. He headed for reception. And he was counting on a little triumph over his private enemy, the man in the well-cut morning coat. He wanted to see the clerk’s face when he spotted them together, and received the master keys.

  Alas! It was not him on duty now but a tall pale young man with fair hair, who wore an identical coat and buttonhole. He didn’t know Maigret at all.

  ‘I found these keys in the corridor.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he replied, with an indifferent air.

  When Maigret turned round, there was Bryan standing in the middle of the hall. To judge by his expression, he was asking if they could have a word.

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ Maigret said to Alain.

  He went over to the English policeman.

  ‘You’ve found him? Is that him?’

  ‘Yes. It is.’

  ‘The lady’s just come back.’

  ‘Has she gone up to her room?’

  ‘No, she’s gone into the bar.’

  ‘On her own?’

  ‘She’s chatting to the barman. What shall I do?’

  ‘Would you mind keeping an eye on her for another hour or two?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘If she looks likely to go out again, let me know. I’ll be in the Grill.’

  Alain had made no effort to run away. Looking awkward and embarrassed, he was waiting, standing apart from the crowd.

  ‘Enjoy your meal, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He rejoined the young man and propelled him over to the Grill, saying:

  ‘I could eat a horse!’

  And he surprised himself by remarking, as he went through a ray of sunshine striking into the hall through a large bay window:

  ‘It is such a beautiful day!’

  8.

  In which Maigret would like to be God the Father and in which air travel does not suit everybody

  ‘Do you like lobster?’

  Only Maigret’s eyes could be seen over the top of the gigantic menu the head
waiter had handed him, and Alain had no idea what to do with his own menu: he was too shy to read it.

  ‘Yes, monsieur,’ he answered, like a child in school.

  ‘Very well, we’ll treat ourselves to homard à l’américaine. But before that I’d like plenty of hors d’oeuvres. Waiter!’

  And, once he had ordered:

  ‘When I was your age, I preferred tinned lobster, and when people said that was sacrilege, I said it had more taste. We only opened a tin of lobster about every six months, on special occasions, because we weren’t rich.’

  He leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Did it make you very unhappy, being short of money?’

  ‘I don’t know, monsieur. I would have preferred it if my father hadn’t had such trouble bringing us up.’

  ‘You really won’t have a drink?’

  ‘Just water.’

  But Maigret nonetheless ordered a bottle for himself, a Rhine wine, and they were given wine glasses the colour of absinthe, with darker green stems.

  The lights were on in the Grill, but the sun was still shining outside. The room was filling up fast, with waiters and maîtres d’ circulating noiselessly in their black uniform. What fascinated Alain most were the trolleys. One of them, heaped with different hors d’oeuvres, had been wheeled over to their table, and there were others, laden with pastries and desserts. One enormous silver-plated trolley had a dome on top that opened up like a box.

  ‘Before the war, they used to put a quarter of a roasted ox in there,’ Maigret explained. ‘I think you eat the best roast beef in the world here. The most impressive, anyway. These days, they put a turkey inside it. Do you like turkey?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘If you’ve still got some appetite left after the lobster, we could order a dish of turkey.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  Sitting at their little table, they must have looked to outsiders like a rich uncle up from the country treating his nephew to a slap-up dinner at the end of the school year.

  ‘I lost my mother very young, like you, and I was brought up by my father.’

  ‘Did he take you to school?’

  ‘No, he couldn’t, he had to go to work. We lived in the country.’