Maigret's Revolver

by Georges Simenon

  ‘When I was little, my father took me to school and fetched me. He was the only man waiting at the school doors, among all the mothers. When we got back, he cooked supper for us all.’

  ‘Was there a time when you had servants?’

  ‘Did he tell you that? You’ve talked to him?’

  ‘Yes, I talked to him.’

  ‘Is he worried about me?’

  ‘I’ll telephone Paris presently, so that they can reassure him.’

  Alain had not realized that he was eating hungrily, and he even drank a large mouthful of wine which the waiter had automatically served him. He didn’t pull a face.

  ‘It never lasted long.’

  ‘What didn’t?’

  ‘Having servants. My father was so keen for things to improve that he went in for wishful thinking. From now on, children, he would say, we’re going to live like everyone else. We’re moving house tomorrow.’

  ‘So you moved about?’

  ‘Every now and then. We’d arrive in a new apartment with no furniture in it at first. It would be delivered once we were there. And there were new faces, women that my father hired through the employment agency, and who we were supposed to call by their first names. Then almost at once, the creditors would start showing up, bailiffs waiting for hours thinking my father was out, when he was hiding in one of the rooms. In the end, they’d cut off the gas and electricity. It’s not his fault, he’s very intelligent. He had plenty of ideas. Listen, here’s an example.’

  Maigret leaned forward the better to hear, his expression mild and his face full of sympathy.

  ‘It was years ago, but I remember that for a long time, two years maybe, he went hawking round a lot of offices a project for developing and modernizing a port in Morocco. People fobbed him off with vague promises. If it had come to anything, we’d have gone to live there and been very rich. When the proposals reached a higher level, they just shrugged their shoulders. They more or less treated my father as mad for thinking of creating a huge port in that place. Now the Americans have built it.’

  ‘I see!’

  Maigret knew this kind of man so well! But could he explain that to his son, in present circumstances? What good would it do? The two other children, the older son and the daughter, had long ago realized the truth and left home without any feelings of gratitude to the father who had, all the same, brought them up. From those two, he could not expect an ounce of pity.

  Only Alain still believed in him. And that was odd, because Alain looked so like his sister that it was disconcerting.

  ‘A few more mushrooms?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  The scene on the street was catching Alain’s attention. It was the time of day when, as earlier at lunchtime, cars were rolling up one after another, stopping a minute or so under the awning, where a porter in grey livery would dash forward to hold the door.

  Unlike at midday, the people getting out of the cars were almost all in evening dress. There were many young couples and some whole families. Most of the women were wearing orchids in their corsage. The men were in tails or tuxedos and through the glass partition they could be seen coming and going in the hall before taking their seats in the grand dining room, from which the strains of a palm court orchestra could be heard.

  It had been a beautiful day from start to finish, and there was just enough light left in the setting sun to bathe their faces in an unreal glow.

  ‘How long did you stay at school?’

  ‘Until I was fifteen and a half.’

  ‘High school?’

  ‘Yes. I spent four years there, then I left.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I wanted to earn money to help my father out.’

  ‘Were you good at schoolwork?’

  ‘Yes, quite good. Except for maths.’

  ‘Did you find a job straight away?’

  ‘I got one in an office.’

  ‘Did your sister give her earnings to your father?’

  ‘No, she just paid for her keep. She worked it out in detail, but she didn’t count the rent, or lighting and heating. And she used more electricity than anyone else, because she read in bed half the night.’

  ‘And you handed him all your pay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t smoke?’

  ‘No.’

  The arrival of the lobster interrupted their conversation for a good while. Alain too seemed more relaxed. But sitting as he was with his back to the door, he turned round towards it from time to time.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Whether she’ll come.’

  ‘You think she will?’

  ‘I noticed that you went to talk to that man, and then you glanced across at the bar. I deduced she was in there.’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘I’ve never spoken to her.’

  ‘And would she recognize you?’

  ‘Yes, she would.’

  ‘Where has she seen you before?’

  ‘Two weeks ago, on Boulevard Richard-Wallace.’

  ‘Did you go up to her apartment?’

  ‘No, I was on the other side of the street, outside the gates.’

  ‘You’d followed your father there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Maigret had gone too far too fast. Alain shrank back.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re doing all this.’

  ‘All what?’

  With his eyes, he indicated the Grill, the table, the lobster, the luxury with which he was being surrounded by the man who should logically have been putting him in prison.

  ‘We both needed to eat, didn’t we? I hadn’t had anything since this morning. What about you?’

  ‘I had a sandwich in a milk bar.’

  ‘So we’re having dinner. Afterwards, we’ll see.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Probably, we’ll take the plane back together to Paris. Do you like flying?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘Have you been abroad before?’

  ‘No. Last year I was supposed to go to Austria to a holiday camp. It’s an organization that runs exchanges between the two countries. I’d signed up for it and they told me to get a passport. Then when my turn came up, I had sinusitis and was ill in bed.’

  Silence. Alain too was returning to the subject that preoccupied them both, and he had to get there without being prompted.

  ‘Have you two spoken to each other?’ he asked.

  ‘Who do you mean?’

  ‘Her.’

  ‘Yes, this morning in her room.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘She’s the one who’s brought all this trouble down on my father. But you’ll see, it won’t be possible to pin anything on her.’

  ‘You believe that?’

  ‘You must admit you wouldn’t dare arrest her.’

  ‘And why would that be?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s always the same with her. She’s taken great care.’

  ‘And you know what business she had with your father?’

  ‘Not exactly. It’s only in the last few weeks that I found out who she is.’

  ‘But he’s known her a long time.’

  ‘He met her soon after my mother died. In those days, he made no secret of it. I don’t remember because I was a baby, but Philippe told me. Father had announced that he was going to marry again, that it would be much better for all of us because there’d be a woman to look after us. Now that I’ve seen her and I know what kind of woman she is, I’m sure she was stringing him along.’

  ‘I think you’re probably right, yes.’

  ‘Philippe says that Father was very unhappy about it, he would often cry himself to sleep. Then he didn’t see her for years after that. Perhaps she left Paris, or perhaps she’d moved away and not told him her new address.

  ‘About two years ago, I noticed a change in my father.’

/>   ‘What kind of change?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. His mood was different. He was more serious, but especially he was anxious. When he heard footsteps on the stairs outside, he would jump, and he would only be reassured when it was a tradesman, even if he was coming to be paid.

  ‘My brother had left home by then. My sister had announced that she was going to do the same as soon as she was twenty-one. It didn’t happen overnight, you know. It was only at times that I started to notice the difference. Before, when he was in a bar – because I sometimes had to meet him there after running some errand – he only drank Vichy water. But he started drinking aperitifs, and some nights he would come home very out of sorts, claiming he had a headache. His manner towards me wasn’t the same, he seemed embarrassed and impatient whenever he said anything to me.’

  ‘Eat up.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel hungry any more.’

  ‘A dessert perhaps?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘And was it then that you started following him?’

  Alain hesitated before answering. He frowned and stared hard at Maigret, and at that moment he looked so like his sister that Maigret had to avert his eyes.

  ‘It’s perfectly normal that you should have tried to find out what was going on.’

  ‘But I don’t know what’s going on!’

  ‘Agreed. All you know is that he often went to visit this woman, usually in the late morning. You followed him to Boulevard Richard-Wallace; you said so yourself just now. You were down on the street, at the edge of the Bois de Boulogne. Your father and his companion must have gone to the window of the apartment. And that’s when she saw you?’

  ‘Yes, she pointed at me. Probably because I was looking up at the window.’

  ‘And your father will have told her who you were. Did he mention it after that?’

  ‘No. I was expecting him to raise it, but he didn’t.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I didn’t dare.’

  ‘Did you find some money?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Own up. You looked inside your father’s wallet in the evening. Not to take any money out, just to know.’

  ‘Not his wallet, he put the money under his shirts in a drawer.’

  ‘A lot?’

  ‘Sometimes a hundred thousand francs, sometimes more, sometimes only fifty thousand.’

  ‘And was that often?’

  ‘It depended. About once or twice a week.’

  ‘And after one of those evenings, he would go to Boulevard Richard-Wallace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the money wasn’t there any more?’

  ‘She left him a few banknotes.’

  Alain noticed a gleam in Maigret’s eyes as the inspector looked at the door, but he had sufficient self-control not to turn round. He was well aware that Jeanne Debul had walked in.

  Behind her, Bryan was addressing a questioning glance at Maigret, who let him know the same way that he could go off duty.

  If she had left it so late, it was because she had gone upstairs from the bar to change. She was not in full evening dress but wore an elegant gown from an haute-couture fashion house. On her wrist was a large diamond bracelet, and she was wearing diamond earrings as well.

  She had not seen Alain and the inspector, and was following the maître d’ while most of the women in the room scrutinized her.

  She was shown to a table less than six metres away from them, almost facing them. She sat down, looked round as she was handed the menu, caught Maigret’s eye, and immediately focused on his companion.

  Maigret was smiling the smile of a man who has had a good dinner and is feeling at peace. Alain, who had blushed deeply, did not dare to turn round towards her.

  ‘Has she seen me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘She’s taunting me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s pretending to be completely at ease, smoking a cigarette and leaning over to look at the hors d’oeuvres on the trolley. Now she’s talking to the waiter and flashing her diamonds.’

  ‘And you’re not going to arrest her, are you?’ said the boy, bitterly and with a touch of defiance.

  ‘I won’t arrest her today, because, don’t you see, if I was imprudent enough to do that, she would be able to wriggle out of it.’

  ‘She’ll always be able to wriggle out of it, while my father—’

  ‘No. Not always. Here in England, I’m at a disadvantage, because I’d have to prove that she had committed the kind of crime that’s subject to the laws on extradition. But she won’t stay for ever in London. She needs Paris too much. She’ll go back, and I’ll have had time to look into her case. Even if it’s not right away, her turn will come. Sometimes we leave people at liberty, and give them the impression that they’re putting one over on us, for months, or even years. You can look round at her. No need for you to feel ashamed. She’s putting on a show. All the same, she would much rather be in your shoes than in hers. Suppose I’d left you there, under her bed? She’d have gone upstairs. And by now—’

  ‘Don’t go on.’

  ‘Would you have fired the gun?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Alain muttered between gritted teeth:

  ‘Because!’

  ‘Do you wish you had?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s no justice.’

  ‘Yes, there is, and justice is doing the best it can. Of course, if I was God the Father, instead of merely being the head of the Crime Squad and having to report to my superiors, to the examining magistrate, the state prosecutor and even the press, I’d arrange things differently.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, first of all, I’d forget you pinched my revolver. I could still do that. Then I’d try to see to it that a certain businessman from somewhere in the provinces also forgets that his wallet was taken from him at gunpoint, instead of simply being lost.’

  ‘The gun wasn’t loaded.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘I took care to take the cartridges out. I just needed money to come to London.’

  ‘You knew that the Debul woman was here?’

  ‘I’d followed her in the morning. First, I tried to go up to her apartment. But the concierge—’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘When I came out of the building, there was a policeman at the door, and I thought he must have come for me. I went round the block. When I got back, he’d gone. I hid in the park, waiting for her to come out.’

  ‘To shoot her?’

  ‘Maybe. She must have phoned for a taxi. I couldn’t get close. But I was lucky and got another taxi on its way back from Puteaux, so I followed her to the station. I saw her get into the Calais train. But I didn’t have enough money to buy a ticket.’

  ‘Why didn’t you kill her when she was standing at the train door?’

  Alain shuddered, looked at Maigret to see if he was serious and whispered:

  ‘I didn’t dare.’

  ‘If you didn’t dare shoot when you were in a crowd, you probably wouldn’t have shot her in the hotel room either. Had you been following your father for a matter of weeks?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you have a list of the people he went to see?’

  ‘I could write one out from memory. He went several times to a small bank in Rue Chauchat, and to a newspaper, where he visited the deputy editor. He made a lot of phone calls and was always turning round to make sure he wasn’t being followed.’

  ‘And did you guess what it was all about?’

  ‘Not at first. But, by chance, I read this novel about it.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘It was her.’

  ‘Of course it was. That’s why it will take a little time to lay hands on her. I don’t know what kin
d of life she led before she moved to Boulevard Richard-Wallace. It was probably quite eventful, and she will have known all kinds of people. A woman is better placed than a man to discover people’s little secrets, especially ones they’re ashamed of. When she was past the age for that kind of life, she thought of turning her acquaintances to good account.’

  ‘She used my father.’

  ‘Exactly. She didn’t go herself to visit her victims and separate them from their money. Your father was a man who was always about town, and who didn’t have any obvious profession. It didn’t look surprising. People almost expected it of him.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because we have to face facts. Perhaps your father was still in love with her. That’s my opinion, anyway. He’s the kind of man who would remain faithful to a passion like that. And Jeanne Debul at least gave him enough to live on. But he went in fear of being caught. He was ashamed. He dared not look you in the face.’

  Alain turned with a fierce glare in the direction of the woman, who wore a thin scornful smile.

  ‘One strawberry tart, please, waiter.’

  ‘Aren’t you having any?’ Alain protested.

  ‘I don’t often take dessert. Bring me a coffee and a brandy.’

  He pushed back his chair a little and took his pipe from his pocket. He was busy packing it when the head waiter came over and whispered a few words apologetically.

  Then Maigret stuffed the pipe back in his pocket and stopped a passing trolley carrying cigars.

  ‘You’re not going to smoke your pipe?’

  ‘No, it’s not allowed in here. By the way, have you paid for your hotel room?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you still got the master key from the Gilmore that you took in the corridor?’

  He handed it across the table.

  ‘Nice tart?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Alain’s mouth was full. He was still only a child, unable to resist something sweet, and at that moment he was entirely concentrating on his dessert.

  ‘Did he often see Delteil?’

  ‘I saw him go twice to Delteil’s office.’

  Was it really necessary to reveal the whole truth? It was more than likely that the politician, whose wife was asking for a divorce and who would therefore soon find himself with no money and obliged to leave his mansion on Avenue Henri-Martin, was using his influence in return for payments. It was a more serious matter for him than for others, since he had built his entire political career on denouncing other people’s scandals and corruption.