The Night at the Crossroads

by Georges Simenon

  The music was coming from Else’s room. When he knocked, it ceased immediately.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘The inspector.’

  A short laugh.

  ‘In that case, you know what to do. I can’t let you in …’

  The passkey did its job again. The young woman was wearing the same clinging black dress as the day before.

  ‘Are you the one who has kept my brother from coming home?’

  ‘No. I have not seen him since early this morning.’

  ‘Then they must not have had his payment ready at Dumas. Sometimes he has to go back there in the afternoon …’

  ‘Your brother has tried to cross the border into Belgium. As far as I know, he has succeeded.’

  She stared at him in astonishment – and some disbelief.

  ‘Carl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is some kind of test, isn’t it?’

  ‘Can you drive?’

  ‘Drive what?’

  ‘A car.’

  ‘No! My brother has never been willing to teach me.’

  Maigret had not taken the pipe from his mouth and was still wearing his hat.

  ‘Have you left this room?’

  ‘Me?’

  She laughed. A merry, musical laugh. And more than ever, she was wreathed in what American movies portray as sex appeal.

  For a woman can be lovely without being alluring, while other, less classically beautiful women unfailingly inspire desire or sentimental feelings.

  Else aroused both: she was at once woman and child, creating her own aura of voluptuous attraction. And yet, whoever looked into her eyes was astonished to find her gaze as limpid as a little girl’s.

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean …’

  ‘Someone has been smoking downstairs in the drawing room within the last half-hour.’

  ‘But who?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you.’

  ‘And how do you expect me to know that?’

  ‘This morning, that phonograph was downstairs.’

  ‘Impossible! … How could that … Wait, inspector! I hope you don’t suspect me of anything! You seem different, strange … Where is Carl?’

  ‘I’m telling you, he has left the country.’

  ‘That’s not true! It can’t be! Why would he do that? Besides, he would never leave me alone here! … That’s crazy! What would happen to me, all on my own?’

  It was bewildering. Without any warning, without making grand gestures or even raising her voice, she had become touching, pitiable. It was in her eyes … Dismay beyond words. An expression of helplessness, of supplication.

  ‘Tell me the truth, chief inspector! Tell me Carl isn’t guilty! If he were, then it would mean he had gone mad! I refuse to believe that! … It frightens me … His family …’

  ‘Do you know of any insanity there?’

  She turned her head away.

  ‘Yes, his grandfather died in a fit of madness. And one of his aunts is in an asylum. But no, not Carl! I know him …’

  ‘Have you eaten any lunch?’

  Startled, she looked around her and replied in surprise, ‘No!’

  ‘Aren’t you hungry? It’s three o’clock.’

  ‘I think I am hungry, yes.’

  ‘In that case, go and have lunch. There is no longer any reason for you to remain locked in. Your brother will not be coming back.’

  ‘That’s not true! He will come back! He would never leave me all alone.’

  ‘Come on …’

  Maigret was already out in the corridor, still frowning and still smoking his pipe. He did not take his eyes off the girl, but when she brushed past him it had no effect on him.

  Downstairs she seemed even more disoriented.

  ‘It was always Carl who served our meals … I don’t even know if there’s anything to eat.’

  A loaf of bread turned up in the kitchen, at least, and a tin of condensed milk.

  ‘No, I can’t, I’m too upset. Go away! … No, wait – don’t leave me! … Oh, this horrible house. I have never liked … What’s that? Out there!’

  She pointed to an animal outside, curled up in a ball on one of the paths through the grounds. It was only a cat.

  ‘I hate animals! I hate the countryside! It’s full of creaking and snapping sounds that make me jump … At night – every night – there’s an owl somewhere that gives ghastly hooting cries …’

  The French windows seemed to frighten her as well, because she was staring at them as if she expected to see enemies pour through them from all sides.

  ‘I will not sleep here alone in the house! I won’t!’

  ‘Is there a telephone?’

  ‘No … My brother thought about getting one, but we cannot afford it. Can you imagine? Living in such a big house, with I don’t know how many hectares, and not being able to pay for a telephone, or electricity or even a cleaning woman for the hard work! That’s Carl all over! He’s like his father …’

  And she burst out laughing, but with an edge of hysteria.

  It was a difficult situation, because she could not manage to compose herself and although she was still shaking with laughter, there was desperation in her eyes.

  ‘What is it? What’s so funny?’

  ‘Nothing! You mustn’t be angry with me … I’m thinking of when we were children, in our castle back home, with Carl’s tutor and all the servants, the visitors, the carriages pulled by four horses … and here …’

  Knocking over the tin of milk, she went to lean her forehead against a windowpane, staring out at the front steps baking in the sun.

  ‘I’ll arrange for a policeman to keep an eye on the house tonight.’

  ‘Yes, good … No! I don’t want a policeman, I want you to come yourself, chief inspector! Otherwise I’ll be frightened …’

  Was she laughing? Crying? She was panting: her entire body was trembling from head to toe.

  She might have been putting on a show to make a fool of someone – but she might just as well have been on the verge of a breakdown.

  ‘Don’t leave me by myself!’

  ‘I have work to do.’

  ‘But if Carl has run away …’

  ‘You think he’s guilty?’

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t know any more. If he has run off …’

  ‘Do you want me to lock you in your room again?’

  ‘No. What I want, as soon as possible, tomorrow morning, is to get away from this house, from this crossroads! I want to go to Paris, where the streets are full of people, where life goes on … The countryside scares me … I just don’t know …’

  And suddenly, ‘Will they arrest Carl in Belgium?’

  ‘There will be a warrant for his extradition.’

  ‘It’s unbelievable. When I think that only three days ago …’

  She clasped her head in both hands, mussing her blonde hair.

  Maigret stood outside on the front steps.

  ‘I will see you later today, mademoiselle.’

  He strode off with relief and yet he was sorry to leave her. Lucas was walking up and down the road.

  ‘Anything new?’

  ‘Nothing! The insurance agent came over to ask me if he was going to get a car back soon.’

  Monsieur Michonnet had chosen to ask Lucas rather than Maigret. And they could see him in his little garden, watching them.

  ‘He has nothing to keep himself busy?’

  ‘He claims he can’t visit his clients out in the country without a car. He’s talking about suing us for damages.’

  A van and a touring car carrying an entire family were waiting by the pumps at the garage.

  ‘One fellow who’s not working himself to death,�
� remarked the sergeant, ‘is that Monsieur Oscar! He seems to earn money hand over fist. That place is hopping day and night …’

  ‘Have you got any tobacco?’

  The spring sunshine bathing the countryside was surprisingly strong, and Maigret mopped his brow.

  ‘I’m going to nap for an hour,’ he murmured. ‘We’ll see what happens tonight …’

  Monsieur Oscar called out to him as he walked by.

  ‘Take a drop, chief inspector? Just a quick one, since you’re in the neighbourhood!’

  ‘Some other time!’

  Judging from the loud voices coming from the millstone villa, Michonnet was arguing with his wife.

  6. Back from the Dead

  It was five that afternoon when Maigret was awakened by Lucas bringing him a telegram from the Belgian police.

  Isaac Goldberg under surveillance for several months as standard of living exceeded visible income Stop Suspected trafficking mainly stolen jewels Stop No proof Stop Trip to France coincided theft 2,000,000 in jewels London two weeks ago Stop Anonymous letter affirms jewels surfaced Antwerp where two international thieves seen spending freely Stop Believe Goldberg bought jewels then entered France to fence Stop Request description jewels Scotland Yard Stop

  Still half-asleep, Maigret stuffed the telegram into his pocket and asked, ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No. I’ve kept an eye on the crossroads. When I saw the garage owner all dressed up I asked him where he was going. Seems he and his wife visit Paris once a week for dinner and a show. On those evenings they stay over in a hotel and return the next day.’

  ‘Has he left?’

  ‘By this time, he must have, yes!’

  ‘You asked him which restaurant he was going to?’

  ‘L’Escargot, Rue de la Bastille. Then he’s off to the Théâtre de l’Ambigu and will stay at the Hôtel Rambuteau, Rue de Rivoli.’

  ‘That about covers it,’ muttered the inspector, who was combing his hair.

  ‘The insurance fellow had his wife tell me that he’d like to talk to you, or rather, “have a chat with you”, as he put it.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  Maigret went into the kitchen, where the innkeeper’s wife was preparing the evening meal. He cut himself a thick hunk of bread, moved on to a terrine of pâté, and asked for a mug of white wine.’

  ‘You’re not waiting for supper?’

  The inspector began devouring his huge sandwich in reply.

  The sergeant watched him, obviously eager to talk.

  ‘You’re expecting some important development tonight, is that it?’

  ‘Humpf …’

  But why deny it? Standing there eating, wasn’t he like a soldier about to go into battle?

  ‘I’ve been going over things,’ began Lucas, ‘trying to organize my ideas. It’s not easy …’

  Chewing away, Maigret looked placidly at his colleague.

  ‘It’s still the girl who puzzles me the most. At times I feel that everyone around her – garage owner, insurance man, Carl Andersen – is guilty, but not her. At other times I’d swear instead that she’s the only poisonous thing here …’

  There was a twinkle of amusement in the inspector’s eyes that seemed to say, ‘Keep going!’

  ‘There are moments when she really does seem like a girl from an aristocratic family, but again, at others she reminds me of when I was with Vice. You know what I mean, those girls who coolly reel off the most outrageous nonsense in the world, as bold as brass! Yet the details are so disturbing that you just can’t believe such a girl could make them up. So you fall for her story … But later you find an old novel under her pillow and discover that she got everything from that book … Women who lie as easily as they breathe, and maybe even wind up believing all those stories they tell!’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘You think I’m wrong?’

  ‘I have no idea!’

  ‘Remember, I believe different things at different times, and mostly it’s Carl Andersen who worries me. Imagine an intelligent, cultivated, well-bred man like him, running a gang …’

  ‘We’ll see him tonight!’

  ‘Him? But he’s crossed the border.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘You think that …’

  ‘That this business is a whole lot more complicated than you imagine, Lucas. And that we’d be better off concentrating on a few important elements instead of getting lost in details.

  ‘For instance,’ continued Maigret, ‘Monsieur Michonnet was the first person to file a complaint and he’s the one who wants me to go and see him this evening.

  ‘An evening, in fact, when the garage owner will quite obviously be off in Paris!

  ‘And where is Goldberg’s Minerva? Think about that, too! As there aren’t many of them in France, it’s not an easy car to make disappear.’

  ‘You think that Monsieur Oscar …’

  ‘Not so fast! … But if you feel like it, play around with those three little things.’

  ‘But what about Else?’

  ‘Her again?’

  And wiping his mouth, Maigret went out to the main road. Fifteen minutes later he rang the Michonnets’ bell and was welcomed by the woman’s surly face.

  ‘My husband is waiting for you upstairs!’

  ‘So good of him …’

  Oblivious to the irony of his words, she led him upstairs. Michonnet was in his bedroom, seated in a low-slung Voltaire armchair near the window. The shade was pulled down and he had a tartan blanket tucked around his legs.

  ‘Well, now!’ he began aggressively. ‘When will I be getting a car back? You think it’s a good idea, do you, to deprive a man of his livelihood? And meanwhile, you’re paying calls on that creature across the way, when you’re not off having aperitifs with the garage owner! Fine police work that is! I’ll not mince words with you, chief inspector! Yes, a fine state of affairs! Never mind the murderer! The top priority is to torment honest citizens! … I have a car: does it belong to me, yes or no? … I put it to you. Answer me! Is it mine? … Well, what gives you the right to keep my car locked up?’

  ‘Are you ill?’ Maigret asked quietly, looking at the blanket around the man’s legs.

  ‘Who wouldn’t be! I’m fretting myself into an attack of gout! It always goes to my legs … I’m looking at two or three nights sitting sleepless in this chair. I asked you here to tell you this: look at the state I’m in! You can see for yourself that I’m unable to work, especially without a car! … Enough … I will call you as a witness when I sue for damages. And now, I bid you goodnight, monsieur!’

  He had made his speech with the exaggerated bravado of a small-minded prig confident of being in the right.

  ‘But while you seem to be skulking around spying on us,’ added Madame Michonnet, ‘the murderer himself is still out there! That’s our justice! Attacking ordinary folks, but leaving the big shots free!’

  ‘Is that all you have to say to me?’

  Michonnet glared and sat back in his armchair while his wife led the way to the door.

  The interior of the house was of a piece with its façade: spotless suites of furniture, gleaming with polish but seemingly frozen in place, unused.

  Out in the corridor Maigret stopped at an old-fashioned wall-telephone and promptly turned the crank, as Madame Michonnet looked on in outrage.

  ‘Hello, operator? This is the Police Judiciaire! Can you tell me if there have been any calls this afternoon for the Three Widows Crossroads? … There are two numbers, you say, the garage and the Michonnet villa? … Good, and when? … A call for the garage from Paris at around one o’clock and another towards five? … And the other number? … Only one call … From Paris? … At five past five? … Thank you, mademoiselle.’

 
His eyes alight with mischief, he bowed to Madame Michonnet.

  ‘I wish you a pleasant evening, madame.’

  He opened the gate of the Three Widows house with practised ease, walked around the back to the drawing room and on upstairs.

  Else Andersen met him in a state of great agitation.

  ‘I’m sorry to make such demands of you, chief inspector; you’ll think I’m presumptuous, but I am so restless, on edge … I’m frightened and I don’t know why! Ever since our conversation this morning I’ve felt that you are the only one who can protect me from harm … You now know this sinister crossroads as well as I do, these three houses that seem to defy one another … Do you believe in premonitions? I do, like all women – and I sense that something bad will happen before this night is over …’

  ‘And you’re asking me again to watch over you?’

  ‘It’s too much to ask, isn’t it – but I can’t help being afraid!’

  Maigret’s eye had been caught for a moment by a painting of a snowy landscape, which hung crookedly on a wall, but he turned immediately to the girl, who stood waiting for his reply.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid for your reputation?’

  ‘What does that matter to someone who’s frightened?’

  ‘In that case, I will return in one hour. A few orders to give …’

  ‘Really? You’ll come back? That’s a promise? … Besides, I have all sorts of things to tell you, things I’ve remembered only in bits and pieces …’

  ‘About?’

  ‘My brother … But they may not be important … Well … For example, I remember, after that plane crash, the doctor taking care of him told Father that he could vouch for his patient’s physical health, but not his mental health. I’d never really thought about what he meant … And other things … His insistence on living far from any city, hiding away … I’ll tell you about all that when you return.’

  She smiled at him with gratitude and only a flicker of lingering fear.

  Walking past the millstone villa, Maigret looked up automatically at the first-floor window, which shone bright yellow in the darkness. Framed in the glowing shade was the silhouette of Monsieur Michonnet, sitting in his armchair.