Leroy looked sharply at Maigret to see if he was teasing. No. The inspector was gazing seriously at a gleam of sunlight far out at sea.
‘As for Le Pommeret—’
‘You have a line on him?’
‘His brother came to the hotel to speak to you. He couldn’t stay. He had nothing but bad things to say about the dead man. As far as he was concerned, his brother was an absolute good-for-nothing. Interested only in women and hunting. And he had a mania for running up bills and for playing the lord of the manor … One detail out of the hundreds: the brother is probably the biggest manufacturer in the district, and he told me: “I’m happy to buy my clothes in Brest. Nothing fancy – just substantial, comfortable clothes. But Yves would go to Paris to order his clothes. And he had to have hand-made shoes signed by a famous bootmaker! Even my wife doesn’t wear custom-made shoes.”’
‘That’s a joke!’ said Maigret, to his companion’s great bewilderment, if not indignation.
‘Why?’
‘All right, then, it’s magnificent. To use your own expression, we’re immersing ourselves in small-town life. And it’s just like it’s always been! Knowing whether Le Pommeret wore ready-made or custom-made shoes – that may not seem like much. But, believe it or not, that’s the key to the story, right there … Let’s go and get an aperitif, Leroy – like those fellows did every day at the Admiral café!’
Again Leroy looked at his chief to determine whether the man was making fun of him. He had been hoping for congratulations on his morning’s work and for all his enterprise.
Instead, Maigret was behaving as though the whole thing were a joke!
The effect was the same as when the teacher enters a classroom where the students are chattering. Conversation stopped. The reporters rushed up to the inspector.
‘Can we report the doctor’s arrest? Has he confessed?’
‘Nothing at all!’
Maigret waved them aside and called to Emma, ‘Two Pernods, my dear.’
‘But look, if you’ve arrested Michoux—’
‘You want to know the truth?’
They already had their notebooks in hand. They waited, pens at the ready.
‘Well then, there is no truth yet. Maybe there will be some day. Maybe not.’
‘We hear that Jean Goyard—’
‘Is alive. So much the better for him.’
‘But still, there’s a man in hiding, and they can’t find him.’
‘Which goes to prove the hunter’s not as smart as the prey.’
Taking Emma by the sleeve, Maigret said gently, ‘I’ll have my lunch in my room.’
He drank his aperitif down straight and got to his feet.
‘A piece of advice, gentlemen! No jumping to conclusions. And no deductions, above all.’
‘What about the criminal?’
He shrugged his broad shoulders and murmured: ‘Who knows?’
He was already at the foot of the stairs. Leroy threw him a questioning look.
‘No, my friend. You eat down here. I need a rest.’
He climbed the stairs with heavy tread. Ten minutes later, Emma went up after him with a plate of hors d’œuvres.
Then she carried up a coquille St Jacques and roast veal with spinach.
In the dining room, conversation languished. One of the reporters was called to the phone.
‘Around four o’clock, yes,’ he declared. ‘I hope to have something sensational for you … Not yet! We’ve got to wait …’
All alone at a table, Leroy ate with the manners of a well-bred boy, regularly wiping his lips with the corner of his napkin.
People outside kept an eye on the Admiral café, hoping vaguely for something to happen.
A policeman leaned against the building at the end of the alleyway where the vagrant had disappeared.
‘The mayor is on the phone, asking for Chief Inspector Maigret,’ Emma announced.
Leroy jumped. ‘Go up and tell him,’ he said to her.
The waitress left, but came right back and said, ‘He’s not there!’
Leroy bounded up the stairs four at a time, returned very pale and snatched the receiver.
‘Hello! … Yes, Monsieur le Maire … I don’t know. I … I’m worried. The inspector is gone … No, that’s all I can tell you. He had lunch in his room. I didn’t see him come down … I … I’ll phone you back.’
Leroy, who had not put his napkin down, used it now to wipe his brow.
7. The Couple by Candlelight
Half an hour later, Leroy went up to his own room. On his table, he found a note in Morse code.
Go up to the roof tonight at eleven. Let no one see you. I’ll be there. No noise. Bring gun. Say that I left for Brest and phoned you from there. Don’t leave hotel. Maigret.
A little before eleven, Leroy took off his shoes and put on some felt slippers he had bought that afternoon expressly for this expedition. He was somewhat apprehensive.
At the third floor, the staircase ended, but a fixed ladder led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. In the icy, draughty attic above, Leroy took the risk of lighting a match.
A few moments later, he climbed out through a skylight, but he didn’t dare move down towards the eaves immediately. It was bitterly cold. His fingers froze on contact with the zinc shingles. And he had decided, unfortunately, not to saddle himself with an overcoat.
When his eyes adapted to the darkness, he seemed to make out a darker, stocky mass, like a huge animal lying in wait. He smelled pipe smoke and whistled softly.
A moment later he was crouched on the ledge next to Maigret. Neither the sea nor the town was visible; they were on the slope of the roof facing away from the quay and over a dark chasm that was the very alleyway through which the big-footed man had escaped.
The view was made up of irregular planes: there were some very low roofs and others at eye level. Some windows were lighted here and there. A few had blinds drawn, and a kind of Chinese shadow play moved across them. In a distant room, a woman was washing a baby in an enamel basin.
The inspector moved, or, rather, shuffled, his large bulk over until his mouth was pressed to his companion’s ear.
‘Be careful! No sudden movements. The ledge isn’t too solid, and right below us there’s a gutter pipe that could fall off at any moment and make a racket. What about the reporters?’
‘They’re downstairs, except for one, who’s gone to look for you in Brest. He’s convinced you’re on Goyard’s trail.’
‘Emma?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track of her … She did serve me coffee after dinner.’
It was unsettling to be up here, unsuspected, on top of a house full of life – people moving around in warmth, in light, with no need to lower their voices.
‘Now – turn carefully towards the house that’s for sale … Careful!’
The house was the second to the right, one of the few as tall as the hotel. It was part of a block of total darkness, and yet the inspector made out what seemed to be a glint reflecting off a curtainless window on the third floor.
Little by little, he realized that it was not a reflection from outside, but a feeble light inside. He stared at that single point until things began to take shape. A shiny floor … a half-consumed candle, its flame burning straight up, ringed by a halo.
‘He’s there!’ Leroy said suddenly, louder than he intended.
‘Shh! Yes.’
Someone was lying on the bare floor, half in candlelight, half in shadow. An enormous shoe, a broad torso moulded by a sailor’s sweater.
Leroy knew that there was a policeman at the end of the alley, another in the square, and still another patrolling the quay.
‘Do you want to arrest him?’
‘I don’t know. He’s been sleeping for three hours now.’
‘Is he armed?’
‘He wasn’t this morning.’
Their words were scarcely audible: an indistinct murmur, almost like breathing.
‘What are we waiting for?’
‘I’m not sure. I’d like to know why he’s kept a candle burning while he’s asleep, especially when people are after him … Look!’
A yellow square appeared on a wall. ‘A light’s gone on in Emma’s room, right below us. That’s the reflection.’
‘Have you had any dinner, inspector?’
‘I brought some bread and sausage … Are you cold?’
The two of them were frozen. They saw the glowing beam from the lighthouse sweep the sky at regular intervals.
‘She’s turned out the light.’
‘Yes. Shh!’
Five minutes of silence, a bleak wait. Then Leroy’s hand reached for Maigret’s, clasped it meaningfully. ‘Look down.’
‘I saw.’
A shadow moved on the rough whitewashed wall that separated the garden of the vacant house from the alley.
‘She’s going to meet him,’ whispered Leroy, who could not keep silent.
Up above, the man was still asleep in the light of his candle. A currant bush swayed in the garden. A cat fled along a roof gutter.
‘You wouldn’t have a lighter with a long wick, would you?’
Maigret had not dared relight his pipe. After hesitating a long time, he finally screened himself with his companion’s jacket and scratched a match sharply. Leroy soon smelled the warm odour of tobacco again.
‘Look!’
They said nothing more. The man stood up so abruptly he nearly knocked the candle over. He drew back into the darkness as the door opened, and Emma appeared in the light, uncertain and so abject that she looked guilty.
From under her arm, she took a bottle and a package and set them on the floor. The paper, peeled back, showed a roast chicken.
She spoke. That is, her lips moved. She said only a few words, humbly, sadly. Her companion was out of sight of the two watchers.
Was she crying? She still had on her black waitress’s dress and the Breton headdress. She had taken off only her white apron, and without it she looked even more woebegone.
Yes, she must have been crying as she said those few halting words. This was confirmed when she suddenly leaned against the door frame and buried her face in the crook of her arm. Her back shuddered fitfully.
The man suddenly appeared, blacking out nearly the whole square of the window, but he freed the view as he strode across the room. His great hand hit the girl’s shoulder with such a jolt that she made a complete turn, nearly fell, and raised her poor pale face to him, her lips swollen with sobs.
But the scene was as indistinct, as hazy as a film when the house lights come up. And something was missing: sounds, voices … Like a film, a silent film without music.
Now the man was talking, apparently harshly. He was a bear. His head was hunched into his shoulders, and his sweater showed off his chest muscles. With his fists on his hips, he seemed to be shouting reproaches, or insults, perhaps even threats.
He looked so close to hitting the girl that Leroy drew closer to Maigret, as if for reassurance.
Emma was still weeping. Her headdress had slipped sideways. Her chignon was coming loose. A window slammed shut somewhere and brought a moment’s distraction.
‘Inspector … shouldn’t we …’ Leroy began.
The scent of tobacco enveloped the two men and gave them an illusion of warmth.
Why was Emma clasping her hands? She was speaking again. Her face was distorted in an expression of fright, of pleading, of pain, and Leroy heard Maigret cock his revolver.
A mere fifteen or twenty metres separated the two pairs. A sharp report, a shattered windowpane, and the giant would be in no condition to do harm.
Now he was striding the length and breadth of the room, his hands behind his back. He seemed shorter, broader. His foot jostled the roast chicken. He nearly slipped and furiously kicked it into the shadow.
Emma looked in that direction.
What could the two of them be saying? What was the subject of their heartbreaking dialogue?
The man seemed to be repeating the same words over again. But was it possible he was saying them more gently?
She fell to her knees, flung herself down in his path and raised her arms towards him. He acted as if she were not there, evaded her grasp. Then she was no longer on her knees, but half sprawled, with one arm stretched out imploringly.
At one moment the man was visible; the next, the darkness swallowed him. When he re-emerged, he stopped short before the pleading girl and looked down at her from on high.
Again he paced – came near, moved away – and she no longer had the strength, or the heart, to reach out to him, to entreat. She slipped full length to the floor. The bottle of wine was inches from her hand.
Unexpectedly, the vagrant stooped, seized her dress at the shoulder in one of his huge paws and, in one movement, set Emma on her feet. It was done so roughly that she swayed when she was no longer supported.
And yet, wasn’t there some faint hope on her haggard face? Her hair had tumbled loose. The white headdress trailed underfoot.
The man continued pacing. Twice, he strode past his distraught companion.
The third time, he took her in his arms, crushed her to him, tipped back her head and greedily pressed his lips to hers.
All they could see was his back, a back not human, with a small female hand clamped on his shoulder.
Never taking his lips from hers, the creature stroked her straggling locks with his huge fingers, stroked as if he wanted to annihilate his companion, to crush her, to take her into himself.
‘My God!’ Leroy sounded overcome.
Maigret had been so moved that in reaction he nearly burst out laughing.
Had Emma been there a quarter of an hour? The embrace was over. The candle would last only another five minutes. And the atmosphere of relief was almost visible.
Was the waitress laughing? She had apparently found a mirror somewhere. They watched her, in the full light of the candle, roll up her long hair, fasten it with a pin, search the floor for another pin and hold it between her teeth while she put the headdress back in place.
She was almost beautiful. She was beautiful! Everything about her was appealing, even her flat figure, her black dress, her red eyelids. The man had picked up the chicken and, without taking his eyes off her, was biting into it lustily, cracking the bones, tearing off strips of meat.
He felt, unsuccessfully, for a knife in his pocket, then snapped the neck of the bottle by knocking it against his heel. He drank. When he urged Emma to drink, she tried to refuse, laughing. Perhaps the jagged glass frightened her. But he made her open her mouth and gently poured in the liquid.
She choked and coughed. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her again, but this time not on the lips. He kissed her gleefully, giving little pecks on her cheeks, on her eyes, on her brow and even on her lace headdress.
She was ready. He pressed his face to the window and once again he almost totally filled the dim rectangle. When he turned away, it was to put out the candle.
Leroy stiffened. ‘They’re leaving together …’
‘Yes.’
‘They’ll be caught …’
The currant bush in the garden trembled. A figure was hoisted to the top of the wall. Emma then stood in the alley, waiting for her lover.
‘Follow them, but keep your distance. Make sure they don’t notice you! … Let me know what happens when you get a chance.’
Just as the big man had done for his companion, Maigret helped the inspector hitch himself up the roof tiles to the skylight. Then he leaned over to look down into the alleyway, to see the tops of the fugitives’ heads.
They hesitated, whispering. It was Emma who led the ma
n towards a shed. They vanished into it, for the door was only latched.
It was a ship chandler’s storage shed, connected to his shop, which would be empty at this hour. Just one lock to force, and the couple could reach the quay.
But Leroy would get there before them.
As he climbed down the attic ladder, the inspector realized that something strange was happening. There was a commotion downstairs. And the telephone was ringing amid the clamouring voices.
Among them was Leroy’s, louder than usual – he was apparently on the phone.
Maigret hurried down the stairs to the ground floor, where he collided with one of the reporters.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘Another shooting … a quarter of an hour ago, in town … They took the victim to the pharmacy.’
The inspector darted out to the quay and saw a policeman running and brandishing his revolver. The sky was blacker than ever. Maigret caught up with the man and again asked, ‘What’s going on?’
‘A couple just came out of that shop … I was on patrol across the way. The man practically fell into my arms … It’s not worth chasing them now. They must be a long way off!’
‘Explain what happened.’
‘I heard sounds in the shop, but there were no lights on. So I stood by with my gun ready. The door opened; a man came out … But I didn’t even have time to take aim. He hit me in the face so hard that I fell down. I dropped my gun, and the one thing that scared me was that he’d grab it … But no – he went back to get a woman who was waiting in the doorway. She couldn’t run, and he picked her up in his arms … By the time I got up, inspector – that was some punch! Look, I’m bleeding! – they’d taken off along the quay. They must have gone around the harbour. And there are lots of little streets off there, and then it’s all open country …’
The policeman was dabbing his nose with his handkerchief. ‘He could have killed me, just like that! He’s got a fist like a sledgehammer.’
Voices could still be heard in the hotel, which was all lit up. Maigret left the policeman, rounded the corner and saw the pharmacy. Its shutters were closed, but its open door let out a flood of light.
The Yellow Dog Page 7
