Mr Hire's Engagement

by Georges Simenon

  The dairy was one step below pavement-level, and all day, time had to be wasted in mopping up the water that came pouring in from the pavement. The proprietress was wearing clogs, and so was Alice. They were both equally irritable. Customers would pause in the doorway, see the water, and turn away.

  'Just a minute!' the proprietress would call to them. 'We'll wipe the floor. Alice! Alice! . . .'

  And as time went by, her voice became steadily sharper.

  'You're clumsier than ever, to-day. You would be, of course . . .'

  The dairy-woman was short and tubby, as fresh and sour as an apple. She stood near the door.

  'Don't be afraid! I'll serve you from here.'

  Alice really was clumsy, or absent-minded, at any rate, with a vague dejected air that was unusual in her. She was constantly caught gazing at the rain-spotted window, through which the passers-by looked unreal, as though reflected in a bad looking-glass.

  'Alice!'

  She would jump, drag her clogs across the floor, and weigh out butter or cheese.

  'One franc forty-five.'

  At half-past ten the inspector, having warmed himself in the lodge and buttoned his raincoat up to his chin, began to pace up and down the pavement again, and each time he came near the shop he gave Alice a long look. Rain was streaming down his face, but it seemed to amuse him, to whip up his blood'

  At ten to eleven the dairy-girl suddenly went out through the back door, which gave onto the courtyard.

  'Alice! Where are you off to now?'

  'To the lavatory,' she called back.

  And when she reappeared, ten minutes later, she was breathing hard.

  'You might have chosen a more convenient time. Hurry up! Madame Rorive is waiting to be served.'

  A cyclist was knocked down by a lorry, a few yards from the policeman. He was carried to the corner café, his twisted bicycle left lying in the middle of the road. Alice paused in her weighing-out, to have a look. But before long the cyclist came limping back, half-dazed, his clothes covered with mud. Reeling like a drunkard, he staggered over to his machine, picked it up and went off, pushing it by the handlebars. Émile was at the door of the café. 'Shall I go and buy the meat?' asked Alice. 'Are you crazy? With six customers to be served?' And time dragged on, the rain kept falling, cars followed one another along the street. Emile had gone back into the bistro and every now and then rubbed his hand over the window to wipe away the steam and make sure Alice was not coming out.

  'Shall I go now? You want three cutlets?'

  She just flung her green coat over her shoulders, dashed out, and ran into the inspector, who was waiting at the corner. 'Not here!' she said. He went round the corner with her.

  'I'll see you this evening, won't I? This may be my last day here.'

  'Yes,' she murmured impatiently, looking towards the corner café. 'When?'

  'I don't know. I'll tell you presently.'

  And she rushed off down the pavement of the narrow shopping street, went into the butcher's, stood looking out into the street while she waited for the cutlets. When she came out again Émile was there but she could see the inspector at the corner of the main road. 'Careful!'

  She stopped in front of the stationer's window and said very rapidly, without looking at her companion:

  'I've put everything in his room! He wanted to go away with me and give you away.'

  Already she had started to move off, because she felt the inspector was watching her. She smiled as she passed him and went back into the dairy, hung her coat on its hook, put the change into the drawer. 'How much?' asked her employer. 'Seven francs twenty-five.'

  The little girl had at last been put to bed in a corner of the lodge, and now her face was scarlet, her eyes feverish, her breathing wheezy. Her brother had not gone back to school after lunch. 'Try and keep your sister amused!'

  The concierge was exasperated. Everything was going wrong. The courtyard could only be crossed on planks laid on packing-cases and the plumber had not arrived. As if they were doing it on purpose, the men to read the gas and electric meters were promptly succeeded by other men with bills to be paid.

  And now, at three o'clock, a car drew up in front of the house. The superintendent she had seen in the morning emerged from it, with a thin gentleman who wore a stiff collar nearly three inches high. The inspector hurried to meet them. And they were talking under the archway. It seemed their conversation would never end. At last the superintendent opened the glass-panelled door of the lodge.

  'Have you a key?'

  'No. Mr. Hire always takes it with him.'

  The superintendent closed the door again, and a moment later the inspector turned up the collar of his raincoat and hurried out into the street.

  The two men left behind didn't know what to do, or where to go. They walked a few steps, stopped, went on again, exchanged an occasional remark, stared curiously at the lodge, then at the flooded courtyard and the building on the far side. It was the thin man with the stiff collar who opened the door a second time.

  'Excuse me, madame, you are quite certain, aren't you, that you let Mr. Hire in twice during the night of the crime? Think carefully. It is very important.

  She was just putting a wet poultice on her daughter's neck.

  'I think I'm certain.'

  'Thinking is not enough.'

  'Well then, I am certain that Mr. Hire's name was called twice.'

  He did not look well. The superintendent was in a bad temper. This may have been due to the weather, for everyone's nerves were on edge to-day. There were sounds from the entrance. It was the inspector, coming back with a locksmith, and the four men started up the stairs.

  'Oh, do be quiet!' shouted the concierge, slapping her little boy, who had opened his mouth to make some comment.

  She could hear unaccustomed sounds. She went out of the lodge and found four or five people staring at the door as though expecting something.

  'What do you want?'

  But she was prevented from shutting the door. The dairy woman arrived, an old friend.

  'Is it true that the magistrate's there and that they're going to arrest him?'

  'I don't know!' wailed the concierge, on the verge of tears. 'I can assure you they don't bother to tell me! Jojo, don't let your sister get out of bed.'

  The men stayed a long time upstairs, and two old women who lived on the third floor came down anxiously, asking for news. It seemed as interminable and disturbing as when a doctor remains closeted with a patient and one hears him coming and going without being able to guess what he is doing.

  Alice was not there. She had been left in charge of the dairy. The chauffeur, at the wheel of the car, was looking disdainfully at the bystanders.

  At last the inspector came down, but he was no longer the good-natured young man who used to help the concierge to make coffee. He was in a hurry, and hadn't so much as a glance for anyone.

  'Where can I go to telephone?'

  'To the bar at the corner. That's the nearest.'

  And he hurried away with an air of importance, leaving a trail of mystery in his wake. He went past Émile, into the telephone booth, calling his order on the way:

  'Glass of rum! Quickly.'

  Nobody could hear what he said. The superintendent and the magistrate were still up in the house, and the locksmith now came out with his tool-box slung over his shoulder.

  The gas-lamps had just been lit. The cars had switched on their lights too, but it was not quite dark yet. The concierge would let only tenants into her lodge, three women, standing in the dusky room, round the stove.

  Nothing happened. It was still raining. The street-lamps were reflected in long zig-zags, which looked like live snakes on the wet ground. The plumber chose to arrive at this moment, and had to be taken into the courtyard, shown where the drain was, provided with a chair, and then a pair of pliers and a torch. He didn't seem to be able to do anything by himself. The concierge was hardly back in her lodge before he called
her again.

  At five o'clock another car stopped outside the door, and four men emerged and came towards the lodge.

  The superintendent appeared from the staircase and led the four of them away, without a word.

  It was the time when the tenants began to arrive home, and as their womenfolk were in the passage or the lodge they, too, paused there, and then went to look out along the street.

  The superintendent stationed two of his men at the tram-stop, since that was the way Mr. Hire usually came back; one a little beyond the house, and one at the street corner. He had the cars driven a distance of about a hundred yards, so that they would not attract attention.

  'Please don't collect here,' he said as he came back into the passage; 'I want the house to look just as usual.'

  He did not glance at anyone in particular. He went slowly and heavily upstairs. In the corner bar, Émile was drinking one small glass of rum after another, now and then going over to the window, wiping it with his hand, and pressing his forehead against the glass.

  Everybody was waiting for the same thing. In spite of the rain, a dozen inquisitive spectators had gathered on the pavement. People went up to peer at the plain-clothes inspectors whom the superintendent had positioned, and they angrily turned their backs. Even the policeman on point duty came across to them, touched his hood, and winked.

  'Got him, eh? Is it the fat little chap with the curly moustache? He's never home before seven o'clock, you know.'

  The trams, nearly empty a short time ago, were now packed, and the two inspectors divided the task of taking a look at everyone who got out. At seven o'clock the superintendent came down himself, took a turn round the cross-roads, broke up one group, which formed again ten yards further along.

  Five, six trams arrived at the stop. The passengers who got out scurrying off through the rain. A quarter-past seven came, twenty past, twenty-five past.

  The little bearded inspector appeared, looking meek and dejected, at Police Headquarters, and asked the office-boy:

  'Is the chief here?'

  'He's gone to Villejuif to make an arrest.'

  At eight o'clock the trams were almost empty, but the inspector emerged from one of them and gazed at his colleagues with eyes of dread.

  'Where's the super?'

  'He's just gone back to the room.'

  He did not walk, he ran, breathlessly, and his lips were moving as though he were trying to speak. He rushed past the group of people standing round the door of the lodge, stumbled on the bottom step of the stairs, recovered himself, and tore on. Doors half opened. Though so small, he was making a considerable din. At last he knocked on the door of the room. The superintendent himself opened it.

  They had been waiting placidly in the fireless room and had kept their overcoats on. The magistrate was seated in the only armchair, with his feet close to the cold stove. The other inspector was leaning against the table, cleaning his nails.

  'Well?'

  'I lost him. He spent a funny kind of day. First of all he went to his office, but after taking his parcels to the post, as he does every day, he . . .'

  In the dairy, Alice was bending down, mopping up the water with a cloth. Her head was turned towards the open door, and her blouse hung slightly open, showing the hollow of shade between her breasts.

  Suddenly she straightened up. Someone was staring at her. A man was standing quite close to her, in a black overcoat, under which she could see a white shirt-front and a black bow-tie.

  'I'd like . . .'

  He pointed to a cheese, while she wiped her hands on her apron.

  'How much is that?'

  He held out his hand to pay, put an envelope into Alice's hand as well as the money, and went quickly away. Once outside, he hung about a bit, looked at the house next door and tried to hear what the groups of bystanders were saying, but as a tram was just about to leave he rushed after it and jumped aboard at the last moment.

  The superintendent and the magistrate came across the pavement, while their car drove up. The magistrate got into it by himself, and the superintendent dashed into the bistro and made for the telephone booth. One of the lodgers from the house was in there at the moment, telephoning for the doctor, because the little girl was breathing with a noise that was painful to hear.

  'You can shut the shop!' called the dairy woman from the doorway. Alice pulled down the shutter and went to the room behind the shop to fetch the iron bars.

  Some of the tenants decided to go in to dinner, but they were downstairs almost at once. The road was almost deserted, and so shiny that the occasional car was reflected on its surface. The bell of a cinema more than three hundred yards away could be heard, and a few people who didn't know what was afoot went by without stopping.

  As she was going into the house, Alice met the inspector, who said very quickly, in an undertone:

  'I'll try to come to your room a bit later on. Don't lock the door.' And he gave her a friendly smile.

  Mr. Hire was not sleepy. In any case he would not have had the patience to go into a room, undress and get into bed. He came out of the cinema with the warm crowd all around him, and he went along with it, walking amid light and noise, pausing with the others on the edge of a pavement, going on again with hurried steps when the rest went on.

  But the flow gradually diminished, and gaps appeared, as people vanished down shadowy side-streets or into the Métro. Gaps began to appear, too, in the row of brightly-lit shop-fronts. Mr. Hire walked faster, eager for the morning, eager to be at the station. So eager that he was half running, his short arms waggling at his sides.

  He was not hungry or thirsty. What he wanted was to preserve the kind of warm excitement that pervaded him, the wave on which he was borne along, and he turned into an entrance from which soft music could be heard, and pushed open the padded door of a dance-hall.

  His nostrils twitched with joy, with voluptuous triumph. The light was dazzling. There were splashes of red everywhere, on the wails, on the ceiling, in the boxes, and there were naked bodies, painted in brilliant colours.

  There was a great deal of noise; or rather, not noise so much as a volume of sound like the crashing of waves, interspersed with the joyous wailing of the brass.

  He sat down, smiling, as dazed as a girl tired out with waltzing. He needed to get his breath back. He looked vaguely round, and saw women, most of them young, shop-girls, factory-girls, typists, as excited as he was himself, talking feverishly, jumping up, sitting down, dancing, running.

  ' A ... a kummel!' he told the waiter.

  He was touched and softened by a surge of infinite kindliness, as he gazed without realizing it, at a charming little creature who was sitting with another girl a few yards away from him. She was skinny. She had a pointed face, thin lips, green eyes and flaxen hair. She wore a red-and-blue striped jersey, stretched across her little breasts, which were widely separated and longer than their width, like unripe pears.

  She had a special flair for guessing, from a distance, even right across the hall, which of the men wanted to dance with her, and she would get up at once and go to meet him, both arms extended, while her legs, like match-sticks began to move to the rhythm of the music. Whenever she went past her friend she would put out her tongue at her, over the man's shoulder.

  Mr. Hire was smiling at his own thoughts, not only smiling with his lips, but beaming all over his face. He smiled as he looked at the girl, and when she sat down again she stared at him, frowning, and nudged her friend with her elbow.

  Neither of them laughed. It was no use turning his head away, he could still fed their disapproving, suspicious eyes fixed on him. He had not done anything. He had not said anything. He had only been basking in the cheerful atmosphere.

  And the next time she got up to dance, the girl pointed Mr. Hire out to her partner, who stared at him with contempt.

  He didn't know where to look. He had not touched his kummel. He beckoned to the waiter, who came up without a word.

/>   'How much?'

  He puffed out his chest. With an air of importance, he produced his pocket-book. While waiting for his change he twirled his moustache, and, standing up, he emptied his glass at one draught, which gave him a slight feeling of nausea.

  There was no one on the pavement outside. The lights of Montmartre began a little further on. Mr. Hire shook himself, not to scatter the raindrops that were falling on his shoulders, but to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling that lingered, like a bad taste in the mouth. He could still picture the girl in the sweater clearly. What harm had he done her? And since she laughed with everyone else, why not laugh with him?

  A gold-braided doorkeeper armed with a red umbrella intercepted Mr. Hire and steered him towards the entrance of a nightclub!

  'This way for the gayest place in Montmartre! Champagne is not compulsory.'

  Mr. Hire was afraid to go in, but he was equally afraid to refuse, and he was already being eased out of his overcoat when he remembered the Government Bonds, took it hastily back from the attendant's hands, and declared firmly:

  'I'll keep it on.'

  'It's very hot inside, sir. But of course if you prefer . . .'

  It was only one o'clock in the morning. The superintendent, fully dressed, was asleep on Mr. Hire's bed, while the inspector stood at the window, trying to convey a message to Alice in dumb-show:

  'See you later!'

  She didn't understand him. Standing in the middle of her room, she shrugged to show that she was baffled ; then, wearying of his antics, she pulled her dress over her head, took off her slip and her wet stockings, and rubbed her bare feet with a towel to warm them.

  X

  AT four o'clock the rain stopped and a strong west wind began to sweep through the empty streets. The superintendent sat up on Mr. Hire's bed, rubbing his eyes, and then rose reluctantly to his feet.

  'Your turn now!' he said to the inspector. 'What time is it?'

  He stretched from head to foot to rouse himself. His jacket was creased across the back. While his subordinate lay down on the bed, he automatically opened the cardboard box they had found in the depths of the wardrobe, which contained the murdered woman's handbag, a cheap bag decorated with a stag's head badge, and a shabby silk lining smudged with face-powder.