‘Hello! Is that you, Maigret? Would you step into my office for a moment?’
This month of June was glorious, and the windows overlooking the Seine were flung wide open. Maigret took advantage of the summons to put a stop to the confidences of a rather dubious individual who’d contrived for his trafficking to be disregarded in exchange for coming into the Police Judiciaire each week to inform on his fellow dealers in Montmartre.
A few moments later, Maigret pushed open the padded door to the office of the superintendent and, there too, the tall windows were open, letting the light stream into a room where all the Paris crimes were brought to a conclusion.
‘Come in, Maigret. Let me introduce …’
Maigret hadn’t yet seen the customer about to be presented to him, but already he knew that this was a somewhat unusual case, simply from the look on the face of the chief, with whom he’d already worked on the Bonnot affair, as he spoke these opening words:
‘Monsieur Émile Grosbois, the famous rag and scrap metal merchant of Rue du Chemin-Vert …’
A surreptitious wink that meant:
‘You’re going to enjoy this!’
Maigret, turning around, found himself facing a short, dowdy, pallid man who was trying to smile as he held out a freckled hand. His hair was probably ginger, but was so sparse that it was hard to tell its colour.
‘Very honoured, detective chief inspector … I’ve heard a lot about you …’
‘Do sit down.’
The chief handed Maigret a scrap of paper with a message made from words and letters cut out from newspapers.
‘Read this.’
Poor Monsieur Grosbois did not suspect what this exchange meant for the two men, who had known each other for such a long time and had seen so many human specimens:
‘Watch out! The fellow looks like a crafty old devil …’
Out loud, of course, the chief said exactly the opposite:
‘Monsieur Grosbois, who is very well connected, comes warmly recommended by a municipal councillor whom he met earlier today …’
‘I thought—’ began Grosbois.
‘Don’t apologize! You’ve done the right thing! When you’re well in with influential people, it is natural to use them.’
Meanwhile, Maigret read:
Old scoundrel,
This time you’re done for. Whether you go to Coudray or not, even if you are protected by a regiment of gendarmes, you will die before 6 p.m. on Sunday.
And everyone will be glad to be rid of you.
No signature, of course. Maigret had difficulty suppressing a smile as he observed his ashen customer.
‘Naturally,’ the chief was saying, ‘Monsieur Grosbois has no idea who would send him such a letter. He’s not aware of having any enemies …’
‘We’ve always been considered reputable in our business dealings!’ stated Monsieur Grosbois.
And the chief went on:
‘I pointed out to him that the Police Judiciaire’s remit does not extend beyond Paris. If the murder is committed in the city, it is our concern. But if someone is killed in Coudray … Monsieur Grosbois was so insistent that I agreed to take on the case, since happily no murder has yet been committed. What do you think, Maigret? Would you mind very much spending the weekend in Coudray?’
‘Is it by the Seine, just beyond Corbeil? If that is so, I know the area a little. A few years ago, I had to investigate a murder at the Citanguette lock …’
‘So you’ll take charge of the case?’
‘If you wish, chief!’
‘Monsieur Grosbois tells me he doesn’t have a car. He himself doesn’t drive and chauffeurs have become intolerably demanding …’
Knowing wink.
‘The entire family takes the train on Saturdays after lunch. The railway line goes through the property itself and the station is only fifty metres from the house …’
Monsieur Grosbois rose, shook the two men’s hands and left, mumbling his thanks.
As soon as the door had closed behind him, the head of the Police Judiciaire and Maigret were finally able to relax their expressions.
‘Did you notice, chief?’
‘It depends what you mean.’
‘That the small pocket on his jacket is on the right! In other words, his suit has been reversed.’
‘I simply noted that he had rubber heels on so as not to wear out the ones on his shoes …’
‘How many millions?’
‘The Grosbois are said to have amassed around thirty.’
‘What do you think of this threat?’
‘I don’t think anything yet. In any case, I’ve warned our man that if this is a wheeze to claim life insurance, we’ll inform the company and it won’t work. You remember that Russian who disguised his suicide as a murder so that his daughter could get a large insurance payout?’
‘I was the one who led the investigation,’ said Maigret modestly.
‘I was forgetting … May I …?’
The chief picked up the telephone, which had just rung.
‘Hello, yes … Monsieur Grosbois? … Oscar Grosbois? … Monsieur Émile’s brother? … Very well! … I’ll pass you over to Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, who has kindly agreed to take charge of this case …’
Maigret took the receiver.
‘Hello! … Forgive me for bothering you, inspector, but I know my brother came to see you this morning. I absolutely must speak to you. Yes! … Could I drop in to your office? … You would rather come and see me? … In that case, would you come between eleven o’clock and midday, because that’s the time my brother goes to the bank? … Thank you, inspector … Ring the bell by the little door to the right of the wall … Thank you … Thank you …’
Maigret hung up and sighed:
‘And I’d promised my wife that we’d go to the country!’
It was 11.15 when Maigret arrived at Rue du Chemin-Vert, a narrow, lively street in the Bastille neighbourhood, lined mainly with workshops and warehouses.
He found Grosbois & Paget easily: a high wall, a metal gate, a vast courtyard full of carts and enclosed by sheds. He noticed immediately that there were bars on all the windows, which suggested there was a general atmosphere of suspicion, and he rang the bell of the little door as instructed.
A maid in her forties, of dubious cleanliness, came and opened the door, and said, before he could open his mouth:
‘Go up to the first floor. Monsieur Oscar’s expecting you.’
Monsieur Oscar was already at the top of the stairs. He resembled his brother so closely that Maigret thought for a moment that he was dealing with the same man.
‘I’m sorry to have put you to all this trouble, inspector … I would gladly have met you in your office …’
Maigret couldn’t admit to him that he had preferred to visit in person because he quite fancied having a little sniff around the establishment.
‘Come in! These old buildings aren’t very practical but, when you’re born in one …’
Maigret could have replied that, just because a person is born in a place, that’s no reason to leave it untouched for decades. Already, the fake marble staircase walls had turned a drab ditchwater brown. The carpet was colourless and had faded to its greyish threads.
‘This is a household of bachelors, which explains the mess …’
But no! There was no mess! It was dirty and neglected! The dusty furniture looked as if it had been bought from the flea market and a profusion of hideous vases and ghastly knick-knacks made the place look like the back room of a junk shop in a poor neighbourhood.
‘Have a seat, inspector. Can I offer you a cigar?’
He held out a little silk-paper sachet which proved he had been anticipating this visit and had gone out and bought half a dozen cigars from the tobacconist’s on the corner. Oscar Grosbois’ gesture was serious, almost solemn. Could offering a cigar be a way of redeeming a guilty conscience?
‘Thank you, I prefer my pipe.’
‘I don’t smoke. Nor does my brother. I wonder what on earth he’s told you. He’s such a strange fellow!’
Maigret didn’t dare move because one leg of the chair in which he was sitting threatened to give way under his weight.
‘You have of course noticed how alike we are. We’re twins, as you thought … We have an older sister, Françoise, who lives on the second floor with her children—’
‘So your sister is married?’
‘She was married to a certain Paget. Hence the company name you saw: Grosbois & Paget. Her husband died ten years ago, and she was left a widow with a son and a daughter.’
‘In other words, the entire family still lives in the building?’
‘Not only here, but also in our country house in Coudray. We enjoy family life, the simple life …’
Maigret felt like saying:
‘You must be joking!’
‘Times are tough. We don’t know what the world is coming to. But that’s not what this is about. My brother must have shown you a letter he claims to have received yesterday morning?’
At the word ‘claims’ Maigret pricked up his ears.
‘He showed it to us too, and he seemed quite distraught. I calmed him down as best I could, because it’s obviously a prank …’
‘You, my friend,’ Maigret said to himself, ‘you’re dying to know what I think!’
He refrained from responding and looked at Monsieur Oscar with an indescribable candour.
‘I assume that people planning to commit a murder aren’t in the habit of warning their victims …’
‘It has been known to happen.’
‘In some cases, perhaps …? But who could hold a grudge against us …? We’ve never harmed anyone … We don’t owe a cent … We …’
That ineffable stare of Maigret’s embarrassed him and he found it hard to resume his train of thought.
‘A little aperitif, inspector? We don’t drink either … No! We’ve led a healthy, simple life … Never any alcohol or tobacco …! But that doesn’t mean we don’t have the necessary for our guests …’
‘Do you entertain a lot?’
‘Never! I was saying … Oh yes … I was saying that my poor brother recently—’
‘He’s unmarried, like you, isn’t he?’
‘We’re two old bachelors … Fifty-three years old, both of us … and I would never have thought that one day my brother would become … How can I put it?’
If Maigret had been asked to describe the man in front of him, he would have said that he had the face of a rat with anxious, prying eyes that darted everywhere.
‘I don’t want you to take what I’m saying literally … Émile isn’t mad … most of the time he has his wits about him … However, there are moments when …’
Still Maigret deliberately held back from coming to his rescue, and Oscar was floundering.
‘… when he’s not as he has always been … You understand …! He gets annoyed … He has whims. I’ll go a lot further, but please keep this to yourself … I wouldn’t be surprised if Émile had written the letter he showed you himself … It’s what’s known as persecution mania, if I’m not mistaken … That’s what I wanted you to know … I have too much respect for the police to let you get involved in a case that probably has no grounds whatsoever and you would probably have reprimanded me for saying nothing …’
Just then, Maigret strained to listen, because from the floor above, the sounds of an argument could be heard through the thin floorboards.
Oscar Grosbois gave a start too, and mumbled:
‘It’s the children squabbling!’
‘Your sister’s children? How old are they?’
‘Henri is twenty. His sister Éliane is eighteen. At that age, brother and sister are a bit like cat and dog …’
Oscar’s smile was unattractive, revealing pointed little yellow teeth, rodent’s teeth.
‘Is your nephew in the rag business?’
‘No …! He’s studying …’
‘What is he studying?’
‘Business … He hasn’t quite made up his mind yet … His mother has spoiled him a great deal …’
The noise from upstairs turned into a real commotion and, if it was an argument between brother and sister, it must have turned into a serious fight. Eventually there was the sound of running feet, shouting, doors slamming and then footsteps on the stairs.
‘Don’t take any notice … These are the little drawbacks of family … To get back to my brother, you’ve been warned … Don’t attach too much importance to his words, and above all to his fears … He works too hard … If he would only take a month’s holiday somewhere quiet, preferably at a health spa in the mountains, for example, he would no longer appear so … Are you sure you don’t want a cigar?’
And the poor man, gauche as ever, held out the pack of cigars to Maigret, as if giving to charity:
‘Go on! Let yourself be tempted! You can smoke them at home …’
‘I’m going to spend the weekend at the home of people who have thirty million francs!’ Maigret had told his wife.
‘At least you won’t be bored!’
He’d replied with a mysterious smile:
‘You don’t think so?’
He had taken the Saturday mid-afternoon train, when the carriages are almost full. His train pass allowed him to travel first class, and he found himself sitting opposite a young woman who shocked the entire compartment.
It was hard to determine her exact age, but she was very young, exhibiting a carefree, youthful exuberance. An elderly lady from Melun, in her corner, took her for a ‘woman of ill repute’ because of the girl’s heavy make-up, figure-hugging dress and the brazen way she looked at the people around her.
As for the conversation …!
Because the girl was not alone: she was with a young man, a sporty type, hatless, also dressed in an outlandish fashion.
‘What did they do?’ he asked.
‘When they realized that the Bugatti had broken down and there was no godforsaken village for at least five kilometres, the four of them bedded down as best they could in the car, and spent the night there …’
‘No kidding?’
‘The hilarious thing is that, before, Betty was with Jean and Raymonde with Riri … I don’t know what happened during the night, but, the next day, it was Betty who was with Riri and Jean with Raymonde …’
The elderly lady, sitting stiffly in her corner, glared at the girl with a severity that should have floored her. But she wasn’t floored at all. With a total lack of modesty, she hitched her dress right up to straighten her stockings, saying to her companion:
‘Did Yolande get hold of any dough?’
‘She wrote to her parents telling them she needed an urgent operation to remove her appendix. They sent her ten thousand francs … But before the holidays she’ll have to get a scar …’
‘That’s not hard!’
The old lady’s gaze, now resting on Maigret, seemed to be saying:
‘The youth of today!’
And Maigret gave a vague smile, enjoying this afternoon of warm sunshine and the countryside flashing past on either side of the train.
‘Coudray-Montceaux!’
He leaped up. The young woman too. The young man, however, stayed on the train, which moved off again at once.
Two men were waiting on the platform of the tiny station, both wearing grey alpaca suits, so alike that they looked as if they were a performing duo.
Maigret went up to them and shook their hands, but saw that they were looking past his shoulders. Eventually Émile Grosbois said:
‘What time do you call this?’
‘I missed the first train …’
‘What about your brother?’
‘I haven’t seen him. I thought he was already here!’
It was the outlandish young woman, who was introduced to him as Éliane Paget, the Grosbois brothers’ niece.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, of the Police Judiciaire …’
‘Oh!’
A rather hard, wary gaze.
‘Is mother here?’
‘She came with us and Babette.’
‘I’m going to get changed,’ announced Éliane, removing her hat and clambering over a hedge between the station and a garden.
The house was close by, a huge dark-brick construction dating from the worst pre-war years, with hideous ceramic ornamentations. A lawn gave the illusion of gardens, and was adorned with two ugly statues, while the rest of the grounds were a wilderness.
‘Something occurred to me, inspector,’ began Émile Grosbois. ‘If someone wants to take my life, they would probably come by train. Now, from your window, you’ll be able to see all the passengers who alight at Coudray. You’ve noticed that there aren’t many …’
An extraordinary, troubling impression! The location was magnificent. The Seine was very wide at this point, flowing lazily between two wooded hills and forming a great loop. The sun was beginning to set, tingeing the sky pink.
A scene that exuded the joys of life!
But Maigret was there in the company of two artful little ginger-haired men who were spying on him and on each other.
Instead of the cheeriness evoked by the words ‘country house’, the sombre edifice oozed boredom, spitefulness and suspicion.
‘Don’t go that way, inspector, there are traps … Let’s take the path …’
Nondescript front steps. A dim entrance hall which already gave off a faint odour of damp.
‘We’ll show you your room … The bathroom is at the end of the corridor … In summer, there’s no hot water, because the bath is connected to the central heating, which we only have on in winter …’
Maigret glimpsed the maid who had opened the door to him at Rue du Chemin-Vert and who looked busy. He heard a woman’s voice calling from the kitchen:
‘Babette …! Where are you, Babette …? I can’t find the butter … I bet you forgot to buy butter again …!’
‘This way, Monsieur Maigret!’ said Émile Grosbois. ‘I must thank you for coming. If you knew how much of a comfort your presence here is to me! I, who have never harmed anyone!’
It was pathetic, grotesque! Meanwhile, Éliane appeared in the corridor in a bathing costume, with the tall, sturdy figure of American girls. In contrast to everything that was mouldering in the house, she radiated life and health.
‘Aren’t you going for a swim?’ she asked Maigret.
‘I confess I haven’t brought my swimming trunks.’
‘My brother will lend you some when he gets here.’
Émile Grosbois sighed:
‘My sister has raised her so badly …! You saw how she was dressed … She’ll stay like this until tomorrow evening, and will barely bother to put on any clothes at mealtimes …’
Maigret didn’t dare tell him that he was delighted by her and that he’d rather gaze at Éliane’s shapely form than the horrible sight of the two brothers.
‘This is your room … The wallpaper’s a bit faded, but the countryside is very damp … I imagine you would like to get changed …?’
Not at all! Maigret had only brought a razor, a pair of pyjamas and a toothbrush.
‘You’ll find me in the billiards room …’
To think that down there, just before the bend in the river, healthy, muscular, lively young people had set up camp and were diving exuberantly into the Seine!
People who didn’t have thirty million francs!