The Double Alibi

by Noel Vindry

  ‘What temerity!’ murmured M. Allou, in a strange tone of voice. ‘Two theft attempts so close together. This villain is truly dangerous… nothing stops him.’

  Clermon didn’t reply.

  Sallent had been listening attentively, his eyes glued to the floor. Slowly, he made his way to the corridor and beckoned to M. Allou to join him.

  ‘The traces of blood don’t begin until the staircase,’ he said quietly. ‘And not a single piece of furniture was disturbed in the office.’

  ‘I noticed that,’ replied M. Allou, ‘and the same is true for the safe. One part of the story is true, but the fight didn’t take place where he said it did.’

  He went back into the office.

  ‘Sit down, please,’ he said. ‘The facts may be more serious than you think. Do you know how Allevaire got into the building?’

  ‘The same way as before, I assume: with a false key.’

  ‘No, someone opened the door for him.’

  The blood drained from Clermon’s face and he turned as white as a sheet.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked in a hoarse voice.

  He got up slowly.

  ‘Absolutely sure. I saw it with my own eyes.’

  The other hesitated for a second, then murmured:

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I couldn’t see. Could it have been one of the servants?’

  ‘I don’t believe so. They’re old and were thirty years with their previous employer. Do you want to talk to them?’

  ‘There’s no point. I wouldn’t learn anything from their denials. Besides, everyone will deny it, so it’s useless for me to talk to any of them.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘… But I’ll make an exception for your sister, who may have heard something.’

  ‘No, I beg of you, it’s quite useless. If she’d heard even the slightest noise she would have called out or rung the bell. It’s better that she doesn’t know… at her age and in her emotional state… particularly at night… I assure you it’s not a good idea.’

  Clermon, normally so sure of himself, was babbling. M. Allou had the distinct impression that an energetic interrogation of Marthe would lead to a confession.

  Nevertheless, he dared not do it. Such brutality towards a young woman revolted him in advance.

  Slowly, he walked to the door.

  ‘You have to question her,’ murmured Sallent.

  M. Allou shook his head.

  He thought for a moment, then turned to Clermon:

  ‘After all, this is your business. Nothing was stolen. If you don’t file a complaint….’

  ‘Why would I? I settled his account myself. Let’s not talk about it. We don’t need another scandal.’

  ‘Agreed. The file is closed. Au revoir.’

  ***

  As soon as they were in the street, Sallent started to grumble.

  ‘Why didn’t you question the girl?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘She’s the one who opened the door and she would have admitted it.’

  ‘You seem so sure, Sallent. But don’t jump to conclusions. Madras bothers me much more than she does.’

  ‘I don’t believe a word of it. If you really thought so, you’d have questioned the girl.’

  ‘I’m not saying it wasn’t her, just that I’m not certain. In any case, I didn’t want to risk extracting that confession in front of her brother.’

  ‘You mustn’t be so pure. The job’s the job, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Forgive me for coming along, Sallent. I’ve hindered you more than I’ve helped.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I know that, in the end, you’re the one I can count on. Proto’s the one who’s going to get it in the neck. That animal! We were counting on him….’

  Chapter XI

  THE SHOT

  The following morning, at eight o’clock, Sallent was already on the telephone. His impatience had awakened him, despite the late hour he’d gone to bed.

  ‘Hello? Is that the Sûreté ? Is Inspecteur Proto there? Do you think so? Well send him over to my hotel. Yes, urgently.’

  And the superintendent paced up and down the lobby whilst waiting for him.

  A quarter of an hour later, the inspector was there. Sallent looked around to make sure the room was empty, then planted himself in front of Proto. The contrast was almost comical: the tall, thin superintendent and the short, wide inspector with the bulging eyes.

  ‘Ah, there you are, M. Proto.’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m eager to hear the results of your investigations last night. You were on duty?’

  ‘Yes, superintendent, sir. I watched the Clermon residence, where Madras was staying, the whole night.’

  ‘The whole night! That’s very good. You don’t seem at all tired.’

  ‘I’m used to it.’

  ‘Doubtless. And what did you observe?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing. As I predicted, Madras never went out and there wasn’t the slightest incident.’

  ‘Really? Not the slightest? It’s disappointing when zeal like yours goes unrewarded. But, no matter, the effort is what counts. You can be sure I’ll speak to your superiors about you….’

  Had Proto begun to detect the irony? He seemed to become more anxious, and asked:

  ‘And you, superintendent, sir, did you find anything out? I’m told at the Sûreté that you spotted Allevaire, and I know there’s an order out to watch the roads and the station. You’re quite sure it was him?’

  ‘Yes, my lad. But with a detective like yourself, he’ll be caught quickly. Do you have any information about Etrillat, otherwise known as Le Borgne?’

  ‘I devoted my afternoon to watching him while you went for a walk.’

  ‘You’re tireless. And what did you find?’

  ‘Not much….’

  ‘You astonish me.’

  ‘Because there wasn’t much to find! He doesn’t work much, makes a little bit on the cards, and travels occasionally for his work. Nothing unfavourable.’

  ‘That’s all? Really, it’s a pleasure working with you. Now get some sleep, you must need it. Au revoir. And don’t be overzealous.’

  Sallent turned his back on the inspector without shaking his hand. He growled between clenched teeth:

  ‘If only M. Allou hadn’t pledged his silence to Clermon, this idiot would have got a real telling-off. The best place for a nitwit like this is the Monaco Museum.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  It was the voice of M. Allou, who was coming down the stairs.

  ‘No, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You seem in a bad mood?’

  ‘Not surprising! Not only do you stop me interrogating, but also from dressing someone down when it’s needed. If it weren’t you giving the orders….’

  ***

  The dreary weather didn’t do anything to help the superintendent’s mood. He wandered off on his own to take a walk, in the vague and admittedly stupid hope of running into Allevaire. Needless to say, it didn’t happen.

  That evening, at around seven o’clock, he found M. Allou in the restaurant, and sat down opposite him without saying a word.

  ‘Still upset, Sallent?’

  ‘Yes… should have questioned the girl.’

  ‘You really won’t let it go?’

  ‘The job’s the job.’

  ‘Even in front of her brother?’

  ‘I didn’t ask that.’

  ‘Well, listen, I’ll call now. If she’s alone, we’ll go over there.’

  ‘Better late than never.’

  M. Allou swallowed his food hastily and went to the telephone.

  He came back to tell Sallent that Clermon would be out until eight o’clock and the girl would be available before then.

  Sallent had already put his hat on.

  ‘Would have been better last night.’

  ‘Stop grumbling. I’m trying to make you happy.’

&nb
sp; A quarter of an hour later they arrived in the vicinity of the Clermon residence. In the middle of the dark street, a massive silhouette stood out, not moving.

  ‘That imbecile!’ shouted Sallent. ‘Standing in the middle of the road like a street lamp.’

  The superintendent did not have a gift for imagery.

  Sallent advanced towards the inspector, who, staring up at the façade, didn’t see him coming.

  ‘Oh, excuse me, my boy. You were so well hidden I couldn’t see you.’

  ‘For goodness sake, superintendent, sir, after your remarks this morning, I wanted to make sure you could see me working.’

  ‘Congratulations! Is Madras in the house?’

  ‘No, superintendent, sir.’

  ‘No? Then what the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘I started to follow him this afternoon. I lost him around four o’clock.’

  ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Do you think he did it on purpose?’

  ‘I don’t know. He got into a taxi and there weren’t any others around. That’s not really my fault. I couldn’t run after him. My legs aren’t as long as yours. So, I thought the best thing to do was to come back here. But he hasn’t been back for dinner.’

  ‘All right, but let’s get back onto the pavement, or we’re going to get run over.’

  A taxi had, in fact, come into the street. They approached the townhouse and, to their surprise, the taxi drew up next to them.

  Serge Madras got out.

  ‘Ah, there you are! I’ve just come from your hotel and I also phoned the Sûreté. I couldn’t even find Inspector Proto.’

  ‘That’s the last straw,’ growled Sallent. ‘He has to follow his own inspector!’

  ‘So, what’s happening?’ asked M. Allou.

  ‘I’ll tell you in a moment.’

  Madras paid the driver and turned to the three men:

  ‘I think I’ve found Allevaire’s hideout.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked M. Allou.

  ‘Pretty well.’

  ‘But how…?’

  ‘I’ll explain. I was sitting in the taxi just after four o’clock when I noticed Le Borgne on the pavement in front of me. M. Clermon has mentioned him, I believe?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Allevaire was an acquaintance of his. But I noticed something strange: as my taxi drew level, he turned his head away, as if he didn’t want to be recognised. I was sure he’d seen me, and he knows me well enough; I’ve done business with him. His attitude seemed strange, so I told the taxi to stop and got out. I managed to follow him without being seen.’

  ‘You must have been very careful,’ observed Sallent. ‘Shadowing someone who’s suspicious isn’t easy.’

  ‘Anyway, I managed to stay on his tail until we reached the outskirts. He turned into a narrow street, so I stopped at the corner, naturally. I’d done it a few times already and then had had to run to catch up. I watched him walk casually along the street. Then I saw him stop suddenly in front of one of the houses, thrust a piece of paper into the letter box, and proceed as if nothing had happened. That’s when I left and came to find you.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said M. Allou. ‘It might not be Allevaire, but we have to check. What kind of building is it?’

  ‘Small, two storeys. It’s in a working-class neighbourhood. The back of the house must overlook waste land.’

  At that moment, a luxury two-seater drew up.

  ‘Well, well! I’ve arrived in the middle of a council of war.’

  The speaker was Clermon.

  ‘What’s happening, gentlemen?’ he added, getting out of the car.

  They quickly brought him up to speed.

  ‘I’m only sorry I can’t drive you there,’ he said. ‘This car is too small and the other one has a flat tyre….’

  ‘We’ll take a taxi.’

  ‘At this time of night, there are very few passing by. It’s best to call for one; there’s a telephone in the vestibule.’

  ‘I’ll take care of it,’ said Proto.

  He went inside and emerged a few minutes later to announce there was one on the way.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ declared Madras. ‘I can point the house out to you. At night the numbers are almost impossible to read.’

  ‘All right.’

  M. Allou took a few steps to one side, and the superintendent joined him.

  ‘This will be a waste of our time,’ whispered M. Allou.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘That’s my guess. Madras is trying to allay our suspicions by offering to help. How he must be mocking us at this moment. I’m almost tempted not to go.’

  ‘We have to, all the same,’ replied the superintendent. ‘We can’t afford to miss an opportunity.’ Then he added, inevitably, his favourite slogan:

  ‘The job’s the job.’

  ‘You’re right. Let’s go.’

  The taxi arrived and they set off.

  ***

  The streets were empty at that time of night and they made good progress. After a few minutes, Madras announced:

  ‘We’re almost there. Perhaps it would be better to get out here.’

  They paid the driver and proceeded on foot. Soon they arrived at a squalid side street.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Madras, pointing. ‘The house is fifty metres down the street from the corner.’

  ‘Very well,’ said M. Allou. ‘Let’s take a look.’

  They avoided getting too close to the other houses on that side of the street, so as not to be seen from the windows.

  They reached the door without incident. A small copper bell hung above it; beneath it was a piece of cardboard attached with drawing-pins. Getting closer, M. Allou was able to read what was written on it, despite the darkness:

  “Mrs.Tapire. Ring once.”

  Presumably the ground floor tenant. They could see there was a light on.

  To get into the building, it was obviously preferable to count on her, rather than Allevaire, who presumably lived on the first floor.

  M. Allou pressed the bell once and it rang feebly. He stood waiting for a woman to open the door and was taken off guard by what happened next.

  The door was flung open suddenly, just as the bell started to ring. And, before anyone could distinguish anything in the dark corridor, a man rushed past M. Allou and Sallent, who were closest to the doorway. He turned to his right; Madras, who was to his left, was unable to stop him. Proto, on the other side, could have stopped the fugitive, but was so surprised that all he could do was gesticulate feebly.

  The man already had a lead of ten metres. Despite his speed, Sallent had recognised him: it was indeed Allevaire. They all threw themselves into the pursuit.

  There was no point in ordering him to stop or they would shoot. They’d said that the night before, and he’d taken no notice.

  M. Allou noted, once again, that the villain had a remarkable turn of speed. Even Sallent, despite his long legs, lost ground. In the group, only Madras was able to keep up. Soon, he was forty metres in front of the others—which wasn’t a surprise; the young man was well built and obviously did a lot of sport.

  At first, Madras wasn’t able to narrow the gap. But gradually, due to his age advantage and greater stamina than the older man, he managed to lay a hand on the other’s shoulder. He was, by then, sixty metres ahead of the group.

  Suddenly the fugitive stopped dead, turned, and dealt Madras a tremendous blow to the temple. M. Allou had the time to see that the man’s hand was not bare, but was fitted with a brass knuckle-duster.

  Madras crashed to the ground.

  Without hesitation, Sallent drew his revolver. He was about to fire at the man’s legs and would certainly not have missed—for he was an excellent shot—but Allevaire, at that very instant, reached another corner and ducked out of sight.

  When the pursuers eventually reached the corner, there was no one in sight, and they abandoned their pursuit.

  Sallent to
ok out his frustration on Proto.

  ‘You should have stopped him when he ran straight by you.’

  ‘You too, superintendent, sir.’

  ‘No,’ retorted the other, ‘Dupont and I were too close to the door and couldn’t help but be surprised. You, on the other hand, were two metres away and had time to react. You were scared, weren’t you?’

  ‘Never! I’ve never been afraid. Just didn’t keep a clear head, just like you.’

  ‘Let’s take care of the wounded first,’ chided M. Allou.

  Madras lay on the ground, his face covered with blood.

  Sallent leant over the body to examine the wound. He had acquired quite bit of medical knowledge over the years.

  ‘There’s no skull fracture,’ he announced, ‘but it was a close thing. The skin’s been broken and there’s lots of blood, but he’ll recover quickly.’

  ‘Since the wound isn’t serious,’ said M. Allou, ‘we can leave him with Proto. As soon as he recovers consciousness, take him to the nearest police station by taxi,’ he ordered the inspector. ‘We have work to do; I want to take a look at his lodgings.’

  ‘Won’t you be needing me anymore?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘No. Really,’ growled Sallent.

  He left with M. Allou.

  ‘That wasn’t a fake blow,’ declared the other.

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Since the two men don’t appear to be colluding, we’ll have to drop that theory. If Madras accused him of theft, it wasn’t to give himself an alibi, but to get rid of a dangerous rival. Allevaire has just taken his revenge.’

  ‘That’s what I think, too,’ replied Sallent.

  ‘And, if Madras tried to get him arrested that night, it was less to help us than to get rid of a menace who worried him. If he could get Allevaire sent to Guyane, the young man needn’t fear his vengeance.’

  They had arrived at the door of the house. It was still open, but now it was illuminated and they could see an old woman.

  ‘Mrs. Tapire, no doubt?’ asked M. Allou.

  ‘Yes, sir, was it you who rang?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘When I opened the door, I didn’t see anyone there. I looked in the street, and I saw a bunch of people pursuing another one. So I went back into the corridor.’

  ‘Do you know who the fugitive was?’