The Double Alibi

by Noel Vindry

  ‘It’s true,’ murmured the old woman. ‘I wanted him to be thought dead because of the risk of imprisonment. Is it very serious, the lie?’

  ‘Serious? If Allevaire wasn’t the victim, he could be the murderer, madam.. That would make you an accomplice to the crime.’

  He had been trying to frighten her in order to get the most out of her. But he had been almost too successful, and the old woman, already very frail, was about to lose consciousness.

  ‘Wait,’ he added, in a less severe tone. ‘We might be able to forgive you if you tell us the whole truth now.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Madam, I remain astonished that three old ladies, on one particular night, neglected to bolt the door. And I’ve just learnt that it wasn’t forgotten on the night of the theft, after all. So who would have left the door open?’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything. But don’t repeat it to my nieces.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Oh, sir, I loved him so much, my little boy. He was like a son to me. He wrote to me so he could visit me….’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Ten days ago. But my nieces didn’t want him to come here any more. I was afraid about annoying them, so I didn’t dare talk to them about it. I told him to come at night… and I went downstairs to open the door for him.’

  ‘Well, well,’ murmured Sallent.

  He’d expected to hear a confession about complicity: Dorothée, in his mind, had learnt about the murder her nephew was planning to commit and, unable to stop him, had provided him with an alibi by simulating a theft there in Limonest. Now, in her panic, she’d handed him enough for a charge.

  She continued:

  ‘He needed some money. I didn’t have any, so I gave him my silverware.’

  ‘No, madam,’ the superintendent interrupted, ‘someone took five thousand francs as well.’

  ‘That was me. I took them to give to him.’

  Sallent, still maintaining his stiff posture, was softened by this act of desperation. Nevertheless, he shook his head:

  ‘No, madam. At the time of the theft you were here, in this room, with your two nieces. Now tell me the truth. What did he do when you let him in?’

  The old woman started to cry softly, and the superintendent turned his head away. At such times, he found his profession very difficult.

  ‘He told me…,’ murmured Dorothée, ‘he told me go back to my room… and leave him in peace.’

  Sallent got up.

  She put her trembling hands together.

  ‘Don’t go, sir, listen… you see I’ve been sincere, and you must take that into account… It’s all my fault… If I hadn’t opened ….’

  ‘Yes, madam, yes… it’s not for me to judge.’

  The superintendent wanted nothing more than to terminate the painful scene. But he couldn’t leave, because the tremulous voice somehow held him back.

  ‘Sir, I brought that little boy up. Badly, as you can see. I was too weak. It’s my fault, not his. I’m the one to blame. And, besides, what are we talking about? I gave him the silverware, so it wasn’t a theft. And I’ll pay back the five thousand francs. I’ll work….’

  The word was obscene, coming as it was from a feeble old woman who didn’t even wipe away her tears as she was crying.

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Sallent brusquely. ‘Excuse me.’

  He held out his hand and she clutched it between hers.

  ‘Sir,’ she moaned. ‘Don’t be so pitiless… towards an old woman. Think of your own mother… she would understand, if she loved you the way I loved that child. I’ve only ever had him in my life… nothing else except grief. I only wanted one thing, to keep him until the end. It wasn’t much to ask, for a whole life. In a year, I’ll be dead… I don’t want my little boy sent to Guyane. I beg you, leave him with me until the end!’

  Exhausted, she cried in short little sobs.

  It was, for Sallent, the most difficult moment of the case. He pulled his hand away, wiped her tears away brusquely and left, growling:

  ‘What a profession. And what do I care, in the end, about the savings of those two old women? What would they have done with them? And, because of five thousand francs, I have to destroy that poor old woman. Ah, what a job! It’s nearly killed me!’

  He stopped and, deflecting his anger, mused:

  ‘If only M. Allou were here. He’d take a decision. What was he doing last night? Still mixed up in sentimental stories! He’s got time to waste. Anyway, he should be here in three hours.’

  Chapter XVIII

  M. ALLOU’S DECISION

  But M. Allou hadn’t taken the first train.

  He’d been awakened punctually, but had taken his time getting dressed. One question concerned him and slowed him down.

  “No,” he said to himself, “my solution isn’t perfect.”

  It seemed likely that Serge Madras would only have made his false accusation for a very good reason. The young man knew about Allevaire’s past and, not being able to reveal anything about it, had found a way to force him to leave.

  But two points remained unclear.

  First of all, the attitude of Marthe Clermon the night before.

  She had seemed in despair, suddenly, when her engagement was broken off. Did she love Serge Madras after all, and was it only out of scruple, because she thought him to be complicit, that she refused to marry him? But, in that case, she didn’t love Allevaire. Why did Madras try to get rid of the man, then, if he wasn’t a rival?

  But something else worried M. Allou as well. It was the strange coincidence that the secretary had arranged his accusation for the same night that Allevaire was committing a theft five hundred kilometres away. Chance? Perhaps, but M. Allou didn’t like chance and tried to eliminate it.

  Once again, the concierge knocked on the door and opened it:

  ‘It’s time, sir.’

  ‘I’m delaying my departure,’ replied M. Allou in the inarticulate voice of someone thinking about something else.

  ‘Sir has decided not to take the boat… pardon, I mean the train?’

  M. Allou, staring into space, repeated slowly:

  ‘Decided not to take the boat….’

  ‘I meant train, sir.’

  ‘Decided not to take the boat…,’ murmured M. Allou again, nodding his head.

  The concierge looked at him anxiously, ready to call for help if things got worse. But he relaxed when the guest’s madness took another form and he started to smile broadly, eyes gleaming, and even offered him a banknote.

  ‘Take this, you’ve earned it. Yes, perfectly… decided not to take the boat.’

  The man pocketed the note and made off at high speed.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ murmured Allou once the door was closed. ‘It’s so simple! What an idiot I’ve been!’

  ***

  He hurried after the concierge and asked him to hail a taxi.

  ‘To a steamship company!’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Whichever one you want. The closest.’

  Five minutes later, M. Allou was in a great hall and heading towards the information office.

  ‘Did any of your boats leave on the morning of the tenth of May?’

  ‘Yes, sir, the Rio de Janeiro, which left for Egypt with a stopover in Spain.’

  ‘What an incredible piece of luck! I found it right away,’ he murmured.

  In a louder voice he added:

  ‘Do you have the passenger list?’

  ‘Here. The three names marked with a cross are those passengers who booked a passage and failed to turn up at departure.’

  M. Allou quickly found the name he was looking for: Allevaire.

  He took a printed form out of his wallet, scribbled a few words on it, signed it and put it in his pocket.

  His taxi was still waiting for him outside.

  ‘To the Sûreté,’ he commanded.

  Once in the office of the chief, his stay w
as brief. Producing the form which he had completed earlier, he handed it over:

  ‘A summons just received from Marseille. Execute it as quickly as possible. I have to leave.’

  And before anyone had time to ask questions, he was gone.

  He returned to the hotel, packed his bags, and paid the bill. On the way out, he noticed the startled face of the concierge. He smiled.

  ‘Sir,’ said the man. ‘It’s past midday. You’ve missed your train.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, my friend. On the contrary, it’s perfect. But this morning you were right. Yes! Decided not to take the boat.’

  ***

  M. Allou sent a telegram to Sallent, care of the Limonest gendarmerie, then headed over to the Clermon residence to explain the situation.

  ‘Allevaire has returned to Limonest,’ he said. ‘I believe we can arrest him tonight, if I’m there. But I stupidly missed my train. You were so helpful previously that I felt tempted to ask if you could drive me there.’

  ‘It’s a long drive… But it would give me great pleasure to catch that bandit… Very well, I’ll get ready. We’ll leave in five minutes and be there by eight o’clock.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m truly grateful.’

  ‘Not at all. I’ll see you soon.’

  M. Allou had only been alone in the salon for a few seconds when the door opened and Marthe Clermon came in.

  ‘I heard,’ she said, looking at him with her big eyes full of anxiety. ‘Sir, I beg you, don’t arrest Allevaire.’

  He looked at her for a long time, as if to fix that slender silhouette and fine features, tense with anxiety, in his memory. He also may have had a tinge of sadness in his eyes.

  ‘I’m not going to arrest him,’ he said at last. ‘But you, too, must promise me two things.’

  ‘Yes,’ she exclaimed confidently. ‘What are they?’

  ‘First, not to cry for a whole day. Just one day. Tomorrow, many things will have changed.’

  ‘Many things?’

  ‘Yes, I want you to be happy, my child. You shall be… I promise. But you have to promise me as well. We both have to do our best to make it possible, without scruple. Agreed?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ve understood much more than you’ve told me. Secondly, will you think about me a little? Inspector Dupont? Goodbye, my child.’

  ***

  When the car stopped in front of the Limonest gendarmerie, M. Allou could already distinguish, from afar, a tall figure which detached itself from the rest.

  ‘Good day to you, Sallent. Did you come to wait for me? Hasn’t the arrest been made?’

  ‘No. Not in charge any more. Sick of the whole business. Let the Lyon police handle it.’

  ‘You give up too easily. What about your motto: The job’s—.’

  ‘It’s not a job,’ growled the superintendent. ‘I can explain if you like.’

  ‘Please excuse us, M. Clermon,’ said the magistrate, ‘but it seems I’m going to have to talk to my colleague. If you wouldn’t mind waiting in the café across the street, I’ll join you in a minute.’

  He and Sallent stepped away, but their conversation lasted three quarters of an hour. Eventually they went over to see Clermon.

  ‘We’re going to have dinner with our colleagues from Lyon. Would you care to join us?’

  ‘Willingly.’

  They had little difficulty in finding the three inspectors in the small village. Sallent introduced M. Allou.

  ‘One of my colleagues, Superintendent Dupont, designated by Paris to take charge of the case.’

  The others saluted respectfully.

  ‘Excuse me, chief,’ said one of them, ‘but I’m a little confused. Has Allevaire left? If so, why did he come?’

  ‘In any case, he’s invisible,’ declared a second officer.

  ‘So what should we do?’ added the third.

  ‘What should we do?’ exclaimed M. Allou. ‘Why, eat, of course. It’s nine o’clock and I’m dying of hunger.’

  Nobody objected and they quickly found a table at a nearby restaurant. It was a long meal. At around ten o’clock, one of the inspectors summoned the nerve to ask:

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Now, we’re going on a little trip before we go to bed.’

  ‘As you wish, chief.’

  And, leaning towards one of his colleagues, he added:

  ‘Good idea for Paris to delegate.’

  They left and started to walk along the main street. An old peasant stopped them.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I’m happy to see you. I was on my way to the gendarmerie. But I believe you’re the police, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ replied M. Allou. ‘What can we do for you?’

  ‘Are you by any chance looking for the cousin of the Misses Levalois? The one all the papers have been talking about for a week?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because if you are, I just saw him five minutes ago.’

  ‘Where was he?’ asked one of the inspectors.

  ‘He was coming out of M. Epicevieille’s house. You know, the old lawyer. He was up to no good, I’ll wager. I saw one of the shutters was broken.’

  ‘Didn’t Epicevieille call for help?’

  ‘No. And for a very good reason. Today’s Thursday and he always dines chez Levalois and gets home late.’

  ‘Let’s take a look, just out of curiosity,’ said M. Allou.

  A few minutes later they were standing in front of the house, an old farm. One of the shutters on the ground floor was indeed open, and they went in.

  ‘Oh, nice job!’ said one of the men as he turned the lights on.

  The dining room, where they found themselves, was in total disarray. The sideboard had been moved out of place and the drawers were lying on the floor.

  But the situation in the adjacent room was even worse. The entire contents of the wardrobe had been emptied and were strewn across the floor; the mattress had been thrown against the foot of the bed.

  Suddenly, a sharp order rang out:

  ‘Come with me!’

  The inspectors, surprised by the burst of energy, turned to look at M. Allou.

  ‘Follow me!’ he continued.

  ‘Shall I come as well?’ asked Clermon.

  ‘But of course.’

  They left the house, walking timidly behind M. Allou, and not daring to ask for an explanation.

  The little group traversed the village and arrived in front of the Levalois villa.

  ‘There’s a lot of shouting inside,’ exclaimed one of the men.

  And, through the closed shutters, the sound of raised voices could indeed be heard.

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ said M. Allou. ‘Don’t ring the bell, that’ll only cause us more work, and one should always do the least possible. The door’s probably not bolted, so who’ll volunteer to pick the lock quietly?’

  ‘Me,’ said Sallent.

  The operation was over quickly. The three men, unable to contain their impatience any longer, rushed into the house and opened the door of the dining room. The three old women were there, as well as Epicevieille. But there was a fourth person there, whom they recognised at once: Allevaire.

  They seized him and held him tightly.

  ‘Now we’ve got you, my lad!’ said one of them.

  ‘And why the devil are you holding him?’ asked M. Allou, who had followed them in.

  ‘But… chief….’

  ‘Have you got an arrest warrant?’

  ‘Yes, of course, dated the tenth of May and signed by M. Allou, the examining magistrate in Marseille!’

  ‘Will you show it to me?’

  One of the inspectors fished it out of his wallet. M. Allou took it and calmly tore it into pieces.

  ‘You’re mad,’ muttered the man.

  ‘It’s the impression I’ve given to everyone today. Why do you want to arrest this poor devil?’

  ‘For the theft which took place on the night bef
ore… You know….’

  ‘What was stolen?’

  ‘Five thousand francs and some silverware.’

  ‘You’re imagining things,’ replied M. Allou. ‘Look harder. Everything’s there on the table, the money and the silver. Release that man. And, because you don’t want to stand there empty-handed, arrest the two sisters and Epicevieille.’

  ‘The victims?’

  ‘Yes. It makes a change, don’t you think?’

  Chapter XVII

  THE JOB’S THE JOB

  But Hortense was on her feet immediately.

  ‘My sister doesn’t know anything about it!’ she exclaimed. ‘I kept everything from her.’

  It was enough to look at Gertrude’s incredulous face to realise she had no idea what was happening.

  ‘All right, not her,’ ordered M. Allou. ‘Just her sister and Epicevieille. You don’t need to hold them. They won’t run away. All we need is a moral arrest. So, gentlemen, if you’re in no hurry to take your charges away, I’m available to explain some of the details.’

  ‘Yes, we’d like that. Up until now, we’ve just been following orders.’

  ‘In that case, let’s all have a seat. This is likely to take some time.

  ‘No, gentlemen, Allevaire didn’t commit the theft which took place here on the night of the ninth to tenth of May, for several reasons, not the least of which being that he was in Bordeaux that night.

  ‘I should have realised earlier that a man who religiously conserves letters from his aunt (they were found in Aubagne, on the body of Fumage) would never rob her of the souvenir she cherishes the most, and which is only of very modest value.

  ‘The reason for my error was the “material evidence” of the fingerprint on one of the spoons. Gentlemen, let me caution you against clues! Nothing is easier to fabricate, despite their rigorous appearance. Put your trust in logic instead.

  ‘In other words, don’t follow the bad example I set at the beginning of the case. The Limonest theft seemed certain and I thought it was the alibis that were false. Luckily, I refused to accept the role of chance, which is what saved me. Otherwise, I would have sent an innocent man to Guyane.’

  ‘He’s not going?’ asked Dorothée.