by Noel Vindry
‘And we weren’t able to catch you,’ added M. Allou. ‘For three days in a row, you managed to evade us just in time.’
‘Yes, the next day it was at my secret house. How did you find out about it?’
‘Two other individuals were interested in you, Allevaire. First of all Madras, who hoped you would confess and free him from the charge of slanderous accusation. And then Etrillat.’
‘Le Borgne? Why?’
‘Because he was afraid. He thought you would begin to suspect his role in the Aubagne murder, and that you would take revenge. He wanted the upper hand, and I’m sure he tried to ambush you several times in order to kill you. He watched your house, hoping to catch sight of you through one of the windows, but you were canny enough not to show yourself.
‘What to do? Should he get into your house? The door to your flat would presumably be bolted and you could very well be waiting behind it, gun in hand.
‘I’m assuming he tried to lure you out and ambush you. We saw him put an envelope in the letter box.’
‘Yes, it pretended to be from a friend of mine, arranging a rendezvous, but I was suspicious.’
‘In passing, Allevaire, I have to say that it’s strange that you needed a secret address, and strange that Etrillat knew about it. But I don’t intend to dwell on the matter. I don’t want to upset my friend Sallent, who is a sentimental soul. No unnecessary zeal. Let’s just leave it at that.
‘So Le Borgne put a message in your letter box. But he was seen by Madras, who hastened to alert us. Unfortunately, Clermon, he happened to tell us in your presence. And you didn’t want Allevaire caught with your documents in his pocket.
‘The second we had left, you rushed to the phone to announce your expedition. You seem to have made your announcement a few minutes too late….’
‘My sister was in the lobby. I had to wait for her to go upstairs.’
‘That explains why Allevaire was almost apprehended. He fled at the very moment we arrived. Madras ran after him courageously, but his prey pushed him away… rather violently.’
‘It was the only way, he’s stronger than I am.’
‘Yes… Did you know, Allevaire, that you could have been sent to prison for that? Rest assured, Madras hasn’t pressed charges, so it won’t happen.
‘After you fled the scene, we went up to your flat and the superintendent turned on the electricity in your room. Le Borgne, who hadn’t been sure you would go to the supposed rendezvous, was still lurking in the waste land, watching the windows. You had usually been very careful to close the shutters before turning on the light. But it’s so easy to forget. Suddenly Le Borgne saw the light come on and a silhouette appear in the window, and he fired. The bullet only missed by a whisker.
‘Then my friend Sallent had one of those weird ideas to which he alone knows the secret.’
‘It’s not a monopoly,’ grunted the superintendent. ‘I can name others….’
‘He went to open the window! That was when Etrillat recognised him, because he’d seen us at a terrace café.’
‘Yes, Proto had hailed us by our official titles, braying like an ass!’
‘Don’t complain, Sallent, it may very well have saved your life. Because Le Borgne, recognising you, realised that it was a police raid and had another idea.
‘Because we were hot on your trail, Allevaire, it seemed unlikely to him that he’d be able to kill you before we found you. Better to provoke your arrest, conviction and inevitable deportation to Guyane, where you would be out of the way.
‘But you still needed to be convicted… Now, Etrillat knew full well that you hadn’t committed the theft in Limonest, because you were in Bordeaux that night, waiting to catch the boat the next day. He feared that the charges against you might not be serious enough. Therefore, you needed to be convicted of the murder in Marseille.
‘So, to have the finger point at you, he devised a stratagem. He’d kept the victim’s wallet and decided to take advantage of our visit to plant it in your residence.
‘He reasoned that, since the light had only just come on, that our search of the premises had just started and would take some time. He therefore entered and went upstairs with the intention of placing the wallet behind the coat rack, where we would find it later.
‘He was able to enter the premises without trouble because he had a key. Once again, Allevaire, it’s curious that he should have a key. But I’ll let that pass….
‘But the superintendent had heard him. Etrillat just had time to place the wallet according to plan and could logically have expected to leave unmolested—even if his presence had been detected, it would be reasonable for us to wait until he opened the door of the bedroom before challenging him. But, once again, Sallent had another of his weird ideas and bounded towards him without bothering to check whether he was armed. I must admit that, for once, it worked.
‘But, for the time being, Le Borgne’s plan had also worked. We had discovered the wallet.
‘I tried to gain his confidence, in order that we might follow him because, at the time, I believed him to be your accomplice, Allevaire. But I can’t have done a very good job, because the next day he spotted the surveillance.
‘But, instead of trying to flee, he preferred to take advantage of it. He was pretty sure he knew where you were hiding, Allevaire. You had a third residence fifty kilometres from Bordeaux. That makes quite a few for an honest man, doesn’t it? Let’s say it was your country house. And so Le Borgne very cleverly led the inspector who was tailing him to it, hoping to have you arrested.
‘And you had indeed gone there immediately after escaping from us. Well, not quite immediately: you’d stopped by briefly at Clermon’s townhouse. He was doing everything he could to facilitate your escape. At the same time he phoned you about our imminent arrival, he told you he’d placed a car at your disposal. You found the key under the garage door where you, Clermon, had left it.’
‘How did you know?’ exclaimed the latter.
‘Quite simply: the police officers saw it. I would have guessed anyway, from your embarrassed demeanour when the superintendent questioned you over the phone the following day.’
‘Yes, I lost my nerve. I hadn’t decided how to reply. Should I claim there was a second key, which had been stolen? It would have been more plausible, perhaps, but I was afraid of compromising my sister.’
‘In any case, you didn’t succeed, because I suspected, not just that, but everything else. And, out of affection for you, she confessed to everything I wanted.
‘And now I come to our last expedition. Thanks once again to the stupidity of Proto, who has never learnt to keep his mouth shut, you, Clermon, discovered where Allevaire was hiding. Once again, you hoped he would escape and maybe, with a bit of luck, retrieve your letters.
‘So, in friendly fashion, you volunteered to drive us there. It was important, however, that Allevaire not learn about your role in his pursuit, in case he took revenge by telling your sister the source of your rapid rise in the business world. You warned us not to count on you during any potential arrest. Such a precaution presented another advantage: you didn’t have to stay with us and might, therefore, find an opportunity to get back the letters on your own.
‘And such an opportunity did in fact arise. Allevaire doesn’t respond to the door bell. Proto is left outside to guard the back of the house whilst the superintendent and I go inside to search. We leave the front door open. We’ve only just reached the first floor when you sneak inside. You don’t go far: you limit yourself to lifting the hook securing one of the shutters. I assume, in order for it to remain unnoticed, that you balanced it delicately on the loop of the eye?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘On our way up, we examined all the shutters carefully to make sure they were securely closed. We checked them on the way down as well, but not with the same care, naturally enough, because we were concentrating on whether anyone was hiding in any of the rooms. We left the house and
moved Proto to watch the front door, which seemed by then to be the only possible point of access. You were close enough to us to hear the order given.
‘After that you left, but you returned soon thereafter.’
‘Didn’t you check that M. Al—that M. Dupont and I had taken refuge in the cabin?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘I also heard you talking softly.’
‘And so,’ continued M. Allou, ‘you went quietly into the house and started looking for the letters. You didn’t realise that the brief flickers of your electric torch could be seen through the slats of the shutters. The superintendent noticed them.’
‘And I,’ said Clermon, ‘heard you coming up the stairs.’
‘You handled the situation very well. My compliments. At the bottom of the stairs, you crossed paths with Allevaire.’
‘I was coming in,’ said the latter. ‘I was coming back from the village, where I’d been looking for food… at a friend’s house. I saw Clermon rushing out. Needless to say, I didn’t realise he’d come to my house in the company of the police, in order to break in.
‘After he left, I assumed the house was empty and went in. Suddenly I heard you coming down the stairs. I turned, but you’d already recognised me. Luckily, I was able to reach my car and drive to a train station. I knew that there were no more hiding places left for me and it was only a matter of days before I was caught. But I wanted to have a clear conscience regarding the theft of the silverware, so I came here, hiding as best I could in the countryside.’
‘Let that teach you a lesson,’ said M. Allou.
‘That I swear!’
‘But I’ve another question for M. Clermon before he goes,’ interjected Sallent. ‘When we went back into the house after you’d left, we found all the shutters securely locked.’
‘Of course. I shut the one I used immediately after I entered, so as to be sure not to forget. Otherwise, in a subsequent examination, you might have spotted my trick.’
‘I understand. But then how were you planning to get out?’
‘Through the door, whilst you were taking Allevaire away, following his arrest. I would have met you back at the car.’
‘So you expected us to arrest him?’
‘I couldn’t prevent it. How would I see him in the dark to warn him? I took the risk that he didn’t have the letters on him, and I lost. They were in his pocket.’
‘You see, Sallent,’ concluded M. Allou, smiling, ‘he hadn’t bought Proto.’
‘What imbecile would waste his money on that useless creature?’
‘Come now, Sallent, a little indulgence, if you please.’
‘No. Always have to keep shaking him. Don’t like that. The job’s the job.’
THE END
APPENDIX 1
THE FRENCH LEGAL/POLICE SYSTEM
In the British and American systems, the police and prosecution gather information likely to convict the suspect. The defence gathers information likely to acquit the defendant. Arguments between the two, and the examination of witnesses, are conducted in open court, and refereed by a judge. The winner is decided, in most important cases, by a jury of ordinary citizens.
In the French system, also adopted in many other continental countries, all criminal cases are investigated by an examining magistrate. He or she is a jurist independent of the government and the prosecution service, and is given total authority over a case: from investigating crime scenes; to questioning witnesses; to ordering the arrest of suspects; to preparing the prosecution’s case, if any. Much of the "trial" of the evidence goes on in secret during the investigation (confrontations between witnesses; recreations of the crime) working with the police. The final report of the investigating magistrate is supposed to contain all the evidence favourable to both defence and prosecution.
Investigations are frequently long—two years is normal in straightforward cases—but trials are mostly short. Witnesses are called and the evidence is rehearsed in court, but lengthy cross-examination in the British/American style is rare. In the Cours d’Assises, which hear serious criminal cases, there are nine jurors, who sit with three professional judges: other criminal cases and appeals are heard by panels of judges alone.
In France, as in Britain, the defendant is theoretically innocent until proven guilty. But in practice there is a strong presumption of guilt if an examining magistrate, having weighed the evidence from both sides over a period of several years, sends a party to court. There is no right of habeas corpus in France. Examining magistrates have a right (within limits) to imprison suspects for lengthy periods without trial.
Much of the leg-work during an investigation is done by the police (in towns) or gendarmerie (in rural areas), but relations between magistrates and police are not always as good as depicted here. Not only did anyone below the equivalent of Chief Inspector have to defer to the examining magistrate but in the 1930’s they also had to cope with the Brigade Mobile—the equivalent of Scotland Yard’s Flying Squad, but on a national scale—which could swoop down and usurp their powers without warning. Not surprisingly, their morale was terrible.
There are other differences between police and gendarmes. The police (called Police Nationale since 1966; before that it was known as the Surete) are under the control of the Ministry of the Interior and are considered to be a civilian force. The Gendarmerie Nationale is under the control of the Ministry of Defence since Napoleonic days and is considered to be a military force. In addition to policing smaller towns and rural areas, it guards military installations, airports and shipping ports.
Under French law, you cannot disinherit certain heirs (les parts reserves), as you can under Anglo-Saxon law.
APPENDIX 2
VINDRY ON THE DETECTIVE NOVEL
1. ‘Le Roman Policier.’ Article in Marianne, 26 July 1933
There is much talk at the moment about the detective novel; a little too much. Some praise it to the skies: and when they let go it will crash. Others relegate it to the basement: it will become covered with mould and quickly rot.
Can’t we allocate it its just place? Not too high, so as not to make promises it is unable to keep, and avoid disappointment. Not too low, so as to avoid a sense of unremitting decline and the abandonment of all quality.
But in order to be fair about it, we have to recognise what it is. So many judgments have been made about it that, in reality, have nothing to do with it.
The “Detective Novel”! Under this perhaps badly-chosen heading have been lumped totally disparate works; works not without merit, certainly, but not destined for the same public and therefore sowing fateful confusion.
As with the Christmas cracker, everyone was hoping for something else and curses their luck.
Under this heading, adventure novels have been published and called detective novels on the pretext they feature criminals.
The adventure novel is about chance, the unpredictable, fantasy science and the last-minute revelation which upsets all calculations.
The detective novel is rigour, logic, real science and a solution relentlessly deduced from the given facts.
Two genres more different it is impossible to imagine.
The adventure novel is a treasure in a labyrinth; one finds it by chance after a thousand surprising detours. The detective novel is a treasure in a strong-box; one opens the door very simply with a tiny, necessary and sufficient key.
The former must present the complexity of a panorama; the other that of an architectural drawing.
The detective novel must be constructed like a mathematical problem; at a certain point, which is emphasised, all the clues have been provided fairly; and the rigorous solution will become evident to the astute reader.
No, the presence of a criminal is not enough to turn an adventure novel into a detective novel.
Conan Doyle and Gaston Leroux, in several works, were the masters of the detective novel; Wallace, that of the adventure
novel.
Something else as well, delivered under the same heading: the police novel.
It includes shoot-outs, rooftop chases, opium dens, made-up detectives and cries of horror.
The detective novel, on the contrary, economises on revolvers and the police chases of pre-war films.
It lets you into the dining-room, with the meal already prepared, and not into the kitchens.
It is not a work of realism or a documentary; it is constructed for the mind. The logic is unreal, or rather, surreal. The master of fact and not its slave.
One cannot accuse it of an “unhealthy influence on youth,” for it interests only the intelligence.
So we have three essentially distinct genres:
The adventure novel, about the life of the criminal.
The police novel, about the arrest of the criminal.
The detective novel, about the discovery of the criminal.
And even, dare I say, “discovery” pure and simple: for the criminal and the police are mere accessory elements to the detective novel. Its essence is a mysterious fact which has to be explained naturally; the criminal hides his activities and the detective tries to discover them; their conflicts provide convenient situations: the “givens” of the problem. That’s it.
True detective novels are only “police novels” by accident. Maybe we should change the name.
I propose: “Puzzle novel.” (1)
(1) Roman probleme: “problem novel,” or “puzzle novel” (less confusing).
Does this confusion between the detective novel, the adventure novel and the police novel result solely from a badly-chosen term?
No: all three possess a common element of fascinating importance: action. Overwhelmed by the speed, one no longer notices the body moving.
Action dazzles the reader. Alas, it sometimes dazzles the author: of what use is style if the intrigue is enough to excite passion? Superfluous dressing which can only slow down the chase.