The Grand Banks Café
Page 14
‘Nothing. All quiet as quiet. You can hear him snoring from the foot of the stairs.’
Maigret hung up and ran his eyes over the small figure of Dufour from head to foot.
‘You won’t let him give you the slip?’ he asked.
The officer was about to protest, but Maigret put one hand on his shoulder and went on in a sober voice:
‘Listen, son. I know you’ll do everything you can. But my job is on the line here! And a lot else besides. Fact is, I can’t go myself. The wretch knows me.’
‘Sir, I swear …’
‘Don’t swear, just go.’
And with a curt movement of his hand, Maigret swept the various documents into the manila folder, which he placed in a drawer.
‘And if you need more men, don’t hesitate to ask.’
Joseph Heurtin’s picture was still on the desk, and Maigret gazed briefly at his bony head, flapping ears and wide, bloodless lips.
Three medics had examined the man. Two had said:
Low intelligence. Fully responsible for his actions.
The third, quoted by the defence, had coyly ventured:
Troubled atavism. Diminished responsibility.
And Maigret, who had arrested Joseph Heurtin, had told the chief of police, the public prosecutor and the examining magistrate:
‘He’s either insane or innocent!’
And he had undertaken to prove it.
From the corridor came the receding sound of Inspector Dufour’s footsteps as he went trippingly on his way.
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