Maigret and the Man on the Boulevard

by Georges Simenon

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he said, testily.

  It was Inspector Neveu…He just put his head round the door, assuming that the chief was right in the middle of an interrogation.

  “Excuse me. I just wanted to ask what…”

  “You can go off now. And thanks!”

  When he had gone, the chief superintendent began pacing up and down, to fill in time until the waiter arrived from the Brasserie Dauphine. He also made another call, this time to his wife:

  “I shan’t be in for lunch.”

  “I was beginning to wonder. Do you know what time it is?”

  “No. Does it matter?”

  She burst out laughing. He couldn’t imagine why.

  “I came here to tell you…”

  “It’ll keep.”

  It was his third interrogation that day. He was thirsty. Then he noticed, all of a sudden, that the young man was staring at the bottle of brandy and the used tumbler that had been left standing on his desk.

  Maigret blushed like a child, and only just stopped himself from blurting out that it wasn’t he who had been drinking brandy out of a tall glass, but Jef Schrameck, who had left the office just before Albert arrived.

  Had the boy’s reproachful words struck home? Was Chief Superintendent Maigret regretting that he had forfeited his good opinion?

  “Come in, Joseph. Put the tray down on the desk. Everything’s there, I take it?”

  And when at last they were alone with the tray of food:

  “Let’s eat.”

  Jorisse ate heartily, in spite of having said that he wasn’t hungry. Right through the meal, he kept darting inquiring glances at the chief superintendent, but by the time he had finished his first glass of beer, he seemed to have regained a little self-confidence.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yes, thanks. All the same, you did call me a ruffian.”

  “We’ll discuss that later.”

  “It really is true that I was on my way to see you.”

  “What for?”

  “Because I was sick of running away.”

  “Why did you run away?”

  “So as not to get myself arrested.”

  “Why should anyone have wanted to arrest you?”

  “You know very well why.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Because I am Monique’s friend.”

  “Why were you so sure we’d find out?”

  “You were bound to.”

  “And you think that because you and Monique were friends, we would have arrested you?”

  “You wanted to make me talk.”

  “I did, to be sure!”

  “You’ve made up your mind that I’m going to lie to you, and you won’t be happy until you’ve tripped me up.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve been reading too many detective stories.”

  “No. But I read the papers. I know how you people go about things.”

  “In that case, what exactly are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to tell you that I didn’t kill Monsieur Louis Thouret.”

  Maigret, puffing at his pipe, slowly sipped his second glass of beer. He was seated at his desk. The green-shaded light was switched on, and the first few drops of rain were spreading on the window panes.

  “Do you understand the implications of what you have just said?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You assumed that you were under threat of arrest. Which means that there were good reasons why we should arrest you.”

  “You’ve been to the Rue d’Angoulême, haven’t you?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You found out by the merest chance that he had a room in town. It was because of the light brown shoes, wasn’t it?”

  The chief superintendent looked at him with an amused little smile.

  “So what?”

  “The woman there must surely have told you that I’d been to see him.”

  “Is that a reason for arresting you?”

  “You’ve interrogated Monique.”

  “Do you really believe she would give you away?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that you’d managed to make her talk.”

  “In that case what was the point of hiding under a friend’s bed?”

  “So you know that too?”

  “Please answer my question.”

  “I wasn’t thinking. I got into a panic. I was afraid I might be browbeaten into saying things that weren’t true.”

  “Did you get that from the newspapers as well?”

  After all, had not René Lecœur’s lawyers referred in open court to the brutality of the police, and had not the words been quoted in every newspaper in the land? In fact, there had been a letter from Lecœur in the morning post. In despair, being under sentence of death, he had written to beg the chief superintendent to visit him in prison.

  Maigret was tempted to show the letter to the youngster. He would do so later, if it should prove necessary.

  “Why didn’t you remain in hiding in the Rue Gay-Lussac?”

  “Because I couldn’t stand spending the whole day hiding under a bed. It was ghastly. I ached all over. I kept thinking all the time that I was going to sneeze. It’s a small flat, and the doors are left open. I could hear my friend’s aunt moving about the whole time. If I’d so much as moved, she would have been bound to hear me.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “I was hungry.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I wandered about the streets. At night, I managed to get a couple of hours’ sleep by lying on a sack of vegetables in Les Halles. Twice I got myself as far as the Pont Saint-Michel. I saw Monique come out of this building. I walked to the Rue d’Angoulême, and there was a man there who looked as if he was watching the house. I assumed he must be from the police.”

  “What reason would you have had for killing Monsieur Louis?”

  “Don’t you know that I borrowed money from him?”

  “Borrowed?”

  “All right, I asked him for money, if you like.”

  “Asked?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “There are different ways of asking. Among others, there is a way which makes it almost impossible for the person concerned to refuse. In plain terms, blackmail.”

  He was silent, gazing fixedly at the floor.

  “What have you to say to that?”

  “In actual fact, I would never have told Madame Thouret.”

  “All the same, you threatened to do so?”

  “That wasn’t necessary.”

  “Because a hint that you might talk was enough?”

  “I don’t know. You’re confusing me.”

  He added, in a weary voice:

  “I’m dropping with sleep.”

  “Drink your coffee.”

  He obeyed meekly, never taking his eyes off Maigret.

  “How often did you go and see him?”

  “Only twice.”

  “Did Monique know?”

  “What did she say about it?”

  “Never you mind what she said. I want to get at the truth.”

  “She did know.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “To whom?”

  “To Louis Thouret, of course.”

  “That we were in need of money.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Monique and I.”

  “What did you say you wanted it for?”

  “To go to South America.”

  “So you told him you intended to run away together?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did he react?”

  “In the end, he agreed that he had no choice in the matter.”

  There was something wrong, somewhere. It was beginning to dawn on him that the youngster thought Maigret knew more than he actually did. He would have to proceed with caution.

 
; “Did you ask his permission to marry her?”

  “Yes. But he knew very well it was out of the question. Firstly, I am under age, and would have to get my parents’ consent. Secondly, even if they were to agree, Madame Thouret would never have put up with a son-in-law who still had his way to make in the world. Monsieur Thouret himself was the first to discourage me from introducing myself to his wife.”

  “Did you tell him that you and Monique had been making love in heaven knows how many different hotel rooms?”

  “I didn’t go into details.”

  For the second time he blushed.

  “I simply told him that she was pregnant.”

  Maigret didn’t start or show any other sign of surprise. All the same, it was a shock. He blamed his own lack of insight.

  Because it was, he had to admit, the one possibility that had never occurred to him.

  “How far gone is she?”

  “Just over two months.”

  “You’ve seen a doctor, I presume?”

  “She wouldn’t let me go in with her.”

  “But she has seen someone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you wait for her outside?”

  “No.”

  Maigret changed his position slightly, and began mechanically to fill another pipe.

  “What had you in mind to do, when you got to South America?”

  “Anything at all. I’m not afraid of work. I could have become a cowhand.”

  He said this with great seriousness, even a touch of pride, and Maigret had a mental image of the many six-foot roughnecks that he had encountered on ranches in Texas and Arizona.

  “A cowhand,” he echoed.

  “Or I could have prospected for gold.”

  “Of course!”

  “I would have managed somehow.”

  “And you and Monique would have got married?”

  “Yes. I imagine it would be easier there than here.”

  “Do you love Monique?”

  “She’s my wife, or as good as, isn’t she? Just because we haven’t been through the formalities…”

  “How did Monsieur Louis react to this news?”

  “He couldn’t believe his daughter could have done such a thing. He cried.”

  “In your presence?”

  “Yes. I swore to him that my intentions…”

  “Were honorable. But of course. What happened then?”

  “He promised he’d help us. He couldn’t give us all the money at once, but he gave me some.”

  “Where is this money?”

  “Monique has it. She keeps it hidden in the desk in her office.”

  “What about the rest of the money?”

  “He promised he’d let me have it on Tuesday. He was expecting a large remittance.”

  “Who from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Didn’t he tell you how he earned his money?”

  “He couldn’t, obviously.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he hadn’t a job. I was never able to find out how he got the money. There were two of them involved.”

  “Did you ever see the other one?”

  “Once, in the boulevard.”

  “A tall, thin man, with the face of a clown?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was with me here until just a few minutes before you arrived. The brandy was for him.”

  “In that case, you know it all.”

  “What I want to know is whether you do.”

  “I don’t know anything. My guess is that they were blackmailing someone.”

  “And you didn’t see any reason why you shouldn’t have a share of the loot?”

  “We needed money, on account of the baby.”

  Maigret lifted the receiver of the internal telephone.

  “Lucas? I want you in here for a moment.”

  As soon as Lucas arrived, Maigret introduced the young man:

  “This is Albert Jorisse. He and Monique are expecting a baby.”

  He spoke with great solemnity, and Lucas, who did not know what to think, nodded.

  “The young lady may still be in her office, as she wasn’t able to be there this morning. I want you to go and fetch her, and then take her to a doctor. Let her decide which one. If she has no preference, it might as well be the one at the Préfecture. I want to know how many months pregnant she is.”

  “What if she refuses to be examined?”

  “Tell her that, if she does refuse, I shall have no choice but to arrest her, as well as her boyfriend, who is here in my office. Take a car, and telephone and let me know what she says.”

  When they were alone again, Jorisse asked:

  “What was all that about?”

  “It’s my job to check up on everything.”

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  “I believe you, yes.”

  “But you don’t believe her, is that it?”

  The ringing of the telephone saved Maigret the embarrassment of replying. The call had nothing to do with the matter in hand. It was the reference to a lunatic who had been to see him some days earlier, and who had later been arrested in the street for riotous behavior. Instead of answering the query in a few words, as he could have done, Maigret spun out the conversation for as long as possible.

  When he replaced the receiver, he asked, pretending that he had forgotten where they had got to:

  “What do you intend to do now?”

  “Do you accept my assurance that I didn’t kill him?”

  “I’ve always known that. You see, it’s not as easy as is generally supposed to stab someone in the back. It’s even more difficult to prevent the victim from crying out.”

  “You mean I would be incapable of carrying it out?”

  “Sure.”

  He seemed almost offended. After all, he had had dreams of becoming a cowhand or a gold prospector in South America.

  “Do you intend to go and see Madame Thouret?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to.”

  Maigret was sorely tempted to burst out laughing at the thought of the lad going to the house in Juvisy, with his tail between his legs, in an attempt to butter up Monique’s mother.

  “Do you believe that, as things are, she’ll be prepared to regard you as an acceptable son-in-law?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t deny, do you, that you didn’t play altogether straight?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It isn’t only that you asked Monsieur Louis to give you the money to take Monique to South America, but that, knowing Monique spends every afternoon going from house to house collecting debts, you decided you might as well take advantage of the fact.

  “She could always hurry through her rounds with an hour or two to spare, which she got into the habit of spending shut up with you in some hotel room or other.”

  “We did meet like that sometimes.”

  “In order to do so, you were forced to give up your afternoon stint in the bookshop. And hotel rooms cost money.”

  “We did spend a little of…”

  “You knew where Monsieur Louis kept his money didn’t you?”

  He was watching the young man closely. He answered without a moment’s hesitation:

  “On top of his glass-fronted wardrobe.”

  “When he gave you the money, did he get it from there?”

  “Yes. But Monique had already told me about it.”

  “I take it you never went near the house in the Rue d’Angoulême on Monday?”

  “No, I didn’t. Ask the landlady, if you like. I had an appointment to go and see him on Tuesday at five.”

  “When were you intending to leave for South America?”

  “There’s a ship sailing in three weeks’ time. That would have given us time to get our visas. I have already applied for a passport.”

  “I thought that, in the case of a minor, parental consent was obligatory.”

  “I forged m
y father’s signature.”

  There was a pause. Then, for the first time, Jorisse asked for permission to smoke.

  Maigret nodded. The absurd thing was that, having had his coffee, he really was longing now for a glass of liqueur brandy, but he had not the courage to take out the bottle, which was now back in the cupboard.

  “You called me a ruffian.”

  “Don’t you think you deserved it?”

  “I had no choice but to do what I did.”

  “How would you like it, if your son were to behave as you did?”

  “I intend to bring up my son differently. He won’t have to…”

  Once again they were interrupted by the telephone.

  “Is that you, chief?”

  Maigret frowned. It was Neveu. He had not sent him out on any assignment.

  “I’ve got the money!”

  “You must be joking!”

  He glanced at Jorisse, and said to the inspector:

  “Just a second. I’ll go on to the other line.”

  He went into the adjoining room, and told the first inspector he saw to go and keep an eye on the young man.

  “That’s better. Now you can talk freely. Where are you?”

  “In a bistro on the Quai de Valmy.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “You’re not angry with me?”

  “Carry on.”

  “I meant it for the best. It’s ten years now since Jef moved in with Françoise. From all I hear, he’s fonder of her than he likes to make out. I suddenly had a yen to take a look round her place.”

  “What for?”

  “I thought it odd that he should have left her without money. I was lucky enough to find her at home. There are only two rooms, plus a kind of cupboard they use as a kitchen. In the bedroom there is an iron bedstead with brass knobs. The walls are whitewashed, country style, but it’s all very clean.”

  Feeling a little cross, Maigret waited for Neveu to finish his story. He didn’t care for over-zealousness, especially in the case of someone like Neveu, who belonged to a different branch of the service.

  “Did you tell her Jef had been arrested?”

  “Shouldn’t I have done?”

  “Go on.”

  “To begin with, judging by her reactions, I was convinced she didn’t know what he’d been up to. Her first thought was that I must have caught him picking pockets in the Métro or on a bus. Presumably, that’s his usual racket.”