Maigret's Doubts (Inspector Maigret)

by Georges Simenon

  In this instance, was Maigret not working to ensure that there was neither a crime nor a culprit?

  That would therefore mean no expenses, or expenses that were as modest as possible, and he knew that if nothing came of it he would have to justify the use of his men.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  There was no snow, contrary to the forecast on the radio, but a cold, yellowish fog. The two men, in the light and heat of the Brasserie Dauphine, didn’t have beers, which seemed inappropriate to the season, but aperitifs. Leaning on the bar, they didn’t talk about Marton, they chatted a little with the owner, after which, with the collars of their overcoats turned up, they returned to the office.

  Maigret had decided to leave the door to the inspectors’ office half open and to put Lapointe, who was quite good at shorthand, behind the door. It was a precaution, just in case.

  At 6.50 he was sitting at his desk, waiting for old Joseph to knock on the door. At 6.55 he was still waiting, and Lapointe, clutching a well-sharpened pencil, was also waiting behind the door.

  Maigret was beginning to get impatient when, at seven o’clock, he heard some footsteps at last, familiar little taps, and saw the white porcelain handle turning.

  It was Joseph. Having been warned in advance, he merely whispered:

  ‘It’s the gentleman you’re waiting for.’

  ‘Show him in.’

  ‘Sorry for being a bit late …’ Marton said. ‘There was no point taking the Métro at this time of day … There were two full buses, and I came on foot, thinking that that would be quicker …’

  He was slightly out of breath and seemed to be hot from running.

  ‘If you would like to take off your coat …’

  ‘That might be a good idea. I think I’m starting to get a cold …’

  It took some time for him to sort himself out. He didn’t know where to put his overcoat. At first he put it on a chair, then noticed that that was the one he was supposed to sit on if he was to face the inspector, so he carried it to the other end of the room.

  At last they were sitting face to face, Maigret smoking his pipe and studying his visitor more intensely than he had the previous day. He was almost disappointed. For twenty-four hours his thoughts had revolved around Marton, who had in the end been transformed into an extraordinary character, and the man in front of him was completely ordinary, like hundreds of others one might bump into on the Métro or in the street.

  He was a little put out with him for being so banal, for behaving in such a natural manner.

  ‘I’m sorry again for leaving your office without warning you. Discipline is strict at the store. I had been given permission to leave for an hour to go to my dentist, who lives on Rue Saint-Roch, a stone’s throw from the Louvre. Once I was here I immediately realized that time was passing, and that I had to be at my post for a delivery of merchandise at eleven o’clock. I planned to give a message to your office boy, the old man who let me in, but he wasn’t in the corridor. I should have phoned you, but we are forbidden to make private calls, and most of the telephones go through the switchboard.’

  ‘How did you manage to do that this afternoon?’

  ‘I took advantage of the fact that there was no one in the floor manager’s office, where there is a direct line. You will have noticed that I was in a hurry to say what I had to say and hung up abruptly …’

  Nothing extraordinary about any of that.

  ‘At midday, when you went for lunch …’ Maigret objected.

  ‘First of all, I told myself that you would be busy having lunch as well. Then it seemed to me that you wouldn’t take my case very seriously …’

  ‘And is it serious?’

  ‘Certainly. It was you who sent someone to prowl around my department, wasn’t it?’

  Maigret didn’t reply. The other man went on:

  ‘You don’t want to say so, but I’m sure it was an inspector.’

  He must have prepared this conversation just as he had prepared the first one. But there were moments of hesitation, like empty spaces. He hesitated for a long time before asking:

  ‘Did my wife come to see you?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve known her for a long time. I’m sure she suspects something. Women have antennae. And with her character, if she senses the slightest danger, she will attack. Do you understand what I mean?’

  A silence, during which he observed Maigret reproachfully, as if he was angry with him for not being open.

  ‘Did she come?’

  Maigret hesitated in turn, realizing that he was assuming a great deal of responsibility. If Marton was, to any degree, mentally ill, the answer might have a huge influence on his future behaviour.

  Just now, alone in his office, Maigret had nearly phoned his friend Pardon to request his presence at the interview. But had the doctor not already told him that he knew practically nothing about psychiatry?

  Xavier Marton was there, on his chair, a metre and a half away from the inspector, talking and behaving like any visitor. Perhaps he was a normal man, who felt that his life was in danger and had come in good faith to inform the police.

  Perhaps, on the other hand, he was a man obsessed and suffering from persecution mania, who needed reassurance. Perhaps he was a madman.

  And perhaps, finally, he was a man tormented by diabolical ideas, a lunatic too, in a sense, but a lucid, intelligent lunatic, having constructed a minutely detailed plan that he would put into action whatever the cost.

  His face was ordinary. He had a nose, eyes, a mouth, ears like everyone. The blood had gone to his head, because of the contrast between the cold outside and the warmth of the office, and perhaps that was what made his eyes glisten, or perhaps it was the head cold that he had spoken of.

  Was he really starting to have a head cold, or had he only mentioned it because he knew his eyes would be glistening?

  Maigret was uneasy. He was beginning to suspect that the man had come only to ask him the question about his wife.

  Had he spied on her in turn? Did he know that she had come to Quai des Orfèvres and did he hope to learn what she had said?

  ‘She came,’ Maigret said at last.

  ‘What did she tell you?’

  ‘Usually we’re the ones who ask the questions here, we don’t answer them.’

  ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘Your wife is very elegant, Monsieur Marton.’

  Marton drew his lips back mechanically in something resembling a smile, with a hint of irony or bitterness.

  ‘I know. She has always dreamed of being elegant. She decided to be elegant.’

  He had stressed the word decided as if underlining it in a letter, and Maigret remembered that his interlocutor had stressed a word before.

  Had he not read, in his psychiatric textbook, that stressing words was often a sign of …

  But he refused to put the discussion on that level.

  ‘Yesterday morning you came to tell me that you feared for your life. You spoke of the attitude that your wife had had for some time, a toxic substance that you found in a cupboard. You also told me that several times, after meals, you felt indisposed. While we’re on that subject, I was called in to see the commissioner, and our conversation did not resume, because you had left. I assume you have other details to pass on to me?’

  Marton had the slightly sad smile of a man who is being unfairly given a rough ride.

  ‘There is a way of asking questions that makes them difficult to answer,’ he remarked.

  Maigret almost lost his temper, because he felt as if he was being taught a lesson and was aware that he deserved it.

  ‘But damn it all, you aren’t going to tell me that you came here with no particular purpose in mind? Are you bringing a complaint against your wife?’

 
Marton shook his head.

  ‘You’re not accusing her?’

  ‘Of what?’ he asked.

  ‘If what you have told me is true, you could accuse her of attempted murder.’

  ‘Do you really think that would lead to a result? What proof do I have? You yourself don’t believe me. I gave you a sample of zinc phosphide, but I could just as easily have put it in the broom cupboard myself. The fact that I went of my own accord to see a neurologist will lead to the conclusion that I am not of entirely sound mind, or indeed, and this would be equally plausible, that I am trying to give that impression.’

  It was the first time that Maigret had faced a client like this and he couldn’t help looking at him with astonishment.

  Each answer, each new attitude disconcerted him. He tried in vain to find a flaw, a weak point, and invariably he was the one who was put in his place.

  ‘I’m sure my wife will have talked to you about my nervous exhaustion. She will also have told you that sometimes in the evening, when I am tinkering, I stamp my feet and burst into tears because I can’t turn my ideas into reality …’

  ‘Did you talk to Doctor Steiner about that?’

  ‘I told him everything. For an hour he asked me questions that would never have occurred to you.’

  ‘So?’

  He looked Maigret straight in the eyes.

  ‘So, I’m not mad.’

  ‘But you’re still convinced that your wife is trying to kill you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you don’t want us to open an investigation?’

  ‘There would be no point.’

  ‘And you don’t want us to protect you?’

  ‘How would you do that?’

  ‘So, once more, why are you here?’

  ‘So that you know. So that if anything bad happens to me people don’t assume a natural death, as they would if I hadn’t alerted you. I’ve read a lot about poisonings. According to your own experts, out of every ten criminal poisonings, nine go undetected and therefore unpunished.’

  ‘Where did you read that?’

  ‘In a journal of forensics.’

  ‘Are you a subscriber?’

  ‘No. I read it in a public library. Now I can tell you one last thing: I don’t plan to let it happen.’

  Maigret gave a start, feeling that at last they were getting to the heart of the matter.

  ‘What do you mean exactly?’

  ‘First of all, that I’m taking precautions, as I told you yesterday. And then that precisely because of the statistic that I have just quoted I wouldn’t trust the legal system and, if I have time, I will take justice into my own hands.’

  ‘Do I take it you mean that you will kill your wife in advance?’

  ‘Before dying, of course, but not before she has succeeded in poisoning me. Few poisons cause a violent death, and more or less all of them are very difficult to get hold of. So a certain amount of time will pass between the moment when I know she has succeeded and the moment when I will be incapable of action. I have a loaded revolver at home. It is also properly registered, you can check at city hall. My wife knows, because I’ve had it for years. Except that for some time it’s been hidden in a place where she won’t find it. She has looked for it. She’s still looking …’

  There were moments when Maigret wondered if he wouldn’t be better off driving his man to the police special infirmary straight away.

  ‘Let’s imagine that tonight, half an hour after your dinner, you felt stomach pains?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Monsieur Maigret. I am capable of telling the difference between poisoning and simple indigestion. And besides, I have always had a very strong stomach.’

  ‘But if you thought you had been poisoned, you would act?’

  ‘If I feel poisoned, I won’t hesitate.’

  ‘You’ll shoot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The telephone rang, and it seemed to Maigret that it made an unfamiliar din in the room, in which a heavy, tense, almost unhealthy atmosphere now reigned.

  ‘It’s Lucas, chief …’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘I couldn’t put you in the picture before, because I didn’t want to leave her alone on the embankment …’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The wife … Let me explain … I had to wait for an inspector to pass by where I was standing so that he could take over and I could come and phone you … It was Torrence who took my place …’

  ‘Hurry up. Don’t talk too loudly, because you’re making the receiver vibrate …’

  Had Marton worked out that this was indirectly about him?

  ‘Understood, chief … Well …! Janvier pointed out your man as soon as he was leaving the shop … I started following him, alone, while Janvier was waiting for a bus …’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘While we were walking in the crowd, which is dense at that time of day, I didn’t notice anything. But crossing the courtyard of the Louvre, and then reaching the riverside, I realized that I wasn’t the only one following him …’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘There was a woman on his heels … I don’t think she noticed me, but I’m not sure … She followed him to Quai des Orfèvres and she’s still there, about a hundred metres from the entrance …’

  ‘Describe her …’

  ‘It’s not worth it. When Torrence passed by me and I let him take over, I came up here and asked Janvier to go and look down, given that he’s been dealing with the case … He’s just come back up and he’s right here … Do you want me to pass him to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hello, chief …! It’s the sister-in-law, Jenny …’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Certain.’

  ‘She didn’t recognize you?’

  ‘No. I’ve been careful.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No instructions?’

  ‘Let Torrence keep on watching her.’

  ‘And what about the man? Is Lucas to go on following him when he comes out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He hung up and found Marton’s quizzical eyes fixed on him.

  ‘Is it my wife?’ the train-set lover asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. I should know that you wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway.’

  ‘Did you hear?’

  ‘No, except it isn’t hard to work out. If it is my wife …’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Nothing. I was wrong to come and see you yesterday, and all the more so today. Since you don’t believe me …’

  ‘All I want is to believe you. Here you are: because you’re sure of yourself, I’m going to make you a proposition. Doctor Steiner, bound by patient confidentiality, won’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Do you want me to be examined by another doctor?’

  ‘By the specialist at the police infirmary. He is a man of integrity, a world-famous professor.’

  ‘When? Right now?’

  Was Maigret mistaken? Was his interlocutor experiencing a moment of panic?

  ‘No. He mustn’t be disturbed at this time of day. He will be on duty tomorrow morning.’

  Marton calmly replied:

  ‘As long as it isn’t too early, I’ll have time to tell the shop.’

  ‘So you agree?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Do you also agree to sign a piece of paper testifying that you are making this visit entirely of your own accord?’

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘You are a curious man, Monsieur Marton.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘You are here of your own accord as well, I haven’t forgotten that. So you aren’t obliged to answer my questions. However, I have a few that I would li
ke to ask you.’

  ‘Will you believe my answers?’

  ‘I will try to, and I can assure you that I’m not prejudiced against you.’

  That declaration provoked only an embittered smile.

  ‘Do you love your wife?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now, of course.’

  ‘Then no.’

  ‘Does she love you?’

  ‘She hates me.’

  ‘That’s not the image I had of you as a couple when you left her yesterday morning.’

  ‘We didn’t have time to get to the bottom of things, and in any case you didn’t want to.’

  ‘As you wish. Shall I go on?’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  ‘I thought I did.’

  ‘Tell me what you mean by that.’

  ‘Until that point I had lived alone, without allowing myself the slightest distraction. I worked a lot, you know. Coming from as close to the bottom as I did, it took an enormous effort to become what I became.’

  ‘You had never had any relationships with women when you met your wife?’

  ‘Rarely. The kind of affairs that I’m sure you can guess. I felt more shame than pleasure. Then, when I met Gisèle, I turned her into the ideal woman and it was that ideal woman that I loved. The word “couple” was a prestigious one for me. I dreamed of it. We were going to be a couple. I was going to become one half of a couple. I would no longer be alone in my home, in life. And one day, we would have children …’

  ‘You don’t have any?’

  ‘Gisèle doesn’t want to.’

  ‘Did she warn you?’

  ‘No. If she had warned me, I would have married her anyway, and settled for being a couple …’

  ‘Did she love you?’

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘And then one day you noticed that you were mistaken?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  He didn’t reply straight away. All of a sudden he found himself facing a serious dilemma and as he was thinking. Maigret didn’t press him.

  ‘I assume,’ Marton murmured at last, ‘that you’ve carried out investigations? If you had sent someone to spy on me at the shop, you must also have sent one of your men to Avenue de Châtillon.’