Maigret's First Case

by Georges Simenon

  ‘… Come, come, it’s not important. You mustn’t lose heart. You did all you could. It’s not your fault if that flautist is a madman who dreamed the whole thing up. Back to work, my boy! I promise you that the next big case will be yours.’

  Right now, he was worried, naturally. He might even be wishing that Maigret hadn’t softened the blow by ducking in time? If he hadn’t, he would have been out of action for days, if not weeks.

  How the devil had the fellow found out so much?

  He cleared his throat and murmured in as detached a tone as possible:

  ‘In other words, you’re accusing Richard Gendreau of murder.’

  ‘Not necessarily him. It could have been his sister who fired. It is also possible that it was Louis. Don’t forget that the flautist must have rung the bell, then stood knocking on the door for ages before Louis opened it, and when he did, he was fully dressed.’

  It was a ray of hope. What a relief if it was the butler who had done it!

  ‘Don’t you think that the last hypothesis sounds the most plausible?’

  He blushed because Maigret couldn’t help staring at him insistently. He began to speak volubly.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, that’s how I’d gladly see things …’

  He said gladly, and the word was delicious; Maigret acknowledged it in passing.

  ‘I don’t know precisely what business brought the count to the house …’

  ‘It wasn’t the first time.’

  ‘As you have already said, and I was surprised. He was a desperado. His father still retained a certain dignity, even though he’d lost all his money. He lived in a little apartment in the Latin Quarter and carefully avoided the people he had known in his youth.’

  ‘Did he work?’

  ‘No. Not exactly.’

  ‘What did he live on?’

  ‘He sold items that he’d salvaged from the disaster as and when he needed to: paintings, a snuffbox, a family jewel. Perhaps some people who had known his father and used to hunt at the chateau discreetly sent him a little money? Bob, on the other hand, became a sort of anarchist. He flaunted himself in the seediest places. At one point, he got a job as a bellboy at the Voisin restaurant, just to embarrass his family’s friends by accepting tips from them. He went off the rails in the end, mixing with the likes of Lucile and Dédé. Now where was I?’

  Maigret said nothing.

  ‘Oh, yes! He was bound to have gone to the Gendreaus’ that night with dishonourable intentions.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The fact that he was driven there by Dédé, who waited for him in the street without even turning off his engine, suggests that was the case.’

  ‘But he was expected.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Do you think he’d have been allowed up to a young lady’s bedroom otherwise? And why was Louis fully dressed at one o’clock in the morning?’

  ‘Let’s suppose he was expected, which doesn’t mean he was welcome. Perhaps he had indeed announced his visit.’

  ‘To the bedroom, remember.’

  ‘Very well! I’ll admit too that Lise behaved recklessly with him. We should not judge her.’

  Well! Well!

  ‘It is possible that the two of them had an affair. After all, he is still heir to the Anseval name, and his grandparents were the masters of the chateau bought by old Balthazar, who was merely one of their peasant farmers.’

  ‘That might impress the pedlar’s granddaughter.’

  ‘Why not? Mind you, it’s also plausible that, on discovering the kind of life he was leading, she wanted to save him.’

  Why was Maigret becoming furious? He had the feeling that his entire investigation was being reflected back to him in a distortion mirror. Nor did he like the insinuating tone of the chief inspector, who sounded as if he was giving a lecture.

  ‘There’s another possibility,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That Mademoiselle Gendreau-Balthazar wanted to add a title to her fortune. It’s all very well having acquired the Château d’Anseval. But perhaps she felt a little like an interloper? I too spent my childhood in the shadow of a chateau, where my father was the estate manager. I remember how desperate some of the nouveaux riches were to be invited for the hunt.’

  ‘Are you insinuating that she wanted to marry—’

  ‘Bob d’Anseval, why not?’

  ‘I do not wish to discuss this question, but that sounds to me like a very audacious supposition.’

  ‘That’s not what the maid thinks.’

  ‘You questioned the maid, even though …’

  He nearly added ‘even though I advised against it’.

  Which was tantamount to saying: ‘against my orders!’

  But he didn’t, and Maigret went on:

  ‘I even sort of kidnapped her. She’s just around the corner from here.’

  ‘Did she disclose anything to you?’

  ‘She doesn’t know anything for certain, other than that Mademoiselle Gendreau had got it into her head to become a countess.’

  Le Bret gave a resigned shrug. It clearly weighed heavily on his heart to see people of his world throwing their dignity to the winds.

  ‘Supposing you’re right. That still doesn’t alter the facts. Will you admit that Bob might have behaved like a swine?’

  ‘We know nothing of what happened in that bedroom, except that a shot was fired.’

  ‘You have reached the same conclusions as I have. A man behaves in the way that we know he was capable of behaving. The young lady’s brother is in the house, and so is the butler. She shouts for help. One of them hears, rushes upstairs and, in his indignation, grabs the pistol which you yourself say is on the bedside table.’

  Maigret now appeared to be in agreement. But he retorted softly, puffing on his pipe, one of the most enjoyable he had ever smoked:

  ‘What would you have done in that man’s shoes? Supposing that you were still holding the gun, the “smoking gun” as it’s called in the papers. On the floor there’s a dead or seriously wounded man.’

  ‘Assuming he was wounded, I’d have called a doctor.’

  ‘They didn’t.’

  ‘So you infer that he was dead?’

  Maigret patiently pursued his train of thought, and he too seemed to be groping in the dark.

  ‘Just then, there’s a knock on the door. It’s a passer-by who heard a cry for help.’

  ‘Admit, dear Maigret, that it is disagreeable to have some passer-by meddling in your business.’

  ‘Someone shouted from the staircase:

  ‘“Hurry up, Louis!”

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He was barely aware that he was steering the conversation now; their roles were in a way reversed and his superior was increasingly uncomfortable.

  ‘The man could not be completely dead. Or again, Lise was having hysterics. I don’t know. I suppose that in a crisis, people tend to panic somewhat.’

  ‘Louis punched the intruder in the face and shoved him out into the street.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have.’

  ‘And nobody should have panicked. Naturally, they realized that the fellow they’d just thrashed would go to the police. And the police would be bound to come round asking for an explanation.’

  ‘Which you did.’

  ‘They only had a few minutes before them. They could have telephoned the authorities and said:

>   ‘“This is what happened. It’s not a murder but an accident. We had no option but to shoot a maniac who was threatening us.”

  ‘I think that’s how you would have acted, inspector, wouldn’t you?’

  How it changed the situation being here, in his room, in his bed, instead of at the office. Behind the baize door of the police station, he would not have dared say a quarter of the things he had just said. He had a thumping headache, but that was secondary. Madame Maigret, in the kitchen, must have been terrified hearing him talk with such assurance. He even became aggressive.

  ‘Well, sir! That is what they didn’t do. But this is what they did do. First of all, they moved the body, or the wounded man, to goodness knows where. They probably took him to one of the rooms above the stables, since they are the only ones I wasn’t shown.’

  ‘That’s only a supposition.’

  ‘Based on the fact that the body was no longer there when I arrived.’

  ‘And what if Bob had left under his own steam?’

  ‘His friend Dédé would not have had fifty thousand francs in his pocket yesterday, and what’s more he certainly wouldn’t have decided to leave for Belgium with Lucile.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘So, our people in Rue Chaptal had around half an hour. That gave them enough time to clean up the place and remove every trace of what had happened. And they had an idea that was almost a stroke of genius. Wasn’t the best way to dismiss the flautist’s testimony to claim it was the ramblings of a drunkard, and to show that the room he was pointing to was unoccupied? That had another advantage. Perhaps, despite everything, Lise Gendreau was a bundle of nerves, as they say. Show her in bed and claim that she was asleep? Better to show her on her feet and assert that she hadn’t heard anything? That was just as risky.

  ‘They bundled her into a maid’s room that was miraculously empty. Would a nobody from the local police station know the difference?

  ‘They simply needed to claim that she was away at her chateau in the Nièvre. Didn’t hear a thing! Didn’t see a thing! A shot? Where?

  ‘People who roam the streets at one o’clock in the morning are often not in their right minds.

  ‘Next morning, in broad daylight, who would dare accuse the Gendreau-Balthazars?’

  ‘You are harsh, Maigret.’

  He sighed and stood up.

  ‘But perhaps you’re right. I’m going to confer with the head of the Sûreté.’

  ‘Do you think that’s necessary?’

  ‘If a murder really has taken place, and you have finally convinced me—’

  ‘Sir!’ said Maigret in a softer, almost imploring voice.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Could you possibly wait twenty-four hours?’

  ‘Earlier, you almost accused me of not acting fast enough.’

  ‘I assure you that I can get up. Look.’

  And despite Le Bret’s gesture of protest, he emerged from the sheets, a little dazed, and managed to stand up, rather embarrassed all the same to be in his nightshirt in front of his boss.

  ‘This is my first case.’

  ‘And I congratulate you on your zeal—’

  ‘If you inform the Sûreté right away, the chief’s squad will take over the case.’

  ‘Probably. First of all, if Bob has been killed, we have to find the body.’

  ‘If it’s a question of a dead body, it can wait, can’t it?’

  The roles were reversed once again, and the inspector turned his head away to hide a smile.

  Maigret, so passionate earlier, in his nightshirt with its collar embroidered in red, suddenly looked like an overgrown child deprived of a treat he had been promised.

  ‘I don’t need this thing on my head.’

  He tried to rip off his dressing.

  ‘I can wind up this case on my own. Just give me permission to go and question Dédé and Lucile, especially Lucile. What did they say?’

  ‘This morning, when the duty officer questioned him, he asked: “Is Jules dead?” I presume he was talking about you.’

  ‘If I haven’t succeeded by this time tomorrow, you can hand the case over to the Sûreté.’

  Alarmed, Madame Maigret had opened the door a fraction and remained there standing guard, staring at her husband on his feet.

  There was a ring at the door. She crossed the room to go and open it, and whispering could be heard coming from the landing.

  When she came back, alone, Maigret asked:

  ‘Who is it?’

  She gestured to him, but he didn’t understand and, since he insisted, she finally admitted:

  ‘The musician.’

  ‘I’m off,’ said Le Bret. ‘I can’t in all decency refuse your request.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir, I’d also like … Given the way the situation has developed, and given that the Sûreté would do so, may I speak to Mademoiselle Gendreau if necessary?’

  ‘I imagine that you’ll be tactful? But do be careful.’

  Maigret was delighted. He heard the door close, then, while he was hunting around for his trousers, Justin Minard came into the room, followed by Madame Maigret. The musician looked woeful, worried.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I have some bad news for you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She’s gone.’

  The flautist’s crestfallen expression was so funny that Maigret nearly burst out laughing.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday evening, or rather last night. She insisted on coming with me to the Brasserie Clichy, claiming that she was crazy about music and that she wanted to hear me play.’

  Madame Maigret’s presence made it even more difficult for him to own up. She understood and disappeared back into her kitchen.

  ‘She was sitting in the seat that you occupied when you came to see me. I was uncomfortable. Since I hadn’t been home for dinner and hadn’t set foot in my place all day, I was expecting to see my wife appear at any moment.’

  ‘Did she come?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did they have an argument?’

  ‘I was sitting at the table having a break between numbers. My wife started it by yanking off Germaine’s hat, then she grabbed her chignon.’

  ‘Were they thrown out?’

  ‘Both of them. I was back on stage. The band was playing to keep up appearances, like when a ship’s going down, you know? We could hear them fighting outside. When we finished the piece, the owner came to fetch me and asked me to go and sort out my harem, as he called it.’

  ‘Were they waiting for you in the street?’

  ‘Only one. My wife. She dragged me home. She locked up my shoes so I couldn’t go out. I came out anyway, an hour ago, and I borrowed the concierge’s shoes. Germaine has left the hotel. She came to pick up her suitcase.’

  He finished:

  ‘Now what do we do?’

  8.

  One Says Nothing, the Other Says Too Much

  ‘Please put on your heavy overcoat, at least,’ Madame Maigret had insisted.

  In those days, he had two overcoats, a heavy black one with a velvet collar, which he had been trailing around for three years, and a short beige one which he had been hankering after since his youth and had recently splashed out on.

  As the two of them left the apartment, he suspected his wife of having whispered in Minard’s ear: ‘Don’t let him out of your sight, whatever you
do!’

  Although she made fun of him a little, she was fond of the flautist, who was so gentle, polite and self-effacing. The sky was overcast and the beautiful pale grey fluffy clouds promised rain for the first time in ten days or so − showers, or sheets, long hatchings of warm rain that would make Maigret all damp beneath his overcoat and leave him smelling like a wet animal.

  He carried his bowler hat in his hand, since it wouldn’t fit over the bulky dressing on his head. Minard went with him to the doctor’s on Boulevard Voltaire to have the bandages changed for a more discreet dressing.

  ‘Do you absolutely have to go into town?’

  The doctor gave him a packet containing pills rolled in yellow powder.

  ‘In case you feel dizzy.’

  ‘How many can I take?’

  ‘Four or five between now and this evening. No more. I’d rather you stayed in bed.’

  Maigret wasn’t quite sure what to do with the musician, but he didn’t want to upset him by sending him home now he no longer needed him. So he sent him to Rue Chaptal, letting him think that he was on a very important mission.

  ‘More or less opposite the Gendreaus’ house there’s a little restaurant called the Vieux Calvados. I want you to sit at a table and watch what’s happening in the house.’

  ‘But suppose you start feeling unwell?’

  ‘I won’t be alone.’

  Minard stayed with him until they arrived at the gate of police headquarters, Quai de l’Horloge. At that point, Maigret was still full of self-confidence. He even sniffed the odour of the dark arch with delight. Everything was dirty, seedy. This was where each night the officers brought in all the suspicious individuals they had picked up on the streets and where the meat wagons discharged the low-life rounded up during raids.

  He entered the guardroom that smelled of barracks and asked if the chief inspector would see him. People seemed to be staring at him oddly, but he didn’t dwell on that impression. He said to himself that of course the men here looked down on a humble secretary from a district police station.

  ‘Have a seat.’

  There were three officers; one of them was writing, while the others were doing nothing. The chief inspector’s office was next door, but no one went to inform him, and no one took any notice of Maigret; they treated him as if he were an outsider. It was so embarrassing that he didn’t dare fill his pipe.