Maigret's Holiday (13 page)

At the hospital, Madame Maigret had been
given permission to get out of bed for the first time. She wasn't walking yet, but
for an hour, no longer – the doctor had been insistent – she had been put in
a wheelchair. For the first time, too, she had been able to wander through the
corridors, glimpse other wards, the faces of the people who, before that, she had only
heard talking, or moaning.

She and Sister Marie des Anges had plotted a
little conspiracy, in whispers so as not to upset Mademoiselle Rinquet, who was more
tight-lipped than ever. They were planning to surprise Maigret, who always telephoned on
the dot of eleven. There was a telephone at the end of the corridor, in the
visitors' room with vast bay windows which was known as the solarium.

Sister Aurélie was in on the secret. As
soon as Monsieur 6 called, instead of answering, she would transfer the call to the
visitors' room and Maigret would be astonished to hear his wife's voice on
the other end of the line.

The wheelchair was in position fifteen
minutes early. But at eleven thirty Sister Marie des Anges insisted on taking the
patient back to her room.

By midday, a disappointed Madame Maigret was
back
in bed and the nun tried to cheer her up, without success, while
a triumphant smile hovered on Mademoiselle Rinquet's pursed lips.

‘There are two gentlemen waiting for
you. They say they're friends of yours. As they're in a hurry, they've
already ordered lunch. They asked me for two rooms, but I don't have any
vacancies.'

And Monsieur Léonard almost begged:

‘You will have a little aperitif,
won't you?'

The two men eating at Maigret's table
were Piéchaud and Boivert, the Flying Squad inspectors, who had both worked with
him. They rose as one, their napkins in their hands.

‘Excuse us, chief … We've
just got time for a bite before the prosecutor gets here.'

‘I thought he was supposed be here at
eleven?'

‘He would have been if they'd
been able to find the examining magistrate, but he was in the country … The people
he was having lunch with don't have a telephone and we had to call the town hall,
who sent the local policeman … In short, they'll all be here in an hour
… Will you be joining us?'

Someone – perhaps Mansuy? – must
have talked to them about Maigret's behaviour, for they exchanged knowing
looks.

‘Joining you for what?'

‘You're on holiday, of course,
we know that … Don't we, Boivert?'

One was around thirty, the other
thirty-five. They were
experienced policemen, both of them. Men who
knew their job, as they said at Quai des Orfèvres. Piéchaud, the older one,
had almost been killed during the arrest of a Pole, and his right cheek bore the scar of
a bullet wound.

Maigret sat down, distracted, and unfolded
his napkin. He helped himself to the hors-d'oeuvre, only half listening to what
his companions were saying.

‘You already know that the girl
wasn't raped? … At first glance, that's what it looked like …
The crime of a sadist … That's what they told us at Poitiers. The local
police have arrested a good half-dozen vagrants … It's incredible how many
there are in the area … Only, if it had been that simple, you wouldn't have
been on to the case since the day before, right?'

They were determined to worm it out of
him.

‘As far as we're concerned,
we'd like nothing better than to work with you … Neither Boivert nor I know
the town … In other words …'

Faced with Maigret's silence,
Piéchaud was stumped.

‘It's as you wish! … But
surely, as the gentlemen from the prosecutor's office know you're here
… I'd be surprised if they didn't insist on seeing you
…'

‘I am on holiday,' repeated
Maigret, pouring himself a drink.

‘Of course …'

‘If I find anything out, I'll
let you know …'

‘You have always been on the level
…'

He almost smiled. It was a very brief sunny
interval. The clouds gathered over his brow again immediately. He wasn't hungry.
He felt out of sorts, as if sickening for flu.

‘In any case, if you
want someone watched, or anything at all …'

‘Thank you very much.'

‘We've got to be off …
It's time …'

In the corridor, Monsieur Léonard
pointed out a little hotel where they might perhaps have a chance of getting a room.
They exchanged glances again and, in the doorway, Piéchaud, the eldest, said:

‘The chief's not exactly a
bundle of laughs!'

Maigret rang the hospital doorbell even
though the time was not quite two thirty; he didn't take his watch from his pocket
and didn't listen out for the sound of the bells ringing.

Sister Aurélie looked at him in almost
reproachful surprise and was reluctant to pick up her telephone. He gave her a
perfunctory smile which only flitted across his frowning, rather stubborn expression for
a split second.

‘I haven't come to see my
wife,' he stated. ‘I should like to speak with the mother superior
first.'

‘Are you sure, Monsieur 6, that it is
the mother superior you need to see? It's the bursar sister who deals with all
matters concerning the patients and the hospital in general, as well as any complaints
…'

‘Would you kindly inform the mother
superior that Detective Chief Inspector Maigret wishes to speak to her?'

Sister Aurélie decided not to argue
and, while she telephoned, he stared at the overly smooth walls, the too highly polished
stairs, with a sort of resentment.

‘Someone will come to fetch
you,' said the nun.

‘Thank you very much.'

He paced up and down the entrance hall, his
hands behind his back, furious in advance at the thought he would be kept waiting. On
turning round, he was utterly
flabbergasted to see before him a nun he
did not know waiting for him.

‘Would you like to follow me,
monsieur?'

Not up the stairs. At the back of the
entrance hall, they went through a nail-studded oak door into another realm, even more
cocoon-like, more silent than the hospital. The nuns must be wearing felt- or
rubber-soled shoes, for their footsteps were completely silent. Twice, as they made
their way through a maze of corridors, he looked over his shoulder on hearing behind him
the vague swish of voluminous robes, the sway of rosaries, perhaps the air being
displaced. The nuns sweeping around made him think of bats.

He glimpsed a chapel with artificial flowers
on the altar. Then he was shown into a visitors' room where black chairs with
crimson velvet seats lined the walls.

‘Our Reverend Mother will be with you
right away …'

Again that swishing of skirts, the clicking
of rosary beads, the air being displaced by winged cornettes.

‘Monsieur …?'

He shuddered, because the other nuns had
only been mere nuns, whereas this one, even though she wore the same habit and, like the
others, kept her hands hidden inside her wide sleeves, was a woman, a woman whose age
and social milieu he could have fathomed.

Tall and slim, classy, she directed the calm
gaze of her grey eyes at him.

‘I haven't come to see you about
my wife, Sister …'

He suspected he should have said Reverend
Mother or something like that, but those words stuck in his throat.

‘I wish to speak to
Sister Marie des Anges for a few moments …'

Whereas he had thought she would be taken
aback, she looked at him with the same imperturbable calm, and he was already beginning
to detest her.

‘You know, monsieur, that the
rules—'

‘Forgive me, Sister, but there's
no question of rules today.'

He turned slightly red, because he had been
the first to lose his composure.

‘I was about to say that the
rules,' she continued, ‘only permit you to meet one of our sisters in the
presence of another sister.'

‘Even if I came with a warrant from an
examining magistrate?'

He had promised himself that he'd be
diplomatic, but this tall, bourgeois woman in a cornet irritated him, although he
didn't know why. Or rather yes, he did know. As he spoke with the mother superior,
the ‘gentlemen' from the prosecutor's office were stomping around the
Duffieux family's little house with the inspectors. They had done nothing either,
other than work all their lives and count every sou. Their young daughter had been
murdered in her bed and, instead of leaving them to their grief, the police had
questioned them without compunction about the most private aspects of their lives, while
nosey onlookers glued their faces to the windows and journalists subjected them to the
continual bombardment of magnesium flashguns. So?

‘Sister Marie des Anges is very young,
monsieur, very easily upset.'

He merely shrugged.

‘I'll send for her.'

She left the room and said a few words to a
nun who must have been standing outside the door, for she was back almost
immediately.

‘I was expecting your visit. Sister
Marie des Anges confessed to me yesterday. She committed a very serious infraction of
the rules in writing that note to you without talking to me about it.'

He was stunned, disconcerted, on learning
that the mother superior knew about the note.

‘It is by chance, accidentally if you
like, that she kept watch for an hour or two in room 15. She is not yet used to
seriously ill patients and she was deeply affected by the girl's
delirium.'

Warily, Maigret asked:

‘Do you know Doctor
Bellamy?'

‘I know him.'

‘I mean, do you know him purely as a
doctor, or have you met him socially?'

Because they must both belong to the same
world.

‘I only know him as a doctor. I am
from Bordeaux. Since you request it, Sister Marie des Anges will repeat to you herself,
verbatim, as I shall order her to do …'

She was the one, not him, giving the
orders!

‘… the words that she heard, or
thought she heard. It is pointless harassing her with questions to refresh her memory. I
have already done that. The words you will hear are no different from those spoken by
many patients who are delirious. I fear, however, that someone who is
unaware of this might be tempted to attach too much importance to them. Sister Marie
des Anges rashly shouldered a terrible responsibility. In listening to her, you will
take on another and I pray God to inspire you with wisdom and caution.'

There was a swishing in the corridor.

‘Come in, Sister. I authorize you to
repeat to Monsieur Maigret the words that you confided to me.'

‘You may stay,' Maigret decided
abruptly.

And, blushing, Sister Marie des Anges looked
from one to the other.

‘She was in a coma,' she
stammered. ‘Then once, while I was on duty, she was struggling as if to sit up,
then she clutched my arm shouting:

‘“
Have they
…
”'

She faltered, seeking further approval from
the mother superior. Maigret continued to look disgruntled.

‘“
… Have they arrested
him? … They mustn't arrest him … Do you hear? … I
don't want … I don't want …
”'

She broke off again. Maigret guessed that
the most important part was yet to come and the mother superior came to her aid. It was
she who said:

‘Go on. You know that I wrote down the
words you repeated to me and I will report them to the inspector if he so
wishes.'

‘She added:

‘“
You mustn't believe
her … She's the monster …
”'

‘Is that all?'

‘That's all I could understand
at the time. There are even some words I'm not certain about.'

And yet she had not got
everything off her chest. Maigret realized it from the questioning look that Sister
Marie des Anges gave the mother superior.

‘At other moments, did you catch any
other words?'

‘Yes … but they made no sense
… She talked about a silver knife …'

‘Are you sure about those two
words?'

‘Yes, because she said them several
times … She also said: “
I touched it …
”

‘And she gave a great
shudder.'

‘Is that all, Sister?'

Calmly, in a gentle but firm voice, the
mother superior said:

‘You may go, Sister.'

Maigret frowned and was about to object.
With the same calm, she signalled to him to keep quiet and went over and shut the door
herself.

‘The rest, which is of no interest by
the way, I prefer to tell you myself. I cannot take it upon myself to force one of my
youngest sisters to speak of certain things in the presence of a man. I don't know
whether you have ever had the occasion to sit with patients who are raving.'