Maigret's Holiday (14 page)

She dared ask this of Maigret, who had
thirty years in the Police Judiciaire behind him!

‘What I wish to emphasize is that
sometimes there is a total change of personality. A doctor will explain it to you better
than I. The fact is that several times foul language escaped the lips of this young
woman, that you will forgive me for not repeating.'

‘Did Sister Marie des Anges say these
words to you?'

‘It was my duty to
hear her confession.'

‘I presume that these words allude to
sexual matters?'

‘Most of them. I would add that they
are words that cannot be found in the dictionary.'

He hesitated, and ended up bowing his
head.

‘Thank you very much,' he
stuttered.

And, as if she were pardoning his earlier
attitude, she spoke in a gentler tone to say:

‘I expect that now you wish to see our
dear patient who, from what I have heard, was disappointed not to receive your usual
telephone call. To think that she had got out of bed and was thrilled to be answering in
person.'

‘Thank you very much,' he
repeated as she preceded him down the long corridor.

The studded door opened and closed again
behind him. He was shut out. He found himself back in the hospital which, in comparison
with the convent proper, felt like a vulgar, noisy place.

It wasn't Sister Marie des Anges but
Sister Aldegonde who was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Madame Maigret looked
at him with some apprehension, without daring to ask him any questions.

‘Please forgive me,' he said.
‘I was very busy this morning.'

‘I know.'

‘What do you know?'

‘It's only just occurred to me.
I presume you went to the funeral? Did you see our wreath?'

To think that it was his wife who was asking
him that question! Two weeks in hospital had been enough to change her.

‘You know, I'm
a lot better—'

‘And you got out of bed,
yes.'

‘Who told you?'

He did not dare mention the mother superior.
He was impatient to get away. He didn't like the way Madame Maigret was looking at
him. He tried hard to talk about everyday things in a cheerful voice.

Never had the thirty minutes seemed so long,
especially since Sister Marie des Anges didn't relieve the tedium with her usual
flitting in and out. When it was time for him to leave and he leaned over his wife to
kiss her, she whispered:

‘Are you busy with number
15?'

She had guessed, of course! She added with a
hint of reproach, but without hope:

‘You were so happy to have a holiday
at last! Will you telephone me tomorrow?'

He had to turn back to say goodbye to
Mademoiselle Rinquet, whom he had forgotten. An extraordinary thing, he walked all the
way across town without stopping at a single bar. It was from his hotel that he
telephoned:

‘Hello! … I'd like to
speak to Doctor Bellamy, please … Hello! … Is that you, doctor? …
Forgive me for disturbing you … I wouldn't expect to find you at the
café today … I would like, however, to have a conversation with you, at
whatever time suits you best … Hello! … Sorry? … Right away? …
Thank you … I'll be at your house in ten minutes …'

Again, he forgot to greet Monsieur
Léonard, who hung around him with the expression of a dog wondering why his master
doesn't stroke him any more.

‘Supposing the
gentlemen ask me where you are?' he ventured.

‘Tell them that you have no
idea.'

He walked with great strides, his teeth
clenched around the stem of his pipe. It was Francis who opened the door to him, and
winked as he said:

‘You're expected
upstairs.'

The black drapes, candles and flowers were
all gone. The house had returned to normal and only the smell of the chapel of rest
lingered in the air. Maigret followed the butler up the thick stair carpet. Francis
opened a door, that of the study, and, before seeing anything, Maigret caught a whiff of
cigar smoke.

Two men were in the room, in an atmosphere
of perfect privacy. One, standing, was Doctor Bellamy, sharp and precise, without the
slightest hint of disquiet in his expression or in his voice.

‘My dear Alain,' he said, with
perhaps the slightest note of irony aimed at the visitor, ‘I am delighted to
introduce Chief Inspector Maigret, whom you were so keen to meet … Monsieur
Maigret, may I introduce my old friend Alain de Folletier, examining magistrate at La
Roche-sur-Yon …'

The man was tall, slightly rotund, and
ruddy-faced. He was wearing a russet-coloured jacket, jodhpurs and fawn boots. He was
the one smoking a cigar from the box lying open on the desk, beside the liqueur
glasses.

‘Delighted to meet you, inspector
… I don't have to tell you why I am here today … Embarrassed,
incidentally, to be in riding dress. I had taken a day off and gone riding
with friends who live in the country … No one was able to get
hold of me on the telephone and the prosecutor urged me to come at once, as I was
…'

The doctor invited Maigret to sit in one of
the leather armchairs and offered him a cigar.

‘Chartreuse or Armagnac?'

He replied without thinking:

‘Armagnac.'

But he did not take the cigar, filling his
pipe instead. It was very hot in the room where he sensed that before his arrival the
two men had been having an amicable conversation.

‘We were at school together, Bellamy
and I. Which explains why I was able to free myself from …'

From his duty! That's what he meant!
From a prosecutor's visit to ordinary people of no importance, like the Duffieux
family.

‘As soon as I had finished with that
business … You know about it, inspector? … I have been told that you were
here, but on holiday …'

A sceptical smile hovered on the lips of the
magistrate, who had a brown pencil moustache.

‘That doesn't prevent you from
knowing a lot of things, does it? … Or from refusing to help the inspectors from
Poitiers … That's up to you … Mind you, I'm only teasing …
I know you by reputation, as does everyone … When you telephoned, and Philippe
suggested I wait for you, I was delighted to have the opportunity—'

‘Did Doctor Bellamy also tell you why
I wished to see him?'

There were three of them,
one smoking a pipe, one smoking a cigar, and lastly the doctor who was smoking slim
Egyptian cigarettes. The cut-glass decanters and glasses on the desk contained
Chartreuse and vintage Armagnac.

‘He has just informed me,'
retorted the magistrate cheerfully. ‘I find it rather amusing … It is
typical of Philippe and, may I add, it is typical of you … Of you as one imagines
you …'

The doctor was sitting down, his elbows on
the desk, calmly looking from one man to the other.

‘In short, if I have understood
correctly, and despite your sacrosanct holiday, you thought there was something fishy
about the accident of which his unfortunate sister-in-law was a victim and you started
sniffing around him …'

The amicable tone with a hint of
condescension was that of a gentleman of old stock conversing with a man who is
interesting but rather common, a sort of character that he will tell his friends about
later.

‘The doctor told you that I'd
been sniffing around him?'

‘Not in so many words … He told
me he had guessed your suspicions and had made things easy for you by placing himself at
your disposal and inviting you here … Is that correct?'

‘More or less.'

‘That's him all over … He
rather enjoys playing tricks like that on people … Since you telephoned him to ask
to meet him, I presume you have some news? … Don't worry, Philippe,
I'll be going … I am more conscious than anyone of the confidential nature
of an investigation …'

‘Do stay … Monsieur Maigret can
speak …'

Maigret sat holding his
glass. The armchair was so deep that he found himself hunched, his neck sunk into his
broad shoulders.

‘One of the things I should like to
ask you, doctor, is where you went last night.'

It was fleeting, but there was a glance in
the direction of the window. Bellamy was thinking of the light he had left on, probably
to make people think he was at home. Was he also thinking of Francis? Possibly. The fact
is, he replied simply:

‘I paid a visit to my mother-in-law,
at the Hôtel de Vendée.'

Maigret almost turned red. The magistrate
smiled, as if he had scored a point.

‘She arrived in the late afternoon
yesterday with her husband, for she is legally remarried.'

Another point! Maigret pictured the couple
he had spotted the previous day in the street. How had he failed to think of that. It
was so simple!

‘She telephoned me at around eight
o'clock in the evening. I didn't want to put her to any trouble after her
tiring journey so I went to the hotel and told her about the accident in more
detail.'

‘Thank you very much. May I take the
liberty of asking you another question: who has been treating your wife since the 1st of
August?'

‘Doctor Bourgeois. I could have looked
after her myself, since she is suffering from a nervous breakdown, but, like most of my
fellow doctors, I am loath to treat a member of my own family.'

Folletier smiled, as he
notched up another point. He was enjoying himself. This would make a great story to tell
back at La Roche-sur-Yon and in the neighbouring chateaux.

‘What date did you call Doctor
Bourgeois?'

A barely perceptible hesitation, but the
examining magistrate, who was stretching out his long, booted legs, seemed to sense
something in the air.

‘I don't remember.'

‘The first day?'

‘I don't think so. I presume,
Monsieur Maigret, that you know what it's like to care for a sick person at home?
I was forgetting that your wife is in hospital at the moment, being treated by my
colleague Bertrand. Did you call him out on the first day?'

‘The second.'

‘Because symptoms were precise,
because almost immediately your wife had a raging fever. In my wife's
case—'

Folletier wanted to protest, out of
gallantry, that there could be no question of infringing Madame Bellamy's privacy,
and this time he glared at Maigret, whom he considered ill-bred.

‘Let it go! In my wife's case, I
was saying, it began with a state of exhaustion. She stayed in bed, as women so often
do—'

‘What date?'

‘I didn't make a
note.'

‘It was two days before the accident,
wasn't it?'

‘It could have been.'

The magistrate's legs were twitching
with impatience, with disapproval.

‘Don't forget,
doctor, that you're the one who invited me to come here whenever I wished to ask
you all the questions I needed to ask.'

‘Once again, be my guest.'

‘Did Doctor Bourgeois come the day of
the accident?'

‘No.'

‘The day after?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘So, at the earliest, two days
afterwards. Did he come yesterday?'

‘Yes.'

‘Today?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Were you present at each
visit?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's only natural, I
think!' burst out Alain de Folletier. ‘Allow me to say, inspector,
that—'

‘Forget it, Alain! Go on, Monsieur
Maigret …'

Maigret had been staring for ages from a
distance at the objects on the desk. The solid leather writing pad bore the
doctor's monogram, as did the blotter. In front of the ink-well, there was a big
ivory paper knife and another, slimmer one for opening letters.

‘Would you permit me to ask your
butler a simple question, in your presence of course?'

This time, the magistrate rose and, again,
it was the doctor who pacified him with a gesture, while with the other hand he pressed
an electric bell.

‘You see,' he remarked with a
hint of edginess, ‘that I'm playing the game all the way.'

‘Do you still think
this is a game?'

There was a knock at the door. It was
Francis, who naturally made his way over to the drinks tray.

‘Francis, Chief Inspector Maigret
wishes to ask you a question and I authorize you to answer him.'

This was the second time today that someone
was being authorized to speak to him. And it was not only because, as the magistrate had
said, he was on holiday. It was a question of caste, in a way, and Maigret was beginning
to get hot under the collar.

‘Tell me,' he said, in the most
direct manner possible, ‘where have you put the silver knife?'

He didn't bother to watch the doctor.
It was the butler whose face he stared into, and Francis racked his brains and turned to
his master.

‘Isn't it in its usual place?
… I swear to you I haven't taken it … With your permission, I'll
go and look …'

So the silver knife did not belong to the
realm of nightmares. It was there in the house, the same knife that had haunted the
delirium of Lili Godreau at the hospital.

‘There's no need,' said
Maigret brusquely. ‘Thank you very much.'

‘Is that all?'

Before exiting, Francis couldn't help
darting him a reproachful look. Hadn't they been friends, the previous evening, in
La Popine's dining room? Hadn't he told Maigret everything he knew? Why now
was he as good as calling him a thief in front of people?

‘I remain at your disposal, Monsieur
Maigret,' said Bellamy.