Maigret's Holiday (17 page)

‘People talk too much,' grumbled
Maigret irritably.

‘Do you want me to tell you what I
know about Émile Duffieux?'

Maigret nodded, but only appeared to be half
listening.

‘He's the
second boy of this type who's passed through my hands. Both of them had some rough
edges that needed knocking off, if you see what I mean … He's also the
second one to slip through my fingers … I don't hold it against them, mind
you … The first one is a journalist in Rennes now, and I read his articles every
morning in
L'Ouest-Éclair
. As for Émile …
we'll see sooner or later what will become of him, won't we?'

‘I hope so.'

The ominous tone in which Maigret said those
words made Monsieur Georget shudder.

‘In any case, inspector, he's an
honest boy. His only fault, you could say, is a certain wariness … That's
not the right word … He tends to be withdrawn … It's as if he's
always afraid of a mocking smile, a rebuff, or simply condescension … His
family's poverty weighs on him and yet he is not ashamed of it … When
someone asks what his father does, he's quick to reply “night
watchman”.

‘And he doesn't take the trouble
to add that Duffieux only took on the job after having his right arm amputated
…

‘I don't know if I'm
making myself clear … He wants to succeed at all costs … He will work as
hard as is necessary to do so … He has read tons of books, whatever he can get his
hands on … His mood swings between anxiety and ebullience …'

‘Women?' asked Maigret.

The printer jerked his head in the direction
of the office.

‘Has she gone out?' he asked
quietly, meaning the typist.

He went next door to be certain.

‘As you have seen, Mademoiselle Berthe
is pretty,
delectable even. All my male employees have tried to woo
her. The fact is that she's head over heels in love with Émile Duffieux and
defends him fiercely if you say a word against him in front of her. She did everything
she could to attract his attention. She became flirtatious, changed her dress two or
three times a week. I wonder whether he even noticed. He had set himself a goal. I was
always expecting to see him leave for Nantes or Bordeaux, like most of our ambitious
youngsters. But he went straight to Paris …'

‘Did he tell you in person?'

‘No, by letter.'

‘Which you received the day after his
departure?'

‘Exactly … Like his parents
… It was as if he was afraid that at the last minute someone would put a spoke in
his wheel … No need to add that he left everything in good order … If you
would like to see the letter …'

Maigret merely glanced at it. Émile
apologized very nicely and, just as nicely, thanked his employer for all he had done for
him.

‘Did his sister ever come to the
office to see him?'

‘I don't recall … Besides,
Duffieux spent little time in the office … These past months at least he was very
much involved with the newspaper, both the news side and the classified ads, because in
a little establishment like ours, you have to turn your hand to everything.'

‘I should like to have as precise an
idea as possible of his schedule.'

‘He would arrive at around nine,
sometimes earlier, because he wasn't a clock-watcher … And he would
generally stay in the office until ten thirty … Then he'd drop
into the police station for the latest news, then the town hall and
the sub-prefecture … Sometimes, we would just see him for a few minutes around
midday, other times he came back only after lunch. In the afternoon, he would write his
articles and go into the workshop to supervise the layout … He'd also run a
few errands, telephone lawyers, estate agents, the managers of the cinemas whose
programmes we print …

‘That's on a normal day …
On Fridays, the day the paper is printed, he'd often stay behind with me until
nine o'clock at night.'

It was more or less the life of a provincial
reporter.

‘In short,' Maigret summed up,
‘it was mainly in the morning that he was out and about. Do you know whether he
received any private telephone calls?'

‘That depends what you mean by
private. I knew he was the correspondent for a Paris paper. He had asked my permission
to accept the job. It took very little of his time because it was the same news as ours
that he sent them … I gave him permission to use one of our telephone lines and he
kept a note of his calls, which the book-keeper deducted from his pay each month. I
never caught him making a private call, to a friend, for example …'

‘Thank you.'

‘No one has been able to contact him
in Paris yet?'

‘He only gave his parents a poste
restante address.'

‘That can take a day or two, of course
…'

The printer had just unwittingly given
Maigret an idea. The minute he was back at the hotel, he called the Police
Judiciaire.

‘Hello! … Is
Lucas there? … Who's speaking? … Torrence? … Maigret here
… Still on holiday, yes … What? … Is the weather good? … I have
no idea … I'll go and have a look … It's not sunny, but
it's not raining … Is Janvier still at his desk? … Put him on, would
you … Yes, thank you … Hello, is that you, Janvier? … Not too busy?
… The usual? … Right … Do you want to run an errand for me? …
I'd like you to go to Post Office 26 … That's the one in Faubourg
Saint-Denis, isn't it? … Yes, I know … Go and see the poste restante
clerk and ask him if there are any letters for Émile Duffieux … Yes, make a
note … Émile … Duffieux … No, double F … F for Fernand
… Hold on! … The most important thing is to ask whether anyone has turned up
to collect his post … Yes … And on what date … If he hasn't come
yet, ask the clerk to telephone you as soon as he does … Tell him to waylay his
customer for a few minutes somehow and you jump into a taxi …

‘Above all, no blunders. Simply ask
him for his address … Follow him if necessary …

‘Don't hang up yet … After
that, go down and have a look at the hotel records from the past few days …
Especially those from the 31st of July and the 1st of August … Look for the same
name …

‘That's all … No,
it's not an important case … A simple errand on a personal matter
…

‘Thank you, my friend …
That's right … She's better, yes … Say hello to Marie-France for
me …'

‘The gentlemen from Poitiers are
already about to eat,' murmured Monsieur Léonard, who was standing behind
Maigret holding a bottle.

‘Let them stay where
they are.'

‘But you'll have a little
…'

Go on! It would be best to have a little
drink so as not to offend the good man.

‘I found them two rooms, in different
hotels. They aren't very happy. Is it my fault? To your good health
…'

‘To yours, Monsieur Léonard
…'

‘Do you think they'll find the
bastard who strangled the girl?'

It was eight o'clock. The lights had
been switched on. The two men were sitting in the back room, between the kitchen and the
dining room. Behind them, the waitresses were going back and forth carrying trays.

Was it Monsieur Léonard's words
that suddenly gave Maigret food for thought? He frowned.

‘Are you not eating?'

‘Not now …'

He was about to go up to his room, and do
something he rarely did, and only in particularly serious cases.

He remembered his anguish the previous
evening, when he had desperately sought to identify the girl he had encountered on the
stairs at the doctor's. The people he had questioned looked at him in amazement,
even Mansuy, even the guardroom officers. And yet, if at that point he had been able to
find out a name, an address, Lucile would still be alive.

Maybe he was completely wrong. But if he
wasn't, then other people were in danger, starting with himself.

That was why he had to go up to his room and
put his suspicions down on paper.

‘Are you going
out?'

‘Just for an hour. Save me something
to eat …'

He would write his report at night, calmly,
before going to bed. Now, he headed for the railway station. Hadn't Émile
Duffieux, in his letter to his mother, said that he'd bought his ticket in
advance?

The ill-lit station was almost deserted. On
the tracks, there was only a local train with old-style carriages. The man at the ticket
window wore a deputy stationmaster's cap.

‘Good evening, inspector
…'

Too many people recognized him, that was a
fact.

‘I would like to ask you something. Do
you know young Duffieux?'

‘Monsieur Émile? … Of
course I knew him … As a reporter, he would come to the station every time an
important person was expected … I let him on to the platform …'

‘In that case, perhaps you can tell me
whether he came to buy a ticket for Paris at the end of last month?'

‘I am well placed to answer you since
I was the one who sold them to him.'

Maigret was immediately struck by his use of
the plural.

‘You sold him several
tickets?'

‘Two, second class …'

‘Returns?'

‘No, singles …'

‘Around what time did he come and pick
them up?'

‘In the morning, just before midday
… He wanted them for the last train, the 22.52 …'

‘Do you happen to
know whether he took that train?'

‘I presume so … I'm going
to leave the station in a few minutes … At that time, it's the deputy night
stationmaster who's on duty …'

‘Is he here yet?'

‘He must be … Come into the
office …'

They went on to the platform and then into
an office where the telegraph was whirring and clicking away.

‘Hey, Alfred … This is Detective
Chief Inspector Maigret, you must have heard of him …'

‘Pleased to meet you
…'

‘He'd like to know whether young
Duffieux boarded the 163 on one of the last days of July … I sold him two
second-class singles for Paris in the morning … He was planning to get the
22.52.'

‘I don't remember
…'

‘Do you think you'd have seen
him if he'd taken that train?'

‘I can't swear to it …
Sometimes, at the last minute, you're called away to the telephone or to the mail
compartment … I'd be surprised, though, if I hadn't noticed him
…'

‘Is it possible to find out whether
the tickets have been used?'

‘In theory, yes … We'd
just have to ask Paris … As you know, passengers have to hand in their tickets at
the exit … but some of them get off before Paris … Others get swept along by
the crowd and forget to hand in their ticket … It's rare … It's
against the rules … You're supposed to …'

He pondered for a moment,
and murmured:

‘There's something odd
…'

He looked at his colleague, as if he too
should be struck by something that wasn't right.

‘Émile Duffieux took the train
several times, to Nantes, to La Roche or to La Rochelle … Each time he had a free
pass …'

He explained to Maigret:

‘Journalists are entitled to travel
free in first class. They simply have to request a pass from their newspaper. It would
have been particularly worth his while this time, since it was a long journey … I
wonder why he bought second-class tickets when he could have travelled first class free
of charge …'

‘He wasn't alone,' Maigret
pointed out.

‘Of course … It was probably a
woman. But you know, even in such cases, these gentlemen from the press blithely take
advantage …'

Maigret found himself in the street, and a
little later walked past La Popine's shop. The shutters were closed and there was
a light beneath the door. It was much too early. Francis must be busy serving dinner at
the doctor's house.

He continued down narrow, dingy streets,
shivering occasionally on hearing footsteps behind him.

If he was right, if events had taken place
as he had gradually pieced them together, although there were some gaps, shouldn't
they expect further victims − at least one − in addition to Lili Godreau and
little Lucile?

He suddenly swung round and went into the
Hôtel de Vendée.

‘Is Madame Godreau
still here?' he asked the owner, who sat at the counter herself, wearing black
silk and a large cameo brooch.

‘You are forgetting, inspector
…'

He was furious at being recognized wherever
he went.

‘You are forgetting that her name is
no longer Madame Godreau, but Madame Esteva … She and Monsieur Esteva left on the
5.30 train.'

‘I presume,' he added tetchily,
for he knew the reply already, ‘that her son-in-law came to see her yesterday
evening?'

‘That's correct … They
were in fact the last to leave the little parlour …'

‘Was Monsieur Esteva with
them?'

‘I think, but I can't be sure,
that Monsieur Esteva was the first to go upstairs.'

‘Thank you very much.'

He had spent the entire day saying
‘Thank you very much'.

One person at least was in danger, or else
he was completely mistaken.

And, unfortunately, about that person, he
knew nothing, not even whether it was a man or a woman, and he could guess neither their
age nor their profession.

All he knew was that they were in the town,
in the centre of town most likely, within a radius that he could almost have drawn on a
map.