The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin Read online

  ‘It’s nothing! It’s the murderer. He’s confessed.’

  And he went out, locking the door, while Maigret scratched his head, looking extremely gloomy.

  Adèle, Génaro, Victor, Delfosse and Chabot, he recited to himself like a litany. In the large office outside, the reporter from the Gazette was taking notes.

  ‘You say he’s confessed? But his identity is still unknown? Perfect. Can I use your phone? The late stock market edition comes out in an hour.’

  ‘I say,’ a cheerful inspector announced from the doorway, ‘the pipes have arrived. Come and choose your own.’

  But Chief Inspector Delvigne was pulling on his moustache without enthusiasm.

  ‘Presently—’

  ‘And guess what! Two francs cheaper than I thought!’

  ‘Really?’

  But he betrayed his real thoughts by muttering between his teeth.

  ‘Him and his mafia …’

  10. Two Men in the Dark

  ‘You’re sure of your men?’

  ‘Well, no one will guess they’re from the police, for the simple reason that they aren’t. At the bar in the Gai-Moulin, I’ve posted my brother-in-law, who lives in Spa and who’s only in Liège for a day or two. The one keeping an eye on Adèle is a tax clerk. And the others are hidden or well camouflaged.’

  It was a cool evening and the fine rain was making the asphalt slippery. Maigret had buttoned his heavy black coat up to his chin, and tucked a scarf round the bottom half of his face.

  As an extra precaution, he did not venture outside the shadows of the little side-street from which he could see the Gai-Moulin’s illuminated sign.

  Chief Inspector Delvigne, whose death had not been reported in the press, had no need to take such measures. He wasn’t even wearing an overcoat, and when it started to rain, he muttered crossly under his breath.

  Their watch had begun at half past eight, before the doors of the club had opened. They had seen arrive in turn Victor, well ahead of the others, then Joseph, then the owner. It was Génaro who had switched on the sign, just as the musicians were approaching from Rue du Pont-d’Avroy.

  At nine o’clock exactly, the sound of jazz music began issuing faintly from inside, and the doorman took up position at the entrance, counting the change in his pockets.

  A few minutes later, Delvigne’s brother-in-law strolled into the club, followed soon after by the tax clerk. And the Belgian chief inspector summed up his strategic plan.

  ‘Apart from those two, and the two men watching the back door, I’ve got someone outside Adèle’s place, Rue de la Régence, another at the Delfosse home and one outside Chabot’s. And the room that Graphopoulos occupied in the Hôtel Moderne is being watched as well.’

  Maigret said nothing. It was his idea. The papers had announced that the murderer of Graphopoulos had committed suicide. They had let it be understood that the investigation was over, and that it could be regarded as a crime of little importance.

  ‘Now, either we’ll get to the bottom of it tonight,’ Maigret had said to his colleague, ‘or we’re likely to spend months traipsing about looking for the answer.’

  And he paced heavily and slowly up and down, up and down, puffing at his pipe, hunching his shoulders, and only replying with grunts to his companion’s attempts at conversation.

  Delvigne, lacking the same degree of sangfroid, felt the need to talk, if only to pass the time.

  ‘Which direction do you think we’ll see any action from?’

  But the other man simply looked at him with an incredulous expression as if to say: ‘What’s the point of disturbing all that air?’

  It was a little before ten when Adèle appeared, followed by the shadow of the man from police headquarters. He passed close by his chief and whispered out of the corner of his mouth:

  ‘Nothing.’

  And he walked on by. In the distance, Rue du Pont-d’Avroy was brightly lit, with trams going past almost every three minutes and crowds of people promenading slowly, despite the rain.

  It was the traditional evening parade of the inhabitants of Liège. In the main street was a throng of people, families, girls linking arms, young men ogling passing women and a few elegant figures were strolling past as stiffly as if they were clad in gold.

  In the little side-streets, there were other nightclubs of a more or less seedy kind, similar to the Gai-Moulin. Shadows lurked against the walls. Sometimes a woman would step out of the lamp light into the dark, waiting for a follower to catch up.

  The two chief inspectors held a short consultation. Then walked a little way towards a hotel with its luminous globe of cloudy glass.

  ‘Do you really expect something from this?’

  Maigret simply shrugged his shoulders. His expression was so bland that he seemed devoid of intelligence.

  ‘At any rate, I doubt very much that Chabot will fancy coming out tonight. Especially since his mother’s taken to her bed.’

  Delvigne found it hard to accept his companion’s obstinate silence. He looked at his new pipe, which had not yet been seasoned.

  ‘By the way, remind me to give you one of these tomorrow. Then you’ll have a souvenir from Liège.’

  Two customers entered the Gai-Moulin.

  ‘A tailor from Rue Hors-Château and a garage owner,’ Delvigne announced. ‘Regulars, the pair of them. Good-time Charlies, as they call them here.’

  But someone was coming out, and they had to peer through the gloom to recognize him.

  It was Victor, who had exchanged his work clothes for a suit and overcoat. He was walking quickly. An inspector at once started shadowing him.

  ‘Well, well!’ whistled Delvigne.

  Maigret heaved a sigh and looked daggers at his companion. Could this Belgian not keep his mouth shut for a couple of minutes?

  Maigret’s hands were thrust deep inside his pockets. And although nothing betrayed it, he missed not the slightest changes in his surroundings.

  He was the first to spot René Delfosse, with his scrawny neck and his look of an overgrown schoolboy, who appeared in the street, hesitated, then changed pavements a couple of times, before at last heading for the door of the Gai-Moulin.

  ‘Well, well!’ repeated Delvigne.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Maigret might not wish to talk, but he was so interested that he lost a little of his determined neutrality. He even moved forward, a little imprudently, since the gas lamp then lit up the top half of his face.

  Not for long. Delfosse spent scarcely ten minutes in the club. When he came out, he started walking fast, straight towards Rue du Pont-d’Avroy.

  A few seconds later, Delvigne’s brother-in-law came out in turn and looked around inquiringly. A whistle attracted him over.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Delfosse sat down with the dancer.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They went off together to the cloakroom, then he left, while she went back to her seat.’

  ‘Did Adèle take her handbag with her?’

  ‘Yes, a little black velvet pouch.’

  ‘Come on!’ said Maigret.

  And he strode off at such a pace that his companions could hardly keep up with him.

  ‘What shall I do?’ asked the brother-in-law.

  ‘Go back inside, of course!’

  And Maigret dragged Delvigne away. In the main street, they could no longer see the young man, who had a hundred-metre start on them, since there were so many people about. But when they reached the corner of Rue de la Régence, they glimpsed a figure almost running, keeping close to the houses.

  ‘Well, well,’ Delvigne could not help saying.

  ‘He’s going to her place,’ said Maigret. ‘He’ll have asked her for the key.’

  ‘Which means?’

  Delfosse went inside the building and closed the door into the hallway, before heading for the stairs.

  ‘What are we going to
do?’

  ‘Wait. Where’s your man?’

  He was coming in after them, in fact, wondering whether he ought to speak to his chief or pretend not to recognize him.

  ‘Come here, Girard. Well?’

  ‘Five minutes ago, a man came in. I saw a light in the room, as if someone was using a pocket torch.’

  ‘Here we go, then,’ said Maigret.

  ‘Straight in?’

  ‘I should damn well think so!’

  To open the inner door shared by all the residents, they just had to turn the handle, since Belgian apartment blocks have no concierge.

  The stairs were unlit. And no light was coming from Adèle’s room.

  But when Maigret pushed open the door, confused sounds were heard, as of two men rolling on the floor fighting.

  Delvigne had already drawn his revolver. Maigret felt automatically on the left-hand wall, and found the light switch.

  Then their eyes met a sight as absurd as it was tragic.

  Two men were indeed fighting. But the sudden light and the noise took them both by surprise and they froze, still clasping each other. One hand was gripping a throat. Tousled grey hair.

  ‘Don’t move!’ ordered Delvigne. ‘Police! Hands up!’

  He closed the door without lowering the gun. And Maigret, with a sigh of relief, unwound his muffler, unbuttoned his coat and gasped for air, like a man who was suffering from the heat.

  ‘Faster than that! Hands up, I said!’

  René Delfosse tried to stand but fell over again, since his right leg was wedged under Victor’s.

  Delvigne looked as if he would welcome some advice.

  Delfosse and the waiter were both on their feet now, pale, dishevelled and taken aback.

  Of the two, the young man was the more upset, indeed he appeared devastated and unable to take in what was happening. What was more, he was staring at Victor in stupefaction, as if he had not expected at all to find him there.

  Who had he thought he was fighting?

  ‘Now my friends, let’s all stay put, shall we?’ said Maigret, speaking at last. ‘Is the door shut, Chief Inspector?’

  He approached his colleague and whispered a few words. Delvigne went to the window and signalled to Girard to come and meet them on the landing.

  ‘Get as many men as you can to surround the Gai-Moulin, and don’t let anyone out. But if anyone arrives, let them in.’

  And he returned to the bedroom, with its counterpane reminiscent of whipped cream.

  Victor stood unmoving. He was the very image of a waiter as cartoonists like to depict them: drooping features and large rheumy eyes, thinning hair usually combed over a bald patch – although, just now, it was ruffled and standing on end.

  He was holding his shoulders sideways, as if to give an opponent less purchase, and it would have been hard to guess what his oblique gaze was searching for.

  ‘It’s not the first time you’ve been arrested, I’ll be bound,’ said Maigret with confidence. He was sure of that. You could tell at a glance. Here was a man who had long been expecting to find himself facing the police and who was used to this kind of encounter.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. Adèle asked me to come and fetch something for her.’

  ‘Her lipstick perhaps?’

  ‘I heard a noise … And someone came in.’

  ‘And you jumped on him. In other words, you were looking for the lipstick in the dark. Don’t move! Hands up still, please.’

  Both men were lifting weary arms above their heads. Delfosse’s hands were trembling. He tried to wipe his nose with his sleeve, without dropping his arm.

  ‘And you, what did Adèle ask you to fetch?’

  The young man’s teeth were chattering, but he could not answer.

  ‘Keep them covered, Delvigne.’

  And Maigret walked round the room where, on the bedside table, lay the remains of a mutton chop, some breadcrumbs, a glass and a beer bottle, half full. He bent down to look under the bed, shrugged and opened a cupboard that contained only dresses, linen and old shoes with broken heels. Then he noticed a chair near the wardrobe. Standing on it, he felt along the top ledge, and pulled out a leather briefcase.

  ‘Aha,’ he said, climbing down. ‘This is the lipstick, is it, Victor?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I mean, it’s whatever you were looking for.’

  ‘I’ve never seen that briefcase in my life.’

  ‘Too bad for you, then. What about you, Delfosse?’

  ‘I … I swear …’

  He forgot the revolver trained on him and threw himself on the bed, breaking into a paroxysm of sobbing.

  ‘So, my dear Victor, you don’t want to tell us anything? Not even why you were brawling with this young man?’

  And Maigret moved the dirty plate, the glass and the beer bottle to the floor, put the briefcase on the bedside table and opened it.

  ‘Some papers here that are none of our business, Delvigne! We’ll have to pass them all over to the intelligence people. Ah! Well I never: blueprints for a new machine-gun being produced at the National Armaments Works at Herstal. And these look like the plans for rebuilding a fort. And here are … some letters in code that will have to be looked at by the specialists.’

  In the hearth, the remains of a few coals were still glowing on the grate. Suddenly, when they were least expecting it, Victor rushed forward and made a grab at the papers. Maigret, having sensed what was going to happen, as Delvigne stood hesitating to use his gun, punched the waiter full in the face, and Victor went flying, without having time to throw the documents on the fire.

  The pages scattered. Victor put both hands to his cheek, which had discoloured. It had all happened very quickly. But Delfosse almost managed to take the opportunity to escape. In a second, he would have jumped off the bed and run behind Delvigne, if the Belgian police chief had not noticed, and stuck out his leg to trip him up.

  ‘And now?’ asked Maigret.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say,’ said Victor, angrily.

  ‘I asked you a question.’

  ‘I didn’t kill Graphopoulos.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘You are a brute! My lawyer—’

  ‘Fancy that! You already have a lawyer?’

  Delvigne was watching young Delfosse, and following the direction of his eyes he looked towards the top of the wardrobe.

  ‘I think there’s something else up there,’ he said.

  ‘You could be right,’ said Maigret, climbing back on to the chair.

  He felt around for some time, before his hand finally found a blue leather wallet, which he opened.

  ‘Graphopoulos’s wallet!’ he announced. ‘Thousand-franc French banknotes, about thirty of them. And some papers. Aha! An address: the Gai-Moulin, Rue du Pot-d’Or. And in different writing: No one there overnight.’

  Maigret was now taking no notice of anyone else, but following his own thoughts. He looked at one of the coded letters and counted certain symbols:

  ‘One, two, three … eleven, twelve … A twelve-letter word. Graphopoulos! It was in the briefcase.’

  Steps were heard on the stairs. A nervous knock at the door. And the excited face of Inspector Girard.

  ‘The Gai-Moulin’s surrounded. No one will leave. But … Monsieur Delfosse arrived a few minutes ago, looking for his son. He spoke to Adèle. And then he came out. I thought it best to let him go, and then follow him. When I saw he was heading here, I ran ahead. Listen … That’ll be him on the stairs.’

  And indeed they could hear someone’s hesitant steps outside, walking along the landing, trying doors, and finally there was a knock.

  Maigret himself opened the door, and bowed to the man with the grey moustache, who gave him a contemptuous glare:

  ‘Is my son …?’

  He saw the boy then, looking pitiful, snapped his fingers, and said:

  ‘Right, you! Home!’

  Things almost
turned ugly. René stared at everyone in panic, clung to the counterpane, and his teeth began chattering desperately again.

  ‘Just a moment,’ Maigret interrupted. ‘Monsieur Delfosse, would you mind taking a seat.’

  The other man viewed the room with distaste.

  ‘You wish to speak to me? And who might you be?’

  ‘Never mind. Chief Inspector Delvigne will tell you that in good time. When your son came home earlier, did you give him a dressing-down?’

  ‘I locked him in his room, and told him to wait for my decision.’

  ‘Which was—’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Perhaps to send him abroad to do a stint in a bank or a merchant company. It’s time he learned a bit about the world.’

  ‘No, Monsieur Delfosse.’

  ‘What do you mean, no?’

  ‘I simply mean that it’s too late. Your son, during the night from Wednesday to Thursday, killed Monsieur Graphopoulos, in order to rob him.’

  Maigret put up his hand to intercept the cane with its gold pommel as it was about to descend on him. And with a forceful twist of his wrist he made its owner release it with a moan of pain. Then he considered it calmly, weighed it in his hand and dropped it.

  ‘And I’m pretty sure the crime was committed with this stick.’

  Open-mouthed, in the grip of a spasm, René was trying to cry out but no sound came. He was a quivering mass of nerves, a pathetic creature, petrified with fear.

  ‘I hope you are going to explain yourself,’ Delfosse senior nevertheless announced. ‘And as for you, my dear Chief Inspector, I would have you know that I shall pass on to my friend the public prosecutor—’

  Maigret turned to Girard.

  ‘Go and fetch Adèle. Take a car. And you can bring Génaro as well.’

  ‘I think—’ Delfosse senior began, approaching Maigret.

  ‘There now, just wait,’ said Maigret in the tone with which one calms down a child.

  He began pacing the room. And did so uninterruptedly for the seven minutes it took for his orders to be carried out.