The Cellars of the Majestic Page 6

  A sudden violent jolt of the train pushed her up against Maigret, and she recoiled in horror.

  ‘You won’t finish him off, I swear to you! … Even if Prosper really did kill that bitch Mimi … Let me tell you something, inspector … Take it from Gigi, the lowest of the low, a slut who has nothing to lose, if he’s sentenced, I swear to you I’ll find you and put a bullet in you …’

  She waited a moment, seething with contempt. He said nothing. He sensed it wasn’t just an idle threat, that she really was the kind of woman who’d wait for him on a street corner and empty the contents of an automatic revolver into him.

  From the compartment, the two sailors were still watching them.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he sighed.

  He went back to his compartment, undressed at last and lay down.

  The night light on the ceiling gave off a vague blue glimmer. Lying there with his eyes closed, Maigret frowned.

  A question was nagging at him. Why had Judge Bonneau ordered the arrest of Prosper Donge? What had the magistrate, who hadn’t left Paris, who didn’t know Gigi, or the Brasserie des Artistes, found out? Why arrest Donge rather than Jean Ramuel or Zebio?

  He felt a vague anxiety. He knew the judge.

  He hadn’t said anything when he had seen him show up at the Majestic along with the public prosecutor, but he had grimaced, because he had had occasion to work with him before.

  The judge was an honest man, true, a good man even, a family man, a collector of rare books. He had a handsome square grey beard. Once, Maigret had been called out with him for a raid on an illegal gambling den. It was in the middle of the day, when there was nobody on the premises, and there were dust covers over the baccarat tables. Pointing at them, Judge Bonneau had asked innocently:

  ‘Are these billiard tables?’

  Then, with the same naivety, that of a man who has never set foot in a place of ill repute, he had expressed surprise that there were three exits, leading to three different streets, including one that went through the cellars and ended up in another building. He had been equally surprised to learn, from the cashbooks, that some gamblers received large advances, being unaware that, in order to make people gamble, it is necessary to entice them.

  Why had Bonneau suddenly decided to have Donge arrested?

  Maigret slept badly, waking up at each stop, mixing up the noises and movements of the train with his nightmares.

  When he got off at Gare de Lyon, it was still dark, and a fine, icy rain was falling. Lucas was there, the collar of his coat turned up, stamping his feet to keep warm.

  ‘Not too tired, boss?’

  ‘Do you have anyone with you?’

  ‘No … If you need an inspector, I saw one of our boys at the railway police office …’

  ‘Go and get him …’

  Gigi got off, shook hands amicably with the two sailors and shrugged as she passed Maigret. She had gone a few steps when she changed her mind.

  ‘You can have me followed if you like … I can tell you right now, I’m going to see Charlotte …’

  Lucas came back. ‘I couldn’t find the inspector …’

  ‘Never mind … Come on …’

  They took a taxi.

  ‘Now, tell me … How come the judge …’

  ‘I was getting to that … He sent for me when the second murder had taken place and he’d already issued an arrest warrant for Donge … He asked me if we had anything new, if you’d phoned and so on. Then, with a wicked smile, he handed me a letter … An anonymous letter … I can’t remember the exact words … But the gist was that Mrs Clark, who used to be a dancer who went by the name of Mimi, had been Donge’s mistress, that she had a child by him and that he had threatened her several times … You seem upset, boss …’

  ‘Carry on …’

  ‘That’s all … The judge was delighted … You see, it’s quite a simple story!’ he concluded. ‘An ordinary case of blackmail … And since Mrs Clark presumably wouldn’t go along with it … I’ll go and question Donge later in his cell …’

  ‘Has the judge been to see him?’

  But the taxi had stopped on Quai des Orfèvres. It was half past five in the morning. A yellowish fog was rising from the Seine. The door slammed.

  ‘Is he in the cells? … Come with me …’

  They had to go around the outside of the Palais de Justice to get to Quai de l’Horloge and they did so on foot, slowly.

  ‘Yes … About nine in the evening, the judge phoned me again to tell me that Donge was refusing to say anything … Apparently, he declared that he’d only talk to you …’

  ‘Have you had any sleep tonight?’

  ‘Two hours, on a divan …’

  ‘Go and get some sleep … Come back about midday …’

  Maigret entered the area where the cells were. A police van was just coming out. There had been a raid in the Bastille area, and some thirty women had been brought in, along with a few foreigners without identity cards. In the huge, badly lit hall, they were sitting on boards. There was an all-pervasive barracks smell, and you could hear hoarse voices, obscene jokes.

  ‘Take me to Donge … Is he asleep?’

  ‘He hasn’t slept a wink … You’ll see for yourself …’

  Individual cubicles with barred doors, like the boxes in a stable. In one of them, a man was sitting with his head in his hands. All you could see was a vague figure in the half-light.

  The key turned in the lock. The hinges creaked. The man got to his feet, tall, broad and sluggish, looking as if he’d just emerged from a dream. His tie and shoelaces had been removed. His red hair was dishevelled.

  ‘It’s you, inspector …’ he murmured, passing his hand over his forehead as if to make sure it was indeed Maigret who was there.

  ‘I hear you want to speak to me …’

  ‘I think it’s best …’ And, with childlike innocence, he asked: ‘The judge isn’t angry, is he? … What could I have said to him? … He was sure I was guilty … He even showed my hands to his clerk and said they were a strangler’s hands …’

  ‘Come …’

  Maigret hesitated for a moment. What was the point of putting handcuffs on him? They must have handcuffed him when they brought him to the cells. He still bore the marks on his wrists.

  One behind the other, they walked along strange corridors vaguely – but only vaguely – reminiscent of the basement of the Majestic. Passing beneath the vast Palais de Justice, they reached the premises of the Police Judiciaire, where they emerged suddenly into a brightly lit corridor.

  ‘Come in … Have you eaten?’

  Donge shook his head. Maigret, who was also hungry, and above all thirsty, sent the duty officer to fetch beer and sandwiches.

  ‘Sit down, Donge … Gigi’s in Paris … She’s probably with Charlotte by now … Cigarette?’

  He didn’t smoke cigarettes but always had some in his drawer. Prosper lit it awkwardly, like a man who, in a few hours, has lost all his self-confidence. He was embarrassed by his shoes, which gaped open, by the absence of a tie, by the smell of his clothes after a single night in the cells.

  Maigret stoked the stove. In all the other offices, there was central heating, but he hated it and had obtained permission to keep the old cast-iron stove that had been there twenty years earlier.

  ‘Sit down … They’ll bring us something to eat …’

  Donge was hesitating to say something and, when he at last made up his mind, stammered in an anxious voice:

  ‘Have you seen the boy?’

  ‘No …’

  ‘I spotted him for a moment in the lobby of the hotel … I swear to you, sir, he’s …’

  ‘Your son, I know!’

  ‘You’ll see him! He has hair as red as mine. He has my hands, my big bones … They used to laugh at me when I was a child because of my big bones …’

  The beer and sandwiches were brought in. Maigret ate on his feet, walking up and down the office while the sky over Paris began t
o lighten.

  ‘I can’t …’ Donge sighed at last, putting his sandwich back on the tray. ‘I’m not hungry … Whatever happens now, they won’t take me back at the Majestic, or anywhere else …’

  His voice was shaking. He was waiting for help, but Maigret was letting him flounder.

  ‘Do you also think I killed her?’

  As Maigret did not reply, he shook his head in discouragement. He would have liked to explain everything at once, to persuade the inspector, but he didn’t know where to start.

  ‘You have to understand, I’ve never had much experience with women … In our profession … And almost always in the basement … Some people laughed when I got all sentimental … With looks like mine, right? … So when I met Mimi at the Brasserie des Artistes … There were three of them … You must know that … Look at the way things work out … If I’d chosen one of the other two … But no, it had to be her I fell in love with … Madly in love, inspector! … So much in love, it turned me stupid! … She could have done anything she wanted with me! … And I imagined that one day she’d agree to marry me … And do you know what the judge said to me last night? … I can’t remember the exact words … It made me sick … He said that what I was interested in more than anything was the money she brought me … He took me for a …’

  In order not to embarrass him, Maigret was looking through the window, watching the Seine turn pale silver.

  ‘She went off with that American … I was hoping he’d abandon her when he got back to America and she’d come back to me … One fine day, we heard that he had married her … I was really sick … It was Charlotte who put me back on my feet, like the pal she is … I told her I couldn’t carry on living in Cannes … Every street brought back memories … I looked for a job in Paris … Charlotte suggested coming with me. And, for quite a while, believe it or not, we lived like brother and sister …’

  ‘Did you know that Mimi had a child?’ Maigret asked, emptying his pipe in the coal bucket.

  ‘I didn’t know anything, except that she was living somewhere in America … It was only when Charlotte thought I’d got over it … With time, you see, we’ve ended up being a real couple … One evening, a neighbour came rushing in; he was beside himself … His wife was going into labour, much earlier than they’d thought … He was in a panic … He asked for help … Charlotte went over there … The next day, she said to me:

  ‘“My poor Prosper … The state you would have been in if …”

  ‘And then, I don’t know how it happened … One thing led to another, and she told me Mimi had a child … Mimi had written to Gigi … She told her she had used the child to get herself married, even though she was sure it was mine …

  ‘I went to Cannes … Gigi showed me the letter, which she’d kept, but refused to hand it over to me … I think she burned it …

  ‘I wrote to America … I begged Mimi to give me my son, at the very least to send me a photograph … She never replied … I didn’t even know if the address was the right one …

  ‘And I kept thinking at every moment: “My son is doing this … My son is doing that …”’

  He fell silent, with a lump in his throat, while Maigret pretended to sharpen a pencil and doors started slamming in the Police Judiciaire offices.

  ‘Did Charlotte know you’d written?’

  ‘No! I wrote the letter at the hotel … Three years went by … One day, I was leafing through some foreign magazines the guests had left on the tables … I jumped when I saw a photograph of Mimi with a five-year-old boy … It was a newspaper from Detroit, Michigan, and the caption said something like: “The elegant Mrs Oswald J.Clark and her son, just back from a Pacific cruise” … I wrote again …’

  ‘What did you write?’ Maigret asked in an indifferent voice.

  ‘I can’t remember. I was half mad. I begged her to answer me. I said … I think I said that I’d go over there and proclaim the truth and if she refused to hand over my son, I …’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I swear I wouldn’t have done it … Yes, it’s possible I threatened to kill her … When I think that she and the boy lived above my head for a whole week and I never even suspected …

  ‘It took a chance remark … You’ve seen the couriers’ room … For those of us in the basement, names don’t exist … We know that 117 has hot chocolate in the morning and 452 bacon and eggs … We know 123’s maid and 216’s chauffeur …

  ‘It happened stupidly … I’d gone into the couriers’ room … I heard a woman talking in English to a chauffeur and mentioning the name Mrs Clark …

  ‘As I don’t speak English, I got the bookkeeper to question her … He asked her if it was Mrs Clark from Detroit, and if she had her son with her …

  ‘When I knew they were there, I tried for a whole day to catch a glimpse of them, either in the lobby, or in the corridor on their floor … But we can’t move around just as we’d like … I didn’t get anywhere …

  ‘Not to mention … I don’t know if you’ll understand this … If Mimi had asked me to take her back, I couldn’t have done it … Have I stopped being in love with her? … It’s possible! … What’s for sure is that I wouldn’t have had the heart to leave Charlotte, who’s been so good to me …

  ‘So I didn’t want to disrupt her life … I wanted her to find a way to give me back my son … I’m sure that Charlotte would be only too happy to bring him up …’

  At that moment, Maigret looked at Prosper Donge and was struck by the intensity of his emotion. Anyone not knowing he had only drunk a glass of beer – and not even a whole glass! – would have sworn he was drunk. The blood had rushed to his head. His eyes were shining, big eyes that strained at their lids. He wasn’t crying, but he was breathing heavily.

  ‘Do you have children, inspector?’

  It was Maigret’s turn to look away, because not having any was the great sorrow of Madame Maigret’s life. As for himself, he always carefully avoided the subject.

  ‘The judge kept talking … According to him, I’d done this and that for such and such a reason … But that’s not how it happened … After a whole day when all my free time had been devoted to prowling around the private areas of the hotel, in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of my son … I didn’t know what I was doing any more … And all the time, the phone ringing, the dumb waiters, my three helpers, coffee pots and milk jugs to be filled … I sat down in a corner …’

  ‘You’re talking about the coffee room?’

  ‘Yes … I wrote a letter … I wanted to see Mimi … It occurred to me that at six in the morning I was almost always on my own downstairs … I begged her to come …’

  ‘You didn’t threaten her?’

  ‘Maybe, at the end of the letter … Yes, I must have written that, if she didn’t come in the next three days, I’d do whatever I had to …’

  ‘And what did you mean by that?’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Would you have killed her?’

  ‘I couldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Would you have abducted the child?’

  He gave a weak, almost stupid smile. ‘Do you really think I could?’

  ‘Would you have told her husband everything?’

  Donge’s eyes opened wide. ‘No! … I swear to you! … I think … Yes, I think if it had come down to it, I’d more likely have killed her, in a moment of anger … But that morning, I had a flat tyre when I got to Avenue Foch … I arrived at the Majestic almost a quarter of an hour late … I didn’t see Mimi … I thought she’d come and, not finding me, had gone back up to her suite … If I’d known that her husband had left, I’d have gone up by the service stairs … But, once again, those of us in the basement don’t know anything about what goes on above our heads … I was worried … That morning, I can’t have looked normal …’

  Maigret interrupted suddenly. ‘What led you to go and open locker 89?’

  ‘I’ll tell you that straight away … Actually, it
’s proof I’m not lying, at least to anyone in the business, because, if I’d known she was dead, I wouldn’t have acted the way I did … I guess it was about a quarter to nine when the waiter on the second floor sent down an order from 203 … On the slip, it said – you can find it, the management keep them – anyway, it said: “One chocolate with croissants, two eggs with bacon and a tea” …’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Wait! I knew the chocolate was for the boy and the bacon and eggs for the nurse … In other words, only two people … The other days, at the same time, there was always an order for a black coffee and Melba toast for Mimi … So on the tray I also put the black coffee and the Melba toast … I sent up the dumb waiter … A few moments later, the black coffee and the Melba toast came back down … You may think it’s strange to attach such importance to that kind of detail … But don’t forget that, in the basement, it’s pretty much all we know of the world …

  ‘I picked up the phone.

  ‘“Hello! Didn’t Mrs Clark want her breakfast?”

  ‘“Mrs Clark isn’t in her room …”

  ‘Believe me if you will, inspector … The judge, he would never believe me … I was sure that something had happened …’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘I might as well tell you! … I thought about the husband … I told myself that if he’d followed her …’

  ‘How did you get the letter to her?’

  ‘Through one of the bellboys … He swore he’d delivered it to her personally … But those boys lie as easily as breathing … It’s the kind of people they mix with … Not to mention that Clark might have found the letter …

  ‘Another thing, I don’t know if anyone saw me, but I opened almost all the doors in the basement … True, we don’t pay much attention to each other, so it may have gone unnoticed … I went into the locker room …’

  ‘Was the door of 89 really ajar?’

  ‘No! I opened all the empty lockers … Do you believe me? … Will anyone believe me? … No, why should they? … That’s why I didn’t tell the truth … I was waiting … I was hoping they wouldn’t think of me … It was only when I saw that I was the only one you weren’t questioning … I’ve never suffered as much as I did that day, when you were coming and going in the basement without saying a word to me, without seeming even to look at me! … I didn’t know what I was doing any more … I forgot all about the instalment I was supposed to go and pay … I turned around and went back … Then you joined me in the Bois and I realized you were on the right track …