trumped-up aristocrat’s blatant cowardice? He took out his
large notebook, so famous at thePolice Judiciaire, slipped off the
elastic band and began questioning him in earnest:
‘His name?’
‘You really want me to tell you? As
you wish. Musellier. Pierre Musellier. He has never married. He has a flat on Place
Napoléon, above the Murs garage. It is fifty metres from the Hotel de
l’Europe …’
‘Shall we go and have coffee in the
drawing room?’ suggested Madame Naud. ‘Will you pour, Geneviève?
You’re not too tired? You’re looking pale, I think. Perhaps it would be
better if you went to bed?’
‘No.’
She was tense rather than tired. It was as
if she had a score to settle with Alban, whom she did not take her eyes off.
‘You returned to Saint-Aubin the
following day?’ asked Maigret, pencil in hand.
‘The following day, yes. I got a lift
with a friend to Fontenay-le-Comte. There, I had lunch with friends and, as I left, I
happened to run into Étienne, who brought me back …’
‘So, you go from friend to friend
…’
He could not have said more explicitly that
Alban was a sponger, which was the case. Everyone understood so clearly that
Geneviève blushed and looked away.
‘I still can’t tempt you with
one of my cigars, inspector?’
‘May I know if my interrogation is
over? In that case, I’ll take the liberty of saying my goodbyes. I feel like
getting home early tonight …’
‘Perfect timing. I feel like a stroll
into town. If you don’t mind, we’ll head off together.’
‘I’m on my
bicycle …’
‘Not to worry. A bicycle can be
wheeled, can’t it? Besides, with the fog out there you might ride into the
canal.’
What was going on? For one thing, when
Maigret mentioned leaving with Alban Groult-Cotelle, Étienne Naud had frowned and
seemed on the verge of saying he was coming with them. Did he think that Alban, who was
obviously overwrought that evening, might be persuaded to confess? He gave him an
insistent look, which clearly meant, ‘For goodness’ sake, be careful! You
see the state you are in. He is more than a match for you …’
Similar, but harder, more contemptuous, was
the girl’s look, which said:
‘At least try to have your wits about
you!’
As for Madame Naud, she wasn’t looking
at anyone. She was worn out. Nothing made sense to her any more. She wouldn’t be
able to cope with the nervous tension for much longer.
But it was Alban himself who was behaving
the most strangely. Unable to leave, he was hanging around the drawing room in what
seemed like the hope of speaking to Naud.
‘Didn’t you ask me to look into
your office about that insurance business?’
‘Insurance – what do you
mean?’ Naud said without thinking.
‘Doesn’t matter. We’ll
talk about it tomorrow.’
What did he have to tell him that was so
important?
‘Are you coming, my dear sir?’
insisted the inspector.
‘You’re sure
you don’t want me to drive you? If you’d like to take the car and drive
yourself …’
‘No, thank you. We’re going to
have a nice chat as we walk …’
The fog closed round them. Wheeling his
bicycle with one hand and walking fast, Alban had to stop constantly because Maigret
showed no inclination to keep up.
‘Such good people. And what a
close-knit family. Goodness, though, it must get dull here for a young girl at times.
Has she got many friends?’
‘Not that I know of here. Apart from
her cousins, who come when the weather’s warmer, or sometimes she goes and spends
a week with them.’
‘I suppose she also goes up to Paris
to stay with the Bréjons?’
‘She went there this winter
actually.’
Maigret good-naturedly changed the subject.
The two men could barely see one another in the whitish, freezing cloud that enveloped
them. The station’s electric glare looked like a lighthouse, and two other lights
further off like boats out to sea.
‘So, apart from a few trips to La
Roche-sur-Yon, you hardly ever
large notebook, so famous at thePolice Judiciaire, slipped off the
elastic band and began questioning him in earnest:
‘His name?’
‘You really want me to tell you? As
you wish. Musellier. Pierre Musellier. He has never married. He has a flat on Place
Napoléon, above the Murs garage. It is fifty metres from the Hotel de
l’Europe …’
‘Shall we go and have coffee in the
drawing room?’ suggested Madame Naud. ‘Will you pour, Geneviève?
You’re not too tired? You’re looking pale, I think. Perhaps it would be
better if you went to bed?’
‘No.’
She was tense rather than tired. It was as
if she had a score to settle with Alban, whom she did not take her eyes off.
‘You returned to Saint-Aubin the
following day?’ asked Maigret, pencil in hand.
‘The following day, yes. I got a lift
with a friend to Fontenay-le-Comte. There, I had lunch with friends and, as I left, I
happened to run into Étienne, who brought me back …’
‘So, you go from friend to friend
…’
He could not have said more explicitly that
Alban was a sponger, which was the case. Everyone understood so clearly that
Geneviève blushed and looked away.
‘I still can’t tempt you with
one of my cigars, inspector?’
‘May I know if my interrogation is
over? In that case, I’ll take the liberty of saying my goodbyes. I feel like
getting home early tonight …’
‘Perfect timing. I feel like a stroll
into town. If you don’t mind, we’ll head off together.’
‘I’m on my
bicycle …’
‘Not to worry. A bicycle can be
wheeled, can’t it? Besides, with the fog out there you might ride into the
canal.’
What was going on? For one thing, when
Maigret mentioned leaving with Alban Groult-Cotelle, Étienne Naud had frowned and
seemed on the verge of saying he was coming with them. Did he think that Alban, who was
obviously overwrought that evening, might be persuaded to confess? He gave him an
insistent look, which clearly meant, ‘For goodness’ sake, be careful! You
see the state you are in. He is more than a match for you …’
Similar, but harder, more contemptuous, was
the girl’s look, which said:
‘At least try to have your wits about
you!’
As for Madame Naud, she wasn’t looking
at anyone. She was worn out. Nothing made sense to her any more. She wouldn’t be
able to cope with the nervous tension for much longer.
But it was Alban himself who was behaving
the most strangely. Unable to leave, he was hanging around the drawing room in what
seemed like the hope of speaking to Naud.
‘Didn’t you ask me to look into
your office about that insurance business?’
‘Insurance – what do you
mean?’ Naud said without thinking.
‘Doesn’t matter. We’ll
talk about it tomorrow.’
What did he have to tell him that was so
important?
‘Are you coming, my dear sir?’
insisted the inspector.
‘You’re sure
you don’t want me to drive you? If you’d like to take the car and drive
yourself …’
‘No, thank you. We’re going to
have a nice chat as we walk …’
The fog closed round them. Wheeling his
bicycle with one hand and walking fast, Alban had to stop constantly because Maigret
showed no inclination to keep up.
‘Such good people. And what a
close-knit family. Goodness, though, it must get dull here for a young girl at times.
Has she got many friends?’
‘Not that I know of here. Apart from
her cousins, who come when the weather’s warmer, or sometimes she goes and spends
a week with them.’
‘I suppose she also goes up to Paris
to stay with the Bréjons?’
‘She went there this winter
actually.’
Maigret good-naturedly changed the subject.
The two men could barely see one another in the whitish, freezing cloud that enveloped
them. The station’s electric glare looked like a lighthouse, and two other lights
further off like boats out to sea.
‘So, apart from a few trips to La
Roche-sur-Yon, you hardly ever
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