for a woman of easy virtue, as the phrase is, and she considered this so shameful that she chose to be known as a widow.
But Madame “Saving-Your-Presence,” in her cozy lodge, with her head askew and her neck enveloped in surgical wadding…
Just because she herself had never opened the front door to a stranger, it had been too hastily assumed that no one had entered or left the building that night.
Now, it had been proved that it was possible to get into the building at seven o’clock in the evening without being seen by the concierge. Who was to say that there were not other times in the day when the same conditions obtained?
Up there on the top floor, that eccentric old woman, Juliette Boynet, had chosen to make a mystery of the visits of Charles Dandurand when he called to discuss her investments in enterprises which were, to say the least, morally dubious. It was all very unsavory but, human nature being what it is, not so very surprising. She was not the first of her kind that Maigret had encountered in the course of his career.
He had met others like Dandurand as well.
What was it, then, that did not ring true, that was contrary to his experience of human nature?
The old woman had been strangled, soon after Dandurand’s departure, as she was about to get into bed. She had still been wearing one stocking.
Was one to suppose that there was a third key in existence, and that it was in the possession of Monsieur Charles? Was one to believe that he had gone into the apartment with the intention of killing the old woman?
He, too, was rich. Juliette was worth more to him alive than dead.
One of his underworld cronies? They were not beginners, faceless hooligans game for anything, but successful men, substantial property owners who would not wish to be mixed up in anything downright criminal.
They were telling the truth when they claimed that this business was a nuisance and an embarrassment to them.
Gérard Pardon…?
By this time, the two next to Maigret were frankly going too far, just as if they had the whole of the dark auditorium to themselves.
Maigret had to keep firm control on himself or he would have shouted:
“Stop it, damn you!”
…Gérard, creeping into his sister’s bedroom at seven in the evening, and hiding there…Gérard present, though concealed from view, at the encounter between Juliette Boynet and Monsieur Charles, perhaps witnessing the handing over of a wad of notes, and determined to get possession of them as soon as his aunt was alone…
Very well! In that case, it must be supposed that Gérard, having committed the murder, had spent the rest of the night in the apartment, since the concierge had not let anyone out.
It would therefore follow that Cécile had been intending to name her brother as the murderer when she sat waiting for Maigret in the “aquarium” at the Quai des Orfèvres…
If all this were true, then it must have been Gérard who had lured her into the broom closet.
But how could Gérard Pardon, who had never had any dealings with the police, possibly have known of the existence of that broom closet, let alone of the door connecting the Police Judiciaire building with the Palais de Justice?
A sudden stirring beside him, a skirt being pulled down, the final credits on the screen, all the lights blazing at once, a prolonged tramping of feet.
Maigret, standing in line like everyone else, looked at his neighbor with interest and saw a serene little face, fresh rounded cheeks, and innocently smiling eyes. He had guessed right, the man she was with was in his forties and wore a wedding ring.
Still feeling somewhat dazed, the Chief Superintendent went out into the noisy hubbub of Boulevard Montparnasse. The time, he guessed, was about six. It was growing dark. Shadowy figures hurried past the lighted shop windows. Feeling thirsty, he went into La Coupole, sat down at a table near the window, and ordered a beer.
He was in a state of indolent lassitude,
But Madame “Saving-Your-Presence,” in her cozy lodge, with her head askew and her neck enveloped in surgical wadding…
Just because she herself had never opened the front door to a stranger, it had been too hastily assumed that no one had entered or left the building that night.
Now, it had been proved that it was possible to get into the building at seven o’clock in the evening without being seen by the concierge. Who was to say that there were not other times in the day when the same conditions obtained?
Up there on the top floor, that eccentric old woman, Juliette Boynet, had chosen to make a mystery of the visits of Charles Dandurand when he called to discuss her investments in enterprises which were, to say the least, morally dubious. It was all very unsavory but, human nature being what it is, not so very surprising. She was not the first of her kind that Maigret had encountered in the course of his career.
He had met others like Dandurand as well.
What was it, then, that did not ring true, that was contrary to his experience of human nature?
The old woman had been strangled, soon after Dandurand’s departure, as she was about to get into bed. She had still been wearing one stocking.
Was one to suppose that there was a third key in existence, and that it was in the possession of Monsieur Charles? Was one to believe that he had gone into the apartment with the intention of killing the old woman?
He, too, was rich. Juliette was worth more to him alive than dead.
One of his underworld cronies? They were not beginners, faceless hooligans game for anything, but successful men, substantial property owners who would not wish to be mixed up in anything downright criminal.
They were telling the truth when they claimed that this business was a nuisance and an embarrassment to them.
Gérard Pardon…?
By this time, the two next to Maigret were frankly going too far, just as if they had the whole of the dark auditorium to themselves.
Maigret had to keep firm control on himself or he would have shouted:
“Stop it, damn you!”
…Gérard, creeping into his sister’s bedroom at seven in the evening, and hiding there…Gérard present, though concealed from view, at the encounter between Juliette Boynet and Monsieur Charles, perhaps witnessing the handing over of a wad of notes, and determined to get possession of them as soon as his aunt was alone…
Very well! In that case, it must be supposed that Gérard, having committed the murder, had spent the rest of the night in the apartment, since the concierge had not let anyone out.
It would therefore follow that Cécile had been intending to name her brother as the murderer when she sat waiting for Maigret in the “aquarium” at the Quai des Orfèvres…
If all this were true, then it must have been Gérard who had lured her into the broom closet.
But how could Gérard Pardon, who had never had any dealings with the police, possibly have known of the existence of that broom closet, let alone of the door connecting the Police Judiciaire building with the Palais de Justice?
A sudden stirring beside him, a skirt being pulled down, the final credits on the screen, all the lights blazing at once, a prolonged tramping of feet.
Maigret, standing in line like everyone else, looked at his neighbor with interest and saw a serene little face, fresh rounded cheeks, and innocently smiling eyes. He had guessed right, the man she was with was in his forties and wore a wedding ring.
Still feeling somewhat dazed, the Chief Superintendent went out into the noisy hubbub of Boulevard Montparnasse. The time, he guessed, was about six. It was growing dark. Shadowy figures hurried past the lighted shop windows. Feeling thirsty, he went into La Coupole, sat down at a table near the window, and ordered a beer.
He was in a state of indolent lassitude,
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