‘customers’.
‘Don’t you want the whole world to
know that you were keeping your son locked up in a cellar? … First of all, it’s your
right as a father. The right to punish. How many times, when I was little, was I threatened with
being locked in the cellar!’
‘Shut up, will you?’
Malik had planted himself in front of Maigret and
was staring at him intently, trying to fathom what lay behind his words.
‘What exactly do you know?’
‘Finally! The question I’ve been
waiting for.’
‘What do you know?’ asked Malik
again, becoming impatient.
‘And you, what are you afraid of me
knowing?’
‘I have already asked you not to poke your
nose in my business.’
‘And I refused.’
‘For the second and last time, I’m
telling you—’
But Maigret was already shaking his head.
‘No … You see, that’s
impossible now.’
‘You don’t know anything.’
‘In that case, what are you afraid
of?’
‘You won’t find out
anything.’
‘So I’m not a bother to you,
then.’
‘As for the boy, he won’t talk. I
know you’re relying on him.’
‘Is that all you have to say to me, Ernest?’
‘I’m asking you to think. I could
have killed you earlier, and I’m beginning to wish I had.’
‘You may well have been wrong not to. In a
few moments, when I leave here, you’ll still have a chance to shoot me in the back.
It’s true that now the boy is far away, and that there’s someone with him. Come on!
I’m ready for bed. So, no telephone? No complaint? No gendarmerie? Understood?
Agreed?’
He headed for the door.
‘Good night, Ernest.’
As he was about to disappear into the hall, he
changed his mind and went back into the room, to say, with a solemn expression and a heavy
gaze:
‘You see, what I am going to discover is I
suspect so ugly, so vile, that I’m loath to continue.’
He left without looking round, slamming the door
hard behind him, and made his way to the gate, which was locked. The situation was absurd: here
he was in the grounds of the house with no one to let him out.
The light was still on in the study, but Malik
was not thinking about seeing his enemy off the premises.
Scale the back wall? Maigret did not think he was
agile enough to do so alone. Find the path that would take him to the Amorelles’ garden,
where the gate might not be locked?
He shrugged and headed over to the
gardeners’ cottage, and tapped on the door.
‘What is it?’ came a sleepy voice
from inside.
‘A friend of Monsieur Malik’s who
needs someone to unlock the gate for him.’
He
heard the old gardener moving around as he put on his trousers and hunted around for his clogs.
The door opened a fraction.
‘How come you are in the gardens? Where are
the dogs?’
‘I think they’re asleep,’
muttered Maigret. ‘Unless they’re dead.’
‘What about Monsieur Malik?’
‘He’s in his study.’
‘But he has the key to the gate.’
‘Maybe. But he’s so preoccupied that
it didn’t even occur to him.’
The gardener walked ahead of him, grumbling,
turning round from time to time to dart an inquisitive look at this nocturnal visitor. When
Maigret hastened his step, the man shuddered, as if he were expecting to be hit from behind.
‘Thank you, my good man.’
He returned serenely to L’Ange. He had to
throw pebbles at Raymonde’s window to wake her and ask her to open the door.
‘What time is it? I wasn’t expecting
you back tonight. Earlier I heard people running along the little path. Wasn’t that
you?’
He poured himself a drink and went to bed. At
eight o’clock the next morning, freshly shaven and carrying his suitcase, he boarded the
train for Paris. At half past nine, having drunk a coffee and eaten croissants in a little
café, he walked into Quai des Orfèvres.
Lucas was conferring in his superior’s
office. Maigret sat down at his old desk, next to the open window, and an
Amorelle and Campois tug happened to be passing on the Seine,
giving
‘Don’t you want the whole world to
know that you were keeping your son locked up in a cellar? … First of all, it’s your
right as a father. The right to punish. How many times, when I was little, was I threatened with
being locked in the cellar!’
‘Shut up, will you?’
Malik had planted himself in front of Maigret and
was staring at him intently, trying to fathom what lay behind his words.
‘What exactly do you know?’
‘Finally! The question I’ve been
waiting for.’
‘What do you know?’ asked Malik
again, becoming impatient.
‘And you, what are you afraid of me
knowing?’
‘I have already asked you not to poke your
nose in my business.’
‘And I refused.’
‘For the second and last time, I’m
telling you—’
But Maigret was already shaking his head.
‘No … You see, that’s
impossible now.’
‘You don’t know anything.’
‘In that case, what are you afraid
of?’
‘You won’t find out
anything.’
‘So I’m not a bother to you,
then.’
‘As for the boy, he won’t talk. I
know you’re relying on him.’
‘Is that all you have to say to me, Ernest?’
‘I’m asking you to think. I could
have killed you earlier, and I’m beginning to wish I had.’
‘You may well have been wrong not to. In a
few moments, when I leave here, you’ll still have a chance to shoot me in the back.
It’s true that now the boy is far away, and that there’s someone with him. Come on!
I’m ready for bed. So, no telephone? No complaint? No gendarmerie? Understood?
Agreed?’
He headed for the door.
‘Good night, Ernest.’
As he was about to disappear into the hall, he
changed his mind and went back into the room, to say, with a solemn expression and a heavy
gaze:
‘You see, what I am going to discover is I
suspect so ugly, so vile, that I’m loath to continue.’
He left without looking round, slamming the door
hard behind him, and made his way to the gate, which was locked. The situation was absurd: here
he was in the grounds of the house with no one to let him out.
The light was still on in the study, but Malik
was not thinking about seeing his enemy off the premises.
Scale the back wall? Maigret did not think he was
agile enough to do so alone. Find the path that would take him to the Amorelles’ garden,
where the gate might not be locked?
He shrugged and headed over to the
gardeners’ cottage, and tapped on the door.
‘What is it?’ came a sleepy voice
from inside.
‘A friend of Monsieur Malik’s who
needs someone to unlock the gate for him.’
He
heard the old gardener moving around as he put on his trousers and hunted around for his clogs.
The door opened a fraction.
‘How come you are in the gardens? Where are
the dogs?’
‘I think they’re asleep,’
muttered Maigret. ‘Unless they’re dead.’
‘What about Monsieur Malik?’
‘He’s in his study.’
‘But he has the key to the gate.’
‘Maybe. But he’s so preoccupied that
it didn’t even occur to him.’
The gardener walked ahead of him, grumbling,
turning round from time to time to dart an inquisitive look at this nocturnal visitor. When
Maigret hastened his step, the man shuddered, as if he were expecting to be hit from behind.
‘Thank you, my good man.’
He returned serenely to L’Ange. He had to
throw pebbles at Raymonde’s window to wake her and ask her to open the door.
‘What time is it? I wasn’t expecting
you back tonight. Earlier I heard people running along the little path. Wasn’t that
you?’
He poured himself a drink and went to bed. At
eight o’clock the next morning, freshly shaven and carrying his suitcase, he boarded the
train for Paris. At half past nine, having drunk a coffee and eaten croissants in a little
café, he walked into Quai des Orfèvres.
Lucas was conferring in his superior’s
office. Maigret sat down at his old desk, next to the open window, and an
Amorelle and Campois tug happened to be passing on the Seine,
giving
Similar Books
