to the
paper with his enormous index finger, Maigret was peacefully writing, pausing from
time to time to tamp down the hot ashes in his pipe.
He was ensconced
in his room in the Hôtel du Chemin de Fer and according to the illuminated station
clock, which he could see from his window, it was two in the morning.
Dear old Lucas,
As one never knows what may
happen, Iâm sending you the following information so that, if necessary,
you will be able to carry on the inquiry I have begun.
1. Last week, in Brussels, a
shabbily dressed man who looks like a tramp wraps up thirty thousand-franc notes
and sends the package to his own address, Rue de la Roquette, in Paris. The
evidence will show that he often sent himself similar sums but that
he did
not make any use of the money himself.
The proof is that charred
remains of large amounts of banknotes burned on purpose have been found in his
room.
He goes by the name of Louis
Jeunet and is more or less regularly employed by a workshop on his street.
He is married (contact Mme
Jeunet, herbalist, Rue Picpus) and has a child. After some acute episodes of
alcoholism, however, he leaves his wife and child under mysterious and troubling
circumstances.
In Brussels, after posting the
money, he buys a suitcase in which to transport some things heâs been
keeping in a hotel room. While he is on his way to Bremen, I replace his
suitcase with another.
Then Jeunet,
who does not
appear to have been contemplating suicide and who has already bought
something for his supper
, kills himself upon realizing that the
contents of his suitcase have been stolen.
The stolen property is an old
suit that does not belong
to him and
which, years earlier, had been torn as if in a struggle and drenched with blood.
This suit
was made in Liège.
In Bremen, a man comes to view
the corpse: Joseph Van Damme, an import-export commission agent,
born in
Liège.
In Paris, I learn that Louis
Jeunet is in reality Jean Lecocq dâArneville,
born in Liège
,
where he studied to graduate level. He disappeared from Liège about ten years
ago and no one there has had any news of him, but he has no black marks against
his name.
2. In Rheims, before he leaves
for Brussels, Jean Lecocq dâArneville is observed one night entering the
home of Maurice Belloir, deputy director of a local bank and
born in
Liège
, who denies this allegation.
But the thirty thousand francs sent from Brussels were supplied by this same
Belloir.
At Belloirâs house I
encounter: Van Damme, who has flown in from Bremen; Jef Lombard, a photoengraver
in Liège
; and Gaston Janin, who was also born
in that
city.
As I am travelling back to Paris
with Van Damme, he tries to push me into the Marne.
And I find him again
in
Liège
, in the home of Jef Lombard, who was an active painter around ten
years ago and has covered the walls of his home with works from that period
depicting hanged men.
When I consult the local
newspaper archives, I find that all the papers of 15 February in the year of the
hanged men have been stolen by Van Damme.
That evening, an unsigned letter
promises to tell me everything and gives me an appointment in a local café.
There I find not one man, but three: Belloir (in from Rheims), Van Damme and Jef
Lombard.
They are
not pleased to see me. I have the feeling that itâs one of these men who
has decided to talk; the others seem to be there simply to prevent this.
Lombard cracks under the strain
and leaves abruptly. I stay with the other two men. Shortly past midnight, I
take leave of them outside, in the fog, and a few moments later a shot is fired
at me.
I conclude both that one of the
three tried to talk to me and that one of the same three tried to eliminate
me.
And clearly, given that this
last action amounts to a confession,
the person in question has no recourse
but to try
paper with his enormous index finger, Maigret was peacefully writing, pausing from
time to time to tamp down the hot ashes in his pipe.
He was ensconced
in his room in the Hôtel du Chemin de Fer and according to the illuminated station
clock, which he could see from his window, it was two in the morning.
Dear old Lucas,
As one never knows what may
happen, Iâm sending you the following information so that, if necessary,
you will be able to carry on the inquiry I have begun.
1. Last week, in Brussels, a
shabbily dressed man who looks like a tramp wraps up thirty thousand-franc notes
and sends the package to his own address, Rue de la Roquette, in Paris. The
evidence will show that he often sent himself similar sums but that
he did
not make any use of the money himself.
The proof is that charred
remains of large amounts of banknotes burned on purpose have been found in his
room.
He goes by the name of Louis
Jeunet and is more or less regularly employed by a workshop on his street.
He is married (contact Mme
Jeunet, herbalist, Rue Picpus) and has a child. After some acute episodes of
alcoholism, however, he leaves his wife and child under mysterious and troubling
circumstances.
In Brussels, after posting the
money, he buys a suitcase in which to transport some things heâs been
keeping in a hotel room. While he is on his way to Bremen, I replace his
suitcase with another.
Then Jeunet,
who does not
appear to have been contemplating suicide and who has already bought
something for his supper
, kills himself upon realizing that the
contents of his suitcase have been stolen.
The stolen property is an old
suit that does not belong
to him and
which, years earlier, had been torn as if in a struggle and drenched with blood.
This suit
was made in Liège.
In Bremen, a man comes to view
the corpse: Joseph Van Damme, an import-export commission agent,
born in
Liège.
In Paris, I learn that Louis
Jeunet is in reality Jean Lecocq dâArneville,
born in Liège
,
where he studied to graduate level. He disappeared from Liège about ten years
ago and no one there has had any news of him, but he has no black marks against
his name.
2. In Rheims, before he leaves
for Brussels, Jean Lecocq dâArneville is observed one night entering the
home of Maurice Belloir, deputy director of a local bank and
born in
Liège
, who denies this allegation.
But the thirty thousand francs sent from Brussels were supplied by this same
Belloir.
At Belloirâs house I
encounter: Van Damme, who has flown in from Bremen; Jef Lombard, a photoengraver
in Liège
; and Gaston Janin, who was also born
in that
city.
As I am travelling back to Paris
with Van Damme, he tries to push me into the Marne.
And I find him again
in
Liège
, in the home of Jef Lombard, who was an active painter around ten
years ago and has covered the walls of his home with works from that period
depicting hanged men.
When I consult the local
newspaper archives, I find that all the papers of 15 February in the year of the
hanged men have been stolen by Van Damme.
That evening, an unsigned letter
promises to tell me everything and gives me an appointment in a local café.
There I find not one man, but three: Belloir (in from Rheims), Van Damme and Jef
Lombard.
They are
not pleased to see me. I have the feeling that itâs one of these men who
has decided to talk; the others seem to be there simply to prevent this.
Lombard cracks under the strain
and leaves abruptly. I stay with the other two men. Shortly past midnight, I
take leave of them outside, in the fog, and a few moments later a shot is fired
at me.
I conclude both that one of the
three tried to talk to me and that one of the same three tried to eliminate
me.
And clearly, given that this
last action amounts to a confession,
the person in question has no recourse
but to try
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