Vertigo by Pierre Boileau

who began to get angry, too.
    ‘When a woman’s made up her mind to run away,’ he said spitefully, ‘it’s pretty hard to stop her.’
    ‘Run away? Run away? As if Madeleine was a woman to run away! I only wish I could think it possible… By now she may well be…’
    He jumped up, almost knocking over a small table. He walked to the far end of the room. With his shoulders hunched and his head forward, he looked like a wary boxer.
    ‘What does one do in a case like this?’ he asked. ‘You ought to know. Does one call in the police?… For heaven’s sake say something, man!’
    ‘They’d laugh in our faces. If she’d been gone two or three days, it would be a different matter.’
    ‘Not if it came from you. They know you… And if you explained that Madeleine had already tried to kill herself, that you’d dragged her out of the Seine with your own hands, and that she might well have tried again today, they’d believe you, I’m sure…’
    ‘We’ve nothing to go on, old chap. She’s been out a few hours. She’ll be back for dinner—you’ll see.’
    ‘Supposing she’s not?’
    ‘In any case it’s not my business to report her missing.’
    ‘So you wash your hands of it?’
    ‘It’s not that… Try and understand… It’s the normal thing for the husband to call in the police.’
    ‘All right, I’ll do so at once.’
    ‘You’d only be making a fool of yourself. In any case they wouldn’t take any action on such flimsy evidence. They’d merely take down the particulars and promise to let you know if she turned up. That’s all. I know.’
    Slowly Gévigne put his hands in his pockets.
    ‘If I have to sit here and wait, I’ll go out of my mind.’
    He began pacing up and down, then stopped in front of a bowl of roses on the mantelpiece, which he contemplated mournfully.
    ‘I must be going now,’ said Flavières.
    Gévigne didn’t budge. He went on looking at the flowers. Only a slight tremor passed over his face.
    ‘In your place,’ went on Flavières hurriedly, ‘I’d simply put the thing out of my mind. It’s only just gone seven. She might have lingered in a shop, or met someone.’
    ‘You just don’t care,’ snarled Gévigne. ‘Why should you?’
    ‘There’s absolutely no need to get all worked up about it. If she’s run away, she can’t have got far.’
    He explained politely to Gévigne the various methods employed by the police to track down missing persons. He warmed up to the subject in spite of his exhaustion. He seemed to have become two people at once. One was eagerly proving that Madeleine couldn’t escape, and almost proving it to himself. The other would have liked to fling himself down on the carpet and sob out his heart’s despair. Still gazing at the flowers, Gévigne seemed completely lost in thought.
    ‘Give me a ring when she comes in,’ said Flavières, making for the door.
    Yes, it was high time he went. He could no longer control his features, no longer trust his eyes. The truth was surging up within him. At any moment he might burst out:
    ‘She’s dead… Madeleine’s dead.’
    ‘Don’t go,’ muttered Gévigne.
    ‘I must. I’d stay if I could, of course. But if you knew how my work was piling up…’
    ‘Don’t go,’ pleaded Gévigne again. ‘I couldn’t bear to be alone when they… when they bring her back.’
    ‘Come on, Paul. You’re losing your sense of proportion.’
    Gévigne’s immobility was positively frightening.
    ‘If you’re here, you can explain to them all we’ve done, the struggle we’ve had…’
    ‘Of course… But no one’s going to bring her back. Take my word for it.’
    Flavières’ voice had faltered. To gain time, he whipped out his handkerchief, coughed, blew his nose.
    ‘Keep your chin up, Paul… It’ll all come right… Don’t forget to give me a ring.’
    As he opened the door he looked back. With his head sunk on his chin, Gévigne seemed turned to stone. Flavières went out, shutting the door