[music] Maygray and dispenser by George Simalin, part two, chapter three. Maygray was feeling warm, warm and cozy, as he used to say when he was a child, and if the lights had suddenly been turned on, he would have appeared, leaning back, huddled in his overcoat, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes half closed, as the very incarnation of contentment, but in fact it was just a device, a little game that he played with himself whenever he became so saturated with a single problem that he felt incapable of further reasoning. If it had been some, he would have been sitting in his son on a cafe terrace, with a glass of beer in front of him, his eyes half shut, similar. When they had put in central heating at the KSDL van, and the chief superintendent had sought and obtained permission to keep his old anthracite stove, some of the young inspectors had raised their eyebrows. Had they but known, it was just the old family again. Whenever things were going badly, whenever he had teased and worried a particular problem until he had lost all meaning and become a tangle of loose ends, Maygray would fill his stove to bursting point and then after poking it and turning it full on, totes himself on both sides in front of it. Little by little, he would be filled with a glow of well-being. His eyelids would begin to prickle, and he would see everything around him through a haze, which was not entirely due to the smoke of his never-extinguished pike. In this top-hit bodily state, his mind was freed, as in dreams, to wander at will, sometimes in pursuit of willow-dowiffs, but occasionally along paths which reason alone could never have discovered. Madam Maygray had never caught on. Often, after an evening at the movies, she would touch him on the arm and say with a sigh, "You slept with it again, Maygray. I can't see the point of spending twelve frames for a seat when you have a perfectly good bed at home." The auditorium was pitch dark, heated by the warmth generated by hundreds of human bodies, pulsating with the lives of all these people, so close together and yet a nod to one another. Above their heads ran the long triangular beam of pallet light from the projection room, a focus for tobacco smoke. If anyone had asked him what the film was about, as if that mattered, he watched the images flickering on the screen without attempting to relate to them in any way, then, conscious of a slight rustle nearby, he looked down. This powerful man, who for nearly thirty years had, in a sense, been involved with the uttermost frenzy of human passion, with murder, that is, was a purity. In the semi-darkness, he could sense the movements of the woman next to him and her companions on the other side, though all he could see was the man's pale hand. He gave a brief shot call earlier when she had pulled her coat from under him. He had had the impression that she was very young. She was motionless, her face was white, like the man's hand, like the patch of thigh that he was uncovering, while keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the screen. Uncomfortably, the chief superintendent coughed again, twice. The lovers ignored him, the girl could not have been much older than Nushi. Come to think of it, when Nushi had seen Gerhard going into the building in Boglan, at seven o'clock at night, but had she really seen him, she too had been with a man in the dark, pressed up against a wall, no doubt. The soft sound of a kiss beside him, he could almost taste and moist, unfamiliar mouth. He slumped deeper into the collar of his overcoat. Not long ago, Nushi had been impudently provocative, if he had been so inclined. Wasn't a common feature of adolescent girlhood, this inclination to throw themselves at the head of any older man, just because he was fairly well known, or generally respected? I bet he's a lot older than she is, he mused, with reference to his neighbor's companion. He was not thinking, but leaving his mind open to any stray scrap of thin idea that might come into it, without any attempt at order or coherence. Had little Hungarian girl been lying about most of her child's? Surely not. No one to home was just a sort of man to spy on a young girl through a crack in her door and to show her pornographic photographs. As for Nushi, she would be all too ready to lead him on to the limit, knowing that, in the last resort, she could shout for help. The thing that really worried him was her claim that she had seen Gerhard Padong, going into the building at seven in the evening, at the very time when Madame Saving Your Presence was chatting with the days at Leases, out of the sight of the stairs. After she has made her statement officially, so the word of a perverse kid would be enough to send a man to prison, and who could tell? He was troubled, ill at ease. He was not only the thought of Gerhard slinking out of the door, leading onto vulva arago in a small house. He was still watching the screen, he frowned. For the last few minutes, he had been conscious of something unnatural, suddenly he realized what it was. The lips of the characters in the film were moving, but the spoken words did not correspond. In fact, the lips were forming English words, while the sound trek was in French. In other words, the film was dubbed. The couple next to him were behaving more and more outrageously, but the chiefs of her intendance, mine, was elsewhere. What was it that had been babbling him for the past three days? That was the key question, though he had not realized it. And now he understood. There was a jarring note somewhere in this case. Somewhere, something did not ring true. What was it? As yet, he had no idea. With eyes half shut, you could see the wet-shaped building on the root nationale more clearly than if he had been standing outside. Looking in at the windows of the bicycle shop and the widow, Pierscherts, Rosary Stor. In fact, as she had discovered the previous day, she was not a widow. Her husband had left her 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 her presence in her cosy launch, with her head a skew and her neck enveloped in surgical wedding. 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 impossible to get into the building at 7 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, Juliet Boylett, had chosen to make a mystery of the visits of Charles Donterhorn, 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 a kind that Maegre had encountered in the course of his career. He had met others like Donterhorn 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 stranded soon after Donterhorn's departure as she was about to get into bed. She had still been wearing once talking. Was one to suppose that there was a third key in existence, and that it was in the possession of Maegre's house? Was one to believe that he had gone into the apartment with the intention of killing the old woman? He too was rich. Juliets was worth more to him alive than dead. One of his underworld cronies, they were not beginners, faced as hooligans gained 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. You get out part don't. By this time, the two next to Maegre were frankly going too far, just as if they had the hoe of the dark auditorium to themselves. Maegre had to keep firm control on himself or he would have shouted, "Stop it, damn you!" Gerhard, creeping into his sister's bedroom at seven in the evening and hiding there. Gerhard present, though concealed from view, at the encounter between Juliet Borneit and Monseur 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 Gerhard, 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 seceal, had been intending to name her brother as the murderer when she sat waiting for Maegre in the aquarium at the cairdes of air. If all this were true, then it must have been Gerhard, who had learned her into the broom closet. But how could Gerhard Pardom, 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 Judicier building with the Palais de Justice? A sudden staring beside him, a skirt being pulled down, the finer credits on the screen, all the lights blazing at once, a prolonged trapping of feet. Maegre, 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 40s and wore a wedding ring. Still feeling somewhat dazed, the chief superintendent went out into the noisy hubbub of Boulevard Montparnas. The time, he guessed, was about 6. It was growing dark. Shadowy figures Harry passed the light to shop windows. Feeling thirsty, he went into La Coupeau, sat down at the table near the window and ordered the beer. He was in a state of indolent lassitude, postponing the time when he would have to return to the harsh realities of life. By rights, he ought to be hurrying back to the care that is aware, where Lucas was no doubt grappling with his poor. Instead, he ordered a ham sandwich and went on gazing dreamily at the passing crowds, just now in a movie it had taken him a while, as much as a quarter of an hour perhaps, to identify the cause of his uneasiness, namely, the disparity between the lip movements on a screen and the words on a soundtrack. How long would it take him to pinpoint the jarring element in the Baud-Laurin case? The sandwich was tasty, the beer was good, he ordered another glass. Almost invariably, when he was engaged on a sensational inquiry, some newspaper or other would print a piece on the methods of chief superintendent Magre. It might almost be called a tradition. Well, journalists were welcomed to their opinions, like anyone else. Magre came out of the movies, he had a sandwich, he drank beer, sitting beside the steamy window of La Cooper. He might have been a substantial property owner from the provinces, dazzled by the bustle of the streets of Paris. They tell the truth, his mind was a blank. He was on boulevard Mont Park now, and yet he was not, because wherever he happened to be, the wet-shaped house was always right there with him. He was forever going in and out of it, spying on Madam sitting in her presence in her lair, climbing the stairs and coming down again. Fact number one, the old woman with dyed hair had been strangled. Fact number two, her money and her papers had disappeared. 800,000 friends. To be precise, 800,000 friends and 1,000 friend bills. He tried to picture the thickness of such a bundle of bills. Cecile sitting down to wait in her aquarium at the cadence of air at 8 o'clock in the morning. It was odd, but he was already having difficulty in recalling her face, distinctive and familiar though it had been. He could see the black coat, the green hat and the bag on her lap, that enormous, ridiculous bag that she was never without. And which looked like a small truck. Now Cecile too had been killed, and the bag had fetched. May Gray said that, holding up his glass, wholly unaware, needless to say, of what was in it. If anyone had spoken to him just then, he would have had to make a long journey back to the present. What was it that did not ring true? He must not go too fast. All the elusive truth might be fighting away before he had time to grasp it. Cecile, the bag, the broom closet, the strangled ant. Because the young woman with the squint had also been strangled, it had been assumed that the two murders, he was sigh of relief and took a deep draft of frothy beer. Everybody himself included had been looking for a single murderer, and that was why they were going around in circles, like a sightless horse on a merry-go-round. But why not too? He had had fake doubts from the start. Lontroncy Jean, late extra. Lontroncy Jean, late extra. Read all about, he bought the paper. The picture on the front page caused him to frown. It was of himself, looking fatter than he believed himself to be, biting fiercely on his pipe, with his hand on the shoulder of a young man in a trench coat, who was none other than Gerhard. He could not remember having put his hand on Cecile's brother's shoulder. Presumably, it had been a reflex action. The reporter had thought it's significant. The caption read as follows. Does this mean nothing, or can it be that Chief Superintendent May Gray is laying his heavy hand on a cringing murderer? Idiot. Waiter. My bill. He was furious, and yet at the same time, pleased. He left LeCouper with a lighter tread than when he had gone in there from the movies. Taxi. What the hell? One of the Accounts Department did query it on the grounds that the Metro was the fastest means of getting from one place to another. Ten minutes later, he was back at headquarters, absorbing his atmosphere on his way to his office. The poll was in there, perched awkwardly on the edge of a chair, while Lucas was occupying the Chief Superintendent's own armchair. May Gray winked at Lucas, who quick-deticked the hint, when with him into the inspector's room next door. Jean-Pierre and I between us have been at him at ten hours now. He stood up to it so far, but I have the feeling he's beginning to crack. My guess is that we won't be through until early tomorrow morning. The poll would not be the first to be driven to the wall slowly, but surely. Now, if you could look in yourself, around about two or three and clinch it. I can't spare the time, grumbled May Gray. The offices were about to be vacated. One solitary light was kept burning in the fast dusty corridor, and one solitary man was on duty at a switchboard. But in May Gray's office, the poll was still sitting opposite a determined Lucas, who would be relieved by Jean-Pierre at Interforce, to enable him to slip out for a glass of beer and a bite to eat at the brassery defeat. Any film calls for me? One from someone called Don de Horn. Did he leave a message? He said he had something of interest to tell you, and that you could reach him at his apartment. Any callers? Not that I know of. He'd better ask the guard. A young man in a raincoat, wearing a black armband. He seemed very agitated. He asked me what time you would be back. I told him I couldn't say. He wanted me to give him your home address, but I refused. Grandpa Don could be. He refused to fill in the form. What time was this? About half an hour ago? Did he, by any chance, have a newspaper with him? As the Chief Superintendent, much to the astonishment of the messenger. Yes, he did. St. John. He was holding it all crumbled up in his hand. May Gray went back to the inspector's room. Anyone free in here? Torrance? I'm Dwight Boggler and Chief. Don't bother about that. I want you to go to the hoo to part the Lamoo. Number 22. Do you know the boy? Cecile's brother? Do you mean? Yes, I saw him at Boggler. Good. I want you to call at his lodges. I hope he's back there by now. If he's in, don't let him out of your sight. I don't want him doing anything foolish. Do you understand? Be nice then. I don't want him scared off. Quite the reverse. What if he isn't there? May Gray's brow darkened. He's shocked helplessly. If he's not back, that would be a disaster. There'll be nothing left but to wait for a phone call from a river police. Unless, by any chance, he's managed to get hold of a gun. Just a minute. You'd better call me in any event and let me think. Who in the building would be likely to have a telephone? Of course. Don de Horn. Call me at Charles Don de Horn's apartment. You'll find a number in the directory. Good night, my boy. He went back into his office for a moment and lingeringly examined the pole from head to foot, as if to assess his stamina. Then, with another wing to do kiss, this time signifying he's falling apart. He left. He took a taxi to the now familiar building at Boggler hen. He looked around. Where was the detective who was supposed to be watching the house? A figure loomed out of the shadows. Here I am, Chief. He was very ahead. A new recruit. A pleasant youth tremendously overrode by the Chief. He could scarcely address him without standing. Any developments? Most of your Charles, the foreflow tenant, came home by streetcar at six o'clock. There was someone waiting for him in the home. A little fat man in a belted grey overcoat, carrying a briefcase. It did not take May Gray long to identify this fister as more feet sloying, metal allude. Did he stay long? How about now? The Hungarian went out about five, and I haven't seen him since, as for his daughter. The young inspector waved toward a couple of shadowy figures pressed up against the fence on the patch of a wasteland. "They've been there for the last three quarters of an hour," he said with his son. And they haven't moved in all that time. Unseen by the inspector, May Gray blushed, and went into the building, in passing, he waved to Maden Boon, who was sitting with a plate of suit in front of her, and climbed the four flights of stairs with a heavy trip. Most of your Charles must have recognized his step, because he opened the door before the Chief Superintendent had time to ring the bell. I was expecting you, do peace coming, after your meeting with my friends this morning. The Chief Superintendent was finding it uncommonly hard to get used to the rancid smell of the old bachelor's flat. He found the atmosphere physically, as well as morally repugnant, and he puffed furiously at his pipe, emitting dense clouds of smoke. What was the object of Mathilalu's visit? So you've already heard. He's threatening me with a lawsuit over the estate. He's convinced that Juliet made a will. Apparently, she said it's much more than once in letters she wrote to her cousin Monfice, wishing him a happy new year. I think you ought to make him show them to you. It seems she referred to her nephew and nieces as degenerates and parasites, and complained that, after all she had done for them out of respect for a sister's memory, all they cared about was her money. They'll get the shock of their lives, she wrote in conclusion, and so with the boynets and the masher pits, when they find out that I have made you my sole heir. Did Mathilalu go no further than to threaten you? Most her child's lips twitched in a chilly smile. He made me what he called a fan-generous offer. Share and share like? More on this. If there really were a will, it would be worth considering. Most her don't at home cracked his finger joints. However, the lot didn't know Juliet as I did. To tell the truth, I was the only one who knew her as she really was. She was so terrified of dying, of having one day to leave all her money behind, that she almost persuaded herself that she would never die, at least not in the foreseeable future. She often used to say to me, "When I grow old, much as he disliked the man, Maegre could tell that he was speaking the truth. He himself had never seen Juliet, except as a corpse with crudely dyed hair, yet the impression he had formed of her corresponded exactly with Moser child's account." So, I showed Mathilalu the door, but it wasn't about that that I called you. I'm well aware that my position is delicate, and I realized that, as far as I'm concerned, the best thing that could happen would be for you to find a killer. Or the "Kyllis," mumbled Maegre, apparently immersed in contemplation of a watercolor hanging on the wall. Or the, well, have it your own way, come to thinking of it. For all we know, there might be several killers. At any rate, there are two corpses, and therefore, two murders, and Maegre plastically relate his pipe. It's just a theory, as I was saying, soon after you left, I remembered. He picked up a cloth-bound notebook from his desk. When you've been in the legal profession as long as I was, you can't easily share the habits of a lifetime. Every time I paid Juliet the interest on her investments, I was careful to record the numbers of the bills. Perhaps it was foolish of me, but as things have turned out, you might find the information useful. The notebook was filled with figures. Remember, I had nothing else to occupy my time. Maegre could just imagine him in his evil-smelling study, transcribing columns of figures with chill satisfaction. True, the bills hadn't belonged to him, or the same. He had derived a sensuous satisfaction from handling them, recording the numbers, clipping them together into so many bundles, then sorting them into larger bundles, secured with elastic bands. I'm sure you won't forget, he concluded, handing the notebook to the chief superintendent. If you collect a reward that my friends have offered to put up, then I gave you every assistance. They could hear new sheep bounding up the stairs, three at a time. She calls for a moment on the landing outside, had she been behaving as improperly as the plump girl in the cinema. What business was it of the chief superintendent's anyway? In what way could the behavior of this urchin? Well, that's it. Not wishing to be out when you called. I didn't die in my usual restaurant, but made due with a cold chocolate home. Did you have dinner? Can I give you a small glass or something? No, really, thanks. Sooner or later, you realize that I've done all I could, and oh well, as you please. Maegre, without so much as a parting word, opened the door and led in a gust of piano music. This was no doubt Old Madam Marcel Puko's way of compensating for the scales she had to listen to all day long from the pupils. Intransigent. Intransigent. Additive. Unwilling or refusing to change one's views or to agree about something. Now, an intransigent person. Maegre and a Spencer by George Simile. Part 2, Chapter 4. One day Madam Maegre, who had for some time been contemplating her husband with a very thoughtful look, suddenly gave a sigh and remarked with almost comical candor. What surprises me is that more people haven't been goaded into slapping you in your time. It was a heartfelt sentiment. For there were times when, even with her, Maegre could be intolerably superior and his wife was probably the only person to know that he meant nothing by it. It was not that he gave an impression of irony or twinkled with mischief. It was nothing like that at all. He presented a smooth, impermeable service, impossible to dent, and whatever anyone else might do, say, or feel had no effect on him whatsoever. Did the chief superintendent even hear what you were saying? Did he know that you were there, or could he see nothing but the wall above your head? He was apt to interrupt you in the middle of a sentence with some remark entirely unconnected with what you had been saying. So now, while Charles Dontehorn was still speaking above the piano chords, which could be heard through the open door, Maegre stood still, as if listening to the music. How long had he been deaf to what was being said? How far had his mind wandered during those few brief moments? Suddenly he said, "You do have a telephone, don't you?" Yes, of course. Was he even aware of the presence of Dontehorn, standing there waiting to shut the door behind him? Hestantly he murmured to himself, "I wonder." It was not intentional, but this habit of his had dismayed and confused others besides the former lawyer. What did he want? What notion had he got hold of now? Was it significant or trivial? There was no way of telling. He was nodding to himself, his heavy eyebrows knitted, at last he murmured. Oh, and by the way, I forgot to tell you, I gave your name in case there were any messages for me. Meanwhile, will you please come upstairs with me? If the phone rings, we're bound to hear it up there. If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment, I'll just get my key. On the fifth floor landing, the chief superintendent paused. I think you told me that it was shortly after midnight. Were you wearing slippers? He looked down at the monster child's feet, at present clad in brown kid's slippers. I presume you didn't normally ring the bell. Juliet used to wait for me at the door. I didn't even have to knock. Right, come on in. Was there a light on in the foyer? No, the lamp was lit in the sitting room, and the door was open. For one moment, I'll switch on the sitting room light. That light was not, chief superintendent, only that fake alabaster table lamp over there. More such house, though inwardly uneasy, was pretending to enter into the spirit of the game, as if he hadn't care in the world. As you see, he seemed to be saying, you can't scare me with your tricks. I have nothing to fear, nothing to hide. On a contrary, I am as anxious as you are to arrive at the truth. If you want to re-enact the events of that night, I will cooperate. In a loud, he said, I should mention that I was wearing this same suit, but with a white scarf instead of a tie. I was carrying, sorry, no. I had slipped it into my jacket pocket, an envelope containing later. For the present, if you don't mind, we'll concentrate on tidying up this room. I dare say you know exactly where everything ought to go. Both men looked very solemn, and most such house, with tongue in cheek, was popularly careful to put every chair in the correct position, stepping back now and then to get a better view. There, that's about right. Tell me this. When Madam Boyne went to the door to let you in, I presume she used her cane. She could barely walk without a cane. Can you describe what she was wearing? That's easy. She had on a green flannel dressing gown over her night dress. I remember noticing that her stockings were bunched around her ankles. Both stockings? Yes, both. She usually wore two stockings, if that's what you want to know. And Shabby felt sold slippers. Julia took no pride in her appearance. In fact, I think she got some sort of a kick out of looking her worst. And that night she certainly did, with her hair all over the place, her face shiny with cream and her eyes puffy. Did you notice if there were any of the lights on in the apartment? You say you never left this room. That is correct. Where was Madam Boyne sitting at her desk? Would she proceed it to open? She knew that I had come to settle accounts for her. One moment. Where did she get the key from? At this, the lawyer seemed momentarily non-plussed. I, as a matter of fact, I don't recall. I think she must have had it in the pocket of her dressing gown. Come now, Monster Dont Dont Dont Dont. Her reason for opening the desk when you were about to discuss money matters must have been to refer to the relevant papers. Obviously, Monster Charles suddenly looking grave reflected. You're right. I must admit it hadn't struck me. What did you talk about all this time? We never talked much. I think I mentioned that I felt a cold coming on to explain why I was wearing a scarf. I also told her that it would probably be necessary for me to go to Basie. May Grace Glantz swept the room. His next questions seemed even more irrelevant. Were all the clocks going? Some of them had stopped by now, and the Chief Superintendent scarcely aware of what he was doing began winding them up. They did not all show the same time. I didn't notice. What could it possibly matter anyway? You will observe, Monster Dont Dont Dont Dont. That although Mademoiselle Pukos apartment is three floors beneath us, we can hear her piano almost as clearly as from your apartment. Some carries in this building, which is just as well as I can't fail to hear your telephone if anyone calls me at your number. To proceed, were you sitting where you are now? Now, about that envelope you mentioned, containing 52,000 francs, the quarterly rents from the house on who Dont Dont Dont. Did she count the bills? She invariably did. Did she know you kept a note of the numbers? I never told her. While she was spinning the thousand franc bills together in bundles of ten, I drew her attention to the fact that lately we had not been getting any replies to our letters of dress to the establishment at Basie. The woman we had put in charge there, in whom he looked at Megrae, the chief superintendent. It seemed to him was not listening, and what was more, he evidently attached no importance to what he was saying. Smoking his pipe made great gaze from one to another of the family photographs. Those of the three children especially seemed to interest him, then his eyes fixed on another photograph. The only studio portrait in the apartment offered for lumped to his young woman of about 30, with provocative eyes and breasts, a fine looking woman in fact, and none other than Juliet herself. Go on, Monsieur Dont Dont Dont Dont. In our sort of business, it's difficult if not impossible to exercise direct control, and as we have already explained, where irregularities occur, one has no legal redress, which explains why. Megrae went and opened the dining room door, and then shut it again. Go on, go on, pay no attention to me. Dont Dont Dont Dont, somewhat disconcerted, talked on as fast as he could, and this time Megrae even walked out of the room. I am suggested going to Basiee to look into things myself. It seemed to me that the only way of ascertaining the average receipt was to talk to the girls. Go on, persisted the Chief Superintendent from a distance. As you wish, I remember remarking that the drop in income, it had fallen by a third in the last month, could not be attributed solely to the fact that it was the off-season, and eventually the Chief Superintendent reappeared in a doorway. He looked at monster Charles in some bewilderment, as if to say, what does this fellow think he is doing here, in talking to himself too? Tell me, while you were discussing these matters, you didn't happen to hear any sounds in the apartment, did you? Were you making any effort to keep your voice down? I was talking very quietly. Juliet was always afraid of waking her knees, even though she was sedated. She was also mistrustful of the Hungarians next door, whom she could hear shouting and quarrelling all day long. She had been trying to get rid of them for months, but they resorted to every means in their power to thwart her. What did she do with the fifty-two thousand francs? She still had them in her hand when she saw me out. In the envelope, I think she had put the notes back in the envelope. Yes. What sort of envelope? Just an old envelope I had in my desk. Let me think. It was puff-coloured. What letters did I get that day? Yes. I'm almost sure it was a credit leon envelope, with my name and address typed on it. Did you ever see the envelope again? Never. He could not help sounding faintly contemptuous. Did Mae Gray really think he could impress him with all this twaddle? Do you mind if I smoke, Chief Superintendent? Ah, that reminds me. When you used to call on your friend Juliet, did you ever smoke in here? Often. Cigarettes or what? I see you are better informed than I had supposed, and if I had anything on my conscience, but how did you know? I understood that you had never seen Juliet alive. This time, if not actually worried, he could not help being intrigued. Well, there are no ashtrays in this room. I'm quite sure I never left any cigarette butts lying about. As to the ash, he laughed uneasily. To tell you the truth, Chief Superintendent, I don't understand. I'll tell you the whole story, and then you'll see why I'm so puzzled. Once, many years ago, I came in here smoking my pipe. Now, Juliet was a woman with strong views of her own, and she disapproved of pipe smoking in the presence of a woman. But then, some nights, it took her several hours to get through our business. So, I got into the habit of bringing a package of cigarettes up with me. Not wishing to drop ash all over the place. I would spread a piece of paper on the corner of the table and use it as an ashtray, and I would take it away with me when I left. Magrae's abstracted expression did not change. How you could possibly know that really is unless what echoed the Chief Superintendent? Unless there was someone hidden in the apartment, spying on everything we said and did. And even then, it would have had to be someone who had access to you and could tell you. What doesn't matter when Juliette Boinett saw you to the door? She had the 52,000 francs in the hand as to the envelope. You probably used it for your cigarette ash. Juliette locked the door behind you. I took it. She bolted it. Did you go straight back to your apartment? Did you see anyone on the way? Did you hear anything? I suppose you can't tell me whether the old woman went straight to bed. I don't know. They listened. The insistent ringing of the bell was clearly to be heard. Magrae went to the door much more. Excuse me, there must be the phone call I've been waiting for. The door to the 4th floor apartment had been left the door. The lights were on. The telephone stood on a desk. Hello, Torrance. Is that you, Chief? I'm still at who to pad the lemon. And Gerhard, I haven't seen him. Listen, it's a bit involved. I don't think I ought to say too much on the telephone. Hold on a minute. The inspector wondered what was going on. The fact was that Magrae could hear footsteps just above his head. The sound, he reckoned, must be coming from Juliet Boynett's bathroom. He could hear it distinctly. More so Charles' felt short feet and stealth were to no avail. His comings and goings were plainly audible. Thus, it was obvious that the former lawyer could hear from his study everything that went on in the apartment on the floor above. Hello, are you still there, Chief? Shut up. Should I hold on? I said shut up. Suddenly, leaving the receiver lying on the desk, he made a dash for the floor above, when he opened the door of Madame Boynett's apartment. More so Charles, looking somber but impassive, seemed on the way to come out. Was it a call you were expecting? Yes, I haven't quite finished yet if you'd cared to come down. Sorry, I didn't want to intrude. Maegre intercepted what appeared to be a look of charcoing, if not anguish. In the eyes of this he threw too cool customer. I'm coming, Chief Superintendent, if I'd known that. You go first. Where are we going? Into your study. Shut the door. Stay where you are, and if you don't mind, keep your hands on the table. He picked up the receiver again. I'm listening. Ah, I thought we'd been cut off. Well, Chief, here goes. When I got here, I inquired of the concierge, and she told me that Georg hadn't come in yet, but that his wife was at home. I went and stood guard near the front door, and then it began to ring. Never mind that. I'm soaked through. Oh, hell. I didn't dare pop into the cafe on the corner for a drop or something. I stood there for hours, and then, just now, within the last quarter of an hour, a young woman arrived in the taxi. She looked wary. I recognized her by her red hat as Gerhard's sister, Madam Marcel Bertha, the one you pointed out to me. Go on. Little did he know, as he made his report, that the Chief Superintendent was listening with only half an ear, while his eyes were fixed on Monster Charles, whom he was inspecting from head to foot. As to the former lawyer, he was making no secret of the awkwardness of having to stand there with both hands flat on the desk. What had he been doing up there? It was the first time since Juliet's death that he had had a few minutes to himself in her apartment. Go on, unlistening. I had no instructions. The girl went upstairs. After a while, it occurred to me that she might be the bearer of bad news, so I went up after her. I knocked at the door. She was the one who let me in. There's no foyer. Madam Padon was in the kitchen, sobbing. She looked at me in terror and gasped. Is he dead? Monster Charles must have caught a look of astonishment on May Gray's face, he frowned. What then? It was very embarrassing, I can tell you, Chief, I asked the girl what she had come for. She replied that we were a heartless bunch, and that if anything had happened to her brother, she would hold us responsible. Well, what were one of them in tears and the other in the rage? I couldn't get any sense out of either of them. So I could see that there was nothing for it but to be patient. In the end, I gathered that Gerhard had been to see his sister. Apparently, he was behaving like a madman. He wanted money, and he wanted it at once. She tried to calm him down and asked him what he wanted the money for. He replied with a spiteful laugh. You find out when you see tomorrow's papers. For God's sake, give me all you can spare. And she gave him exactly 130 francs, leaving herself with only 10 francs. He made a wild dash for the door. She tried to follow him, but he leaped into a moving bus. I don't know what to do next, Chief. I had to leave them to telephone. Should I go back there? Gerhard's wife says he means to kill himself. If you ask me, I fight, set maybe, cutting him off in mid sentence. But what am I to do now? But the Chief Superintendent had already hung up. And without a pause, he ordered once or child to empty his pockets. You want me to empty your pockets. If you say so, slowly he did so. Taking things out one by one and laying them on a table. A shabby wallet, a key, a pen knife, an exceedingly grubby handkerchief, various papers. A small box of cough lozenges, a tobacco pouch, a pie, and a box of matches. Turn your pockets inside out. Take off your jacket. Do you want me to strip? If Madam May Gray had been there, she might have been tempted to repeat the remark, suitably amended, which she had made to her husband. What surprises me is that you haven't been goaded into slapping him. And indeed, after two, it was Mosher Charles, who was the more impulsive. The more chilly, with a coolness verging on incidents. He took off his jacket to reveal the shirt with frayed grayish cuffs. His waistcoat was passport. His braces were in no better condition than his shirt. And the waistband of his underpants showed a bow of his trousers. Should I carry on? If the chief superintendent had not exercised considerable self-control, he would have done more than slapped a fellow. He would have driven his fist into his face. Do you want me to tick off my slippers? Yes. This exercise revealed no hidden scrap of paper, only a hole in one sock. I might point out, chief superintendent, that it is eleven o'clock at night. And that even if you had a warrant properly drawn up and duly signed, I should be entitled to show you the door at the zoo. Not that I would think of doing such a thing. I just want to draw your attention. Sit down, you dial the number. Make yourself at home, mermaid the former lawyer sarcastically. Hello. Put me through to Lucas, will you? Is that you? Not yet? Keep at it, my boy. No. I can't spare the time. Who have you got there? Burger? Oh, very well. Time to hop into a taxi and come to Borglachan. Yes. Fourth floor. Thanks. Good luck. He hung up and remained motionless, staring down at the desk in front of him. If you're saying perhaps you'd care to join me in a drink, May Gray quelled him with a look. Ten minutes went by, a quarter of an hour. Cars rode past on the Rue Nessenau. The piano was silent. The whole house snapped. At last, downstairs, there could be heard the slam of the front door, followed by footsteps on the stairs. Come in, Burger. It must have been pouring outside, because though he had come by a taxi, the inspectors, hats and shoulders were wet. Let me introduce you to Monster Charles. He is rather on edge tonight, and I'm afraid he might do something foolish. I pointed out to him that we have no legal right to spend a night in his apartment. But he doesn't mind. I will leave him in your charge. He's welcome to go to bed if he's so vicious, and if he does, be sure you look after him as if he were your nearest and dearest. Understood? I'll probably look in tomorrow morning. Don't worry if I'm a bit late, but don't let him out. He might catch cold. He button up his coat and fill this pipe, gently pressing down to the back door with his thumb. But keep off his brandy, if I were you. I would think it isn't up too much. He picked up the wallet and paper step Don't to Home had taken from his pockets. Did you tell the taxi to wait? No chief. Never mind. Good night. And he left the two men alone together. He considered going back up to the fifth floor, but thought better of it. Don't to Home was not the man to leave incriminating evidence lying about. Madam saving your presence in her night attire was waiting for him in the hall downstairs. Her head was twisted even farther to one side than usual. What's going on chief superintendent? Has there been another murder in the house? He was not listening. He could barely make out the whispered words and he replied absolutely. Maybe. Let me out please. Nonplussed. Nonplussed. Aditive. So surprised and confused that one is unsure how to react. Lossage. Lossage. Now, a rhombus or diamond shape.
