[music] Magrae and the Spinster, by George Cimannan. Part 2, Chapter 1. What's there in Epidemic of some sort in Borglachin? Magrae could easily have found out, but the question having once crossed his mind, he gave no further thought to it. The undertaker's man would no doubt have told him that deaths occur in waves, that sometimes five days would go by with not a single hers, either of the luxury or of the plane of variety, being taken out on the road, and that this lull might be followed by a period of hectic demand. On this particular morning, the undertaker's resources were fully stretched, so much so that one of the two horses harnessed to Juliet's buoyness, hers was not trained for the job, and ten times at least attempted to break into a trot, thus imparting a somewhat jerky and hasty tempo to the procession, not at all in keeping with the funeral dignity of the occasion. The arrangements for the funeral had been undertaken by a man named the Monfis, an insurance agent from Luzon. No sooner had the press reported the murder of Juliet Boyne than he turned up in Paris, dressed in deep mourning, and from then on this tall, thin, wan figure, sporting a rat nose as a result of a coat caught on the train was very much to the fore at all times. He was Juliet Boyne's first cousin. I know what I'm talking about, Chief Superintendent. It was understood from way back that she would leave us something, and she agreed to stand godmother to our Elders' child. I'm sure there must be a will in existence. If none has been found, it may be that there are those who have an interest in causing it to disappear. What's more, I intend to register my claim with the court. He had insisted on a grand funeral with all the trimmings, including the setting up of a memorial chapel in the apartment on the fifth floor, and a departure of the procession from the funeral parlor. We are not in the habits in our family of bearing our dead on the cheap. This very morning he had been to the station to collect his wife, also in deep mourning, and his five sons, all with unruly fair hair, who were now following the coffin, each carrying his hat in descending order of size. The traffic was at its heaviest on the main roads at this time of day. Trucks mostly returning from the central market in endless fire, nose to tail. It was a clear sunny day, but there was a sharp nib in the air. People were stamping their feet and keeping their hands in their pockets. May Gray had not had any sleep the previous night. He had set up with Lucas, keeping watch on his scang of poles in the room overlooking Rue de Birac. During the past three days, ever since Cecile's death, he had been gloomy and irritable. He was beginning to lose patience with the Poles, who were preventing him from giving his whole mind to the Borglach and murders. By seven o'clock in the morning, his mind was made up. You wait here. I'm going to pinch the first one to come out. Watch it, Chief. They're armed. He shrugged, went into the hotel des Arcad, mounted the stairs and waited. A quarter of an hour later, the bedroom door opened. A giant of a man went to the stairs. May Gray flung himself upon him from behind, and the two men rode over and over together until they reached the ground floor. At last, having managed to fasten handcuffs on his quarry, the chief superintendent put up. He blew his whistle and inspected Torrance came running. Check him to the key. I'll leave the job of drilling him to you. Keep at it till he talks. Understood. Take it in relays if necessary. I want a full confession. He dusted himself down, and then went into a bar and head class on, and coffee laced with brandy at the counter. Everyone in the police duty Sierra knew that, at times like these, it was wiser not to cross them. Madam May Gray, for her part, dared not even ask him what time he would be home for his means. There he stood on a sidewalk, with his back to the window of the grocers, looking southern and smoking his pipe in little angry pups. The press had written up the case, and there was a small crowd of spectators, not to mention half a dozen reporters and one or two photographers. The two nurses were drawn up in front of the house, first Juliet Boynett and then Cecilia. Madam saving your presence, saying that it was the least they could do, had organized a collection among the tenants for a reef. To our landlady, who will be sadly missed. Beside the monfies, representing the family of Juliet Boynett, Nay Kasanoff. There was another group representing the diseased husband, the Boynett and the Mashapie, who lived in Paris. The two rival factions, lowered at one another. Boynett and the Mashapie also claimed that they had been robbed, saying that the old woman had promised, after her husband's death, that part of her fortune would one day revert to his relations. They had turned up in force to previous night and police headquarters, and as they were persons of some standing, one of them being a city counselor had been received by the chief commissioner himself. Tell me, Magray, these gentlemen claim that there is a will. I've told them again and again that the apartment has been thoroughly searched, but it makes no difference. They had a grudge against Magray. They had a grudge against Monfies. They had a grudge against Juliet. In other words, everyone felt cheated. Georga Padon, most of all. He spoke not a word to anyone, and looked more distraught than ever. Having no money, he had not been able to afford morning clothes. Instead of an overcoat, he wore an old khaki mackintosh with a black unbanned. His sister Bertan kept close to him, troubled at seeing him so agitated. She was a plumbed little thing, pretty and well-roamed. She had not thought it necessary to buy a dark hat instead of a cherry-red infection she was wearing. Mosier Domm de Homme was also present, accompanied by four or five very self-assured gentlemen. All expensively dressed and wearing numerous flashing rings. We had turned up in a sumptuous limousine. The severs she's two were there in force, except for the mother, who was still in bed. Madame Pièxio, the grocer, had left Madame Benois in charge of the shop for a few minutes while she went upstairs and sprinkled early water on the coffins. The undertaker, who was anyway on edge because he had another funeral at the level, could not make head or tail of the various factions, and was quite unable to assert who was representing the family officially, and the presence of the photographers was an added cause for a lot. Wait a minute gentlemen, I beg you, can't you at least wait until the procession has formed? The last thing he wanted was the photograph of a chaotic procession in the papers. Fingers were pointed at Megray, but he appeared not to notice. As the two coffins were being brought out, he touched Girhard Padon on the shoulder the young man gave his start. Could you spare me a minute? He whispered, taking him aside. What do you want this time? Your wife must have told you that I called on her yesterday while you were out. You don't mean you've been searching our hovel. He sniggered. It was a painful grating sound. Did you find what you were looking for? And when the chief superintendent replied that he had, Padon stared at him in horror. Believe it or not, when your wife just happened to have her back to me, I took the liberty of digging my fingers into a flower pot. I am a bit of a gardener in my spare time you see, and there was something about those flowers that didn't look right to me. And look what I found buried in the recently disturbed soil. He held out his hand, in the palm of which lay a small key, the key to the front door of Juliet Boynett's palm. Or don't you think he went on? And here's a coincidence. When I returned to my office little while later, I found there was a locksmith waiting to see me, a locksmith who lives not a hundred yards from hand, and who wished to inform me that he had cut a key similar to this one less than a fortnight ago. What does that prove? Gerhard was trembling. He looked about him wildly, as though in search of help, and his glands rested on his sister's coffin being hoisted into the hairs by the men in black. Are you going to arrest me? I don't know yet. If you question the locksmith, he must have told you that I got that key. He had got it from Cecile. The locksmith's statement had established that beyond doubt. On Monday, September 25th, he had stated, "A young woman of about 30 came into my workshop, produced a Yale key, and asked me if I could make her a copy. I said I would need the original key to work from. She objected that it was her only key, and that she would be needing it, so I made a wax impression." Next day, she came to collect a new key, and paid me 12 friends 75 sontine. It was only when I read in the papers that Cecile Padon had been murdered, and in particular when I learned from her description that she had a slight squint, that "The procession was beginning to move. The master of ceremonies bustled up to Gerhard, waving his arms. Mayberry whispered. We'll talk later." Gerhard and his sister Bertha were placed immediately behind the herses, but they had not gone ten years before Monfice. Disputing their rights of precedence came forward to join them. The boining and the mash-upier, less officious, scorned any hypocritical show of grief and followed behind, deep in discussion regarding the secession. Monster Don Dohome and the gentlemen of the flashy rings came next, all except one, who brought up the rear of the procession, driving the big car. From the start, an account armed to temperamental horse, the pace was distinctly brisk, where in the time came, however, to turn the left off the main road for the church, there was a fearful snarlop. All traffic was brought to a halt for several minutes, including three streetcars in the road. In fewer precondition, Gerhard's wife was not present. Her confinement was still within a week or less. Mayberry had spent an hour of her the previous night in their lodgings, comprising two rooms over a butcher's shop on who the parlour-mu. She was barely twenty-three years of age, yet her face was not youthful, but aged with the resignation of the poor. It was plain to see that she had tried, with all the inadequate means at her command, to make the two rooms habitable. Some of her possessions had no doubt already found their way to the pawn shop. Mayberry noticed that the gas had been cut off. Gerhard has always been unlucky. She sighed without rank her, and yet he has many virtues. He's a great deal more intelligent than many others who have good jobs. Maybe that's his trouble? Her name was Ellen. Her father was working for a credit company. She had been too scared to let him know how things really stood in her house, and had led him to believe that Gerhard was working, and that the marriage was a happy one. He may seem somewhat aggressive to you, but look at it from his point of view. Lately, everything has gone against him. He's out from morning till night, answering advertisements for jobs. Surely you don't regard him as a suspect. He's the soul of honesty. Maybe it's just because he's so scrupulously honest that he's a failure. Let me give you an example. In his last job, he worked in a shop setting vacuum cleaners. There was a break-in. Gerhard suspected that one of his fatal employees was involved. He said nothing, but later the boss subjected him to a barrage of questions, making Gerhard feel that he himself was under suspicion. And rather than involve anyone else, Gerhard gave notice. "Oh, by all means, make a thorough search. You won't find anything of interest here except bills." And the flout pot on the windowsill. Magrae had noticed that the soil had been recently disturbed, although the geranium planted in it had long since died. While Ellen's attention was momentarily distracted, he had pounced. With his hands in his pockets, he strode along the sidewalk on the edge of the procession, and so fell free to smoke his pipe. At the tail end of the procession, he observed the two seafood she girls, Nushi and Potsie, who were treating it as a "festification" and "redishing" every detail. Madam saving your presence had left her lodge in charge of a neighbor for an hour or so. Unaware that Magrae had posted an inspector on Gerhard's site, the building. She would be attending a service in a church, but not the burial. She was sensitive to drafts on account of her stiff neck. Suddenly, the column came to an unscheduled halt. They all trained their necks and stood on tip toe to find out what was happening. Juliet Bonny and Cecile were victims of an unfortunate mischance. As their procession, which was running early, reached a crossroads. Another funeral procession, this one running late, emerged from a side road and made for the church. There was no alternative but to wait. The horses stamped their feet. Several of the men left the column to go in search of a drink, and were seen a few minutes later coming out of a little cafe nearby, wiping their mouths. All the music could be heard and behind. Cars rumbling past on the route Nacionale 20. The priests galloped through the service at top speed, and it was not long before the church doors were flung wide open, heading north in Duchar's Intentaciones, and do not lead us into temptation. The master of ceremonies in the caucet hat ran back and forth alongside his flock like a sheepdog, Celibra, north and mother, but deliver us from evil. Amen. Before the first lot had all come out, Juliet Bonet's mourners began entering the church. There was room for only one of the two coffins on the beeth. The seals were set down at the back on the tiled floor. "Libera, north domini. Lord, deliver us," chanted the priest. There was a creaking of shoes, a scraping of chairs, a cool breeze blew in through the wide open door at the back, beyond which could be seen the sunlit street. Gerhard, in the front row, looked restlessly about him. Was it in Maygre he was searching for? Charles donned your horns, companions, conducting themselves very correctly, dropped hundred frang notes into the pore box. Berta, conspicuous in a cherry red hat, watched her brother anxiously, as if she feared he might do something foolish. "Pata-noster, our father." The magnesium flair of an agency photographer suddenly flashed, causing everyone to start. Maygre, huddled in his heavy overcoat with the velvet collar, was leaning against a stone pillar, his lips moving as if in prayer, and, indeed, he might well have been praying for poor Cecide, who had sat waiting for him so long in the aquarium at the cadence of air. For the past three days, his colleagues had scarcely dared address the work to him. Heavy and lowering, he went to and throw in a building, chewing the stem of his pipe and brooding furiously. No progress, the chief had inquired the previous night. His only reply had been a look so miserable and baffled that it spoke louder than words. "It's no good fretting, my dear fellow. You're bound to get elite soon." The apostles in the stained glass windows glowed in the sunlight. Maygre's glance, for no apparent reason, kept returning to the figure of Son Luke, whom the artists had portrayed with a square brown beard. Ednae knobsed in Dooka's intention, and lead us not into temptation. The priest was rushing through the service at such speed as to suggest that there was another funeral procession champing at the door. The horse that had not been properly trained in funeral procedures kept winnying every few minutes, and a sound, reoccuing under the stone vaults, seemed like a joyful affirmation of life. What could have induced the seal to have an extra key to the apartment cut without her aunt's knowledge a fortnight ago, was that she who had given it to her brother. If so, he could see her still, motionless in the waiting room with her hand back on her lap, prepared to sit there for hours, not moving a muscle. Maygre recalled his own thoughts. Either she was called away by someone she knew and trusted, or she was led to believe that she was being taken to see me. Her brother, Gerhard had never taken his eyes off him during the whole of the service. Every now and then, Berta would pat his arm to reassert him, embarrassed the chief superintendent avoided the young man's gaze. This way, gentlemen, hurry along, please. At the cemetery, too, there was a great deal of bustle that day. A hasten past a family mausoleums and individual stone monuments, and before long had reached a new section with its slaps of clay surmounted by wooden crosses. The two coffins were hoisted onto trolleys and wheeled along the narrow pathways, followed by the mourners walking in single fire. Might I have a word with you, Chief Superintendent? When would be convenient? Where are you staying? Et de la teil de sont en boulevard mon patanas. It was monfis, who had caught up with Maygre as they made their way to the graveside. I'll probably lock in on you sometime today. Once your rather eye came to your office, I don't know what my schedule will be, and Maygre hurried forward to catch up with Berta, who had been temporarily separated from her brother in the crown. You shouldn't let him out of your sight. He's terribly overwrought, trying to persuade him to go back with you to your place. I'll come and see him there. She is centered with a flicker of her eyelashes. She was a pretty girl, a plumb little creature, seeming infinitely remote from the dramatic events of the past few days. Excuse me, Chief Superintendent, Maygre turned to face one of Monsieur Don de Horn's friends. Could you spare me a minute or two? There's a quiet little bistrel just across the road from the cemetery. Leading procession was a deacon, attended by a small choir boy, who galloped along as fast as his short legs could carry him. In spite of his inconveniently long black skirt and heavy pop nail boots, bending over the open grave, the deacon turned the pages of his prayer book. Then, his lips still moving, flung the first spakeful of earth on the coffin. The Gerhard and his cousin Monfis held up their hands simultaneously. There were too many heads in the way for Maygre to see which of them managed to get him first. Suddenly, the gathering broke up in disorder. New sheep bustled across the Chief Superintendent and subjected him to a shameless stand. He would not have been surprised if she had asked him for his autograph, as she would a film star. The bistrel stood in the middle of a monument mason's yard. When Maygre pushed open the door, he found Don de Horn's smart friends already seated at a table. They all stood up. Forgive me for taking up your time like this. What will you have? Wait a, the same for the Chief Superintendent. Charles Don de Horn was there with them, smooth and grey, as grey as the tombstones. Take a seat, Chief Superintendent. We would gladly have gone to your office, but maybe it's better. All the big bosses who were in the habit of foregathering every evening at Elba's place were there. Every bit as self-possessed as a board of directors seated around the table covered in green base. Cheers! Let's not beat about the bush. Chief Superintendent Casio can fouch for us. He knows we are on the level. The big limousine was waiting at the gates, and a group of kids were clustered and routed, admiring the chromium fittings that glinted in the sunlight. It's about poor Juliet. Needless to say, as you know, the law in its moral wisdom does not recognize the legality of any transactions entered into in connection with our sort of enterprise. We have to manage as best we can among ourselves. The fact is that Juliet had a sharing at least a dozen establishments, not counting those in Beisier and on who Don Tan, which she wholly owned. Most of your Charles will tell you what we have met here to consider our position and future plans. The other is not a gravely. Most of your Charles set motions, with his smooth, bloodless hands pounds down on the table. The same again waiter. Do you appreciate what these enterprises represent, Chief Superintendent, in terms of hard cash? Something over 3,000 big ones. In other words, more than 3 million frames. Now, the last thing we want is trouble. Apparently, she didn't leave a will. Quite rightly, most of her Charles doesn't want any fuss. So, we wondered if you could vice us as to how we should proceed. Most of her Charles has already been approached by two fellows. First of all, there's that deaf's head, Monfis, who is here with his brood, and then there's the young lady's brother, the boy, Gehar, there after the money, the pair of them. Not that we are raising any objection, but at the same time, we've got to know who legally gets to doubt. Well, that's how matters stand at present. You must realize that one can close down highly profitable establishments, just because abruptly the speaker rose to his feet, and took Maygrave by the arm, a private word of view, if you're pregnant. He let Maygrave into a room at the back. I am what I am, and I don't pretend to be anything else. All the same, there's one point on which you can safely take my word and that of my colleagues, and that is that most of her Charles has always played straight. The old lady's papers have disappeared, but we are not the sort to nickel over his signature. I said three million. I could be underestimating. But documents are no documents. No one is going to touch a penny until you give the word. "I'll have to consult with my superiors," replied Maygrave. "One moment, there's something else, but it concerns my colleagues as much as myself." They returned to the larger front room. Well, Chief Superintendent, here it is. We have decided to put 20 grand at your disposal to help in the search for the bastard who did old Julia in. Is that all right? Is it enough? Are we agreed? Most of Charles were hand over the dome. The former lawyer, under the misapprehension that the time had come, drew from his pocket a walnut stuffed to bursting point. "Not now," said the Chief Superintendent, cutting him short. "I shall have to refer the matter." "Waitter, my bill. Oh yes, I'm sorry, but I must insist. And as he paid for his strings, the man who had appointed himself spokesmen for the other's grumbled. As you prefer, if you don't like our club." Maygrave went out of the bistro with a glow in his chest from having drunk two apparent thieves. He had not gone ten paces when he came to an abrupt halt. He found himself face to face with Gerhard and his sister Bertha. Gerhard was looking more distraught than ever. Bertha gave the Chief Superintendent a look which plainly said, "I did all I could to get in the way, see for yourself. I can't do a thing with him." As for Cecilia's brother, he had contrived to knock back a few drinks, and he reaped of spirits. With trembling lips and in a voice uncontrollably shrill, he shouted divinely. "And now," Chief Superintendent, "I'd be obliged if you would kindly explain yourself." The grave diggers were overwhelmed. They were needed elsewhere, and Cecilia's coffin lay unkeveled, except for a few spakefalls of yellow pear. Ranker. Ranker. Nam. Bittiness or resentfulness, especially when long-standing. Magrae and the Spinster, by George Simelet, part two, chapter two. "Go right in, my girl." It was certainly not in character, but Magrae, without realizing it, felt emerged to lay his hand on Bertha Pardon's slump shoulder. This sort of quasi-paternal response is common enough in elderly men, and seldom aroused his comment, but the Chief Superintendent had no doubt been clumsy, because the girl turned around and stared at him in amazement, as if to say, "You too." He felt a little foolish. Her brother had preceded them into the apartment, which had been stripped only a few minutes before of its funeral draperies. They had encountered the deputy undertaker's men with their gear in the hall on their way up. Magrae was just about to follow the others inside, when a voice of a slight foreign accent murmured in his ear. "But I have a word of you," Chief Superintendent. He recognized Nushi, dressed for the funeral in the black suit's several sizes too small and too tight for her. No doubt it had been made two or three years before her figure had reached maturity, and it accentuated her precocity. Later, he said irritably, he had no patience for this impudent shit. "It's very urgent, really it is." Magrae went into the late Juliet Boyner's apartment and said grumpy as he shut the door. "Urgent or not, it will have to wait." Having got Gerhard where he wanted him, he intended to straighten things out with him once and for all. That birter was there as well as all to the good he felt. The old woman's apartment was a more suitable setting for this particular confrontation than his office at the care this of ever. The atmosphere of the place was already having its effect on Gerhard's nerves. He was gazing with a kind of anguish at the walls, so recently stripped of their black draperies, and breathing in the smell of candles and flowers, like the stale smell of death itself. As for birter pardon, she was as much at home here as behind her counter at the gallery's lava yet, or in the little fixed price restaurant where she usually had her meals. Her own face, still childlike, exuded serenity, and that inner contentment which some believe to be the expression of an easy conscience. She seemed a very quintessence of Gerhard, untouched not by sin only, but by the very notion of sin. "Sit down, my dear," said Magrae, taking his pipe out of his pocket. Gerhard was far too tense to settle in one of the sitting room on chairs. In marked contrast to his sister, he was on edge the whole time, his mind in the turmoil, his eyes never still. "Why don't you say straight out that you suspect me of having murdered my aunt and sister?" he asked, his lips trembling, "just because I'm poor, and because I've always been docked by ill luck. What do you care about upsetting my wife, who is expecting a child any moment now in who, anyway, has never been strong? You take advantage of my absence to go veriting about in our logics. You make quite sure first that I would be out, didn't you?" "That's right," said Magrae, gazing at the pictures on the walls as he lit his pipe, "because you had no surge warrant, because you knew I would never have permitted it." "No, of course not." Bertha took off the fur piece she was wearing around her neck. It was a strip of pine martin, too long and too now. The chief superintendent was impressed by the whiteness and smoothness of a throat. Have you so much as asked that Fony Monphyse, where he was on the night of the murder? I'm quite sure you have it, because he is. I intend to put that very question to him this afternoon. In that case, you can also ask him if it isn't true that my sisters and I have been cheated of our rights from start to finish. He pointed to a somewhat faded enlargement of a photograph of a woman. "That's my mother," he declared. Sissi was very like her, not only in looks, but in character. You won't understand their sort of humility, their dread of stepping out of line, of ticking more than they do, their unwholesome craving for self-sacrifice. That was what my poor sister was like, and she was a slave of her life. That's true better, isn't it? Quite true, agreed to go. I'm Juliet treated her like a servant. What the chief superintendent doesn't realize? Maegre had difficulty in suppressing his smile, for there was one thing that this seething young man could not see, and that was that he himself suffered from an inferiority complex. But that sense of inferiority irked him so much that in order to shake it off, he went to the other extreme and adopted an aggressive and divine posture. My mother was the older sister. She was 48 when my aunt met Maegre, who was a wealthy man. After their parents died, the two daughters lived together infrontingly. On the income, they inherited Zhongli. Now, what happened was this. In order to marry Maegre, my aunt had to have a darling, so she got my mother to agree to give up her share of the inheritance. Everyone in the family knows them, and unless he is a liar, Maegre's will confirm it. So you see, it was thanks to my mother that Aunt Juliet was able to make such a good match. I'll make it up to you one day. You can rest assured that I'll never forget, after I'm married. Not a penny. After she was married, she looked down on her sister as being too poor to be introduced to her brand new friends. So, my poor mother had to go to work and shop infrontingly. She married one of the supervisors in the store. He was already in poor health, and she had to go on working. Then we were born, and the most that my aunt could be persuaded to do was to stand godmother to succeed. And do you know what she sent her for her first communion? A hundred friends, and she with a husband who already owned at least 10 apartment buildings. You have nothing to fear, Emily. She wrote to my mother. If anything should happen to you, I would take care of the children. First, my father died, and not long after, my mother. By then, Aunt Juliet was a widow, and she had recently moved to this apartment, though she occupied the whole floor in those days. It was our cousin Monphyse who brought us from fontane. You won't remember better. You were too young. Good god, how skinny they are. Exclaimed Aunt Juliet when she saw us. You'd think my poor sister had starved them. She was critical of everything about us. Our outer clothes and underwear, our worn shoes, our manners. As for Cecile, who was nearly grown up, she treated her like a servant from his stomach. She wanted to send me to trade school, saying that the poor should earn the living with their hands. If I came home with a tear in my trousers, I would never hear the end of it. I was an ungrateful bride. I didn't appreciate all that she was doing for me and my sisters. Mark her words. I would come to a wretched end. Cecile suffered incites. The maid was fired. Why should she keep a servant, with my sister there to do all the work? Would you like to see the sort of clothes she made us wear? He went across to a cabinet and got a photograph of all three of them. Cecile wasn't blank, as Megray had known her. Her hair unbecomingly drawn back into a tight knot. Berta, plump as a puppy, in a dress too long for a child of her age, in Gerhard, aged 14 or 15, wearing a suit that had certainly not been made to measure. I decided to enlist in the army, and she never sent me so much as a five-frank piece to tie me over until the end of the month. My buddies used to get parcels from home, cigarettes and things, all my life. I've had to look on at what other people had. How old were you when you seized to live with your aunt? Megray asked, turning to the girl. 16, she replied. I applied all my own for a job in the department store. They asked me my age, and I said I was 18. When I got married, Gerhard went on. My aunt sent me a silver-cake slicer. Later, when I was desperate for money, I sold it, and all I could get for it was 30 francs. Cecile badly got enough to eat, and yet our aunt was a rich woman. And now that she's dead, I'm the one who's being made to suffer. You're the same as all the rest. It was painful to look at him. He was so eaten up with bitterness and resentment. "Will you never tempt it to kill your aunt?" asked Megray, so matter of factly, that it gave the girl a start. If my said yes, that would be as good as telling you I strangled her, wouldn't it? Well, yes, I often wished her dead. Unfortunately, I'm too much of a coward. Well, there it is. You can think what you like. Rest me, if that's what you want. It would only be the last of many injustices. Berta glanced at the little wristwatch she was wearing. "Can I be of any further use to you?" Chief Superintendent. "Why do you ask? It is lunchtime. My friend will be waiting for me outside the store." This reference to her lover did not detract from her heir of virginal innocence. "You have my address. Twenty two who are the men. I'm nearly always at home in the evenings up to seven, except when we go out to see a movie. What are you going to do with Gaud? He always carries on like this. You mustn't take him too seriously. Are you all right for money, Gaud? Give Ellen a kiss from me. Tell her I'll drop by and see her tomorrow or the day after. They've given me three days off at a store. On her way to the door, she turned and smiled at the two men before going out. And this is what we've come down to, conclude a guide. Her boyfriend is a married man. If my poor mother, tell me, why does Cecile give you this key? "You really want to know? I'll tell you. But you're not going to like it. She gave it to me because the police weren't doing their job. Because when a poor person goes with them for help, they won't even listen. Cecile went to see you several times. Even you wouldn't dare deny that. She told you that she was frightened that there was something going on in this apartment that she didn't understand. And what did you do? You make fun of it. You sent along an absurd little sergeant a couple of times who did nothing but pace up and down outside the house. When Cecile by then convinced beyond any doubt that someone was getting into the sitting room at night, called on you again, she could sense that the whole apartment was having a good love at her expense. So much so that the inspectors took it in relays to go and peer at her in the waiting room. May they listen with bound head. It was then that she had a key cut. She asked me. Sorry to interrupt. What did you and your sister used to meet? In the street, when I needed to see her, to ask her for money? Yes, to ask her for money. That's right. I dare say you're very pleased with yourself having found that out. She did, in fact, occasionally slit me and feel Frank's. It was never very much just what she was able to scrape together, as they say, out of the housekeeping. I used to wait for her at the corner when I knew she would be going out to do her shop. That's that satisfying. I'm only too happy to oblige. She gave me the key about 10 days ago. She asked me to check on the apartment from time to time at night to try and find out what was going on. And did you? No, I couldn't on account with my wife. The doctor feared a premature confinement and tended to look into it later. How would you have gone into the building? Cecilia thought of everything. Every evening at seven o'clock, the concierge goes upstairs with the men. She always stops for a few minutes to chat with the deseglises. They're the third floor tenants in the apartment on the land. All I had to do was to slip in there. What about your aunt? Oh, what the hell? I know every word I say will be used against me. It's all too easy. Well, then here goes. My aunt suffered from pains in the legs and every evening at about that time, she had hot air massage, which apparently relieved the pain. My sister used an electric dryer like those one sees at the hairdressers. They made quite a lot of noise. All I had to do was let myself in with my key and go and hide under Cecilia's bed. Are you satisfied? And now, if you don't mind, I'm hungry and my wife is expecting me home. You've scared her enough already. Going to see her like that. If I'm not back soon, she'll think. So, unless you intend to arrest me here and now, I'll thank you to let me go. As for her money, which is ours by right, we'll see whether. He turned his head away, but not soon enough to befriend May Gray from seeing the tears of rage that were running down his cheeks. "You are at liberty to go," said the chief superintendent. "Is that so?" exclaimed the young man with hairy irony. "So, I'm not to be arrested just yet. You are too kind. How can I ever thank you?" Gerhard was not sure that he had caught the words all right, but as he made for the door, he thought he heard May Gray say, "Silly ass." Was knew she still hoping to succeed in seducing the chief superintendent? She was doing her best in any rate, with a curious blend of cunning and artlessness. She even, as she sat down opposite him, went so far as to hit her skirt well up above her bony knees. "Where were you?" he asked, as grumpily as he knew how. "In the street. What were you doing there? Talking to a friend. Are you sure this was on the night of the murder? It's in my diary. Every night, I record the events of the day in my diary." May Gray reflected that he himself no doubt also featured in this crazy girl's diary. Nushi was one of those girls who fall in love with every man they see, the policeman on the beat, the neighbor whom they encounter every day at the same hour, the film star whom they have never met in the flesh, the notorious murderer of whom they have only read, but a time being May Gray was the star. "I can't tell you the name of my friend because he's a married man." Indeed, well, Berta, Serene little Berta, with a cherry red hat, was also having an affair with a married man. "So you were out in the street, not far from this building. Would you afraid your parents might see you? It wouldn't bother my parents. They're quite decent. And you claim you saw Gerhard Pardon entering the building. He was dressed exactly as he was today, in the same raincoat and the same gray hats with the turned down rain. He looked around and then bolted inside. What time was this? Seven o'clock in the evening. I'm quite sure of that because the policeman had just made his last delivery. Thank you very much. It's important, don't you think? I don't know. But surely, if Cecile's brother was in the building that night, thank you, madam myself. Isn't there anything else you want to ask me? No. She stood up, still hopeful. She added, "You can rely on me to help you all I can. I know all that goes on in this house. I could tell you." Thanks. As he went to the door, she brushed against him. He could feel the tension in her body. Once I have to go to police headquarters to have my statement taken down in writing, not until you receive an official summons. Of while Chief Superintendent, goodbye. And Maygrae, having locked the door and put the key in his pocket, went down the stairs. Inspector Jordan was still on guard outside the building. Maygrae signaled to him to carry on, and went talk in search of a taxi. During the whole of lunch in his apartment, on bull vital recliner, his wife could not get a word out of her. He sat with his eyeballs on the table, scattering breadcrumbs on a cloth, and champing his wood noisily. These were all ominous signs. "You can't blame yourself if this girl's a seal," she ventured, addressing him by the formal view, as she was apt to do at such times. Had anyone else been present just then, she would have referred to her husband as the Chief Superintendent, or even, though this was more unusual, as Monster Maygrae. Had he even noticed that he had just eaten a luscious crime caramel, no sooner had he wiped his mouth with his napkin than he was taking his overcoat, stiff as a soldier's cape, from the stem. She could tell from his manner that there was nothing to be gained by asking him when he would be back. Hotel de Santo, boulevard Montparnasse, he snapped at the taxi driver. It was a quite little hotel, mainly patronised by regulars from the provinces, who intended always to come to Paris on a particular day of the week. It smelled of field in the savoury sauce and fresh baked cookies. Montsermont Fiennes is expecting. He's waiting for you in a conservatory. There really was a conservatory, or at least a glass in enclosure with a lot of greenery, a rockery, and a fountain. Montsermont Fiennes, still dressed in deep mourning, his nose red and running, was sitting in a wicker-arm chair with a handkerchief in his hand, smoking a cigar. With him was another man, whose face seemed familiar to Megery. Allow me to deduce my legal advisor, Mete Lulu. It is Mete Lulu who will in future be looking after my interest in Paris. The lawyer was as fat as Montvise was thin, and there was an ample glass of brandy on the table within reach of his hand. How do you do, Chief Superintendent? Please be seated. My client? One moment, in the post-Megery, I was not aware that Montsermont Fiennes was in need of a lawyer at this stage. I am here merely to represent his financial interests, I assured. The present situation appears to be somewhat confused, and until the will has been found. How do you know that any will exists? Oh come now, it stands to reason. A woman has rich and heart-headed as Madame Boyne, formerly Kasimov, which surely not failed to. At this juncture, Madame Montvise and her five sons erupted into the conservatory, the boys following one another in the sending order of height. Please excuse us, Madame et Lady, with a suitably dullful smile. We're leaving, aren't we? We've barely time to get to the station. Au revoir, Chief Superintendent. Au revoir, Madame LeDoux. You won't be staying on much longer in Paris, will you, hon. Ray? The children embraced their father, one by one. The porter waited with the luggage. At long last they left, and Henri Montvise, having poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Megery without a word, began. I thought it might duty, Chief Superintendent, my duty to my family in particular, to consult a lawyer so that he could represent me in any future dealings with you. And, Montvise knows what's running. He got his hang-a-chief out of his pocket only just in time. As he was doing so, the Chief Superintendent put up and grabbed his bowler hat, which he had put down on the chair. Montvise stared at him in amazement. But, where are you going? If Madame LeDoux has any statement to make, he is welcome to come and do so in my office. He taught it mainly. Good day, gentlemen. Henri Montvise was dumbfounded. What's the matter? What's gotten to him? And, his legal advisor, leaning back in his wicker armchair and warming his brandy snifter in the palm of his plum hand, mermaid reassuringly. Don't take any notice. It's just his way. These police journeys don't like conducting the business through a professional intermediary. He was annoyed at finding me here. Leave it to me. And, I, he interrupted himself to give all his attention to biting off the end of the cigar, which his client had presented to him. Take my word for it. The early editions of The Evening Papers, which had just come off the presses, ran pictures of the funeral. One of them featured Magrae in a prominent position on the edge of Cecile's grave, next to the priest, who was sprinkling holy water. If they could have seen Magrae with his hands in his pockets and his pike clenched between his teeth, lumbering down boulevard Montvise with a thoroughly disgruntled air, stopping outside the movie house plastered in brightly colored posters. And, after some little hesitation going up to the box office and handing over some money, they would have been very much astonished. They being Jordan, pounding the beads outside the house in Boghlaheim, where the lights were beginning to show in the windows, the head of the Suite, speaking on the telephone in his office and wondering what on earth to say and reply to the public prosecutor's questions and Madam Magrae busy polishing her brass. Herring bought his ticket, Magrae obediently followed the Usherrette in her black silk dress with the Peter Pan collar, as she let him, shining her flashlight up the narrow stairs. Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me. He squeezed past a row of occupied seats, uncomfortably aware that he was creating a disturbance and treading on a great many toes. He had no idea what film he was seeing, booming voices, seemingly coming from nowhere, filled the auditorium, and on the screen a ship's captain tossed a girl onto his buck. So you came here to spy on me. Have pity on me, Captain Brown, if not for my sake, at least for, excuse me, whispered a shiner to Foyes to the right of the chief superintendent, and Magrae could feel the woman next to him pulling something from under him. He had sat down on part of her cut. Precosity. Precosity. Now, the state of being or tendency to be precocious, exceptionally early or premature development, as of mental powers or sexual characteristics. Chit. Chit. Now, a young and silly girl. Luscious. Luscious. Adjective. Of food or drink, having a pleasantly rich sweet taste.
