her various properties and so on. They have vanished from her desk. What time did you return to your apartment last night?”
“Between one and half-past.”
“According to the pathologist, Madame Boynet was killed at around two o’clock in the morning. The concierge states that no one entered the building. One more question: did anything occur while you were in the apartment to suggest that Cécile might not be asleep?”
“Nothing.”
“Think hard…
Are you absolutely sure you couldn’t have left something behind in the apartment which might have made it possible for her to suspect that you had been there
?”
Monsieur Charles thought for a moment, but did not seem bothered by the question.
“I don’t see…”
“That’s all I wanted to know. Naturally, I must ask you not to leave Paris. Indeed, I should prefer it if you wouldn’t leave your apartment.”
“I understand.”
Maigret was already at the front door.
“Sorry…I almost forgot…do your friends often visit you here?” He stressed the word “friends.”
“Not one of them has ever set foot in this building. I am a careful man myself, Chief Superintendent…Not excessively careful, like my friend Juliette…I’m not obsessional. My friends, as you call them, don’t know where I live, and communicate with me through a post office box number. Still less would they be likely to know Madame Boynet’s address. They don’t even know her real name. In fact, a lot of people believed that Juliette didn’t really exist, that she was a convenient fiction dreamed up by me for my own purposes.”
More footsteps on the stairs. The voice of the concierge, out of breath:
“Just a minute, Monsieur Gérard…”
And she called out:
“Chief Superintendent! Chief Superintendent!”
Maigret opened the door and pressed the time switch to turn on the light, which had just gone out. A young man in a state of intense agitation, a stranger to him, stood trembling before him.
“Where is my sister?” he demanded, looking wide-eyed at Maigret.
“This is Monsieur Gérard,” explained Madame Benoit. “He burst in like a madman…I told him that Mademoiselle Cécile…”
“Please return to your apartment, Monsieur Dandurand!” snapped Maigret.
The door to the Siveschis’ apartment had been opened. Another door opened on the floor below.
“Come with me, Monsieur Gérard…You may return to your lodge, Madame Benoit.”
The Chief Superintendent had the key to the dead woman’s apartment in his pocket. He ushered the young man in and bolted the door.
“Have you really only just heard?”
“Is it true? Is Cécile dead?”
“Who told you?”
“The concierge…”
The apartment had been turned inside out by the technicians from the Forensic Laboratory. Drawers and cupboards had been searched, and their contents scattered all over the place.
“I want to know about my sister.”
“Yes, Cécile is dead.”
Gérard was in such a state of nervous tension that he was not even able to shed a tear. He looked about him in utter bewilderment, his face twitching so horribly that it was painful to watch.
“It’s not possible…Where is she?”
He made a dive for his sister’s bedroom, but the Chief Superintendent restrained him.
“She’s not here. Take it easy. Wait…”
He remembered having seen a bottle of rum in a cupboard. He got it and held it out to the young man.
“Have a drink. How did you find out?”
“I was in a café when…”
“Forgive me…I’m going to ask you a few questions. It’s the quickest way…What were you doing this afternoon?”
“I went to three different addresses…I was looking for a job.”
“What sort of job?”
Gérard replied with a wry smile:
“Anything I could get! My wife is expecting a baby any day now…Our landlord has given us notice…I…”
“Did you go back home for dinner?”
“No…I was in this café…”
It was only then that Maigret realized that Gérard, though
“Between one and half-past.”
“According to the pathologist, Madame Boynet was killed at around two o’clock in the morning. The concierge states that no one entered the building. One more question: did anything occur while you were in the apartment to suggest that Cécile might not be asleep?”
“Nothing.”
“Think hard…
Are you absolutely sure you couldn’t have left something behind in the apartment which might have made it possible for her to suspect that you had been there
?”
Monsieur Charles thought for a moment, but did not seem bothered by the question.
“I don’t see…”
“That’s all I wanted to know. Naturally, I must ask you not to leave Paris. Indeed, I should prefer it if you wouldn’t leave your apartment.”
“I understand.”
Maigret was already at the front door.
“Sorry…I almost forgot…do your friends often visit you here?” He stressed the word “friends.”
“Not one of them has ever set foot in this building. I am a careful man myself, Chief Superintendent…Not excessively careful, like my friend Juliette…I’m not obsessional. My friends, as you call them, don’t know where I live, and communicate with me through a post office box number. Still less would they be likely to know Madame Boynet’s address. They don’t even know her real name. In fact, a lot of people believed that Juliette didn’t really exist, that she was a convenient fiction dreamed up by me for my own purposes.”
More footsteps on the stairs. The voice of the concierge, out of breath:
“Just a minute, Monsieur Gérard…”
And she called out:
“Chief Superintendent! Chief Superintendent!”
Maigret opened the door and pressed the time switch to turn on the light, which had just gone out. A young man in a state of intense agitation, a stranger to him, stood trembling before him.
“Where is my sister?” he demanded, looking wide-eyed at Maigret.
“This is Monsieur Gérard,” explained Madame Benoit. “He burst in like a madman…I told him that Mademoiselle Cécile…”
“Please return to your apartment, Monsieur Dandurand!” snapped Maigret.
The door to the Siveschis’ apartment had been opened. Another door opened on the floor below.
“Come with me, Monsieur Gérard…You may return to your lodge, Madame Benoit.”
The Chief Superintendent had the key to the dead woman’s apartment in his pocket. He ushered the young man in and bolted the door.
“Have you really only just heard?”
“Is it true? Is Cécile dead?”
“Who told you?”
“The concierge…”
The apartment had been turned inside out by the technicians from the Forensic Laboratory. Drawers and cupboards had been searched, and their contents scattered all over the place.
“I want to know about my sister.”
“Yes, Cécile is dead.”
Gérard was in such a state of nervous tension that he was not even able to shed a tear. He looked about him in utter bewilderment, his face twitching so horribly that it was painful to watch.
“It’s not possible…Where is she?”
He made a dive for his sister’s bedroom, but the Chief Superintendent restrained him.
“She’s not here. Take it easy. Wait…”
He remembered having seen a bottle of rum in a cupboard. He got it and held it out to the young man.
“Have a drink. How did you find out?”
“I was in a café when…”
“Forgive me…I’m going to ask you a few questions. It’s the quickest way…What were you doing this afternoon?”
“I went to three different addresses…I was looking for a job.”
“What sort of job?”
Gérard replied with a wry smile:
“Anything I could get! My wife is expecting a baby any day now…Our landlord has given us notice…I…”
“Did you go back home for dinner?”
“No…I was in this café…”
It was only then that Maigret realized that Gérard, though
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