that?â
âNo. But I was told, yes, that he
was a big man, broad-shouldered. A Frenchman, because he didnât speak like a
local.â
The chief yawned, and looked impatient
as he packed his pipe again.
âWell, phone the Gai-Moulin and
ask Girard whatâs going on there now.â
Chabot waited anxiously. This was even
worse than before, because now there was a glimmer of hope. But he was afraid he
might be wrong. Fear racked him with pain. He gripped the edge of the table and
looked round from one officer to another, his eyes drawn repeatedly to the
telephone.
âHello, get me the Gai-Moulin,
please, mademoiselle.â
Meanwhile, the
pipe enthusiast was asking the others:
âIs that settled, then? Iâll
write to my brother-in-law? And what kind do you prefer, straight or
curved?â
âStraight!â said the
chief.
âOK, two dozen straight pipes.
Now, do you need me any more? Itâs just that one of my kids has the
measles.â
âYes, you can go home.â
Before he left, the officer looked
across at Jean Chabot and whispered to his boss:
âAre we hanging on to
him?â
And the young man, who had overheard
this, strained his ears to catch the reply.
âDonât know yet. Till
tomorrow anyway. The prosecutorâs office will have to make a
decision.â
All was lost. Jean slumped in his seat.
If they didnât let him go until tomorrow, it would be too late. His parents
would know! At this very moment, they must be waiting for him to get home, and
worrying.
But he had no tears left. His whole
being was in a state of collapse. He could vaguely hear the telephone
conversation.
âGirard, that you? â¦Â So
whatâs he doing there? â¦Â What? â¦Â Dead
drunk? â¦Â Yes, heâs still here â¦Â No â¦Â He denies
it, obviously â¦Â Wait, Iâll ask the boss.â
And to the chief inspector:
âGirardâs asking what he
should do. The other young man is completely drunk. Heâs ordered champagne and
heâs sharing it with the dancer, whoâs not much better. Should we arrest
him?â
His boss looked at Jean and sighed.
âNo,
weâve already got one of them. Leave him alone for now. He might do something
silly thatâll help us. But tell Girard to stick with him. He can phone us
later.â
Chief Inspector Delvigne had settled
down in the only armchair in the room, and shut his eyes. He appeared to be
sleeping, but the thin stream of smoke rising from his pipe indicated that he was
not.
One inspector was putting the finishing
touches to the transcript of Jeanâs interrogation. Another was pacing around,
waiting impatiently for it to be three oâclock so that he could go home. The
room had cooled down. Even the pipe smoke seemed cold. The young man could not
sleep. His thoughts were in turmoil. Leaning his elbows on the table, he closed his
eyes, opened them, closed them again. Every time his eyelids parted, he saw in front
of him the same headed paper on which a fine copperplate hand had written:
Record of the charges put to Joseph Dumourois, day-labourer, domiciled at
Flémalle-Haute, regarding the theft of rabbits, the property
of â¦Â
The rest was hidden under a blotter.
The telephone rang. The inspector who
had been walking about about picked it up.
âYes â¦Â Good â¦Â Right. Iâll tell
him â¦Â Lucky for some, eh?â
He went over to the boss.
âGirard on the line. Delfosse and
the dancer took a taxi
back to her room,
Rue de la Régence. They went in together. Girardâs on duty outside.â
In the strange crimson mist inside his
brain, Jean pictured Adèleâs bedroom, the unmade bed he had seen earlier that
day, the dancer undressing and lighting the spirit
Mina Carter
Meg Gardiner
Jill Churchill
Nancy Farmer
Abhilash Gaur
Shelby C. Jacobs
Jane Aiken Hodge
Irene Hannon
Franklin W. Dixon
John Updike