Death Threats

1

"Hello! Is that you, Maigret? Would you step into my office for a moment?"

The windows were open onto the Seine, for it was a splendid June. Maigret took advantage of the call to put an end to the confidences of a rather equivocal individual, who tried to have his more or less clandestine activities forgiven by coming each week to the Police Judiciaire to tell what he knew about his colleagues in Montmartre.

A few minutes later, the Chief Inspector pushed open the padded door of the office of the Director of the Criminal Investigation Department, and there too, the high windows were opened, giving a cheerful feeling to the place where all the crimes of Paris came to conclusion.

"Come in, Maigret. Let me present…"

The Chief Inspector had not yet seen the customer who was about to be introduced to him, but already, by the glance which had accompanied the first words of his chief, with whom he had already worked on the Bonnot affair^[1], he realized that it would be a fairly banal business.

"…M. Émile Grosbois, the well-known rag and scrap merchant of the Rue du Chemin-Vert."^[2]

His brief wink meant, "You'll appreciate this one!"

Maigret turned, and found himself facing a small, dull-looking man, pale and timid, who endeavored to smile as he offered him a freckle-covered hand. His hair must have been reddish as well, but it was so sparse that the color was indeterminate.

"I'm honored, Chief Inspector. I've heard so much about you."

"Please sit down."

As for the Chief, he held out to Maigret a bit of paper on which a text had been constructed from words and letters cut out of newspapers.

"Read that, my friend."

Poor M. Grosbois could never have guessed that to these two, who had worked together so long and met every type imaginable, that all really meant: "Well, this one seems a sly old fox!"

It is true that out loud the chief uttered quite to the contrary, "M. Grosbois, who is highly connected, has been warmly recommended to us by a city councilman whom he saw before coming here."

"I had thought…" began Grosbois.

"No need to excuse yourself. You've done quite rightly. When one is well-connected with influential people, it is very natural to avail oneself of them."

Maigret read:

No signature, of course. With some difficulty Maigret managed not to smile as he observed his pale client.

"Evidently," said the chief, "M. Grosbois is unaware of who could have addressed such a letter to him. He has no knowledge of any enemy."

"We have always been highly regarded." M. Grosbois affirmed.

The chief began again, "I pointed out to him that the jurisdiction of the Criminal Investigation Department does not extend beyond Paris. If a crime is committed in the city, it's a case for us. But if someone is killed in Coudray… M. Grosbois so strongly insisted that I agreed, since so far there has not yet been a crime, to look into the business. What do you think about it, Maigret? Would it trouble you very much to pass the weekend at Coudray?"

"Isn't that at the edge of the Seine, a little beyond Corbeil? If so, I know the area vaguely. A few years ago, I was occupied with a murder at the lock at La Citanguette."^[3]

"So you'll take care of it?"

"If you wish."

"M. Grosbois tells me that he does not have a car. He himself doesn't drive, and chauffeurs have become impossibly demanding." A significant wink.

"The entire family will take the train Saturday after lunch. The railway line even passes through their property, and the station is hardly fifty meters away."

M. Grosbois rose, nodded, shook the hands of the two men and left, after having stammered his thanks. The door was hardly closed again when the Director of the P. J. and Maigret could finally relax their features.

"You noticed, Chief?"

"That depends on what."

"That the small pocket of his vest was on the right. In other words, inside out."

"I was satisfied to note that he used rubber heel-pieces so as not to wear out his shoes."

"Very rich?"

"It's said that Grosbois has accumulated about thirty million."

"What do you think of this threat?"

"I don't think anything of it yet. In any case, I warned our man that if it were a trick to collect on an insurance policy, we would inform the company and it wouldn't work. You remember that Russian who made his suicide look like murder, so that his daughter could collect the insurance?"

"I was the one who did the investigation,"^[4] said Maigret modestly.

"Sorry, I'd forgotten."

The chief picked up the telephone at the first ring. "Hello, yes. M. Grosbois? Oscar Grosbois? The brother of M. Émile? I see. Let me pass you to Chief Inspector Maigret, who has agreed to take care of this business."

Maigret took the receiver.

"Hello. Excuse me for disturbing you, Chief Inspector, but I know that my brother went to see you this morning. It is necessary that I have a discussion with you. Yes. Can I come to your office? You prefer to come to see me? In that case, may I ask you to come between eleven and noon, for that is when my brother goes to the bank. Thank you, Chief Inspector. Ring at the small door in the wall on the right. Thank you. Thank you."

Maigret hung up, and sighed, "And I'd just promised my wife we'd go to the countryside!"

It was 11:15 when Maigret arrived at the Rue du Chemin-Vert, a narrow and animated street in the Bastille district, filled primarily with workshops and warehouses. He easily found Grosbois et Paget, an immense wall with a metal gate, a vast courtyard filled with trucks and encircled by loading platforms. He noticed at a glance that all the windows were fitted with bars, which led one to suppose that trust did not reign in the house, and he rang at the small door which had been indicated to him. A maid of about forty, of doubtful cleanliness, came to open it, and before he could say a word, announced, "Go up to the first floor. M. Oscar is waiting for you."

M. Oscar was already at the top of the staircase, so similar to his brother that for a brief moment the Chief Inspector believed himself to be dealing with the same man.

"I am sorry to have disturbed to you, Chief Inspector. I would readily have gone to see you at your office."

Maigret didn't explain to him that if he'd chosen to come in person, it was because he preferred to get the scent of the air of the household.

"Come in. These old houses are not very comfortable but, seeing as one was born here…"

Maigret could have answered him that it wasn't sufficient, just because one was born there, to leave it in the same state for ages. Already the walls of the false marble staircase had become an unpleasant tobacco-juice brown. As for the carpets, they had no color at all, having being reduced to a threadbare gray.

"You are here in a household of single people, which explains a certain disorder."

But no, not disorder! It was filthiness, lassitude! The dusty pieces of furniture seemed to have been bought at a flea market, and the profusion of unpleasant vases and dreadful curios evoked the back room of a second-hand dealer in a poor district.

"Please sit down, Chief Inspector. Can I offer you a cigar?"

He extended a small tissue-paper packet, which showed that in preparation for Maigret's visit he had gone to the corner tobacconist to buy a half dozen cigars. This gesture of Grosbois Oscar was serious, almost solemn. For him to offer a cigar, wasn't this almost a step towards buying a clear conscience?

"Thank you, I prefer my pipe."

"As for myself, I do not smoke. Nor does my brother, for that matter. I really wonder what he can have told you. He's such a strange one."

Maigret didn't dare to stir, for the leg of the armchair on which he was sitting threatened to yield under his weight.

"You've obviously noticed our resemblance. As you must imagine, we are twins. We have an elder sister, Françoise, who lives on the second floor with her children."

"So your sister is married?"

"She was married to a man named Paget. That's where the business name comes from, Grosbois et Paget. Her husband died ten years ago, and she remains widowed with a son and a daughter."

"All the family continues to live in this building?"

"Not only in this building, but in our villa at Coudray. We have a taste for the family life, the simple life."

Maigret almost wanted to groan. "You must be kidding!"

"These are hard times. One does not know where the world is going. But that isn't the issue. Didn't my brother show you a letter which he claims to have received yesterday morning?"

At the word claims, Maigret sat up.

"He also showed it to us, and seemed quite upset. I calmed him down as I much as I could, for obviously, it's a joke."

"You, my little man," Maigret said to himself, "are dying to know what I think about it." He avoided answering, looking at his interlocutor with eyes of an inexpressible frankness.

"I suppose that people who intend to commit a crime are not accustomed to informing their victim."

"It's been known to happen."

"In certain cases, maybe. But what could someone want of us? We've never done any harm to anyone. We do not owe a centime. We…"

Maigret's inscrutable glance distracted him, and he was hard put to find the thread of his ideas.

"A small aperitif, Chief Inspector? As for ourselves, we do not drink either. No! We've gotten accustomed to a life healthy and unadorned. Never alcohol nor tobacco! Which does not prevent us from having what it is necessary for our guests."

"You receive many?"

"Never! I was saying… Yes… I was saying that my poor brother for some time…"

"He's unmarried, like you, isn't he?"

"We are two old bachelors. Fifty-three years, one like the other. And I would never have suspected that one day my brother would become… How can I express myself?"

If Maigret had had to describe him, he would have said that Oscar Grosbois had the face of a rat, right down to the darting eyes, anxious and furtive.

"I would not like you take what I'm saying literally. Émile is not insane. Most of the time, he maintains his full faculties. However, he has moments when…"

Maigret purposely avoided helping him out, and the other floundered.

"…when he is not like he always was. Understand, he is nervous… he has these whims. I must beg you to keep this in confidence. If Émile himself had made up the letter that he showed you I would not be surprised. It is what is called, if I am not mistaken, a persecution complex. That is what I wanted to let you know. I have too much respect for the police force to let it engage in a business which is probably without the least basis and for which, without a doubt, I would have to reproach myself if I kept silent."

At that moment, Maigret pricked up his ears, for he could hear, above them, separated by the thin floor, the noise of an argument.

Oscar Grosbois started as well, but murmured, "That's just the children bickering."

"Your sister's children? How old are they?"

"Henri is twenty, his sister eighteen. At that age, brother and sister, they're a bit like cats and dogs."

Oscar's smile had an unpleasant aspect, as it displayed his small, pointed, yellow teeth, like the teeth of a rat.

"Is your nephew in the rag business?"

"No. He studies."

"What does he study?"

"Business. He hasn't completely decided yet. His mother spoiled him terribly."

The noise above became louder, and if it were indeed an argument between brother and sister, it sounded like they would soon come to blows. In the end there was the sound of running, shouts, slamming doors, and finally steps on the staircase.

"Don't pay any attention. Those are just the minor nuisances of family life. To return to my brother, you've been informed. Do not grant too much importance to his words and especially to his fears. He works too much. If he would only take a month's holiday in a quiet place, preferably in a private hospital, in the mountains for example, he wouldn't seem so… You really do not want a cigar?"

And the poor fellow, awkward to the end, offered the package of cigars once more to Maigret, as one makes alms: "Come on! Let yourself have one! You'll smoke them at home."

"I'll spend the weekend among people who have about thirty million," Maigret announced to his wife.

"At least you won't be bored!"

And he'd retorted with a mysterious smile, "You think so?"

He had taken the train in the middle of Saturday afternoon, although the coaches were nearly full. His pass enabled him to travel in first class, and he'd sat opposite a girl who scandalized the whole compartment. It was difficult to determine her age exactly, but she was very young, of an exuberant and free youth. An old lady from Melun, in her corner, obviously regarded her as some kind of creature, with her violent make-up, ill-fitting dress and the audacious way in which she regarded the people around her.

As for the conversation… For the girl was not alone, she was accompanied by a young "sportsman", hatless, he too dressed eccentrically…

"So what did they do?" he asked.

"When they saw that the Bugatti was broken down and that there was absolutely no place at all within at least five kilometers, all four of them bedded down in the car as best they could, and that's how they spent the night!"

"You're joking!"

"It gets better! At first, Betty was with Jean, and Raymonde with Riri. I don't know what happened during the night, but the following day, Betty was with Riri, and Jean with Raymonde!"

The old lady, sitting bolt upright in her corner, looked at the girl with a severity which should have floored her. But she was not in the least brought down. With an absolute lack of embarrassment, she raised her dress to take off her stockings, asking her companion, "Did Yolande find some funds?"

"She wrote to her parents that she needed an emergency operation for appendicitis. They sent her ten thousand francs. But now she'll have to come up with a scar before the holidays."

"That shouldn't be so difficult."

The glance the old lady shot at Maigret seemed to say, "What a generation!"

And Maigret smiled vaguely, enjoying this afternoon of hot sun and the landscape which unraveled past the two sides of the train.

"Coudray-Montceaux!"

He got off. The girl too. Only the young man remained on the train, which set out again at once.

On the tiny station platform, two men awaited, so similar to one other, both dressed in gray alpaca, that they seemed about to perform some kind of duet. Maigret moved towards them, extending his hand, but he saw that their glances passed over his shoulder, whereby Émile Grosbois pronounced finally, "It is at this hour that you arrive?"

"I missed the first train."

"And your brother?"

"I didn't see him. I thought he'd be here already."

It was the eccentric girl, who was eventually introduced to him as Éliane Paget, the Grosbois brothers' niece.

"Chief Inspector Maigret, Police Judiciaire."

"Oh!" A rather hard glance, wary, "Is my mother here?"

"She came with us and Babette."

"I'll go change," announced Éliane taking off her hat and climbing over a hedge which separated the station from a garden.

The house was right there, a great dark brick construction, dating from the worst time before the war, with dreadful ceramic ornaments. A lawn gave somewhat the illusion of a park, decorated with two horrible statues, while the remainder of the property remained in wasteland.

"I've thought of something, Chief Inspector," began Émile Grosbois. "If someone plans to take my life, he will probably come by the train. Now, from your window, you will be able to observe all the travelers who get off in Coudray. You've probably noticed that there are very few."

An extraordinary, painful impression! The site was splendid. The Seine, very broad, descended sluggishly between two wooded hills and made a large loop. The sun, which had started to set, had painted the sky pink. A scene where everything sang of the joy of life! But Maigret was there in the company of these two small, sly-looking, reddish men, who spent their time spying on each other. Instead of the cheerfulness which the word villa evokes, the dark construction exuded trouble, meanness, mistrust.

"Don't go that way, Chief Inspector, for there are traps. Let us take the path."

The steps leading to the entrance lacked style. Then a poorly-lit anteroom, where one began to sniff an insipid odor of moisture.

"I'll show you your room. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor. Unfortunately, in the summer, it is impossible to have hot water, for the bath-tub is connected to the central heating which we only use in the winter."

Maigret caught a glimpse of the maid who had received him on the Rue du Chemin-Vert and who appeared busy. He heard a woman's voice calling from the kitchen, "Babette! Where are you, Babette? I can't find any butter. I'll bet you forgot the butter again!"

"This way, M. Maigret," said Émile Grosbois. "I must thank you for having come. If you knew how much comfort your presence here gives me! I, who have never done any harm to anyone…"

It was pitiful, grotesque! In the corridor, Éliane emerged in a bathing suit, tall and robust in the style of American girls, and who, against all that vegetated in the house, breathed life and health.

"Aren't you going to swim?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I didn't bring a bathing suit."

"My brother will lend you one when he arrives."

Émile Grosbois sighed. "My sister has raised her so badly. You saw her behavior. That's how she'll stay until tomorrow evening, and she'll hardly wear any more to come to dinner.

Maigret didn't dare tell him that he was delighted, and that he much preferred to contemplate Éliane's form to the unpleasant figures of the two brothers.

"Here's your room. The wallpaper is a bit faded, but it's so humid here in the countryside… I suppose you wish to change?

Not at all. Maigret had brought only his razor, a toothbrush, and a pair of pajamas.

"You will find me in the billiard room."

And to think that a little below the bend of the river were young, healthy people, muscular and alive, camping and playing, plunging joyfully into the Seine! People who did not have thirty million francs!