Cécile is Dead Read Free Page B

himself, then he thought better of it and examined the mechanism of the doorbell.
     It was not an electric bell, but was worked by a stout red and yellow cord that hung
     from it. He pulled the cord. A sound like the ringing of a convent bell was heard in the
     sitting room.
    â€˜Officer, please make sure that no one
     touches this door.’
    That was in case of any fingerprints,
     although he doubted that there would be any. He was in a bad mood. He couldn’t
     shake off the image of Cécile sitting in the Aquarium – as they called the waiting room
     at police headquarters, because one wall consisted entirely of glass.
    He wasn’t a doctor, but it had not
     been difficult for him to see that the old lady’s death had occurred several hours
     earlier, well before her niece’s arrival at Quai des Orfèvres.
    Had Cécile witnessed the crime? If so, she
     hadn’t told anyone and she hadn’t cried out. She had stayed in the apartment
     until morning, with the corpse for company, and she had washed and dressed as usual. He
     had paid her enough attention when he arrived at the Police Judiciaire to see that her
     appearance was normal.
    Furthermore, he immediately checked a detail
     that struck him as important. He searched for her room and failed to find it at first.
     The apartment had three rooms at the front of the building: the sitting room, the dining
     room and the aunt’s bedroom.
    To the right of the corridor, there was a
     kitchen and a scullery. But on the other side of the kitchen he opened a door and found
     a small room, dimly lit by a fanlight,
furnished with an iron bedstead, a wash-basin and a wardrobe.
     It obviously acted as Cécile’s bedroom.
    The bed was unmade, there was soapy water in
     the basin, some dark hairs caught in the teeth of her comb. A salmon-pink dressing gown
     had been dropped on a chair.
    Did Cécile already know when she was
     dressing? It was hardly light when she had come out into the street, or rather the main
     road that passed in front of the building, and she had waited for the tram at the stop
     at least a hundred metres away. The fog had been thick.
    When she reached the Police Judiciaire she
     had filled in her form and then sat down in front of the black frame containing pictures
     of the police officers who had been killed in action.
    At last Maigret appeared on the stairs. She
     jumped to her feet. He was going to see her. She would be able to talk to him …
    But she had been kept waiting for over an
     hour. The corridors were full of people coming and going. Inspectors kept calling out to
     each other. Doors opened and closed again. People came to sit in the Aquarium, and the
     clerk called them one after another. Only she was left … only Cécile was always kept
     waiting.
    What had made her decide to leave?
    Maigret had been automatically filling his
     pipe. He heard voices out on the landing: tenants discussing what had happened, and the
     local police officer quietly advising them to go home.
    What had become of Cécile?
    That question never left his mind for the
     full hour that
he spent alone in the
     apartment. It lent him the weighty look, as if he were asleep, that his colleagues knew
     so well.
    And yet, in his own way, he was working. He
     was already impregnated with the atmosphere of the building. Right from the front hall,
     or rather the long, dark corridor that did duty for a front hall, it smelled of old age
     and mediocrity. In this tiny apartment there was enough furniture for twice as many
     rooms, all of it old and of different periods and styles, and none of it worth anything
     at all. The place reminded him of provincial auctions when suddenly, after a death or a
     bankruptcy, the public was admitted into the secrets of austere middle-class
     households.
    On the other hand, it was neat and tidy, and
     meticulous cleanliness reigned. Every surface, however tiny, was polished; the smallest