The Saint-Fiacre Affair Read Free Page A

men … You!’ (He
     pointed at the chauffeur.) ‘And you!’ (He pointed at the butler.)
     ‘Carry her to her bedroom.’
    And as they leaned towards the coupé, a
     bell rang out in the hall.
    â€˜The telephone! … That’s
     strange, at this time of day! …’ Bouchardon muttered.
    Jean didn’t dare go and answer it.
     He seemed in a daze. It was Maigret who hurried inside and picked up the
     receiver.
    â€˜Hello! … Yes, this is the chateau
      …’
    And a clear voice said, ‘Could I
     speak to my mother? She must have come back from mass …’
    â€˜Who’s speaking?
      …’
    â€˜The Count of Saint-Fiacre … And
     in any case that’s no concern of yours … Let me speak to my mother.’
    â€˜One moment. Will you tell me
     where you’re calling from?’
    â€˜From Moulins! For heaven’s
     sake, I told you …’
    â€˜It would be better for you to
     come here,’ Maigret said, as he hung up.
    And he was forced to press his back to
     the wall to let the two servants pass, carrying the corpse.

2. The Missal
    â€˜Are you coming in?’ the
     doctor asked as soon as the countess was laid on her bed. ‘I need someone to
     help me undress her.’
    â€˜We should find a maid!’
     Maigret exclaimed.
    Jean went upstairs and came back down a
     short time later with a woman in her thirties, who darted frightened glances.
    â€˜Get out!’ the inspector
     snapped at the servants, who wanted to do precisely that.
    He held Jean back by the sleeve, looked
     him up and down and led him over to a window.
    â€˜What is the nature of your
     relations with the countess’s son?’
    â€˜But … I …’ The young man
     was gaunt, and his striped pyjamas, of dubious cleanliness, added nothing to his
     dignity. His eyes avoided Maigret’s. He kept tugging on his fingers as if to
     stretch them.
    â€˜Wait!’ the inspector
     interrupted. ‘Let’s be frank so as not to waste any more
     time.’
    Behind the heavy oak door of the bedroom
     there was the sound of people coming and going, the squeak of bedsprings, muttered
     orders being given to the maid by Dr Bouchardon: they were undressing the
     corpse!
    â€˜What exactly is your situation at
     the chateau? How long have you been here?’
    â€˜Four years …’
    â€˜Did you know the Countess of
     Saint-Fiacre?’
    â€˜I … That is to say, I was
     introduced to her by some mutual friends … My parents had just been ruined by the
     collapse of a little bank in Lyon … I came here in a position of trust, to deal with
     the personal affairs of …’
    â€˜Excuse me! What did you do
     before?’
    â€˜I travelled … I wrote art reviews
      …’
    Maigret didn’t smile. And in any
     case the atmosphere wasn’t conducive to irony.
    The chateau was huge. From outside it
     had a certain charm. But the interior looked as seedy as the young man’s
     pyjamas. Dust everywhere, ugly old objects, a pile of useless junk. The curtains
     were faded.
    And on the walls there were lighter
     patches, indicating that furniture had been removed.
    The best furniture, obviously! The
     pieces that had some value!
    â€˜You became the countess’s
     lover …’
    â€˜Everyone is free to love whoever
      …’
    â€˜Idiot!’ muttered Maigret,
     turning his back on the young man.
    As if things weren’t obvious
     enough already! You only had to look at Jean. You only had to breathe the air of the
     chateau for a few minutes! And catch the expressions on the servants’
     faces!
    â€˜Did you know her son was on his
     way?’
    â€˜No … What has that got to do with
     me?’
    And his gaze was still evasive. With his
     right hand he tugged on the