Georges Simenon - Maigret in Montmartre

Georges Simenon

Maigret in Montmartre

Maigret and the Strangled Stripper

A book in the Inspector Maigret series

1954

A case involving a countess's shadowy past draws Chief Inspector Maigret into the world of striptease artists and morphine addicts.

F or Jussiaume, the policeman, who passed the same spots on his beat at practically the same time every night, comings and goings of this kind were so commonplace that his mind registered them automatically, rather in the way that people living near a railway station notice the trains pulling in and out.

Sleet was falling, and Jussiaume had stepped into a doorway at the corner of the Rue Fontaine and the Rue Pigalle, to shelter for a moment. The red sign of Picratts was one of the few still alight round there, and its reflected glow looked like splashes of blood on the wet cobblestones.

It was a Monday, when business is always slack in Montmartre. Jussiaume could have listed the order in which most of the night-clubs had closed. Now he saw Picratts neon sign go out in its turn; the proprietor, a short, fat man who had put on a beige raincoat over his evening clothes, came outside to wind down the shutters.

A figureit looked like a small boyslipped out of the door and glided off down the Rue Pigalle, towards the Rue Blanche, keeping close to the wall. Two men emerged next, one of them with a saxophone case under his arm; they turned in the direction of the Place Clichy.

Almost immediately afterwards another man came out, and set off down the Rue Notre-Dame de Lorette; the collar of his coat was turned up.

Jussiaume did not know the names of these people; in fact he scarcely knew their faces; but like hundreds of others, they had a meaning for him.

He knew that the next to come out would be a woman wearing a very short, light-coloured fur coat and perched on exaggeratedly high heelswalking very fast, as though she were scared at being out alone at four in the morning. She lived only a hundred yards away. She had to ring the bell, because the house door was shut at this hour.

Then came the last twowomen, together, as usual. They walked, talking in undertones, to the street corner a few feet away from where Jussiaume was standing, and there they parted. The older and taller of the two lounged away up the Rue Pigalle. She would be going to the Rue Lepic, where he had sometimes seen her enter a house. The other woman hesitated, glanced at him as though about to say something; and then, instead of turning down the Rue Notre-Dame de Lorette, as she usually did, moved off towards the tabac at the corner of the Rue de Douai, which was still lit up.

She seemed to have been drinking. She wore no hat, and her fair hair shone when she passed beneath a lamp. She walked slowly, stopping now and then as though talking to herself.

Coffee, Arlette? asked the owner of the tabac, an old acquaintance.

Laced, she replied.

And a few seconds later the familiar smell of rum warmed up in coffee was wafted on the air. Two or three men were standing drinking at the bar, but she took no notice of them.

She looked very tired, the proprietor declared later.

That was probably why she had another coffee, laced with a double portion of rumafter which she fumbled rather clumsily to get money out of her bag, and paid.

Good night.

Goodnight.

Jussiaume, the policeman, saw her coming back down the street, walking even more hesitantly than on the way up. As she drew level, she caught sight of him through the darkness, turned to face him, and said:

I want to make a statement at the police station.

Thats easy, he replied. You know where it is.

It was almost opposite, behind Picratts, as it werein the Rue de La Rochefoucauld. From where they were standing they could both see the blue lantern above the door, and the cycle patrols bicycles propped against the wall.

At first he thought she wouldnt go. Then he saw her crossing the road, and she vanished into the building.

It was half past four when she walked into the ill-lit office, where Sergeant Simon was alone except for one young policeman. She said again:

I want to make a statement.

Go ahead, replied Simon good-naturedly. He had been twenty years in the district and was used to this kind of thing.

The girl was heavily made-up, and the various ingredients had run into each other a bit. She wore a black satin dress under her imitation mink coat. She swayed slightly as she stood clutching the bar which separated the policemen from the public part of the office.

Its about a crime.

Theres been a crime committed?

There was a big electric clock on the wall, and she looked at it as though the position of the hands might be significant.

I dont know whether its been committed.

Then it isnt a crime, said the sergeant, with a wink at his subordinate.

But it probably will be committed. In fact its certain to be.

Who told you?

She seemed to be laboriously following some train of thought.

The two men, just now.

What two men?

Clients. I work at Picratts.

I knew Id seen you somewhere. You do the nude act, dont you?

The sergeant had never set foot inside Picratts, but he went past the place every morning and every evening, and he had noticed an enlarged photograph of this girl displayed outside, with smaller photos of the other two.

So some clients have been talking to you about a crimejust like that?

Not to me.

Who to, then?

They were discussing it together.

And you were listening?

Yes. I didnt hear it all. They were on the other side of a partition.

Sergeant Simon understood this point, too. When he went past the place while the cleaners were at work, the door would be open, and he could see a dark room with red curtains and upholstery, a gleaming dance-floor, and all along the walls, tables separated by partitions.

Go on. When was this?

To-night. About two hours ago. Yes, it must have been two oclock. Id only been on once for my act.

What did the two visitors say?

The oldest said he was going to kill the Countess.

What Countess?

I dont know.

When?

Probably today.

Werent they afraid youd overhear them?

They didnt know I was there.

Were you alone?

No. With another client.

Someone you know?

Yes.

Who?

His first names Albert: I dont know his surname.

Did he hear them too?

I dont think so.

Why shouldnt he have heard?

Because he was holding my hands and talking to me.

Making love?

Yes.

While you listened to what was being said on the other side of the partition? Can you remember the actual words?

Not exactly.

Are you drunk?

Ive had a drop, but I know what Im saying.

Do you drink like this every night?

Not so much.

Were you drinking with Albert?

We had just one bottle of champagne. I didnt want to let him in for a lot of expense.

He isnt rich, then?

Hes only young.

In love with you?

Yes. Wants me to throw up the job.

So you were with him when the two chaps came in and sat down in the next box?

Thats right.

You didnt get a look at them?

I saw them from behind, later on, as they were leaving.

Did they stay long?

About half an hour.

Did they drink champagne with the other girls?

No. I think they ordered brandy.

And they began at once to talk about the Countess?

Not at once. I wasnt paying attention, to begin with. The first thing I heard was something like this: