himself to everybody.
What do we do now? The Inspector’s eyes were asking.
Andre Lec?ur’s eyes answered, Wait.
It didn’t last very long. The emotional crisis waned, started again, then petered out altogether. Olivier shot a sulky look at the Inspector, then hid his face again.
Finally, with an air of bitter resignation, he sat up, and with even a touch of pride said: “Fire away. I’ll answer.”
“At what time last night did you go to Madame Fayet’s? Wait a moment. First of all, when did you leave your flat?”
“At eight o’clock, as usual, after Francois was in bed.”
“Nothing exceptional happened?”
“No. We’d had supper together. Then he’d helped me to wash up.”
“Did you talk about Christmas?”
“Yes. I told him he’d be getting a surprise.”
“The table radio. Was he expecting one?”
He’d been longing for one for some time. You see, he doesn’t play with the other boys in the street. Practically all his free time he spends at home.”
“Did it ever occur to you that the boy might know you’d lost your job at the
“Never. When I’m at work, he’s asleep.”
“Could anyone have told him?”
“No one knew. Not in the neighborhood, that is.”
“Is he observant?”
“Very. He notices everything.”
“You saw him safely in bed and then you went off. Do you take anything with you—anything to eat, I mean?”
The Inspector suddenly thought of that, seeing Godin produce a ham sandwich. Olivier looked blankly at his empty hands.
“My tin.”
“The tin in which you took your sandwiches?”
Yes. I had it with me when I left. I’m sure of that. I can’t think where I could have left it, unless it was at —”
“At Madame Fayet’s?”
“Yes.”
“Just a moment. Lec?ur, get me Javel on the phone, will you? Hallo! Who’s speaking? Is Janvier there? Good, ask him to speak to me. Hallo! Is that you, Janvier? Have you come across a tin box containing some sandwiches? Nothing of the sort. Really? All the same. I’d like you to make sure. Ring me back. It’s important.”
And, turning again to Olivier: “Was Francois actually sleeping when you
left?”
“No. But he’d snuggled down in bed and soon would be. Outside, I wandered about for a bit. I walked down to the Seine and waited on the embankment.”
“Waited? What for?”
“For Francois to be fast asleep. From his room you can see Madame Fayet’s windows.”
“So you’d made up your mind to go and see her.”
“It was the only way. I hadn’t a bean left.”
“What about your brother?”
Olivier and Andre looked at each other.
“He’d already given me so much. I felt I couldn’t ask him again.”
“You rang at the house door, I suppose. At what time?”
“A little after nine. The concierge saw me. I made no attempt to hide— except from Francois.”
“Had your mother-in-law gone to bed?”
“No. She was fully dressed when she opened her door. She said, ‘Oh, it’s you, you wretch!’ ”
“After that beginning, did you still think she’d lend you money?”
“I was sure of it.”
“Why?”
“It was her business. Perhaps also for the pleasure of squeezing me if I didn’t pay her back. She lent me ten thousand francs, but made me sign an I. O. U. for twenty thousand.”
“How soon had you to pay her back?”
“In a fortnight’s time.”
“How could you hope to?”
“I don’t know. Somehow. The thing that mattered was for the boy to have a good Christmas.”
Andre Lec?ur was tempted to butt in to explain to the puzzled Inspector, “You see! He’s always been like that!”
“Did you get the money easily?”
“Oh, no. We were at it for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Half an hour, I daresay, and during most of that time she was calling me names, telling me I was no good to anyone and had ruined her daughter’s life before I finally killed her. I didn’t answer her back. I wanted the money too badly.”
“You didn’t threaten her?”
Olivier reddened. “Not exactly. I said if she didn’t let me have it I’d kill myself.”
“Would you have done it?”
“I don’t think so. At least, I don’t know. I was fed up, worn out.”
“And when you got the money?”
“I walked to the nearest Metro station, Lourmel, and took the underground to Palais Royal. There I went into the Grands Magasins du Louvre. The place was crowded, with queues at many of the counters.”
“What time was it?”
“It was after eleven before I left the place. I was in no hurry. I had a good look around. I stood a long time watching a toy electric train.”
Andre couldn’t help smiling at the Inspector. “You didn’t miss your sandwich tin?”
“No. I was thinking about Francois and his present.”
“And with money in your pocket you banished all your cares!”
The Inspector hadn’t known Olivier Lec?ur since childhood, but he had sized him up all right. He had hit the nail on the head. When things were black, Olivier would go about with drooping shoulders and a hangdog air, but no sooner had he a thousand-franc note in his pocket than he’d feel on top of the world.
“To come back to Madame Fayet, you say you gave her a receipt. What did she do with it?”
“She slipped it into an old wallet she always carried about with her in a pocket somewhere under her skirt.”
“So you knew about the wallet?”
“Yes. Everybody did.”
The Inspector turned towards Andre.
“It hasn’t been found!”
Then to Olivier: “You bought some things. In the Louvre?”
“No. I bought the little radio in the Rue Montmartre.”
“In which shop?”
“I don’t know the name. It’s next door to a shoe shop.”
“And the other things?”
“A little farther on.”
“What time was it when you’d finished shopping?”
