Free The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin by Georges Simenon

you—’
    â€˜Yes, of course!’
    â€˜What I don’t understand,
     Chief Inspector, is how the young men can claim they saw the corpse inside the club.
     Because Graphopoulos left before I did. He couldn’t have got back in. The
     crime must have been committed outside, I have no idea where. I am sorry to be so
     definite about that. They are my customers, after all. And I myself felt quite
     kindly disposed towards them. If you want proof of that, I allowed them credit. But
     the truth is the truth, and this is a serious enough case for—’
    â€˜That will do, thank
     you.’
    There was a moment’s hesitation.
     Then Génaro asked:
    â€˜Can I go now?’
    â€˜Yes, you and the waiter. If I
     need you again, I’ll let you know.’
    â€˜I presume there is no objection
     to the club staying open?’
    â€˜No, none at all.’
    And now Adèle asked:
    â€˜Me
     too?’
    â€˜Yes, go on home!’
    â€˜I’m free to go,
     then?’
    The chief inspector did not reply. He
     looked troubled, as he steadily stroked the bowl of his pipe. When the three people
     from the club had left, the room felt empty. Just the chief inspector, Chabot and
     his father were there, none of them speaking.
    Monsieur Chabot was the first to say
     something. He hesitated for a while, then at last coughed and said:
    â€˜Excuse me. But do you really
     believe …?’
    â€˜What?’ the other man asked,
     irritably.
    â€˜I don’t know. It seemed to
     me …’
    And he made a vague gesture indicating
     puzzlement. A gesture that signified: ‘It looks to me as if something fishy is
     going on. Something’s not quite right.’
    Jean stood up, apparently having
     mustered a little more strength. He dared to look at his father.
    â€˜They’re all lying!’
     he said clearly. ‘I swear they are. Do you believe me, Chief
     Inspector?’
    No answer.
    â€˜Do you believe me,
     Father?’
    Monsieur Chabot at first looked aside.
     Then he stammered:
    â€˜I–I don’t know.’
    And finally, as if common sense had come
     to his rescue:
    â€˜We should surely try to find this
     Frenchman everyone is talking about, shouldn’t we?’
    The chief inspector seemed undecided,
     since he was walking round with a stormy expression.
    â€˜Well, at
     any rate, Delfosse has vanished,’ he muttered, more for himself than for the
     others.
    He paced about some more, and after a
     while spoke again:
    â€˜And two witnesses have said he
     was in possession of that cigarette-case!’
    He went up and down the room again,
     pursuing his thought:
    â€˜And you were both on the cellar
     steps … And then this evening, you were trying to get rid of those
     banknotes down the lavatory! And—’
    Here he stopped and looked at each of
     them in turn.
    â€˜And now the chocolate-shop owner
     says he hasn’t had any money stolen!’
    He went out, leaving them together. But
     they failed to take advantage of it. When he returned, father and son were still in
     their original places, five metres from one another, each plunged into a determined
     silence.
    â€˜Well, too bad. I’ve just
     phoned the examining magistrate. He’ll be in charge from now on. And he
     won’t hear of letting you out on bail. It’s De Conninck. If you want to
     take it up with him, you can always ask.’
    â€˜François de Conninck?’
    â€˜Yes, I think that’s his
     name.’
    And Jean’s father muttered
     shamefacedly:
    â€˜We were at school
     together.’
    â€˜All right, go and see him if you
     think it will be any help. I doubt it, though, because I know him. For the moment,
     he’s directed me to have your son taken to Saint-Léonard.’
    These words had a sinister ring. Until
     now, nothing had sounded final.
    Saint-Léonard! The
     city jail! That terrifying black building