Free Murder Is Served by Frances Lockridge Page A

about that.
    He reached for the telephone and stopped with his hand on it when Mullins came to the door.
    â€œThis Meiau wants to see you,” he said.
    Bill blinked a moment and then said, “Oh.”
    â€œAll right,” Bill said. “Let him in. And—Mullins.”
    Mullins waited.
    â€œMaybe it will be simpler if you just stick to Male Ox,” Bill said. “At least I’ll know.”
    â€œO.K., Loot,” Mullins said. “I’ll bring in Male Ox.”
    M. Maillaux was round and clean; he had a round, clean face and small, plump hands, with tapering fingers. He walked lightly on small feet, although he was not a light man. His clothes did not look quite like ordinary clothes. M. Maillaux walked to the wrong side of his own desk, looked down at Lieutenant Weigand and said he had been thinking.
    â€œSit down, Maillaux,” Bill said. “Yes?”
    Maillaux sat down.
    â€œYou suspect me, yes?” he said. “That is what I have been thinking. It is inevitable, you perceive.”
    â€œWhat makes you think so?” Bill asked him.
    Maillaux shrugged. He was very French. It was in his expression, his movements and his accent, as it was in the dark gray suit he wore. But it was nowhere emphasized.
    â€œI am an associate,” he said. “You perceive? I have found his body. I could have gone to his office from here, from the kitchen. To me the knife is available. It is inevitable that I should be the suspect.”
    Bill Weigand nodded. He agreed there was something in what M. Maillaux said.
    â€œThe circumstances,” Maillaux said. “You perceive?”
    â€œI perceive,” Bill Weigand said, to his own surprise. “Why do you insist on this, M. Maillaux? Do you want to convince me?”
    Maillaux regarded his pointed fingers and shook his head.
    â€œWe are intelligent men,” he said. “Of experience, no? It is merely that I wish you should perceive my understanding of the circumstances. You perceive?”
    â€œI per—right,” Bill said, catching himself. “But I presume these circumstances are misleading? You did not kill your—is ‘partner’ the word?”
    M. Maillaux looked at Bill Weigand intently. He looked almost as if he were about to cry.
    â€œMore,” he said. “But much more. My friend, my good friend. My rescuer. You perceive?” Maillaux suddenly put his fingers against his forehead, shielding his face. He as suddenly removed them. “It is a catastrophe,” he said. “But a catastrophe. Maillaux has been destroyed.”
    â€œWhy?” Bill said. “You did well enough before. I’ve heard of Maillaux for a good many years.”
    â€œBut obviously,” Maillaux said. “Who has not? Of the old Maillaux, the grande cuisine , who had not heard? But who came? You perceive?”
    Bill Weigand said he had always gathered that a good many people came. Maillaux spread his hands.
    â€œBut yes,” he said. “Of a type, certainly. I do not deny. The quiet ones, the elders. For the food, yes, for the wine, certainly. Those were great, you perceive. But not the famous people—the Winchell, the Lyons, what you call the café society. For Tony, they came. They were the friends of Tony. For lunch they came, for the dinner, afterward for the drinks. You perceive?”
    â€œAnd the money rolled in?” Bill said.
    Maillaux put together the thumb and second finger of each hand. He snapped them in the air, almost soundlessly.
    â€œAnd how!” he said, unexpectedly. He looked surprised at himself. “Of a certainty,” he said. He shrugged. He looked at Weigand and raised his eyebrows. “I am a businessman, you perceive,” he said. “That I do not deny, Lieutenant. For me the good Tony was a very important friend. You perceive?”
    â€œI agree you seem to lose by his death,” Bill Weigand admitted.
    Maillaux’s round face