His image of the two bachelors was precise. While Émile was pure, Oscar had some passion. Careful, fearing unseen eyes, he was satisfied to appease it with Babette, who had no other distractions. Without his brother, wouldn't he be capable of marrying the maid? Perhaps! In any case, if he took her as his own… And wasn't this why Babette dared to speak in a loud voice to Françoise? But who'd written the threatening letter to Émile? And would someone really have the nerve to put it into effect?
The lunch menu was a little better than that of the dinner of the day before. It was Sunday, after all! One was entitled to hors d'oeuvres (herring fillets, radishes and potato salad), leg of mutton with beans, cheese and a cherry pie, of which Émile chose the largest piece.
Perhaps to avoid a new scene with her mother, Éliane had condescended to put on a dress, a simple one of white fabric, under which she wore nothing at all, for when the sun was behind her, her whole body was revealed through the transparent cloth. In truth, because of this detail, Maigret hardly observed what occurred during the meal. Éliane was right in front of him, on the terrace where the table had been drawn up. And he thought, with some desire, of the happy young man who had been surreptitiously introduced into the villa at night, and who'd spent such pleasant moments.
It was at coffee that Émile spoke suddenly, with an unexpected solemnity. Standing, he seemed to want to make a speech, and it was almost a speech, indeed, on all the feelings which formed the basis for the relations of this extravagant family:
"It is unnecessary to point out to you the threatening letter which I received, and because of which Chief Inspector Maigret is here today. I do not have any illusions about the affection that you bestow on me! When one is the head of a household, one takes on his shoulders all the responsibilities."
For, as Maigret had learned that morning, it was he who was the elder, Oscar having come in the world a few minutes after his brother.
"It is no less true that, whether I want to or not, I must make a point of taking all precautions. The letter specifies that the crime will be committed before six o'clock this afternoon."
Françoise, as usual, seemed filled with an eternal desire to burst into tears. Oscar looked at Maigret fixedly. Éliane, her eyes half-closed in the sun, was no doubt dreaming of some sensual pleasures, while the nostrils of her brother quivered as those of an addict awaiting the hour of his fix.
Babette was in the doorway. Maigret hadn't noticed her, but Émile did. "Come out! You are not excluded, since you form part of the household. I am unaware of the intentions of the Chief Inspector, and I do not know yet what precautions the police force have taken to avoid a mishap. For my part, I believe that the surest means of avoiding the drama is that we remain all together until six o'clock this evening."
He looked at them maliciously, with a challenge, and seemed to say, "Whether you like it or not, this is the way it will be! Too bad for any among you who has plotted my death!"
The counterpart was as funny as unexpected, for it came from Babette, who exclaimed, "And my dishes?"
"You can do them later."
Éliane glanced quickly towards Maigret. Their glances met. She might have read his thoughts, for she blushed slightly.
Henri had become pale, probably considering the prospect of being deprived of his cocaine, which he would certainly couldn't take in front of everyone.
As for Françoise, she sighed, "You suspect us, Émile?"
"I suspect no one and I suspect everyone. All the family will remain on this terrace. Babette will bring what is necessary to prepare the tea. I think that the Chief Inspector will no doubt approve of this elementary safety measure."
The Chief Inspector would approve, indeed! Why not? For Maigret, it facilitated his task, allowing him to avoid running in all directions to ensure himself of how everyone was spending their time.
"What will we do for these hours?" Oscar sighed.
And his brother, in a sour voice, "What do you usually do?"
Éliane could not be prevented from joking, while looking at the sky of radiant blue, "And if it rains?"
Her uncle satisfied himself with a glance.
So much the worse for the young man on the train who was going to pass and pass by again in vain, in his varnished canoe, in front of the garden! Couldn't he be satisfied with what he had had the previous night?
Maigret was almost starting to enjoy himself. Reclining in his rattan chair, he stuffed his pipe with small taps of his index finger, sought matches in his pocket, and, not finding any, rose.
"What do you need?" Émile Grosbois asked.
"Matches."
"They'll be brought to you. Please make sure that no one has any other reason to leave. Forgive me for being so intransigent; however, I allow myself to point out that it is my own life which is at stake!"
Less than fifty meters away, the railway line crossed the garden, and sometimes a train passed with a deafening din, drowning the house for a few moments in its malodorous smoke. Undoubtedly the villa had been built before the establishment of the line. And undoubtedly also the expropriation of a portion of their ground had well benefited the family financially.
"Would you care for something alcoholic, Chief Inspector?" Émile asked him, as if he were certain that the reply would be negative.
Maigret purposely responded, "In fact, if we're to be sitting here for the next few hours, I wouldn't mind at all."
Émile gave the cellar key to Babette. "Bring up the opened bottle of cognac, from the sideboard on the left."
The weather was hot. Families were picnicking everywhere at the edge of the Seine, and men stretched out in the tall grass, handkerchiefs or newspapers over their faces, with the prospect of a tasty nap.
"You don't play anything?" Maigret asked with some irony, looking at his companions in turn.
Françoise answered timidly, "There's a Pope-Joan[5], but I don't know if it's complete…"
The waiting started, waiting, in effect, for the death of Émile Grosbois, who held himself very stiff in his garden chair and whose wild glance went unceasingly from the one to the other.
3
Maigret looked at his watch. It was exactly two o'clock, and consequently four more hours to pass in an immobility rather similar to that of a railway journey. Only one could not count on the procession of the landscape, which remained obstinately the same one, nor on the pleasures of conversation.
Émile Grosbois, one felt, in spite of his apparent calm, was filled with fear and, as time passed, he folded up even more on himself, as if exposing less of himself would make it harder for his fate to catch up with him.
Françoise was sewing. You felt she was a woman able to pass her entire life fussing over trifles, finding a kind of pleasure in her own misfortune. Every five minutes, she raised her head and sighed, looked at each one around her, like a beaten dog, sighed again, and took up her sewing once more. Occasionally she'd utter a few words, for herself only, as those who live long hours in loneliness. "It's not possible that the world is so evil!" About what did she speak? Who? Of the assassin or Émile Grosbois? And a little later, "Nobody would dare to enter with the police here."
Babette, on her part, was furious to be torn away from her kitchen. She'd been told to sit down, but, during one hour at least, as a protest, she'd remained standing, perfectly straight, like a statue of a bad mood.
5
Pope-Joan. A card game resembling Michigan and fan-tan, using a regular deck, but a special round board with eight compartments. Maigret played the game with his brother- and sister-in-law and Mme Maigret at the very end of