As for Éliane, she'd been wiser. Taking the cushions of the unoccupied armchairs, she'd arranged them in a corner of the terrace and had stretched out, eyes closed, in a patch of sun.
Her brother was less philosophical, and it was he who worried the Chief Inspector. Indeed, the hour of his drug had passed, and the young man started to fidget, to have nervous twitches which, presently, could well finish in a crisis.
There remained Oscar, who tried to animate the conversation. "You'll allow me to deliver my opinion? I am not a specialist in these questions, like Chief Inspector Maigret. However, common sense is enough to show that we are all taking a joke for reality."
A frozen glance from his brother. A sharper one from Maigret.
"For, all things considered, what is it all about? About an almost childish letter based on… romanticism! Do assassins usually inform their victims of their plans? Since we've been asked, let us remain together, in this place, until six o'clock, but… let's not take the thing as a tragedy, otherwise we will soon be forced to make fun of ourselves."
"Was it you who was threatened?" asked his brother curtly.
Oscar retorted while laughing, "Well, it's me almost as much as you! From a distance it is hardly possible distinguish us one from the other. And since the assassin, if there exists one, will shoot from a distance…"
Maigret intervened gently, "Why do you say shoot?"
And the other, surprised, "But… I don't know. Generally, a crime is done with a revolver, or a rifle." Badly at ease, he stammered, "For I suppose that no one will come onto this terrace, a knife in his hand, to stab my brother."
A grimace from Émile, who uncrossed his legs and recrossed them on the other side. A sigh from Françoise.
2:30… 3:00… Éliane had fallen asleep, very white in her dress which sculpted her body, and which a breeze sometimes made quiver, uncovering a little the bronzed flesh of her thighs.
A train… Later, on the Seine, a tug and its barges.
Suddenly, at 3:30, an unexpected action by Émile, proving that he really was afraid. With a jerky movement indicating that he'd resisted temptation for a long time, he suddenly rose and poured himself a full glass of cognac. His brother was amazed, his sister too. He looked at them sternly. He articulated, "Still two and a half hours!" A little later beads of sweat shone on his face and his lower lip quivered.
"You really think I couldn't do the dishes?"
Oscar silenced her with a gesture, and Maigret smiled at the memory of the morning scene which had finally revealed to him the vice of the second Grosbois.
On the Seine, for all those who canoed, sailed, or bathed joyously, for the fishermen attentive to the quiverings of their floats and for the lovers of napping in the reeds, the hours raced by terribly quickly. But on the terrace of the Grosbois villa, the minutes lengthened implacably, ran one after another as one hears sometimes, in the night, after an interminable time, the drip of a badly turned-off faucet.
God knows that Maigret, who in his career had seen just about everything, was difficult to astonish! However, in fact, it was not astonishment, but rather nausea, revulsion. It seemed to him that these people here, to whom chance had brought him, wasted, almost with pleasure, the beautiful things, the beautiful life, the infinite possibilities. Couldn't Oscar, for example, have found other pleasures than only those of the indifferent scorn Babette subjected him to? Couldn't Henri have been a young man like another and enjoyed without concern the most beautiful part of his life? Only Éliane…
"They're crazy!" he concluded. "It is so rare to meet someone who can live!"
There was, waiting here, someone in the family circle who had decided to kill! Would this someone, in spite of everything, be able to carry out his threat? Suddenly another thought struck the Chief Inspector, a terrifying thought! If the crime did not take place, Émile, the following day, would go forth again to his city councilman or other high-ranking person. He would claim that his life continued to be threatened and he would obtain… Yes! If the crime did not take place, there was a terrible chance that Maigret would be attached for an unspecified time to the steps of the man and his confounded family! Provided… Maigret did not ask for the death of Émile, but he wished that something would happen which would put an end to the anguish of the man!
"A question," he said in a loud voice. "Does a train pass here around six o'clock?"
"No. There's an express at 4:47 and a local at 7:05."
An idea like another! A rather stupid idea, all things considered. To shoot at Émile Grosbois, it would be necessary that he was in his garden during the passage of the train.
"I had thought of that too," Françoise sighed. "I was even going to propose that we go back in. You don't find it getting cool?"
"Not at all."
It was hot. Maigret looked with a certain discomfort at Éliane's neck, the skin glistening with a light dew among the small golden hairs. What wasted time! And that because of a man, or rather of two unattractive men!
At 4:00, or a little afterwards, Émile took another drink of brandy and, as he was not accustomed to it, his eyes soon betrayed the beginning of intoxication.
"Should I prepare tea?" proposed Babette, who was obviously bored.
"Not yet. We had a late lunch."
"And dinner? You really believe that dinner will be ready, with all this nonsense?
"Silence!" came the subdued voice of Émile.
"Fine! I'll keep silent! Presently, you won't have to grumble if…"
"Silence!"
"No need to shout so. One never saw…"
"Silence!" he howled while standing up. "You forget that perhaps I will die. I know that that would please you all. Yes! I know it and you hardly hide it. But…"
He lost his track suddenly, probably the influence of the alcohol.
"… the Chief Inspector is here, you understand? So that the assassin will not escape punishment! Maybe you are bored. It is a lost afternoon. But you will acknowledge that that is better than a corpse. Silence!"
Oscar looked at Maigret and raised his eyes skyward. "Completely insane!" he seemed to say.
Françoise trembled with each shout, as if she herself had been threatened. Éliane raised her head, batted her eyelids, lowered her dress a little on her thighs almost stripped by the breeze, and, indifferent, found again a comfortable position, and tried to sleep.
"I will not only tolerate, in our house…"
Émile, not finding a suitable phrase to be used as an element of his anger, was going to have to calm himself when, to the shock of everyone except Maigret, who had been expecting it for a few minutes, Henri rose, pale, his lips trembling. It was already some time since his nostrils had become pinched, his fingers agitatedly gripping.
"You're insane!" he screamed. "You hear? You, my crazy uncle, nothing will prevent me from saying to you that you're insane and a brute! As for me, I'll not remain a minute more in this house! I've had enough of it! Enough! Enough!"
His mother did not look up, remained without reaction as though in a stupor. Émile looked at his nephew as if wondering whether he had any sense left at all.
"Henri!" he shouted.
"Merde!"
"Henri! I want… I order…"
Much too late! The young man had already left the terrace, crossing the garden with jerky steps, undoubtedly continuing his tirade to himself. One could almost believe that Émile was going to run after him and that the scene would finish in a grotesque one. Instead, he blustered, "Chief Inspector, you are witness. I ask you to arrest that young man, to prevent him from leaving."