Chapter 3 third chapter

McGregor sat on the edge of the bed, Fernant crossed his legs, heaved a sigh of relief, and took off his shoes.She also unscrupulously lifted up her green silk dress and untied the garter around her waist. "You don't take off your clothes?" McGarry shook her head, but she didn't notice because she was pulling her dress over her head. Fernand lived in a small suite on Avenue Blanche.There was a red carpet on the stairs, and the floor smelled of wax.When he went upstairs, McGregor saw empty feeding bottles in front of every door.Then they passed through a living room, adorned with knick-knacks, and McGarry saw a very tidy kitchen with all the utensils in order.

"What are you thinking about?" Fernant asked as he took off his stockings, revealing his slender and tender thighs, and looked at his toes with interest. "Not thinking about anything. Can I smoke?" "There are cigarettes on the table." As McGregor paced back and forth with a pipe in his mouth, he paused for a moment in front of an enlarged photo of a woman in her fifties, then again in front of copper pots with green ornamental plants for a while.The floor was waxed, and there were two pieces of felt in the shape of shoe covers near the door, which must have been used by Fernante to keep the floor from getting dirty when he walked around the room.

"Are you from the North?" he asked, without looking at her. "Where do you see that?" McGarry finally stopped majestically in front of her.Her hair can be said to be golden yellow, but it is closer to brown. She has a wide mouth and a pointed nose. She is unremarkable and has many freckles on her face. "I'm from Roubaix." This can be seen in how clean and bright the suite is, especially in the kitchen.McGarry concluded that Fernand stayed at home every morning, sitting by the fire, drinking coffee from a large bowl, and reading the newspaper. Now she looked at her companion with a somewhat restless air.

"You're not undressing?" she repeated, standing up and walking to the mirror. Then she immediately asked suspiciously: "Then what are you doing here?" She had a premonition that something was wrong and started thinking. "That's not what I'm here for, and you're right to ask the question," McGregor said frankly, with a smile on his face. He laughed even wider when he saw her grab a dressing gown in sudden shame. "Then what on earth are you going to do?" She couldn't guess the intentions of visitors, despite her ability to classify men into categories.She carefully observed the visitor's leather shoes, tie and eyes.

"You don't have to be a policeman, do you?" "Sit down and let's talk like good friends. You're not quite mistaken, because I was a Sergeant of the Judiciary for many years." She frowned. "Don't be afraid! I'm out of business now! I've retired to the country, and I'm in Paris today because Cador has done a dirty trick." "That's what it is for!" she said to herself, recalling the unusual manner in which they had just sat face to face. "I need to get evidence, but some people I can't question them."

She no longer refers to McGregor as "you." "You want me to help you, don't you?" "You guessed it. You and I know pretty well that Floria has a bunch of bad guys, don't you?" She sighed in agreement. "The real boss is Caro, he also has 'Pelican' and 'Green Ball' two bars." "He seems to have a shop of some sort in Nice." They finally sat down on one side of the table, Fernand asked. "Would you like some hot beverage?" "Not now. Did you hear about the case at the Place Blanche a fortnight ago? A car with three or four men in it drove across the street at about three o'clock in the morning. The car drove to the Place Blanche and Between the Place de Clichy, the doors were opened and a person was thrown out of the car onto the road. The person was stabbed to death with a knife."

"Barnabe!" Fernand said the man's name. "You know him?" "He's a regular at Floria." "That's Caro's trick. I don't know if he was in the car himself, but Pepido was there. Last night it was his turn." She didn't speak, she was frowning and thinking, she looked like a housewife. "What use are these to you?" she finally asked. "One of my nephews will be wronged if Carolai is not caught and killed." "The boy with the reddish-brown hair who looked like a tax official?" Now it was McGregor's turn to be surprised.

"How do you know him?" "Two or three days ago, he came to Floria's bar. I found him quickly, because he didn't dance or talk to anyone. Yesterday, he bought me a drink. I tried everything I tried to get him to talk, and instead of telling himself, he stammered and explained to me that he couldn't tell me anything, that he was on an important mission." "What a fool!" McGarry stood up and cut to the chase: "So it's settled? I'll pay you two thousand francs if you help me keep Caro in my hands." She couldn't help smiling slightly.It amuses her.

"Then what should I do?" "First of all, I want to know whether Caruo has been to the Fontaine Hotel last night." "I'm going to find out tonight?" "Better go at once." She took off her dressing gown, took the long skirt in her hands, and glanced at McGarry. "Am I really dressed?" "Excellent." He breathed a sigh of relief, and put a hundred francs on the fireplace. They went down the stairs again to the Rue Blanche, and shook hands at the corner of the Rue Douai.McGarry walked south toward the Rue Lorette-de-Notre-Dame, and when he reached the hotel he realized he was whistling softly.

At ten o'clock in the morning, he had already entered the New Bridge Restaurant and chose a table with intermittent sun, because the pedestrians passing in front of the hotel blocked the sun from time to time.It's already smelling like early spring.The activity in the street became more cheerful and the sound became more noisy. At Police Headquarters, it's time for a daily debrief.At the end of an aisle lined with offices, the Chief of the Judiciary Police was receiving his aides with file files, and Inspector Amadillo was with his colleagues.McGarry guessed what the Commissioner had said.

"And, Amadillo, about the Palestrino case?" Amadeo leaned forward slightly, and kept wiping his mustache with his hands, with a modest smile on his face. "This is the case report, Mr Commissioner." "Is McGregor really in Paris?" "I heard it was in Paris." "Then why doesn't the ghost come to see me?" McGregor smiled, convinced that this must be the case.He seemed to see Amadillo's long face stretched even longer, and heard his slander: "Perhaps he has a reason." "Do you really believe that the plainclothes fired the shot?" "I can't say for sure, Mr. Commissioner. All I know is that his fingerprints were on the gun, and a second bullet was found on the wall." "But why would he do it?" "I was so scared that I lost my mind...someone recommended some young people without any training to be plainclothes policemen..." Philip happened to be walking into the New Bridge Restaurant, and he walked straight up to his uncle.Uncle asked him what he would like to eat. "A cup of coffee with milk. I've got all the materials you want, but it's not easy. Inspector Amadillo thinks of me differently! Others have doubts about me." Philip wiped his glasses, then took some papers from his pocket. "First of all about Caro. I have been to the Criminal Files and transcribed his card. He was born in Pontoise and is fifty-nine years old. He used to work as an attorney in Lyon earlier. Sentenced to one year in prison for documents and use of false documents. Three years later, six months for attempting to defraud an insurance company. This was in Marseilles. "He was lost in the files for several years, but I found him again in the material of a casino in Montecano, where he worked as a pickpocket. Despite this, he is still implicated in a casino case that has not yet been solved. "Finally, five years ago he came to Paris and became manager of the 'Oriental Club', which was actually a casino. Soon the club closed, but Caro had nothing to worry about. That's all about him. Since then he has lived in a house in the rue Batignol with only one maid. He continues to inform the police and is a frequent visitor to the Judicial Police. At least three nightclubs belong to the His, but they are all managed by his subordinates, acting as his shield." "Where's Pepido?" asked McGregor, who had just made a brief note. "Twenty-nine years old, Neapolitan, twice expelled from France for drug trafficking. No other crimes." "Where's Barnaby?" "Born in Marseilles, thirty-two years old, sentenced three times, one of them for conspiracy to commit armed robbery." "Have you found that shipment at Floria?" "Nothing was found, neither drugs nor bills. Pepido's murderer took them all." "What's the name of the guy who bumped into you on purpose and then called the police?" "Joseph Odia. He used to work as an errand in a café. He has no permanent residence, and his letters are posted at the Fontaine. I think he took part in the races." "By the way," McGregor said, "I met your girlfriend." "My girlfriend?" repeated Philip, flushing. "A big girl in a green silk dress, you once gave her a drink at Floria. We almost slept together." "I haven't slept with her. If she's talking nonsense..." At this time, Luca walked into the hotel, his expression was hesitant, and he did not dare to come forward.McGregor motioned for him to come over. "Do you care about the case?" "I don't happen to be in charge, sir. I'm just here to let you know that Caro is at the HQ again. It's been a quarter of an hour, and he and Inspector Amadillo have been shut up for some reason." "Would you like to have a drink, too?" Luca filled his pipe with shredded tobacco from McGregor's pouch.Now was the time for the waiters to clean up, scrubbing the glass with scouring powder and scattering sawdust on the floor between the tables.The proprietor had changed into a black coat and was inspecting the assortment of cold cuts and snacks lined up on the sideboard table. "Do you think it's Cador?" Luca asked McGregor in a low voice, reaching for a beer glass. "I'm sure." "This is a big killing scene!" Philip didn't dare to intervene, and looked respectfully at the two seniors beside him who had worked together for twenty years. They were both smoking pipes and occasionally exchanging a few words. "Has he seen you, sir?" "I went up to him and told him I wanted his life. Waiter! Another two and a half liters!" "He won't admit anything." The Samaritan truck, golden in the sun, drove past the glass windows of the hotel, followed by trains of trams, ringing their bells incessantly. "What are you going to do?" McGregor shrugged, not knowing what to do himself.His small eyes stared at the courthouse across the bustling streets and the peaceful Seine.Philip was playing with his pencil. "I must go!" sighed Captain Luca. "I must investigate a young man in the Rue Saint-Antoine, a Pole, who has done some stupid things. Are you here this afternoon?" "Probably." McGregor also stood up.Philip asked melancholy: "Shall I go with you?" "No, you go back to the General Administration. We'll all come here for lunch later." McGarry got on the bus, and half an hour later, he went up to Fernand's building.It took a few minutes for her to come out and answer the door because she was still asleep.The bedroom was flooded with sunlight, and the unmade sheets were blindingly white. "It's so early!" Fernand was surprised. She was wearing pajamas and folded her breasts to cover her breasts. "I was still sleeping just now! Please wait a moment." She went into the kitchen, lit the gas stove, filled a pot with water, and went on: "At your request, I have been to the Tobacco Hotel. Of course, they have no doubts about me. The owner is also the owner of a small hotel in Avignon, do you know?" "Go on." "There was a table of people beating 'Brott' and I played their part, all night, tired and sleepy." "Didn't you notice a little brown-haired man named Joseph Odia?" "Wait a minute! Anyway, there's a man named Joseph, and he's telling everyone how he spent an afternoon with the examining magistrate. But do you know how this kind of card is played? Everyone plays together. Double! Again Double! It's your turn to be the belle, Pierre... Someone said something at this moment... Someone at the counter promised... I won't!...Neither!...It's your turn, Marcel Huh! The boss is playing too...and a black man... "'Would you like something to drink?' a tall brown-haired man asked me, pointing to a nearby chair for me to sit on. "I didn't disagree and he just showed me his cards. "'Anyway,' said the man whom everyone called Joseph, 'I think it's dangerous to involve a policeman in it, and they'll have me confronting him tomorrow. Of course, the policeman's face looks pretty good. Kind, like a big fool...' "'Chicken heart flower!' "'Four Card Straight Flush, Biggest!'" Fernand interrupted the description, between McGregor: "Would you like a cup of coffee too?" The aroma of coffee has filled all three rooms. "As for me, as you must understand, I cannot immediately turn the subject to Caro. I said to them: "'You guys play cards like this here every night?' "'Let's put it this way...' replied the man sitting next to me. "'Did you hear nothing, last night?'" McGarry took off his coat and hat, and opened the window halfway again, and the noise of the street immediately invaded the room.Fernand went on to say: "He glanced at me provocatively, and replied: "'Well! You're a wicked woman, eh?' "I saw he couldn't take it any longer. He was playing cards and touching my knee. "He went on: 'We people never hear anything, you know? Except Joseph, he's seen everything he's supposed to see.' "Here they all burst out laughing. What can I do? I dare not draw my thigh back. "'Still spades! Three straight flushes, the biggest, double!' "'What a queer man he is!' said Joseph, who was drinking a glass of stout against hot sugar water. "The guy who touched my thigh coughed a few times and muttered in a low voice: "'I'd rather keep him off the cops too. Do you understand?'" McGarry had this scene in the smokehouse in his mind.He can identify almost every one of them.The proprietor owns a brothel in Avignon, he already knows that.The tall, brown-haired man was the proprietor of the Café Eros in Béziers and a brothel in Nîmes.As for the Negro, he belonged to a jazz band nearby. "They didn't mention his name?" McGregor asked Fernand, who was stirring his coffee. "No mention of his name. Two or three times they said 'notary,' and I meant Caro, who really looked like a notary who went from bad to worse. "But please be patient! I'm not finished! Aren't you hungry? It was three o'clock in the middle of the night, and Floria could hear the shutters being lowered. The man next to me was still groping. My knees, I was about to lose my temper. Just at that moment the door opened and Karo came in. He just touched the brim of his hat with his hand and didn't even say hello to everyone around him. "Nobody looked up, but I think they were all surreptitiously watching him. The boss ran behind the counter. "'Give me six French cigars, and a box of Swede matches,' said the notary. Little Joseph didn't dare to complain, and stared at the bottom of the wine glass absently.Carota, for his part, lit a cigar, stuffed the others into his coat pocket, and took a bill from his wallet.The shop was so quiet that one could hear a fly fly by. "It should be said that such silence did not make him feel uncomfortable. He turned around, looked at all the people sitting there calmly and indifferently, then touched the brim of his hat with his hand and left." As Fernand dunked the buttered bread into the coffee, her pajamas opened to reveal a protruding breast. She was about twenty-seven or eight years old, but she still maintained the figure of a girl, with ample breasts of a pale rose color. "They didn't say anything after that?" McGarry asked, turning down the gas burner casually as the kettle on it began to squeak. "They looked at each other and exchanged winks. The boss returned to his seat and breathed a sigh of relief." "that's it?" Joseph looked a little embarrassed, and explained: "'You all know what he's got!'" The Rue Blanche at this time was almost like a provincial street, and one could hear the hooves of the heavy beer-laden carts passing by. "The others giggled for a while," Fernand added. "The one who touched my thigh complained!" "'He's got no airs, no! But he's a ghost, and got us all in. I told you, I'd rather keep him from going to Police Headquarters every day!'" Finally Fernant finished, trying not to miss a single detail. "Are you coming back immediately?" "This is impossible." That remark seemed to make McGregor less happy. "Oh!" she added hastily, "I didn't take him home. These people, it's better not to let them see my trinkets. He didn't let me go until five o'clock." She stood up and went to the window to take a few breaths of fresh air. "What should I do now?" McGarry paced up and down, thinking. "What's his name, that customer of yours?" "Eugène. His cigarette case has two initials in gold: EB." "Would you like to go to the Fontaine Hotel tonight?" "If necessary." "You have to take special care of that little Joseph, who called the police." "He's not very interested in me." "I'm not asking you to do this, just listen carefully to what he has to say." "Now, if you will allow me, I must tidy up the room," said Fernant, tying up his hair with a handkerchief. They both shook hands and said goodbye.When McGregor went down the stairs, he never expected that there would be an arrest in Montmartre that night. The police specifically targeted the Fontaine Hotel and took Fernand to the detention center. But Caro, he knew everything. "I want to report to you that there are six prostitutes who have not gone through the legal procedures." At this moment, he is reporting to the captain of the social morality police brigade. Especially Fernand, she must have a seat in the prison car!

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