The Late Monsieur Gallet by Georges Simenon

metres from the barrel to Gallet’s room – the distance at which the gun had been fired.
    When Maigret turned round he saw the gardener, who was looking at him with an interested expression.
    â€˜Oh, it’s you,’ said the inspector. ‘Is your master here?’
    â€˜Gone fishing.’
    â€˜You know I’m from the police, don’t you? Well, I’d like to get out of these grounds without jumping the wall. Would you open the gate at the end of the nettle lane for me?’
    â€˜No problem!’ said the man, making off in that direction.
    â€˜Do you have the key?’
    â€˜No, you’ll see!’ And when he reached the gate he put his hand unhesitatingly into the gap between two stones and cried out in surprise.
    â€˜Good heavens!’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜It isn’t there any more! And I put it back myself last year, that’s when three oak trees were chopped down and we got them out this way.’
    â€˜Did your master know?’
    â€˜Course he did!’
    â€˜You don’t remember seeing him go that way?’
    â€˜Not since last year.’
    Another version of the facts automatically began taking shape in the inspector’s mind: Tiburce de Saint-Hilaire up on top of the barrel, firing the gun at Gallet, going round by way of the gate, leaping into his victim’s
room …
    But it was so improbable! Even supposing that the rusty lock hadn’t put up any resistance, it would take three minutes to get along the lane separating the two points. And in those three minutes Émile Gallet, with half his face blown away,
had not cried out, had not fallen over, had done nothing but take his knife out of his pocket in case someone came along to attack him! It all sounded wrong! It creaked the way the gate ought to have creaked. Yet it
was the only theory that made
sense in terms of logical deduction from the material clues!
    Anyway, thought Maigret, there was a man on the other side of the wall. That was a definite fact. But nothing indicated that the man was Saint-Hilaire other than the lost key and the fact that the unknown stranger was in his property.
    On the other hand, two more people closely connected with Émile Gallet, a couple who might have an interest in his death, were in Sancerre at that moment, and there was no firm alibi to show that they had not set foot in the nettle lane. That
couple was Henry Gallet and Éléonore.
    Maigret crushed a horsefly that had settled on his cheek and saw Moers leaning out of the window.
    â€˜Inspector!’
    â€˜Anything new?’
    But the Fleming had disappeared into the room again.
    Before deciding to go the long way round by the bank again, Maigret shook the gate, and contrary to his expectations it gave way.
    â€˜Hey, it’s not locked after all!’ said the gardener in surprise, leaning over the lock. ‘Funny thing, that!’
    Maigret almost recommended him not to mention his visit to Saint-Hilaire, but looking the man up and down he thought him too stupid to heed it and decided not to make matters more complicated.
    â€˜Why did you call me just now?’ he asked Moers a little later.
    Moers had lit a candle and was looking through the sheet of glass almost entirely covered with black. ‘Do you know a Monsieur Jacob?’ he asked, putting his head back to examine his work as a whole with satisfaction.
    â€˜Good heavens! What have you found?’
    â€˜Nothing much. One of the burned letters was signed Monsieur Jacob.’
    â€˜Is that all?’
    â€˜Just about. The letter was written on squared paper torn out of a notebook or some kind of register. I’ve only found a few words on that kind of paper.
Absolutely
, or I suppose so because the
ab
is missing. Then
Monday …
’
    Maigret waited for more, frowning, teeth clenched on his pipe.
    â€˜After that?’
    â€˜There’s the word
prison
underlined twice. Unless something’s