Vertigo Read Online Free PDF Page B

pockets. On his neck, a roll of fat protruded above his collar. The telephone rang. He snatched up the receiver impatiently. Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he said quietly:
    ‘She thinks she’s Pauline Lagerlac. You can’t be surprised if I’m worried about her.’
    A muffled voice sounded in the earphone, which he quickly lifted to his ear.
    ‘Hallo!… Yes, Gévigne speaking… Oh, it’s you, cher ami. I was going to get in touch with you. The thing is—’
    Flavières didn’t listen. He looked at Madeleine. The face of a statue, the eyes hardly bringing it to life at all. Gévigne barked back his answers, his eyebrows knitted, then banged down the receiver. Flavières was sorry he’d come. He suddenlyfelt that Madeleine’s mystery had to do with herself alone: Gévigne could only obscure the issue. A preposterous idea kept nagging at him: supposing Pauline’s soul—
    ‘I lose patience with them,’ snarled Gévigne. ‘You can’t imagine the muddle we’re in at the moment. Better you shouldn’t! It’s discouraging.’
    ‘Is Lagerlac your wife’s maiden name?’ asked Flavières.
    ‘No. She was called Givors, Madeleine Givors. She lost her mother three years ago. Her father had died not long before. He had paper mills near Mézières. A big concern. Her grandfather founded it. He came from those parts.’
    ‘But Pauline Lagerlac must have lived in Paris, I suppose?’
    Gévigne drummed on his blotter with his podgy fingers.
    ‘It’s all rather vague, I’m afraid… One day my mother-in-law pointed out an old house in the Rue des Saints-Pères—at least I think it was the Rue des Saints-Pères—saying that it was where her grandmother Pauline had lived. There was a shop on the ground floor—antiques, I believe… But tell me: what do you think of Madeleine now you’ve seen her?’
    Flavières shrugged his shoulders.
    ‘I can’t say much yet.’
    ‘But you agree with me that there’s something queer about her, don’t you?’
    ‘It seems to me… yes… Do you know if she’s really given up painting completely?’
    ‘Completely. To the point of doing away with her studio, turning it into an ordinary sitting-room.’
    ‘Why did she drop it?’
    ‘Why indeed?… Of course she’s versatile—plenty of interests… And people do change…’
    Flavières got up and held out his hand.
    ‘I mustn’t take up any more of your time. I can see how busy you are.’
    ‘You mustn’t take that line. All this simply doesn’t count. Not compared to Madeleine… Honestly, do you think she’s mad?’
    ‘Certainly not mad,’ answered Flavières. ‘Tell me: does she read a lot?’
    ‘No. I wouldn’t call her a reader. Like most people, she reads the best-sellers. And magazines.’
    ‘Any special fads or fancies?’
    ‘I can’t think of any.’
    ‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’
    ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’
    ‘I’ve got such a strong feeling we’re wasting our time.’
    He didn’t want to tell Gévigne he had made up his mind to follow Madeleine week in, week out, for months if necessary; that he wouldn’t recover his peace of mind till he’d got to the bottom of the mystery.
    ‘Sorry to put it all on you,’ said Gévigne, ‘but you see how I’m placed. What with this office and Le Havre, I don’t get a minute to myself. It took a load off my mind when you took on the job.’
    He led Flavières out to the lift.
    ‘Give me a ring if you find out anything.’
    ‘All right. I will.’
    In the street Flavières found himself in the six o’clock rush. He bought an evening paper. Two enemy planes had been brought down near the Luxemburg frontier. The leading article proved conclusively that the Germans were losing the war. They were blockaded; they were contained. The GeneralStaff had envisaged every possibility and were only waiting for the enemy to embark on a last despairing venture.
    Flavières yawned and stuffed the paper into his pocket. He couldn’t take any