Maigret and the St. Fiacre Case (1959) - full transcript

Inspector Maigret is traveling to the French countryside to visit his friend, the duchess of Saint-Fiacre. She has received a letter recently stating that she will die soon. A few days later she does so by an heart attack, but Maigret does not believe in this...

Corrected & synchronised
by Fingersmaster. Enjoy!

and the Saint-Fiacre Case

Based on the novel
by Georges Simenon

"The day of judgment has arrived.

You will die by the end
of the Ash Wednesday service"

It was good of you to come,
Monsieur Maigret.

Not at all.

Admit you weren't sure.

About coming? Not in the slightest.

That you'd recognize me.

Not at all.

I've changed. You too.

When I think that you were
a schoolboy when you left.

It must have been... let me think...

- 41 years ago.
- Good Lord!

Late summer, 1919, when my father died.

We never replaced him.

We could never find
an estate manageras good.

Whenever something went wrong... husband would say,
"Back in Maigret's day..."

- The Count...
- He died 10 years ago.

- Didn't you know?
- No.

What would you like, sir...?

Half a pint, with foam.

I know beer makes you fat...

...but I prefer to give up
stylishness instead.

When did you receive this?

Four days ago.

"The day of judgment has arrived...

You will die by the end
of the Ash Wednesday service."

It must be a joke.


Do you have any enemies?

I have so few friends left.

Has anyone ever threatened you?


You must think I've disturbed you
for a lot of nonsense.

- No, never.
- Thank you.

At headquarters, we get
thousands of letters like this.

The world is full of nutcases...

...but there's such a thing
as a dangerous nutcase.

I'll stay until after the mass tomorrow.

Is there anyone
who'd want to frighten you?

I'm not afraid - not really.

Or to harass you.


What about your son?

My son?

I'm sorry, I thought you had a son.

I do have a son - Maurice.

- But you can't suppose...
- Oh, I didn't mean that!

- Does he know about this?
- No.

He hasn't lived at the chateau
for a long time. He lives in Paris.

I haven't seen him for 4 months.

- You live alone at Saint-Fiacre?
- Yes, practically.

Maurice is coming tomorrow.
Perhaps you'll meet him.

Do you have any children?

No, but I would have liked to have had.

It's odd that he didn't
carry on the family tradition.

Surely he would have wanted to.

You don't want your beer?

It gets dark at 6:00, and Albert
doesn't like to drive at night.

What are you thinking about?

I was thinking of the castle
in "Mathias Sandorf"...

...and the "Génial Lucifer" bicycle.

The Count gave me my first book...

...and my first bike:
red with adjustable handlebars.

I got a top mark in my report card.

That's the year
you came to the chateau as a bride.

For your wedding,
there were tables out on the grass.

April 1917; I was 18.

A man with a moustache
welcomed me: your father.

With a little blue-eyed boy.

I could smell your cologne a mile away!

I'd doused myself with the stuff!

You were wearing
a white gown with flowers.

After that, you only ever
wore light-colored dresses.

I used to hide in the bushes
to watch you go by.

I'll make a confession too:
I used to go that way on purpose.

You weren't a very good hider,
young Maigret.

A tuft of blond hair
was always sticking out.

When you left the chateau
after your father's death... October or November 1919...

Quite right; it was September 18.

My memory's not so great,
but I have this to remind me.

It's me.

You gave it to me yourself.

You kissed me on both cheeks
and told me to work hard.

I still must have been
reeking of cologne.

I considered it a tribute.

That's another one.

Nothing much has changed.
The bell's still there.

Is Guillaume Hardouin
still the bellringer?

His grandson.

- Would you like to make a detour?
- Yes.

Albert, take the long route.

I'll scarcely make it back
before dinner.

I wasn't thinking. You're right.

We'll walk over there tomorrow.

I'd prefer if nobody knows who I am.

My name might be Maigret,
but I'm still a cop.

It gets in the way.

Tell Rolande to prepare the blue room.

The fireplace works in the green room.

You're right.
The green room, then.

Take this, will you?

Pay no attention to Albert.

He rough around the edges,
but he's a good fellow.

Oh, it's you, Father!

- Didn't you know?
- Yes, but...

This gentleman is an antique
dealer from Paris.

Father Jodet,
the priest at Saint-Fiacre.

I have a lot of calls to make.

I simply must see you.

Ash Wednesday is tomorrow.

That's true.

If you wouldn't mind
waiting for a few minutes.

Go into the library.

Don't put the car away, Albert,
I'm leaving for Moulins in 5 minutes.

- You'll need gas.
- Couldn't you have gotten it?

There's not much left.

The first editions are gone, and
the nice bindings too.

I suppose you came about the dresser.

I'm the countess's secretary

Usually I handle the negotiations.

- Lucien Sabatier.
- How do you do?

Let's get back to this dresser...

...since it's still here.

Very beautiful, highly sought
after period. Fully authenticated.

It was mentioned in edition 71
of"French Furniture".

Do you know Blachmann?

- Of course.
- He offered 500,000 francs.

You're in a hurry...
I don't want to keep you.

A Charles Houssaye,
very beautiful.

The Count de Saint-Fiacre?

The late Count, yes.

Quite handsome.

Classical style, but real talent.

And there's still a market
for Houssaye.

If it's paintings you want,
we have something even better.

Very collectable;
I'd say a museum piece.

This used to be the salon.

What do you think?

A Girard.

We turned down 3. 2 million for it.

The Countess is very attached to it.

Memories of youth...

...the scent of faded flowers, etc.

Up until now the Countess
has refused to part with it.

But I might persuade her
to accept a good offer.

- I have a certain...
- Influence.


The Countess wants to see you.

Couldn't you have told her I was gone?

- And the other?
- He's leaving.

I'll leave you then.

Look around while
you're waiting, think about it.

I think I already have.

Would you care for something, sir?

We still have some grenache
and some malaga wine.

- No thanks. I'll go to my room.
- Suit yourself.

You're making a mistake.
The malaga is still drinkable.

Excuse me.

The Countess is unwell.

Nothing serious.

Are you a doctor?

No, but I'm used to doing it.

I'm going to Moulins
to turn in an article.

- So you're also...
- An art critic.

Well, good for you.

Come in, Maigret.

You're ill?

It's not serious, don't worry.

But I'm afraid
I won't be coming downstairs.

I was looking forward
to dining with you.

- You'd better rest. Good night.
- Good night.

If you need anything,
I'm just over there.

You'll see, tomorrow
I'll be up and about again.

We'll take our walk.

I hope so. Good night.

- How is Madame?
- Fine. She's gone to mass.

What do you mean?
It's only 7:20.

Mass is at 7:00.
It's not a Sunday.

Good Lord!

Shall I bring your coffee?

Perfectly natural.

I suspected as much; a heart attack.

You consider that natural?

Even predictable,
with a heart like that.

- Did you know her?
- Yes.

I have a feeling
I've seen you somewhere before.

Didn't you know
she had a heart condition?


She's been living on
borrowed time for years.

The slightest effort
could bring it on, or a chill.

You could heat the church
instead of burning sinners.

- Have you finished your examination?
- Are you in a rush?

Yes, I have to say mass
at 8:30 at Boissy.

I'll come by the chateau
before the 11:00 service.

I have to go to Boissy too -
duck hunting.

- Go get the chauffeur.
- Do you know where he is?

Where else?
Having a drink at Marie Tatin's.

I can give you a lift.

And the death certificate?

I'll come by the chateau this afternoon.

I thought you were the Countess's doctor.


Don't you think that a more
thorough exam is called for?

Or can't your ducks wait?

That's not the point.

Where's that Albert?

Poor old woman.
Were you a friend?

Yes. I knew the Countess long ago.

She was a good woman...
but a born sucker.

She was helpless
after her husband's death.

Did you know the chateau
when the Count was alive?

To see what it's come to today.

The little secretaries,
the furniture disappearing...

Completely fallen apart in 10 years.

The other little bastard didn't help.


Her son, the Count.
Darling Maurice.

He was supposed to come today.

He only comes to hit her up for money.

I've seen you before.

Either you're from around here
or you've been here before.

Not really.
People tend to come to me.

Gautier, quickly!

Who's that?

The steward.
This'll be a shock.

Come on, hurry up.

- What's happened?
- It's bad.

The Countess. She's...?

Her heart.

We can't leave her here. Hurry up.

What's happened?

Madame de Saint-Fiacre is dead.

It can't be.

It can't be!

She died without seeing her son again.

Him! He killed her 20 times over!

What's all this then?

- The Count adored his mother.
- Yeah, right.

Have you seen the salon, the library?

You showed them to me.

That's all his doing.

Not a month would go by without a
call or a telegram asking for money.


And every time, something else would go.

The Proust first editions,
the Fragonards.

Every time,
we'd have to sell off something.

You're the one who did the selling.

She didn't trust anyone but me.

You could have used
your influence to warn her.

You don't know Maurice.

The dresser... for a reasonable
price I'll do what I can.

You don't know him.

He'll demand everything,
down to the last pin...

You'd better leave.

We'll all have to leave.

Well, you can't go in your
pyjamas; go get dressed.

Yes, of course.

My handkerchief.

I hear you're an antique dealer.

There's nothing left to take,
except the train... 12:30.

Take him to the station.

Come in.

Make yourself comfortable.

Did you examine her?

Yes. It was no use.

It's obvious: a sudden heart attack.

Caused by what?

I told you: no doubt the cold.

With the heart
it's hard to know for sure.

Heavy exertion,
fatigue, strong emotion.


Strong emotion in a church...

If you want something surprising
that would be it.


The truth is, her heart was worn out.

She'd already almost gone once.

I pulled her through, but I told her:
"Take it easy."

What about poison?

A religious nut like her?


And anyway, it would leaves traces.
All poisons do.

Really? It seems to me...

You must like detective novels.

Did you know that her secretary
gave her injections?

- Is that normal?
- I showed him how.


I couldn't always be here.

She had frequent attacks,
and needed frequent shots.

Look at the marks.

She was still a beautiful woman.

- Are we in the way?
- No, no.

It's the Count!

Where's my mother?
Did she see this?

- But...
- Did she see it?

You must keep calm, sir.

What are you doing here?
Is my mother ill?

Tell me!

What is it?

The Countess is dead.

- She read it then?
- Read what?

Poor old girl.

Poor old girl.

Still here, you little rat?

Be a good fellow, save me
the trouble of kicking you out.

"Suicide of the Count de Saint-Fiacre"


A terrible misfortune; a sad loss.

She read it, didn't she?

She died this morning, at mass.

I can assure you, she didn't suffer.

She didn't suffer?

- A terrible mischance.
- No.

Not a mischance - murder.

A murder I should have prevented.

What are you saying? You're mad.

Who are you?

Inspector Maigret, the son
of your old estate manager.

Jules Maigret -
Bigfoot Julie!

You're really a police inspector?

It's true.

Look what appeared
in the Petit Moulinois this morning.

"Dramatic suicide this morning
in an apartment in the rue Miromesnil...

...occupied by
the Count de Saint-Fiacre.

The Count shot himself in the head...

...and died shortly afterwards.

He had told a friend he was ashamed
of the scandal surrounding his mother."

Four days ago
she received this message:

"The day of judgment has arrived."

This false report
appeared on Ash Wednesday...

...and the message said
she'd die by the end of it.

Chance? Coincidence?

- If I knew...
- Who wrote it?

Is it the same person?

Both these lies
were written by the same hand.

But she had a heart attack.

A heart attack predicted
5 days in advance.

- Who gave you this letter?
- Your mother.

That's why I'm here.

Holy water.

I didn't think we'd meet again
under such circumstances.

Me neither.

I understand your grief, but your mother
died in the peace of the Lord.


Have you read this piece of filth?

Father is here on urgent business.

We should leave him. Come.

Look at me and forget my fat belly.

Bouchardon, "Boubouche".
Old Gély's class, 6th grade!

That's quite a story!

You think it was murder?
That newspaper thing doesn't hold up.

Really? Why?

She couldn't have read it. The
delivery truck only gets here at 11:00.

It's not even that now.

When did you get it?

The hotel gave it to me at 8:00,
with my breakfast.

Let's say the paper
left the printer around 2:00 AM...

...and went on sale at Moulins at 6:00.

There would have been time
to tell your mother.

- A bad joke?
- There are lots motives for murder.

Nine times out of ten, it's money;
sometimes hatred, love.

A joke... never.

What do you plan to do?

Freshen up first of all.

I must get to Boissy - an emergency.

Who could have written
such a horrible thing?

Do you have any ideas?

Who's asking?
The policeman or the antique dealer?

My sacristan recognized you.

He said he'd been to school with you.

I think he's even a little proud of it.

Forgive me - it's time for mass.

I'll go with you;
I have to buy some shaving cream.

Do you mind?

She might not have read it in the paper.

No one saw her read it...

...and there was no telephone call.

But someone
could have told her in person.

You were the last one to see her.

Did she say anything particular?

I don't mean this morning - last night.

We did have a meeting.

But saving souls
is hardly a police matter.

When people don't know, they get ideas.

I would have thought
that saving souls... something you'd discuss quietly.

You seem to prefer
the prize fight approach.

Yes, I happened to overhear you.

You were speaking holy words
while stomping around.

You can have a Christian spirit
and a nervous tic...

...and you can pray
while knocking over the furniture.

But is that wise,
for a woman with a heart condition?

You're the one who smashed
Lucien Sabatier's picture, aren't you?

One problem leads to another.

It might have seemed unfortunate,
but it was the right thing to do.

My only fault is to have been
too passive up until now.

My parishioners are waiting - excuse me.


You know who the killer is, don't you?

God knows.

Tell your wife we'll have the soap
in on Sunday.

I'll tell her.

Can I help you, sir?

Three pennyworth of candy,
Madame Tatin.

Jules, Jules Maigret!

- Is it really you?
- Of course it's me!

What brings you here,
after all this time?

- I've come to see you.
- Don't look at me too hard.

Not that I was ever a fright,
but the years have gone by...

- Would you like something to drink?
- A glass of white wine.

You haven't changed much.
The same blue eyes.

That's yesterday's Petit Moulinois.

- Today's...
- Won't get here until 11:00.

- Do you have a phone?
- Yes, in back.

Give me number 54, Moulins.

I sneak around to use the phone too.

Marie, put a bar
of shaving soap aside for me.

I knew him when he was in short pants,
and now he's got a beard!

Is that The Petit Moulinois?

The head of the news desk, please.

You've left the chateau?

This is Inspector Maigret of the police.

Who gave you the information about
the death of the Count de Saint-Fiacre?

Your Paris correspondent;
will you check that?

I was in Moulins.


Before 3:45?

Give me the manager.

He's asleep?

Tell him that the Count
is very much alive.

You can also tell him
that article 27 of the law of 1881...

...concerns the spreading
of false reports.

I strongly advise him
to print a retraction.

That's right.


At 3:45 PM you were at the paper?

I told you, I'm an art critic.

I submitted my article and I left.

Naturally, you suspect me.

I'm not the Count.

I'm poor and a commoner,
so I'm a suspect.

- I know what the police are like.
- Really?

And you have no right
to be investigating this.

You have no jurisdiction here.
It's a matter for federal investigation.

Secretary, artist, lawyer-
I appreciate your varied abilities.


Maître Mauléon, attorney at law?

Just a moment. It's for you.

Versatile and clairvoyant;
yes indeed, I admire you.

I wish to see you as soon as possible.

It's very important.

You read about it? Yes.

That's just what I wish to discuss.

Of course not.

But there's some
police harassment I want stopped.

And the sooner the better.

- Would you like a drink?
- No thanks.

- How much is it?
- 1 franc 50.

Add in the phone call,
the wine and the soap.

The Petit Moulinois didn't come.

No, but if you say so...

Give me a pack of High Lifes.

You're sure you were
at Moulins last night?

Yes, quite sure.

Thanks. Goodbye, Marie.

- I hope we'll see you again.
- Sure.

By the way, Monsieur Sabatier,
I was forgetting...

The news didn't come from Paris,
it came from Moulins.

Looks like everyone was at Moulins.

- I hope I'm not disturbing you?
- I was just coming to see you.

About this morning...

I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have
shot off my mouth like that.

- Don't worry about it.
- Come in.

I thought you were
one of those antique dealers.

If you'd seen those vultures
come traipsing through like I have!

What would your father have done?

- The same as you, probably.
- Sit down.

- Can I take your coat?
- No, I'm just passing by.

At first, when I took the job... was like in your day.

- Will you take a drop?
- Indeed.

Mama, the plum brandy.

It's made from the little ones.
They're tangy, but tasty.

- Have you met my wife?
- Yes.

Maybe you'd prefer a beer?

No, brandy's fine.

You don't mind the smell of cabbage?

I don't feel much like eating now,
but it was already cooking.

Didn't the stove used to be there?

We moved it because on windy days...

The chimney smoked.

Did the Count speak to you
about the funeral?

Yes, he was here. But not for that.

- He wanted money.
- Already?

- How much?
- 800,000 francs.


- It's three years old.
- Good legs.

800,000, it should be
possible to find that.

There's the property at P'tit Mesnil...

What? Do you hear that, Adèle?

He was talking about P'tit Mesnil.

It was sold off a long time.

And all the acres around White Cross.

Not to mention the farm
that belonged to it.

What's left?

Nothing. The land around Langorme,
swampland, worthless.

And a mortgaged chateau,
that's all.

It was a shame to see it all go.

For whom? What?

To Paris,
for apartments, cars...

And here, secretaries.
You saw the last one.

He was probably the worst.

The others were just pimps.

He considered himself a manager.

The others just nibbled away.

He wanted to make investments.

Imitation leather- ever heard of it?

No - sounds great.

And the poor old lady believed him...

She'd believe anything.

And with pefect timing...

...that's when Maurice bought
his yacht on the Mediterranean.

It was called the Rose of Tahiti.

Boy, do I ever remember that.

I took care of the worst
stuff as best I could.

The roof, the taxes...
Even the grocery bills.

It was the chateau.
We didn't want people to talk.

- Your father would have done the same.
- Poor old dad.

Between the imitation leather, the
Rose of Tahiti and the grocery bills... much are you out?

I'd rather not add it up.

Will you have some cabbage soup?

No thanks.

- Is that your son?
- Yes, Emile.

He's a clerk at the bank in Moulins.

A registered clerk.

I called him to tell him the bad news.

She was like a fairy godmother to him.

When we moved here he was...

Thirteen and a half.

The age I was when I left.

I wish I could stay for the soup,
but I have to go.

See a notary about getting back
the money you advanced.

What's done is done.

Thanks anyway for the suggestion.

And thanks for the brandy.

- Is the Count in?
- No, he's in there.

We heard the news.

You can go up.
There's already a crowd up there.


I hope I'm not bothering you.

You're too early.

Our nervous Father here
was just about to...

Discuss the funeral.

What a lot of lying goes on
in this parish. Outrageous.

Father asked me to give my word.

About what?

He was just getting started,
but I can guess.

I can very well guess.

"Can you swear to me..."

What? That I didn't kill my mother?

Madame is lying in repose in this house.
I order you to be quiet.

Five minutes ago
you ordered me to speak.

It's embarrassing to admit,
but he thought I was guilty.

You do too, don't you?

You're a hard nut to crack.

Let's look on the bright side.

If there's anyone who could
profit by it, it's me.

I knew my mother had a weak heart.

When I told her I was coming, I was
quite willing to threaten her...

...make demands... mention the name
of Lucien Sabatier.

Altogether to carefully terrify her.

Don't I make a plausible killer?

You're making a fool of yourself.

A fool?
That's all I am.

You have no idea how much.

Do you know why I came so quickly?

Because I wrote a bad check.

- Do you know how much?
- 800 000 francs.

Everyone knows everything.
One of the charms of country life.

But this is where the foolishness
really stands out.

What would I do with 800,000 francs?
Buy stocks? Property?

Too conventional!
No, I invested in a racehorse.

One hoof, as they say.

"The suicide of
the Count de Saint-Fiacre."

Maybe it'll come to that in the end.

- You disapprove.
- You've had enough to drink.

Yesterday you were at Moulins.

But it said in the paper
the information came from Paris.

What were you doing at Moulins?

Here comes the Inspector.

It happens. Well?

I went by the bank to see
if I could scrounge up the money.

But the cupboard was bare.

You know who told me?

- Emile, the steward's son.
- Yes, how delightful...

- Stop drinking.
- Does alcoholism shock you?

It goes with the whole picture.

Did my mother never mention
this bad habit to you?

What did you talk about, anyway?

She spent all her time
in the confessional.

Besides Hell, what was she afraid of?

I'll tell you: she was afraid of me!

Afraid of seeing me show up
because she was ashamed!

The poor old girl was ashamed.

That's understandable.

No, you don't get it.

She wasn't ashamed of me,
but of herself!

That money she gave her secretary
was mine, my inheritance.

She was afraid I'd ask where it was.

Reproach her for her misconduct.

And you'd come to
put the fear of God into her.

Condemn immorality...

...dole out absolutions
for mea-culpas.

Go ahead, deny it.

Go on!

You're not leaving before
hearing what we put her through.

Go on, Father.

I'll pray for you.

For my mother's forgiveness
or for credit at the bank?

I'm ashamed of you.

Your devil-may-care act might be
a defence, but I think you're pathetic.

I'm spoiling your memories.

Naturally, my father
would have had more...

More class.

Yes, I know.

I should be in mourning,
with red eyes...

...wringing my hands with anguish.

It's true, he cut a fine figure.

The last of the Saint-Fiacres,
what a fine pair!

A bankrupt drunk and
a religious nut with her gigolos.

I'm sorry.

She didn't deserve that.

- Who?
- Mama.

And that little swine, Sabatier...

I'm one to talk.
If I hadn't left her alone...

Her secretaries -
it's not what the priest thinks.

There was nothing dirty.
Nothing at all, poor old thing.

She just needed kindness.

A little affection.

Sir, the Mayor's wife is asking for you.

- I didn't know...
- If I were dead or alive?

I'm coming.

They're not here to pay their respects
but to gawk at the suicide.

They must have memorized the article.
I know what they're like.

What are you waiting for?

Go put on a show for them.


Since they came to see me...

...l'll give them something to look at.

Not great, but still there.

- My sincere condolences.
- Thank you.

- And under such painful circumstances...
- You're too kind.

- My daughter.
- Mademoiselle.

I loved her so much.

I owed her everything. Everything.

Emile Gautier, son of...

46 votes in favor,
the socialists abstained...

No, I'll call you back in 5 minutes.

All right, that'll do.

- You were on duty here last night?
- Yes

So you approved
the article about the Count.

- Yes.
- My compliments!

I don't know if your editor
mentioned me? Maigret.

Ah, yes. What can I do for you?

Why did you approve this piece?

- It was called in.
- From where?

- Paris.
- No.

Well, I thought it was from Paris.

The night operator passed it through.
They said they were calling from Paris.

Anyone could say anything they like.

Unfortunately, there's one
annoying detail.

- What's that?
- That you think I'm a fool.

Let me explain.

Usually Braspart calls in
the news items.

But he was covering the opera gala.

That's what the guy on the phone said.

And you believed him?

Put yourself in my place!

If the news were correct
and I ignored it I'd have been fired.

- Whereas a false report...
- Can always be retracted.

- Where was Sabatier?
- Sabatier?

They say the press can go anywhere,
but you're going straight to the dock.

Have you ever heard of Sabatier?

He's not one of the staff.
He does 2 or 3 articles a week.

He does an art column...

Was he here when the call came in?


- So you were alone?
- Yes.

Come on, what did I do?

A wrong article
isn't like killing a man.

But it can kill a woman.
You spoke to the killer.

Complicity isn't killing either,
but it can complicate your life.

Think about it.

Half a pint of draft.

Well, well! I didn't know
you kept such late hours.

I'm a regular night owl.

I'm going home, like a good boy.

- To the chateau?
- Yes. Can I give you a lift?

Though we might run out of gas.

I wanted to fill it up, but
that's the way it goes.

Like having to sleep without pyjamas.

Did you forget your suitcase?

No. It's a preventive measure
by the landlord.

A Saint-Flour accent,
big moustache, horrible.

- There.
- No, certainly not.

I only said that to lay out the facts.

No mercenary motive.

Sleeping without pyjamas is one thing...

But going 15 km on foot is another.

- Here.
- So be it.

But I'll pay you back
as soon as I can.

By check.

Drawn on my inheritance.

Nothing but our portraits.

Can I give you a lift?
Now that I've got plenty of gas.

No, thanks. I'll take a taxi.

- See you tomorrow.
- Alright.

- Would you like it without foam?
- No, that's fine.

Among beer fans, there are those
who like and those who dislike a head.

Like everything else,
it has to be done in moderation.

Now, I prefer just an inch on top.

As I always say, you have to leave
some room for the liquid.

Especially as talking is thirsty work.

"Death of the Countess de Saint-Fiacre"

"Yesterday we erroneously reported
the death of the Count de Saint-Fiacre."

May I?

I'm a friend of Maurice's.
How long have you known him?

Since yesterday. He was sitting alone,
then he offered me a drink.

A Cointreau.

- Then?
- Maybe a brandy.

No, I mean with Maurice and you.

Oh well, we talked
until about 3 in the morning.


Well, I know there are booths here...

...but it's not exactly intimate!

No, we went to his place,
at the Lion d'or Hotel.

- Why do you ask?
- Well, you know...

What about my sugar?

There you go.

Are you just passing through?

You'll have to ask him that.

I'm staying 2 days on business.

I had a meeting with a client,
but he forgot.

Is that good or bad?

You're from here - you might know him.

- Lucien Sabatier.
- Yes, I've heard that name.

- A little dark-haired guy?
- Yes.

- Works at a chateau?
- Yes.

It seems he bumped off the owner.
Anyway, that's what they say.

You're on the wrong floor.

He hangs out downstairs,
at the Hula Hoop.

Take the stairs all the way down.


- Thank you...
- Arlette. You're going?

Yes, but tomorrow night...?

You'll find me here. I start at 6:00.

- Good evening, Monsieur Maigret.
- Well, good evening Monsieur Gautier.

Oh, a 3-cushion game!

- Do you play?
- In the old days.

It's our hobby.

Monsieur Maigret, Monsieur Buard,
assistant bank directorat BNCI.

- Delighted.
- Monsieur Flaubert, the clerk.

Well, enjoy your game.

Your turn.

- So now I'm being followed?
- Of course not.

Still mad? I was awkward at Marie's...

Let's not talk about it.
We were both on edge.

I was very calm.

Still, it wasn't enough to keep you...

...from changing your mind, like me.

- Anyway, here we are.
- Would you care for something?

- A half pint.
- No beer here.

Whisky? Champagne?

Alright, then a split of champagne.

You're thinking I don't belong here.

You thought the same thing
at the chateau. I don't belong anywhere.

Why do you think
everyone's out to get you?

Loulou, you look so grumpy!

- What's the matter?
- Nothing.

Monsieur Maigret.

- He's a...
- Antique dealer from Paris.

- Mademoiselle Myriam.
- A pleasure.

Your friend is
an antique dealer... cool!

He can dig up what we're looking for.

You know a lot about Louis XVI?

- Sure.
- I love it.

I'd like to fill up the hall, the living
room, and the bedroom with it.

Louis XVI is better than a corner
loveseat. What do you think?

- What about him?
- He's hunting for an apartment.

We don't have one yet,
but we'll find one.

- With his connections...
- Of course.

There's still time before June 15.

June 15?

Didn't he tell you
we're getting married?

No, he must have been too bashful.

He didn't even tell me
he came here sometimes.

Every night!

Well, I'm delighted to have met you...

...but I have things to do tomorrow.

Don't go. My grand finale is in
20 minutes - the bubble bath.

- Don't you want to see?
- Some other time.

It's on me. I can afford a glass.

You were right,
he is grumpy tonight.

What's that? Can't you give me smile?

Come on, hurry up, you naughty boy!

Shame on you, Loulou!

- I'm going to Moulins. The Count...
- He's already gone out.

He said he was going to mass.

You've found an apartment?
You're moving?

I was told it was the only decent
thing I could do, so I'm leaving.

Good for you. But don't confuse
decency with flight.

Don't go too far, I still have
some questions for you.

Maître Mauléon, my lawyer,
will answer you. He's arriving tonight.

Good timing.

Have him come at 5:00.
You might need him.

I have no reason to come.

No reason to do what you say.
Why should I, anyway?

I don't like your kind,
but a judge might.

So I advise you to lay off the lawyer
talk and be there on time.

I'm reconciled with the Church.

Well, with the clergy, in any case.

I thought I'd see you here.
The mass was dedicated to my mother.

I didn't know.

I haven't sat in the family pew
since my father died.

The eulogy was done in style.

Marie Tatin shed a tear.

I admit that even I...

It's been a long time since
I've seen such an edifying scene...

I don't get out enough in Paris.

- I'm going to Moulins -want to come?
- No, not right now.

- Hello, Father.
- Hello.

I didn't know the mass was for the
Countess. I would have come.

- I made an announcement yesterday.
- I'm not blaming you.

I came to ask for your help.

I have catechism class in 5 minutes.

This won't take long.

Look, I've been thinking.

I don't know if the Countess read that
notice about the death of her son...

...but I'm sure of one thing:
it happened here.


Yes, I thought so too,
but I've thought it over.


Heart attacks happen
in public all the time...

...and they all share
one characteristic.

The victim retains the expression
she had at the moment of death.

You have thoughtful corpses,
amused ones...

...and frightened ones.

- You remember how she looked?
- Yes.

Come with me to the church.

We'll try to... Well, come on.

- What are we going to do?
- Reconstruct the murder.

But this is a sacred place.

I haven't forgotten where we are,
or that a woman was killed here.

What should I do?

Go back to the spot
where you were yesterday...

...when you imposed the ashes.

Madame de Saint-Fiacre was here,
the sacristan was there, and the boy...

Next to me.

Good. Repeat all your
movements and words.

And I mean all your movements and words.

It's the ritual: Memento homo, quod
pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.

What expression
did she have on her face?

Peaceful, serene.

She didn't know yet.
There were 30 seconds to go.

Barely 30 seconds.

The missal!

Excuse me,
I have to go back to the chateau.

- But the missal...
- What?

I picked it up and put it
in the cupboard in the sacristy.


I don't understand it.
I put all the missals here.

I put it here, I'm sure of it.

- You didn't see the Countess's?
- No, I didn't see anything.

You didn't accidentally take it home?

- No.
- Would you check?

I'd have remembered.

But just to put your mind at rest...

- Go and check.
- Check what?

The parsonage.

Hey, kid.

- What's your name?
- Ernest.

- Ernest what?
- Bouffard.

Bouffard, Bouffard...
Wait a sec.

The blacksmith.

- That's my grandpa.
- Well, listen.

I was a choirboy too.

Right here. And I served on
Ash Wednesday just like you.

I remember after the low mass...

...we'd go to the priest's house
for breakfast. Do you still do that?

I'll bet I could tell you what you had.

An egg, coffee
and some gruyère cheese, right?

- Not gruyère - brie.
- Oh, things have changed.

I remember that right down here
we used to scoff the sacramental wine.

And we used to hide the priest's
missal here so we could peek at it.

It had red letters and music notes.

The Countess's missal...

Did it also have colored letters?

Let's make a deal.

I'll buy you a brand new missal,
with gold lettering...

...with French and Latin,
if you'll give me the other one.

- I'm not the one who took it.
- Of course not.

But as you were taking a peek at it,
you got scared and hid it.

Don't tell me, let me guess.

Just tell me when I'm getting warm.

Getting warmer?

No? Cold...

I don't know if I'm hot,
but I think I'm getting warmer.

How about this?

Let's take a look.


Warmer? Scorching?


Red hot!

Look, I found it, thanks to Ernest.

You know the page.

My God!

Excuse me...

- Is the Count here? I saw his car.
- In the manager's office.

Do you know why?

No, sir.

Just come with me a moment.

I wouldn't ask you
to divulge a professional secret...

...but your father told you
why I'm here.

Yes, it's terrible.

- Terrible.
- Do you know something?

Maybe. That's why
I'd like you to help me.

Monsieur de Saint-Fiacre
came to see you day before yesterday?

- Yes.
- The day before it happened.

- Yes.
- What did he want?

Just an update
on the financial situation.

I told him there was nothing left.

Some assets that couldn't be sold.
As for the current balance...

Fortunately, in the end,
dealt with the most urgent matter.

Didn't you know?

- The bounced check?
- Yes. He came up with the money.

The boss is calling head office;
the check should be paid today.

I thought you didn't know
why he was here.


I don't care;
I prefer to see it settled.

But would you be able
to lay your hands on 800,000 francs?

Me neither. Well then!

I'm sorry to have bothered you.

- Could you do something for me?
- What?

The balance sheet for
the Saint-Fiacre account

- I could get it...
- No, come by the chateau at 7:00.

It's incredible!
The Countess was ruined.

I tell you, money matters were
behind her death.

Sorry to bother you at this hour.

I'm eating early.

I'm afraid tonight
you'll be eating late.

Something new?

Soon. We'll reveal
the guilty person tonight.


Yes. I need your help.

But let's be clear: I mean the guilty
party, no matter who it is.



- Good evening, Monsieur Maigret.
- Good evening, Madame Gautier.

What's going on?

The Count has invited
some guests to dinner.

Well, it won't kill you, but still...

We were only waiting for you.

What's the meaning of this dinner?

No mystery; I can invite people
to my house if I want.

Madame Gautier has made the dinner.

I didn't summon you here for that.


I must tell you
that the word is not accurate.

We're here of our own free will;
we weren't forced to come.

- Who's this?
- Maître Mauléon.

Attorney at law.

Delighted to meet you.
My client has told me all about you.

And I have a thing or two
to tell you about him.

- Your glass is empty.
- So it is.

- A glass for Monsieur Maigret.
- No, don't bother.

It's an entertaining situation.

A famous policeman,
a well know lawyer...

We could carry on
quite a sparring match.

No point talking about it;
there's no topic available.


The Count and I have come to
a complete understanding.

Very well-bred.

Men of the world understand each other.


The feelings we had for the deceased...

...would prevent all unpleasant dispute.

You were a friend of the deceased?

- Yes.
- That explains everything.

As I was saying, the Inspector
is in a delicate position.

Nothing official,
no authority to question... authority to investigate.
And to investigate what?

I summoned you here to answer that.

I protest, once again.

Anyway, there was no difficulty
about the death certificate.

- Boubouche, they're talking about you.
- Oh, yes?

- You issued the death certificate?
- Of course.

Well, there you go!
Admit that"summoned"...

Oh, I was totally over the line, I know.


Hang on.

Monsieur Maigret,
it's the Chief Commissioner.

Yes, Monsieur Gautron?

Not at all.
Thanks for calling.


Much faster than I expected.

No. Two officers will be enough.

As soon as possible.

Thank you.

Your glass is empty.

Another guest.

Good evening, Father.


Good evening.

As I was passing,
I brought back the Countess's missal.

I picked it up from beside her.

I should have brought it back sooner,
but I was too upset.

It should go upstairs.

May I do it?
I'd like to meditate for a bit.

As you please.

You're not drinking, Doctor?

Good evening, Father.

What are you doing here?
Are you sleeping in the house?

I asked him to come.

Dinner is served.

Set another place for Emile.

You must have your reasons,
but frankly I don't like it.

What does it look like, the Count
inviting Sabatier here?

And inviting us for dinner,
how does that look?

What's wrong with you?
You're acting like a...

What are we doing here?

We're taking care of business.

- Why did you ask me here?
- You'll find out.

You're not eating with us?

Yes. I just have to leave for a moment.

Is that forbidden?

Absolutely not.

Sit wherever you like.

Gautier, we'll pass
the dishes ourselves.

Please excuse me, I must go.

No, you're a guest.
A chair for Father.

That's very kind, but I have things
to do. And this is not my place.

You can't desert us when
I'm carrying on the family tradition:

The priest and the doctor
gathered at the table.

Pike poached by Gautier,
and Madame made the white sauce.

Add another place
and bring us a bottle of Pouilly.

Lord, bless this food.

Give bread to those who are without.

In the name of the Father, and the
Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Oh, that looks, lovely!
Good job, Gautier.

Should be good,
though I've seen bigger.

I caught one once that was 12 pounds.
Good sport.

How about the start of the partridge
season! Back in 1937...


Six guns, and we got 110.

I do my hunting at Deauville,
in the theater.

The Count would like to know
if the killer would like some coffee.

Your profession has coarsened you.

I find it upsetting...

The presence of a killer
at the table? Me too.

Since both of us are ruled out,
that only leaves these 6.

Excuse me, Father.

Six - and one will be in prison tonight.

I know I'm not clever enough
to hold an inquiry...

...and that the death certificate
was issued... a little quickly.

But the murderer will still
have to answer to a court...

...for a premeditated crime.
That I'm sure of.

It is murder.

A murder without a gun,
a knife, or poison...

...a cowardly murder, but a murder.

I was wrong, there are 7 of you.

The guilt of one doesn't rule out
the responsibility of everyone else.

- You're going too far!
- Quiet.

- But I have the right...
- Will you be quiet?

How long did you know that your patient
was living on borrowed time?

- About 12 months.
- Following what?

Say it, since he's asking.

After my telegram from Megeve.

"Please send me a draft
for 1.5 million francs.

I had to write a bad check.
The police are after me. Love, Maurice"

The check was a lie.
The police too.

It just sounded better.

I'd bought a chalet
to go skiing with a girl.

You almost killed her for that.

I didn't mean to.

It goes to show that skiing
is dangerous, even by mail.

It's black humor, Gautier.
The Count is a modern spirit.

For the moment,
we're only discussing competence.

Did you call in a specialist?

No. Her condition was serious...

But not hopeless.

You think it was natural, her constant
fainting spells...

...and injections from her secretary?

I think it's natural that she died
with a doctor like you.

Who knew about her first heart attack?

I told her to take care of herself.

They wouldn't give her a moment's peace.

Pestering her about money...

Promising her heaven in the next world.

Both of them, because of him!

He means your client.

The insinuations of a quack...

- A quack?
- Sit down.

Calm down, Bouchardon.

Control yourselves, gentlemen.
This is the chateau.

Excuse me. I must make a phone call.

Of course, people talked
about my client...

...the way they tend to in families.
Little squabbles, misunderstandings.

But we come to the motive
for the murder.

What motive?
No one kills his benefactress.

Except to inherit,
and he is mentioned in the will.

She loved Lucien like a son.

He cost her just as much.

Inheriting doesn't keep him
from selling his own property.

You can appreciate how it is
for a delicate nature.

He was able to buy
some Louis XVI pieces.

- How were you going to pay for them?
- I don't know

With your inheritance.
It's a natural progression.

You start off
as secretary to an old lady.

You move up to confidant,
then heir.

Show us your proof!

You were at the newspaper the night
the suicide notice went in.

You brought the paper here.

- Speculation.
- Why would I do that?

As a way of warding off the Count... case he started
snooping about your plans...

...and got his mother
to cut you out of her will.

You knew you had to share the legacy?

I did learn that detail.

- A detail, the precise word.
- One more.

They can be annoying.

Not just an art expert...
he knew the score too.

- 3. 2 million.
- I called her granny.

Yes, Loulou dragged
"granny" along to the notary.

- I wondered if you slept with her...
- Quiet!

It's enough you cheated her.
I don't want to think of you loving her.

You prefer the loyal retainer?
Gautier, for example?

- What?
- Absolutely.

Why should I be upset?
I'm always the one that gets it.

What did you expect me to do?
Starve to death?

Not everyone can be a manager.
Or take up the collection.

Yes, I'm getting married.
Yes, Myriam likes Louis XVI.

- And screw you all!
- Come on...

Shut the hell up!

Why don't you ever question him?
Because he has an honest face?

That didn't stop him from selling
properties, buying mortgages.

- What?
- Yes you did!

Le P'tit Mesnil...
Madame knew it too.

Yes, she knew.

But Gautier wasn't siphoning off
money. He was lending it.

With you two, he needed to.

- How much for the fake leather business?
- 5. 9 million.

That's why Le P'tit Mesnil was sold.

And naturally, for about
20% less its the actual value.

- 20% that your dad pocketed!
- You... rat!

How much money
did Monsieur Sabatier lose?

With the drafts still outstanding,
about 8 million.

How are you going pay it back?

Hear that?

She's rising up.

She's coming down
to confront her murderer.

It's a scene out of Edgar Allan Poe.

Well, what about the repayment?

You have your revenge.
You're happy.

Before I arrived,
he was the one she trusted.

- And not just trusted.
- Terrible.

- Make them shut up!
- Calm down, you're talking too much.

They'll cut your head off, Lucien.

Don't answer, ignore them.

If that was the plan, he never
would have sent an anonymous letter.

Oh, but you would.

To deflect attention onto
Monsieur de Saint-Fiacre...

...and keep him from inheriting.

Why Sabatier
and not Monsieur de Saint-Fiacre?

By incriminating my client,
he'd inherit everything.

Did you hear the question?

I thought you'd forgotten me.

I said over and over that I was guilty.

I finally ended up believing it.

You are guilty.

You killed your mother many times over.

But Justice isn't interested
in those times.

It's the last one that matters.
The one that killed her.

The telegram from Megève
was just a dry run.

You kept that weapon
in case you needed it.

By signing the bad check, you were
only replaying the Megève episode.

Go see what's happening.

This morning,
24 hours after the murder... deposited the amount,
but not by check. Emile.

It was in cash.

Where did you get it?
Rummaging through Mummy's purse?

Ask Father.

- I can't take any more.
- Stay where you are.

It's no longer time to stay quiet.

I got a loan from Madame Ruinart,
the widow of an old lawyer.

Were you afraid they'd arrest the Count
at his mother's funeral?

When and how
were you going to repay it?

You see, it all
comes down to bucks in the end.

Move over.

Why did you stay over in Moulins instead
of coming straight to Saint-Fiacre?

The very night the news of your
suicide was phoned in from Moulins?

Well, I'm waiting.

Where's all your brag and bounce now?

This would be the time for it.

The funeral director's finished.

- Well, Maurice?
- Call me Count again.

I knew a Count de Saint-Fiacre.

Nothing like you.

You're what they call a dilettante.

From the start, I knew the killer
was one of those.

That's why I suspected
Sabatier at first.

But he's an idiot.

He doesn't match
the method of the murder.

It required someone smart...

...capable of thinking up this.

This is the murder weapon.

The killer slipped the article inside.

Everything started at the Grand Café.

The paper which was published at 2:15
was stolen from an overcoat pocket...

...brought here, cut out
and slipped into the missal.

Who was at the Grand Café?
You and Sabatier.

But I came home before 2:00!

I heard you come in
at half past midnight.

But the Count was still there at 2:15.

But it was his first time there, so
he didn't know about the paper.

Well then?

There was a third person
at the Grand Café.

Charming Emile, the billiard sharp.

A woman there saw him
take the paper.

His accomplice left this table
to take the paper out of the missal.

My father left, but
so did Sabatier and the Count.

And so did he.

After Monsieur Sabatier
and the Count came back...

...the paper was still there.

We didn't do anything!

Haven't you been buying up
the land on the cheap?

- No!
- And who mortgaged the chateau?

The notary told me so.

You couldn't let the old lady
see her son again...

...because he would have
put a stop to it.

It's a lie!

You're not only greedy,
you're conceited.

You wanted to become
the Gautiers de Saint-Fiacre.

The model steward, loyal and faithful.

I'll make you pay for this.

Ten years in jail for you.
And something worse for this scum.

Come with me, you.

Stay where you are.

You were in cahoots with Jules.

He's in there.
I'll be right back.

You're going to beg her forgiveness.
You knew it would kill her.

Down on your knees,
and beg forgiveness!

- Forgive me.
- Look.

She had this on her when she died.
Recognize it?

She treated you like a son.
You owe her everything.

- Beg her forgiveness!
- Forgive me.

- Louder!
- Forgive me!

How do I look,
wearing my father's suit?

Where you belong, for the first time.

What are you thinking about, Maigret?

-- English --