Read The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin for Free Online Page A

when—’
    â€˜You haven’t
     eaten?’
    â€˜I’m not hungry. What if I
     was to throw the money into the river from the bridge?’
    â€˜He’d see you!’
    â€˜I could always go into a café and
     throw them down the lavatory. Or, no, listen! Let’s go and sit in a café and
     then
you
can go into the washroom, while he goes on watching me.’
    â€˜What if he follows me?’
    â€˜He won’t. And after all,
     you have the right to lock the door.’
    They were still in the district across
     the Meuse, where the streets were broad, but deserted and badly lit.
    Behind them, they
     could hear the regular footsteps of the policeman, who did not seem to be trying to
     hide his presence.
    â€˜Why don’t we go into the
     Gai-Moulin? That would look more natural. We go there nearly every night. And if we
had
killed the Turk, of course we’d keep away.’
    â€˜But it’s too
     early.’
    â€˜We can wait.’
    They fell silent. They crossed the Meuse
     and wandered through the streets, checking from time to time that Girard was still
     following them. In Rue du Pot-d’Or, they saw the illuminated sign of the
     nightclub, which was just opening its doors.
    They recalled their flight away from it
     the previous evening, and it took a great effort on their part to approach it.
     Victor was at the door, a napkin over his arm, which meant that there were no
     customers to speak of.
    â€˜Let’s go in.’
    â€˜Good evening, young gents! You
     haven’t seen Adèle, have you?’
    â€˜No. Hasn’t she
     arrived?’
    â€˜Not yet! It’s odd, because
     she’s always punctual. Come in. A glass of port?’
    â€˜Port, yes.’
    The place was virtually empty. The band
     wasn’t bothering to play. The musicians were chatting as they kept an eye on
     the door. The owner, wearing a tuxedo, was placing miniature American and British
     flags behind the bar.
    â€˜Good evening, gentlemen,’
     he called. ‘All right, are we?’
    â€˜Yes, all right.’
    And now the
     policeman walked in as well. He was still young, and looked rather like the
     second-in-command in Jean’s office. He refused to give his hat to the doorman
     and sat down near the entrance.
    At a sign from the owner, the musicians
     struck up a jazz tune, while the professional dance-partner, who had been sitting at
     the back of the room writing a letter, approached a woman who had just arrived, to
     invite her to dance.
    â€˜Go now!’
    Delfosse pushed something into his
     companion’s hand and Jean hesitated to take it. The policeman was looking at
     them. But the action was taking place under the table.
    â€˜Now’s the time.’
    Chabot decided to grab the greasy
     banknotes, and kept them in his hand to avoid any suspicious movement. He stood
     up.
    â€˜I’ll be back in a
     minute,’ he said out loud.
    Delfosse found it hard to conceal his
     relief and, in spite of himself, he threw a triumphant glance across at his
     pursuer.
    The owner stopped Jean.
    â€˜Wait, you need the key. The
     attendant isn’t here yet. I don’t know where everyone is, they’re
     all late today.’
    The door to the cellar was open letting
     out a draught of cool air that made the young man shiver.
    Delfosse swallowed his port in a gulp.
     He felt it was doing him good, so he emptied his friend’s glass as well. In a
     few minutes, the flush of the lavatory would be washing away the compromising
     banknotes.
    Just then, Adèle walked in, wearing a
     black satin coat
trimmed with white fur.
     She greeted the musicians and shook Victor’s hand.
    â€˜Fancy seeing you!’ she said
     to Delfosse. ‘Isn’t your pal here? I saw him this afternoon, he came up
     to my place. Funny boy, isn’t he! Let me just take off my coat.’
    She dropped it off behind the counter
     and, after exchanging a few