The Commissaire Riddot Monologue

Shortly after I called Police Headquarters, the Commissaire André Girodot, from the “Quai des Orfèvres”, showed up at ‘La Simonière’, accompanied by his assistant, and a couple of Gendarmes. He was a middle-aged man who had built up a solid reputation at the Sûreté of Paris, and had often appeared on ‘France 2’ television news programs; everybody knew his name, and was familiar with his red and round cheeks, result of years of eating in cheap bistros. A bit later, arrived the Coroner, Doctor Alphonse Binet, an old but feisty physician who had, during his long career at the ‘Police Judiciaire’, gained the respect of the detectives who worked with him. He quickly shook hands with the Commissaire, mumbled something that sounded like something about something related to his lack of sleep, and went directly, upstairs, to the Baron’s bedroom. Being a main witness in this affair, I was questioned several times by Girodot, and I told him all I knew
“That’s pure and simple logic! Don’t you think so?” He added. “I quite agree, Commissaire. There is, nevertheless,” I ventured, “a difference between logic, and finesse.” “What do you mean?!” he cried out. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. Maybe, you can help me? You see! In what you call, simple logic, the elements upon which you draw your conclusions, are too gross. I don’t mean that they’re wrong! Just that they’re too obvious! Or, perhaps, is it the fact that they don’t mesh with other elements, smaller, (I grant you!) but, still pertinent, and therefore bothersome!” “And what are those elements, or facts, or whatever you wish to name them? I guess you’ve captured them?” “Some of them. Yes.” “All right! Let’s have it! What are they?” “They’re just questions,” I said, pensively. “It would be useless for me to speak now, when I don’t have the