1. A Man from Somewhere<br >Arlette van der Valk was having lunch with a commissaire of<br >police. He addressed her as Madame Davidson， which was the<br >name of her second husband. That is my real name? - she asked<br >herself. Should I say my correct name?<br > Her first husband had been dead for nine years. And it will<br >soon be ten， she thought， with a small sharp pinch at the heart.<br >She kept his name for professional use: it was what she had<br >printed on business cards. He， too， had been a commissaire of<br >police. Cosy; keeping things in the family， as it were.<br > Arlette van der Valk， counsellor in personal problems. It was<br >easier to define what she didn t do than what she did. Not<br >legal， financial， or medical problems. And certainly not police<br >problems. Whatever she was， it was not a Private Eye. The<br >Commissaire-there are several in a town of the size and im-<br >portance of Strasbourg， the capital of a region-was there to<br >ensure that Arlette did not make police business her own. How-<br >ever， there are a lot of things ill-defined by the Penal Code<br >which for excellent reasons do not interest the police. To give<br >her an unofficial and largely spurious standing， she had a card<br >stating that her activities were known to and had the approval<br >of the undersigned Officer of Judicial Police. From the same<br >authority she had a licence to possess a pistol， which she was<br >supposed to carry， but very seldom did， when mixing with<br >dubious company.<br > All of this was the fruit of a conspiracy fomented by her<br >husband; one Arthur Davidson， sociologist by profession， one<br >of the numerous resident experts revolving in the orbit of the<br >Council of Europe， which has its home in Strasbourg. He dis-<br >liked the term criminology. Society， exactly like the human<br >body， has its pathological aspect.<br >411<br ><br >