GeorgesSimenon

MAIGRET GETS ANGRY

TranslatedbyRosSchwartz

Contents

TitlePage

Copyright

AbouttheAuthor

PraiseforGeorgesSimenon

1.TheOldLadyintheGarden

2.TheTaxCollector’sSecondSon

3.FamilyPortraitintheDrawingRoom

4.TheTopKennel

5.Maigret’sAccomplice

6.MimileandhisPrisoner

7.MadameMaigret’sChick

8.TheSkeletonintheCupboard

EXTRA:Chapter1fromMaigretinNewYork

PENGUINBOOKSAnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC375HudsonStreetNewYork,NewYork10014penguin.com

FirstpublishedinFrenchasMaigretsefâchebyPressesdelaCité1947Thistranslationfirstpublished2015

Copyright©1947byGeorgesSimenonLimitedTranslationcopyright©2015byRosSchwartzGEORGESSIMENON®Simenon.tmMAIGRET®GeorgesSimenonLimitedAllrightsreserved.

Penguinsupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguintocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.

Themoralrightsoftheauthorandtranslatorhavebeenasserted.

eBookISBN:9781101992449

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Version_1

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

GeorgesSimenonwasbornon12February1903inLiège,Belgium,anddiedin1989inLausanne,Switzerland,wherehehadlivedforthelatterpartofhislife.Between1931and1972hepublishedseventy-fivenovelsandtwenty-eightshortstoriesfeaturingInspectorMaigret.

Simenonalwaysresistedidentifyinghimselfwithhisfamousliterarycharacter,butacknowledgedthattheysharedanimportantcharacteristic:

Mymotto,totheextentthatIhaveone,hasbeennotedoftenenough,andI’vealwaysconformedtoit.It’stheoneI’vegiventooldMaigret,whoresemblesmeincertainpoints…‘understandandjudgenot’.

PenguinispublishingtheentireseriesofMaigretnovels.

PENGUINCLASSICS

MAIGRETGETSANGRY

‘IlovereadingSimenon.HemakesmethinkofChekhov’–WilliamFaulkner

‘Atrulywonderfulwriter…marvellouslyreadable–lucid,simple,absolutelyintunewiththeworldhecreates’

–MurielSpark

‘Fewwritershaveeverconveyedwithsuchasuretouch,thebleaknessofhumanlife’–A.N.Wilson

‘Oneofthegreatestwritersofthetwentiethcentury…Simenonwasunequalledatmakinguslookinside,thoughtheabilitywasmaskedbyhisbrillianceatabsorbingusobsessivelyinhisstories’

–Guardian

‘Anovelistwhoenteredhisfictionalworldasifhewerepartofit’–PeterAckroyd

‘Thegreatestofall,themostgenuinenovelistwehavehadinliterature’–AndréGide

‘Superb…Themostaddictiveofwriters…Auniquetelleroftales’–Observer

‘Themysteriesofthehumanpersonalityarerevealedinalltheirdisconcertingcomplexity’–AnitaBrookner

‘Awriterwho,morethananyothercrimenovelist,combinedahighliteraryreputationwithpopularappeal’–P.D.James

‘Asupremewriter…Unforgettablevividness’–Independent

‘Compelling,remorseless,brilliant’–JohnGray

‘Extraordinarymasterpiecesofthetwentiethcentury’–JohnBanville

1.TheOldLadyintheGarden

MadameMaigretsatshellingpeasinthewarmshade,theblueofherapronandthegreenofthepeapodsmakingrichsplashesofcolour.Herhandswereneverstill,eventhoughitwastwoo’clockintheafternoononthehottestdayofaswelteringAugust.Shewaskeepinganeyeonherhusbandasifhewereababe-in-arms.MadameMaigretwasanxious:‘Ibetyou’realreadygettingup.’AndyetthedeckchairinwhichMaigretlayhadn’tcreaked,norhadthe

formerdetectivechiefinspectorofthePoliceJudiciaireletoutthefaintestsigh.Probablybecausesheknewhimsowell,shehadseenhisfaceshinywith

sweatquiverimperceptibly.Shewasright,hewasabouttogetup.Butheforcedhimselftoremainhorizontaloutofasortofhumanrespect.ThiswasthesecondsummertheywerespendingintheirhouseinMeung-sur-

Loiresincehehadretired.Maigrethadensconcedhimselfcontentedlyinthecomfortablecanvaschair,puffingawaygentlyathispipe.Hesavouredthecoolnessoftheairaroundhimallthemoresinceonlytwometresaway,ontheothersideoftheboundarybetweenshadeandsunshine,itwasaninfernobuzzingwithflies.Thepeastumbledintotheenamelbasinataregularrhythm.Sittingwithher

kneesapart,MadameMaigrethadanapronful,andthereweretwobigbasketfulspickedthatmorningforbottling.WhatMaigretlovedmostabouthishousewasthisspotwheretheywere

sitting,aplacethathadnoname,asortofpartiallyroofedcourtyardbetweenthekitchenandthegardenwhichtheyhadgraduallyfurnished,evenputtinginan

ovenandadresser,andwheretheyatemostoftheirmeals.SlightlyreminiscentofaSpanishpatio,itwaspavedwithredfloortilesthatgavetheshadowsaveryspecialcharacter.Maigretheldoutforagoodfiveminutes,maybealittlelonger,gazingthrough

hishalf-closedeyelidsatthevegetablegardenthatseemedtobesteamingunderablisteringsun.Then,settingasideallhumanrespect,hegotup.‘Nowwhatareyougoingtodo?’Off-guardinthisdomesticintimacy,hisexpressionwasthatofasulkingchild

caughtmisbehaving.‘I’msuretheauberginesarecoveredinColoradobeetlesagain,’hegrumbled,

‘andthat’sbecauseofyourlettuces…’Thislittlebattleoverthelettuceshadbeengoingonforamonth.Since

MadameMaigrethadputherlettuceseedlingsinthegapsbetweentheaubergineplants.‘It’sapitytowastethespace,’shehadsaid.Atthatpoint,hehadnotprotested,becausehehadn’trealizedthatColorado

beetlesloveaubergineleavesevenmorethanpotatoes.Buthecouldn’tspraythemwithanarsenicmixturebecauseofthelettuces.Andtentimesaday,Maigret,wearinghishugestrawhat,wouldgoandbend

overthepale-greenleaves,ashewasdoingnow,turningthemovergentlytopickoffthelittlestripedinsects.Hekepttheminhislefthanduntilitwasfull,andthenhetossedthemintothebonfire,lookingdisgruntledanddartingadefiantglanceathiswife.‘Ifyouhadn’tplantedthoselettuces…’Thefactwasthatsincehehadretiredshehadn’tseenhimsitstillforanhour

inhisfamousdeckchair,whichhehadtriumphantlybroughtbackfromtheBazardel’Hôtel-de-Villeswearingthathewouldhavememorablesiestasinit.Therehewas,intheheatofthesun,barefootinhiswoodenclogs,hisblue

linentrousersridingdownhiships,makingthemlooklikeanelephant’shindquarters,andafarmer’sshirtwithanintricatepatternthatwasopenattheneck,revealinghishairychest.Heheardthesoundofthedoorknockerechoingthroughthedark,empty

roomsofthehouselikeabellinaconvent.Someonewasatthefrontdoor,and,

asalwayswhentherewasanunexpectedvisitor,MadameMaigretbecameflustered.Shelookedathimfromadistanceasiftoseekhisguidance.Sheliftedupherapron,whichformedahugepouch,wonderedwhattodo

withherpeas,thenfinallyuntiedthestrings,becauseshewouldnevergoandopenthedoorlookingunkempt.Theknockerclangedagain,twice,threetimes,imperiously,angrily,fromthe

soundofit.Maigretthoughthecouldmakeoutthegentlepurrofacarenginethroughthequiveringoftheair.Hecontinuedtotendhisaubergineswhilehiswifetidiedhergreyhairinfrontofafragmentofmirror.Shehadbarelydisappearedinsidethedarkhousewhenthelittlegreendoorin

thegardenwallthatledontothelane,andwasusedonlybypeopletheyknew,opened.Anelderlyladyinmourningappearedinthedoorway,sostiff,sosevere,andatthesametimesocomicalthathewouldrecallthesightofherforalongtime.Shestoodthereforonlyamoment,andthen,withabrisk,decisivestepthat

beliedhergreatage,shemarchedstraighttowardsMaigret.‘Isay,gardener…There’snopointtellingmethatyourmaster’snotathome

…Iknowforafactthatheishere.’Shewastallandthin,withacrinkledfacecakedinathicklayerofpowder

streakedwithsweat.Themoststrikingthingaboutherwasherextraordinarilylivelyeyesofanintenseblack.‘GoatonceandtellhimthatBernadetteAmorellehascomeahundred

kilometrestotalktohim.’Shecertainlyhadn’thadthepatiencetolingeratthefrontdoor.Shewouldnot

bekeptwaiting!Asshesaid,shehadaskedtheneighboursandhadnotbeendeterredbytheclosedshutters.Hadsomeonetoldheraboutthelittlegardendoor?Itwouldn’thavemattered,

shewascapableoffindingitforherself.AndnowshewaswalkingtowardstheshadycourtyardwhereMadameMaigrethadjustreappeared.‘KindlytellDetectiveChiefInspectorMaigret…’MadameMaigretwasbaffled.Herhusbandfollowedwithalumberingtread,

anamusedtwinkleinhiseye.Itwashewhosaid:‘Ifyouwouldliketotroubleyourselftocomein.’‘He’shavinganap,I’llwager.Ishestillasfat?’

‘Doyouknowhimwell?’‘Whatbusinessisitofyours?GoandtellhimthatBernadetteAmorelleis

hereandnevermindanythingelse.’Shehadsecondthoughts,rummagedinherbag,anoutmodedkind,ablack

velvetreticulewithasilverclasp,thesortthatwasfashionablearound1900.‘Here,’shesaid,profferingasmallbanknote.‘Forgivemefornotbeingabletoaccept,MadameAmorelle,butIamformer

DetectiveChiefInspectorMaigret.’Thenshesaidsomethinghilarious,whichwastogodownintheannalsofthe

Maigrethousehold.Lookinghimupanddownfromhisclogstohisdishevelledhair–forhehadremovedhishugestrawhat–sheproclaimed:‘Asyouwish…’PoorMadameMaigret!Shegesticulatedtoherhusband,buthedidn’tnotice.

Shewastryingtosignaldiscreetlytohimtotakethevisitorintothesittingroom.Onedoesn’tentertaininacourtyardthatservesasakitchenandeverythingelse.ButMadameAmorellehadsatherselfdowninalittlerattanarmchairwhere

shewasperfectlycomfortable.Itwasshewho,noticingMadameMaigret’snervousness,saidtoherimpatiently:‘Lettheinspectorbe!’SheallbutaskedMadameMaigrettoleavethem,whichisexactlywhatthe

latterdid,becauseshedidn’tdarecontinuewithhertaskinthepresenceofthevisitor,andshedidn’tknowwheretoputherself.‘Yourecognizemyname,don’tyou,inspector?’‘Amorelle,ofthesandquarriesandtug-boats?’‘AmorelleandCampois,yes.’HehadcarriedoutaninvestigationintheHauteSeineinthepast,andallday

longhehadwatchedconvoysofboatsgoingpastbearingthegreenAmorelleandCampoistriangle.WhenhewasbasedatQuaidesOrfèvres,heoftenusedtoglimpsetheofficesofAmorelleandCampois,quarryandshipowners,ontheÎleStLouis.‘Ihavenotimetowasteandyoumustunderstandme.Earlier,Itook

advantageofthefactthatmyson-in-lawanddaughterwereattheMaliks’totellFrançoistogettheoldRenaultgoing…Theydon’tsuspectanything…Theyprobablywon’tbehomebeforethisevening…Doyouunderstand?’

‘No…Yes…’Whathedidunderstandwasthattheelderlyladyhadsneakedout,unbeknown

toherfamily.‘IassureyouthatiftheyweretofindoutIwashere—’‘Excuseme,wherewereyou?’‘AtOrsenne,ofcourse,’sheanswered,thewayaqueenofFrancemighthave

said:‘AtVersailles!’Didn’teveryoneknow,shouldn’teveryoneknow,thatBernadetteAmorelle,of

AmorelleandCampois,livedatOrsenne,alittlehamletonthebanksoftheSeinebetweenCorbeilandtheforestofFontainebleau?‘There’snopointlookingatmeasifyouthinkI’mmad.They’llprobablytry

andhaveyoubelieveIam.Iassureyouit’snottrue.’‘Forgiveme,madame,butmayIaskyourage?’‘Youmay,youngman.I’llbeeighty-twoontheseventhofSeptember…but

myteethareallmyown,ifthat’swhatyou’relookingat…AndI’llprobablyoutlivethelotofthem…I’dbeveryhappytoseemyson-in-lawgotohisgrave.’‘Wouldyoulikesomethingtodrink?’‘Aglassofcoldwater,ifyouhavesome.’Hepouredithimself.‘WhattimedidyouleaveOrsenne?’‘Ateleventhirty…Assoonasthey’dgone…IhadalreadyaskedFrançois

…Françoisisthegardener’sboy,he’sagoodboy…Ihelpedhismotherbringhimintotheworld…Noneofthefamilyknowsthathecandriveanautomobile…OnenightwhenIcouldn’tsleep–Ishouldtellyou,inspector,thatIneversleep–IfoundhimtryinghishandatdrivingtheoldRenaultbymoonlight.Doesthisinterestyou?’‘Itdoesindeed.’‘Itdoesn’ttakemuch…TheoldRenault,whichwasn’teveninthegaragebut

inthestables,isalimousinethatbelongedtomylatehusband…Sincehediedtwentyyearsago,itmustbe…Well,theboysomehowmanagedtogetitgoingandwouldtakeitforaspinontheroadatnight.’‘Didhedriveyouhere?’‘He’swaitingformeoutside.’

‘Youhaven’thadlunch?’‘IeatwhenIhavetime…Ihatepeoplewhoconstantlyfeeltheneedtoeat.’Andshecouldn’thelpdartingadisapprovinglookatMaigret’spaunch.‘Lookhowyou’resweating.It’snoneofmybusiness…Myhusband,healso

insistedonhavinghisownwayandhe’sbeengoneforalongtime…You’vebeenretiredfortwoyearsnow,isn’tthatso?’‘Nearlytwoyears,yes.’‘Soyou’regettingbored…Youwillagreetomyproposal,then.There’sa

trainatfiveo’clockfromOrléans.Icoulddropyouoffatthestationonmywayback.Ofcourse,itwouldbeeasiertodriveyouallthewaytoOrsenne,butyouwouldnotgounnoticedandthewholethingwouldgowrong.’‘Forgiveme,madame,but—’‘Iknowyou’regoingtoprotest.ButIabsolutelyneedyoutocomeandspend

afewdaysatOrsenne.Fiftythousandifyou’resuccessful.And,ifyoufindnothing,let’ssaytenthousandplusyourexpenses.’Sheopenedherbagandtookoutawadofnotes.‘There’saninn.There’snochanceofmistakingitasit’stheonlyone.It’s

calledL’Ange.You’llbeextremelyuncomfortablethere,sincepoorJeanneishalf-crazy.AnotheroneIknewasababy.Shemightnotwanttoputyouup,butyou’llfindawayofwinningherover,I’msure.Juststarttalkingtoheraboutailments,andshe’llbehappy.She’sconvincedshe’sgotthemall.’MadameMaigretbroughtinatraywithsomecoffee,andtheelderlylady,

indifferenttothisgesture,rebuffedher:‘What’sthis?Whotoldyoutobringuscoffee?Takeitaway!’Shetookherforthemaid,asshehadmistakenMaigretforthegardener.‘Icouldtellyoulotsofstories,butIknowyourreputationandIknowthat

youarecleverenoughtofindthingsoutforyourself.Don’tbetakeninbymyson-in-law,that’smyonlypieceofadvice.Hehashoodwinkedeveryone.Heispolite,moresothananyoneyou’veevermet.He’ssickeninglypolite.Butonedayhisheadwillroll—’‘I’msorry,madame—’‘Stopsayingsorry,inspector.Ihadagranddaughter,justone,thedaughterof

thiswretchedMalik.Myson-in-lawiscalledMalik,thattooyoushouldknow.

CharlesMalik…Mygranddaughter,Monita,wouldhaveturnedeighteennextweek—’‘Youmeanshe’sdead?’‘Exactlysevendaysago.Weburiedherthedaybeforeyesterday.Shewas

founddrowned,ontheweirdownstream…And,whenBernadetteAmorelletellsyouthatitwasnoaccident,youcanbelieveit.Monitacouldswimlikeafish.Peoplewilltryandhaveyoubelievethatshewasreckless,thatsheusedtogoswimmingaloneatsixo’clockinthemorningandsometimesatnight.Thatwouldn’thavecausedhertodrown.Andiftheyinsinuatethatperhapsshewantedtocommitsuicide,youcantellthemthatthey’relying.’Theconversationhadswitchedabruptlyfromcomedytotragedy,butthe

curiousthingwasthattheoldlady’stoneremainedthatofcomedy.Shedidnotcry.Therewasn’tthehintofatearinherstartlinglyblackeyes.Herentiresharp,twitchybeingcontinuedtobeanimatedwiththesamevitality,which,inspiteofeverything,hadsomethingcomicalaboutit.Sheforgedon,pursuinghertrainofthoughtwithnoregardforcustomary

niceties.ShelookedatMaigretwithoutdoubtingforamomentthathewasallhers,simplybecausethatwaswhatshewanted.Shehadstolenawayinsecret,inadubiousautomobile,withakidwhocould

barelydrive,crossingtheentireBeauceregionintheheatoftheday,forgoinglunch.Now,shewaslookingatthetimeonanold-fashionednecklacewatchthatshewaswearing.‘Ifyouhaveanyquestions,bequick,’shecommanded,alreadypoisedtoget

up.‘Youdon’tlikeyourson-in-law,ifIunderstandcorrectly.’‘Ihatehim.’‘Doesyourdaughterhatehimtoo?Issheunhappywithhim?’‘Idon’tknowandIdon’tcare.’‘Don’tyougetonwithyourdaughter?’‘Iprefertoignoreher.Shehasnospine,nobloodinherveins.’‘Yousaythatsevendaysago,inotherwordslastTuesday,yourgranddaughter

drownedintheSeine.’‘Imostcertainlydidnot.You’dbetterlistenmorecarefullytowhatItellyou.

MonitawasfounddeadintheSeine,ontheweirdownstream.’

‘Butshehadnoinjuriesandthedoctorgavepermissionforthebodytobeburied?’Shemerelylookedathimwiththeutmostcontempt,withperhapsatouchof

pity.‘Youaretheonlyperson,Igather,whosuspectsthatthisdeathwasnot

natural.’Thistime,sherose.‘Listen,inspector.Youarereputedtobethecleverestpolicemaninthewhole

ofFrance.Atleasttheonewhohashadthemostsuccesses.Getdressed.Packyourbag.InhalfanhourI’mdroppingyouoffatLesAubraisstation.Byseveno’clockthisevening,you’llbeattheAubergedel’Ange.Itwouldbebestifweappearednottoknowoneanother.Everyday,ataroundmidday,FrançoiswillgoandhaveadrinkatL’Ange.Hedoesn’tusuallydrink,butI’llorderhimto.Sothatwecancommunicatewithoutarousingtheirsuspicions.’Shetookafewstepsinthedirectionofthegarden,determinednodoubttogo

forastrollwhilewaitingforhim,despitetheheat.‘Hurryup.’Then,turningaround:‘PerhapsyouwouldbesokindastohaveadrinkbroughtouttoFrançois.He

mustbeinthecar.Winemixedwithwater.Notpurewine,ashehastodrivemehome,andhe’snotusedtoit.’MadameMaigret,whomusthaveoverheardeverything,wasstandinginthe

hallbehindthedoor.‘Whatareyoudoing,Maigret?’sheaskedonseeinghimheadforthestaircase

withitscopperbanisterknob.Itwascoolinsidethehouse,wheretherewasapleasantsmellofwaxpolish,

cuthay,ripeningfruitandfoodsimmeringonthestove.IthadtakenMaigretfiftyyearstorediscoverthatsmell,thesmellofhischildhood,ofhisparents’house.‘You’renotgoingtogowiththatmadoldwoman,areyou?’Hehadlefthisclogsbythedoor.Hewalkedbarefootonthecooltiles,thenup

thepolishedoakstairs.‘Givethedriveradrink,thencomeupstairsandhelpmepack.’

Therewasalittletwinkleinhiseyes,alittletwinkleherecognizedasheshavedincoldwaterandlookedathimselfinthebathroommirror.‘Ireallydon’tunderstandyou,’sighedhiswife.‘Onlyacoupleofhoursago

youcouldn’trelaxbecauseofafewColoradobeetles.’

Thetrain.Hewashot.Hesatinhiscornerpuffingonhispipe.Thegrassontheembankmentswasyellow,thelittlestationswiththeirtubsofflowersflashedpast.Inthehazeoftheheatamanwavedhissmallredflagandblewawhistle,aschildrendo,lookingridiculous.Maigretwasgreyingatthetemples.Hewasalittlecalmer,alittleheavierthan

hehadbeen,buthedidnotfeelthathehadagedsinceretiringfromthePoliceJudiciaire.Itwasoutofvanity,orratherasortofmodesty,thatforthepasttwoyearshe

hadsystematicallyrefusedtotakeonanyofthejobshehadbeenoffered,especiallybybanks,insurancecompaniesandjewellers,whobroughthimtrickycases.AtQuaidesOrfèvrestheywouldhavesaid:‘PooroldMaigret’sgoingbacktohisoldways,he’salreadyboredwith

gardeningandfishing.’Andherehewas,havingallowedanoldwomanwhohadappearedthrough

thelittlegreendoortotwisthimroundherlittlefinger.Hepicturedhersittinguprightanddignifiedintheold-fashionedlimousine

drivenwithperilousnegligencebyaFrançoisstillwearinghisgardener’sclotheswhohadn’thadtimetoswaphisclogsforapairofshoes.Heheardhersaying,aftershehadseenMadameMaigretwavingfromthe

doorstepastheyleft:‘That’syourwife,isn’tit?ShemusthavebeenoffendedwhenItookherfor

thehousekeeper…AndIthoughtyouwerethegardener.’Andthecarsetoffonitsdaredeviljourney,havingdroppedMaigretoffatLes

AubraisstationinOrléans,whereFrançois,inthewronggear,hadnearlyreversedintoawholeclusterofbicycles.Itwastheholidayseason.Parisiansswarmedalloverthecountrysideandthe

woods,drivingfastcarsontheroadsandpaddlingcanoesontherivers,andtherewerefishermeninstrawboatersatthefootofeverywillowtree.

Orsennewasn’tastation,butahaltwheretheoccasionaltraincondescendedtostop.Throughthetreesinthevastgardenstheroofsoflargehousescouldbeglimpsed,andbeyondthemtheSeine,broadandmajesticatthisspot.MaigretwouldhavefoundithardtosaywhyhehadobeyedBernadette

Amorelle’sorders.PerhapsbecauseoftheColoradobeetles?Suddenly,hetoofeltasifhewereonholiday,justlikethepeoplehehadsat

amongonthetrain,thosehemetwalkingdownthesteeppath,thosehesaweverywheresincehehadleftMeung.Adifferentatmospherefromthatofhisgardenenvelopedhim.Hewalked

withalightstepamidhisnewsurroundings.Atthebottomoftheslopingpath,hecametotheSeineborderedbyatrackwideenoughforvehicletraffic.Fromthestation,Maigrethadfollowedthesignswitharrowsindicatingthe

Aubergedel’Ange.Heenteredagardenwithneglectedarbours,andfinallypushedopentheglassdoorofaverandawheretheairwassuffocatingbecauseofthesunshinestreaminginthroughtheglazedsides.‘Hello!’hecalled.Therewasonlyacatonacushiononthefloorandsomefishingrodsina

corner.‘Hello!’Hedescendedastepandfoundhimselfinaroomwherethecopperpendulum

ofanancientclockswunglazilytoandfro,clickingwitheachmovement.‘There’snooneinthisdump,’hemuttered.Justthensomeonestirred,closetowherehestood.Heshudderedandinthe

gloomcouldjustmakeoutapersonmoving.Itwasawomanwrappedinblankets,nodoubtthisJeannewhomMadameAmorellehadmentioned.Herdark,greasyhairhungdownoneithersideofherfaceandtherewasathickwhitecompressaroundherneck.‘We’reclosed!’shecroaked.‘Iknow,madame.Iheardyouwereunwell.’Ouch!Theword‘unwell’,ridiculouslyinadequate,wasaninsult.‘I’matdeath’sdoor,youmean!Nobodywillbelieveit…Peopleare

horrible.’Nevertheless,shefinishedshruggingofftheblanketcoveringherlegsandgot

toherfeet,herthickanklesswollenoverthetopsofherfeltslippers.

‘Whosentyouhere?’‘ItsohappensIcamehereoncebefore,morethantwentyyearsago,andthis

isasortofpilgrimagethat—’‘SoyouknewMarius?’‘OfcourseIdid!’‘PoorMarius…Youknowhedied?’‘SoIheard.Ifoundithardtobelieve.’‘Why?…Hewasn’tingoodhealtheither…It’sthreeyearssincehedied,

andhereIam,draggingon…Wereyouexpectingtosleephere?’Shehadspottedthesuitcasethathehadleftinthedoorway.‘Iwasplanningtospendafewdayshere,yes.AslongasI’mnotputtingyou

toanytrouble.Inyourcondition—’‘Haveyoucomefar?’‘FromtheOrléansarea.’‘Youdon’thaveacar?’‘No.Icamebytrain.’‘Andtherearenotrainsbacktoday.OhLord!OhLord!Raymonde!

Raymonde!…Ibetshe’soffgallivantingagain.I’mgoingtohavetohavewordswithher…Ifshe’lllisten…Becauseshecanbedifficult.She’sthemaid,butshetakesadvantageofmybeingunwelltodoasshepleasesandanyonewouldthinkshewastheoneincharge.Well,well,nowwhatdoeshewantaroundhere?’Shewaslookingoutofthewindowatamanwhosefootstepscouldbeheard

crunchingthegravel.Maigretwatchedhimtooandbegantofrown,forthenewcomervaguelyremindedhimofsomeone.Hewaswearingtenniswhitesorcountryattire,whiteflanneltrousers,awhite

jacketandshoes,butwhatstruckMaigretwashisblackcrepearmband.Hecamein,asifhewerearegular.‘Hello,Jeanne.’‘Whatdoyouwant,MonsieurMalik?’‘Icametoaskifyou—’Hestoppedmid-sentence,lookedstraightatMaigretandbrokeintoasmile,

saying:‘Jules!…WellInever!…Whatonearthareyoudoinghere?’

‘I’msorry?’Firstofall,ithadbeenyearsandyearssinceanyonehadcalledhimJules,to

theextentthathehadalmostforgottenhisfirstname.EvenhiswifewasinthehabitofcallinghimMaigret,whichhefoundamusing.‘Don’tyouremember?’‘No…’Yetthatruddyfacewithwell-definedfeatures,aprominentnose,cold,steely

eyes,wasnostrangertohim.ThenameMaliktoo,whenMadameAmorellehadutteredit,hadrungabellsomewhereinthebackofhismind.‘Ernest.’‘Ernestwho?’Hadn’tBernadetteAmorellespokenofaCharlesMalik?‘TheMoulinslycée.’MaigrethadbeenapupilatthelycéeinMoulinsforthreeyearswhenhis

fatherwastheestatemanageratachateauintheregion.Still…Curiously,althoughhismemorywasunreliable,hewascertainthatitwasan

unpleasantrecollectionthatthiswell-groomedface,thismanbrimmingwithself-confidence,stirredinhim.Whatwasmore,hedidnotlikehisover-friendlymanner.Hehadalwayshadahorroroffamiliarity.‘TheTaxCollector.’‘I’mwithyou,yes…Iwouldneverhaverecognizedyou.’‘Whatareyoudoinghere?’‘Me?I—’Malikburstoutlaughing.‘We’lltalkaboutitlater…IknewperfectlywellthatDetectiveChief

InspectorMaigretwasnoneotherthanmyoldpalJules.DoyouremembertheEnglishteacher?…Noneedtomakeuparoom,Jeanne.Myfriendwillstayatthehouse.’‘No!’protestedMaigret,annoyed.‘Eh?Whatdidyousay?’‘IsaidthatI’dstayhere…It’salreadybeenarrangedwithJeanne.’‘Areyousure?’‘Iinsist.’‘Becauseoftheoldwoman?’

‘Whatoldwoman?’AmischievoussmilehoveredonErnestMalik’sthinlips,thesmileofthe

schoolboyhehadoncebeen.HewasnicknamedtheTaxCollectorbecausehisfatherwasthetaxcollector

inMoulins.Hewasverythin,withahatchetfaceandlight-colouredeyes,ofanunappealinggrey.‘Don’tworry,Jules.You’llunderstandlater…Tellus,Jeanne,don’tbeafraid

tospeakyourmind.Ismymother-in-lawmad,yesorno?’AndJeanne,glidingnoiselesslyinherslippers,mutteredhalf-heartedly:‘I’drathernotgetinvolvedinyourfamilyaffairs.’ShewasalreadyviewingMaigretlesssympathetically,ifnotwithdistrust.‘Well,areyoustayinghereorareyougoingwithhim?’‘I’mstaying.’Malikwasstilllookingathisformerschoolmatemockingly,asifthiswereall

aprankbeingplayedonMaigret.‘You’regoingtohavealotoffun,Iassureyou…Ican’tthinkofanywhere

morelivelythantheAubergedel’Ange.Yousawtheangel,youweretakenin!’Didhesuddenlyrecallthathewasinmourning?Inanycase,hismanner

becamemoresolemnasheadded:‘Ifallthisweren’tsosad,we’dhaveagoodlaugh,thetwoofus…Comeup

tothehouseatleast.Yes,youmust!Youhaveto…I’llexplain…I’lltellyouoveranaperitifandyou’llgetthepicture.’Maigretwasstillintwominds.Hestoodrootedtothespot,massivecompared

tohiscompanion,whowasthesameheightashimbutunusuallyslim.‘I’llcome,’heeventuallysaid,somewhatreluctantly.‘You’lldinewithus,ofcourse?Ican’tpretendthehouseisverycheerfulat

themoment,afterthedeathofmyniece,but…’Astheyleft,MaigretglimpsedJeanne,whosatwatchingthemfromadark

corner.AndhehadtheimpressionthattherewashatredinthelookthatsheallowedtorestonErnestMalik’selegantform.

2.TheTaxCollector’sSecondSon

Asthetwomenwalkedalongtheriverbank,theymusthavegiventheimpressionthatonehadtheotheronaleash,asifthelatter,surlyandclumsy,waslettinghimselfbedraggedalonglikeabig,shaggydog.AndthetruthisthatMaigretwasill-at-ease.Already,intheirschooldays,he

hadhadnofondnessfortheTaxCollector.Whatwasmore,heabhorredthosepeoplefromthepastwhosuddenlypopupandgiveyouafriendlytapontheshoulderandtreatyouwithfamiliarity.Inshort,ErnestMalikwasthetypewhohadalwaysmadehishacklesrise.MeanwhileMalikwalkednonchalantly,relaxedinhisimmaculatelycutwhite-

flannelsuit,hispersonwellgroomed,hishairlustrousandhisskindrydespitetheheat.Hewasalreadyplayingthelordofthemanorshowingacountrybumpkinaroundhisestate.Therewasasardonicglintinhiseyes,astherealwayshadbeen,evenwhenhe

wasaboy,afurtiveglintthatsaid:‘I’vegotyouandI’llgetyouagain…I’msomuchsmarterthanyou!’TheSeine,ontheirleft,meanderedlazilyandwasverywideatthispoint,

fringedwithreeds.Ontheirright,lowwalls,someofthemveryancient,othersalmostnew,separatedthetowpathfromthehouses.Theywerefew:fourorfive,asfarasMaigretcouldtell.Theylookedopulent,

setinextensive,wellmaintainedgrounds,thepathsvisiblethroughthemetalrailings.‘Thishousebelongstomymother-in-law,whomyouhadthepleasureof

meetingtoday,’announcedMalikastheyreachedabiggatewithpilasters

surmountedbystonelions.‘OldAmorelleboughtit,somefortyyearsago,fromaSecondEmpirefinancemagnate.’Avastedificeappeared,surroundedbytrees.Itwasnotparticularlyattractive,

butsolidandaffluent.Tinyrevolvingsprinklerswerewateringthelawns,whileanelderlygardenerwholookedasifhewasoutofaseedmerchant’scataloguewasrakingthepaths.‘WhatdoyouthinkofBernadetteAmorelle?’askedMalik,turningtohis

formerschoolmateandlookinghimstraightintheeye,hisgazetwinklingwithmischief.Maigretmoppedhisforehead.Malikseemedtobesaying:‘Pooroldthing,

youhaven’tchanged.You’restilltheclumsysonofanestatemanager!Abigcountryoaf.Fullofnaivetyandperhapssomecommonsense!’Andoutloud:‘Keepgoing…Ilivealittlefurtheron,afterthebend.Doyouremembermy

brother?…True,youdidn’tknowhimatschool,becausehe’sthreeyearsyoungerthanus.MybrotherCharlesmarriedoneoftheAmorellegirlsacoupleofyearsafterImarriedtheeldest…Helivesinthishouseinthesummerwithhiswifeandourmother-in-law.It’shisdaughterwhodiedlastweek.’Ahundredmetresfurtheron,theypassedagleamingwhitepontoon,as

luxuriousasthoseoftheprestigiousyachtclubsonthebanksoftheSeine.‘Thisisthebeginningofmyestate…Ihaveafewsmallboats,becauseaman

hastohavesomefuninthisgodforsakenhole…Doyousail?’WhatironyinhisvoiceasheaskedtheburlyMaigretifhesailedinoneof

thosefrailbarquesthatcouldbeseenbetweenthemooringbuoys!‘Thisway…’Railingstoppedwithgiltarrows.Aglisteningwhite-sanddrive.Thegardens

slopedgentlyandsoonamodernbuildingcameintoview,muchbiggerthantheAmorelles’house.Tenniscourtstotheleft,darkredinthesunshine.Aswimmingpooltotheright.AndMalik,increasinglyoffhand,likeaprettywomanplayingcarelesslywith

ajewelworthmillions,seemedtobesaying:‘Lookclosely,yougreatoaf,thisistheMaliks’place.Yes,youngMalikscornfullynicknamedtheTaxCollectorbecausehisdaddyspenthisdaysbehindagrilleinadrearyoffice.’

TwohugeGreatDanescameandlickedhishandsandheacceptedthismeekhomage,appearingnottonotice.‘Wecanhaveanaperitifontheterraceifyoulikewhilewewaitforthedinner

gong…MysonmustbeboatingontheSeine…’Behindthehouse,adriverinshirt-sleeveswashosingapowerfulAmerican

carwithgleamingchrometrims.Theyclimbedthestepsandsettledthemselvesinwiderattanarmchairs,like

clubchairs,underaredsunshade.Abutlerinawhitejackethurriedover,reinforcingMaigret’sfeelingthathewasataluxuryhotelinaspatownratherthanaprivateresidence.‘Rosé?…Martini?…Manhattan?…What’syourfavouritetipple,Jules?If

whatthepaperssayaboutyouistrue,youlikeabeeratthebar?…SorrytosayIhaven’tputabarinhereyet…Oneday,maybe…Thatwouldbequitefun.TwoMartinis,Jean!You’reverywelcometosmokeyourpipe.Wherewerewe?Ohyes!…Mybrotherandmysister-in-lawareofcourseprettydevastatedbythisbusiness…Theyonlyhadtheonedaughter,yousee.Mysister-in-lawhasneverenjoyedgoodhealth…’WasMaigretlistening?Ifhewas,hewasn’tawareofit.Andyet,Malik’s

wordsautomaticallyetchedthemselvesinhismemory.Ensconcedinhischair,hiseyeshalf-closed,awarmpipebetweenhissullen

lips,hegazedvaguelyatthescenery,whichwasverybeautiful.Thesettingsunwasturningred.Fromtheterracewheretheyweresitting,theycouldseetheentireloopoftheSeine,theoppositebankedgedbywoodedhillsideswhereaquarrymadeacrudewhitegash.Afewwhitesailsweremovingoverthedark,silkenwater,afewvarnished

canoesglidedslowly,amotor-boatbuzzed,andafterithadvanishedintothedistance,thenoiseofitsenginestillhungintheair.Thebutlerhadsetdowninfrontofthemcrystalglasseswhichmistedover.‘Thismorning,Iinvitedbothofthemtospendthedayhereatthehouse.No

pointinvitingmymother-in-law.She’sawomanwholoathesfamilyandwhohasbeenknowntostayshutupinherroomforweeksonend.’Hissmileproclaimed:‘Youcan’tunderstand,poor,overweightMaigret.

You’reusedtolittlepeoplewholeadordinarylittlelivesandwhocan’tpermitthemselvestheslightesteccentricity.’

AnditwastruethatMaigretdidnotfeelathomeinthismilieu.Thedecoritselfirritatedhim–itwastooharmonious,itslinestoosmooth.Heevencametohatetheneattenniscourtandtheoverfeddriverhehadseenpolishingthesumptuouscar–anditwasn’tenvybecausehewasn’tthatsmall-minded.Thepontoon,withitsdivingboards,thelittleboatsmooredaroundit,theswimmingpool,theprunedtreesandtheimmaculatewhite-sandpathsallbelongedtoaworldhewasreluctanttoenterandwhichmadehimfeelawkwardandheavy.‘I’mtellingyouallthistoexplainwhyIturnedupatthegoodJeanne’searlier.

WhenIsay“thegoodJeanne”,it’samannerofspeaking,becauseshe’sactuallythemostdeceitfulcreatureonthisearth.Whenherhusbandwasalive,herMarius,sheusedtobeunfaithfultohimallthetime.Nowthathe’sdead,shelamentshimfromdawntodusk.‘Somybrotherandmysister-in-lawwerehere.Whenwewereabouttosit

downtolunch,mysister-in-lawrealizesthatshe’sforgottenherpills.She’sonmedication.Hernerves,shesays.Ioffertogoandfetchthem.Insteadofgoingviatheroad,Igothroughthegardenssinceourpropertiesareadjacent.‘Ihappentolookdown.AsIwalkpasttheoldstables,Inoticetyretracks.I

openthedoorandI’mflabbergastedtoseethatmylatefather-in-law’soldlimousinehasgone…‘That,myfriend,ishowIendedupmeetingyou.Italkedtothegardener,who

admittedthathisboyhadgoneoffanhourearlierwiththecarandthatBernadettehadbeenwithhim.‘Whentheygothome,Icalledtheboytomeandquestionedhim.Ifoundout

thathehadgonetoMeung-sur-LoireandthathehaddroppedafatmanwithasuitcaseatLesAubraisstation.Apologies,oldfriend.Hiswords,notmine.‘Iimmediatelythoughtthatmycharmingmother-in-lawhadgonetotalkto

someprivatedetective,becauseshehaspersecutionmaniaandshe’sconvincedthatthere’ssomethingsinisterbehindhergranddaughter’sdeath.‘IconfessIdidn’tthinkofyou…IknewthattherewasaMaigretinthe

police,butIwasn’tsurethatitwastheJulesIwasatschoolwith.‘Whatdoyouhavetosayaboutthat?’AndMaigretreplied:‘Nothing.’

Hesaidnothing.Hewasthinkingabouthishousethatwassodifferent,abouthisgardenwithitsaubergines,aboutthepeasdroppingintotheenamelbasin,andhewonderedwhyhehadmeeklyfollowedthedictatorialoldladywhohadliterallykidnappedhim.Hewasthinkingaboutthetrain,hummingwithheat,hisformerofficeatQuai

desOrfèvres,aboutallthescumhehadinterrogated,aboutthemanylittlebars,insalubrioushotels,improbableplaceswherehisinvestigationshadtakenhim.Hewasthinkingaboutallthatandhewasallthemorefurious,moreannoyed

atbeingthere,inahostileenvironment,undertheTaxCollector’ssardonicgaze.‘Later,ifyoulike,I’llgiveyouaguidedtourofthehouse.Idrewtheplans

myselfwiththearchitect.Ofcourse,wedon’tlivehereallyearround,onlyinsummer.IhaveanapartmentinParis,AvenueHoche.I’vealsoboughtahousethreekilometresoutsideDeauville,andwewentthereinJuly.InAugust,withallthecrowds,theseasideisimpossible.Now,ifyoufancyit,I’dbedelightedtoinviteyoutospendafewdayswithus.Doyouplaytennis?Doyouride?’Whydidn’theaskhimifheplayedgolftooandwhetherhewater-skied?‘Mindyou,ifyouattachtheslightestimportancetowhatmymother-in-law

toldyou,Iwouldn’tdreamofgettinginthewayofyourlittleinvestigation.Iplacemyselfatyourserviceandifyouneedacarandadriver…Ah!Here’smywife.’Sheemergedfromthehouse,alsodressedinwhite.‘LetmeintroduceMaigret,anoldschoolfriend…Mywife…’Sheextendedapale,limphandattheendofapalearm.Everythingabouther

waspale–herfaceandherhairthatwasatoo-lightblonde.‘Dopleasesitdown,monsieur.’Whatwasitaboutherthatexudedasenseofunease?Perhapsthefactthatshe

seemedsomehowabsent?Hervoicewasneutral,soimpersonalthatonewonderedwhetheritwasshewhohadspoken.Shesatdowninabigarmchair,givingtheimpressionthatshemightjustaswellhavebeensomewhereelse.Andyetshegaveherhusbandadiscreetsignal,whichhedidn’tunderstand.Sheraisedhereyestowardsthesingleupperfloor,andsaid:‘It’sGeorges-Henry.’Then,frowning,Malikrose,sayingtoMaigret:‘Wouldyouexcusemeforaminute?’

Theysatthere,stillandsilent,thewifeandtheinspector,andthensuddenly,fromupstairs,arumpusbrokeout.Adoorwasflungopen.Rapidfootsteps.Oneofthewindowsbangedshut.Muffledvoices.Theechoesofanargument,mostlikely,orinanycase,afairlyheatedexchange.AllthatMadameMalikcouldfindtosaywas:‘You’veneverbeentoOrsennebefore?’‘No,madame.’‘It’squiteprettyifyoulikethecountryside.It’sveryrestful,isn’tit?’Andthewayshepronouncedtheword‘restful’gaveitaveryparticular

emphasis.Shewassolistless,sowearyperhaps,orhadsuchlittlelifeinher,herbodyabandoneditselfwithsuchinertiaintherattanchairthatshewasthepictureofrestfulness,eternalrest.Andyetshewaslisteningoutforthenoisesupstairs,whichweresubsiding

and,whenallwasquiet,shesaid:‘Iunderstandyou’rehavingdinnerwithus?’Well-brought-upasshewas,shewasunabletoappearpleased,evenoutof

merepoliteness.Itwasastatement.Therewasanoteofregretinhervoice.Malikcameback,and,whenMaigretlookedathim,heonceagainputonhispinchedsmile.‘Willyouexcuseme?…There’salwaystroublewiththeservants.’Theywaitedforthedinnergongwithacertainawkwardness.Inhiswife’s

presence,Malikseemedlessrelaxed.‘Jean-Claudeisn’tbackyet?’‘IthinkIcanseehimonthepontoon.’Ayoungmaninshortshadjuststeppedoffalightsailingboatwhichhetied

upbeforewalkingslowlytowardsthehouse,hissweateroverhisarm.Justthen,thegongsounded,andtheymovedintothediningroom,wheretheywouldsoonbejoinedbyErnestMalik’seldestsonJean-Claude,washed,combedanddressedingreyflannel.‘IfIhadknownsoonerthatyouwerecomingIwouldhaveinvitedmybrother

andmysister-in-law,sothatyoucouldmeettheentirefamily.I’llaskthemtomorrow,ifyoulike,aswellasourneighbours–wedon’thavemany.Ourplaceiswhereweallgettogether…Therearenearlyalwaysguests…Peoplecomeandgo,theymakethemselvesathome.’

Thediningroomwasvastandsumptuous.Thetablewasofpink-veinedmarbleandthecutlerywasplacedonlittleindividualtablemats.‘Inshort,fromwhatthepapershavesaidaboutyou,youhadquitea

successfulcareerinthepolice?Strangeprofession.I’veoftenwonderedwhatmakesapersonbecomeapoliceman,atwhatpointandhowtheyfeelthatistheirvocation.Because,well—’Hiswifewasmoreabsentthanever.MaigretwatchedJean-Claude,whothe

minutehethoughtnoonewaslookingathim,scrutinizedtheinspectorclosely.Theyoungmanwasascoldasthemarbleofthetable.Agedaroundnineteen

ortwenty,healreadyhadhisfather’sself-assurance.Itwouldtakealottoshakehim,andyettherewasasenseofuneaseabouthim.Theydidn’tspeakofMonita,whohaddiedthepreviousweek.Perhapsthey

preferrednottodiscussherinfrontofthebutler.‘Yousee,Maigret,’Malikwassaying,‘atschool,youwereallblind,thelotof

you,andyouhadnoideawhatyouweresayingwhenyoucalledmetheTaxCollector.Therewereafewofus,youremember,whoweren’twelloff,andweremoreorlessexcludedbythesonsofthelocalsquiresandthewealthy.Someboyswereupsetbythis,butothers,likeyou,wereindifferent.‘TheynicknamedmetheTaxCollectoroutofcontempt,andyetthat’swhere

mystrengthlies.‘Ifyoukneweverythingthatpassesthroughataxcollector’shands!I’veseen

thedirtylinenoftheoutwardlymostreputablefamilies…I’vewitnessedthedodgydealingsofthosewhogrewrich.I’veseenthosewhoroseupandthosewhofell,eventhosewhotumbledtotheverybottom,andIbegantostudythewayitallworked…‘Thesocialmechanismifyoulike.Whypeopleriseandwhytheyfall.’Hespokewithascornfulpride,inthesumptuousdiningroomwhosedecor

wasreflectedinthewindows,echoinghissuccess.‘I’moneofthepeoplewhorose…’Thefoodwasundoubtedlyofthehighestquality,butMaigrethadnolikingfor

thosecomplicatedlittledisheswithsaucesinvariablystuddedwithtruffleshavingsorcrayfishtails.Thebutlerkeptleaningovertofilloneoftheglasseslinedupinfrontofhim.

Theskywasturninggreenononeside,acold,almostgrassgreen,andredontheother,withpurplestreaksandscatteredcloudsofaninnocentwhite.AfewcanoeslingeredontheSeine,wheretheoccasionalfishwouldleapup,makingaseriesofslowloops.Malikmusthavehadkeenhearing,askeenasMaigret,whoalsoheard.And

yetitwasbarelyaudible,thesilenceoftheeveningalonemagnifiedtheslightestsound.Ascratchingatfirst,asifatafirst-floorwindow,fromthesidewhere,earlier,

beforedinner,therehadbeenoutburstsofshouting.Thenafaintthudcomingfromthegarden.Malikandhissonlookedateachother.MadameMalikhadn’tbattedaneyelid

butmerelycarriedonraisingherforktohermouth.Malikwhippedoffhisnapkin,putitonthetableandracedoutside,litheand

silentinhiscrepe-soledshoes.Thebutlerseemednomoresurprisedbythisincidentthanthemistressofthe

house.ButJean-Claude,ontheotherhand,hadturnedslightlyred.Andnowhewascastingaroundforsomethingtosay.Heopenedhismouthandstammeredafewwords:‘Myfatherisstillspryforhisage,isn’the?’Withexactlythesamesmileashisfather.Inotherwords:‘Something’sgoingon,obviously,butit’snoneofyourbusiness.Justcarryon

eatinganddon’ttakeanynoticeoftherest.’‘Heregularlybeatsmeattennis,eventhoughI’mnottoobadaplayer.He’s

anextraordinaryman.’WhydidMaigretrepeat,staringathisplate:‘Extraordinary…’Someonehadbeenlockedinupthere,inoneofthebedrooms,thatwasclear.

Andthatsomeonecouldnothavebeenhappytobeshutuplikethat,since,beforedinner,Malikhadhadtogoupstairstoreprimandhim.Thatsamesomeonehadtriedtotakeadvantageofthemealtime,whenthe

entirefamilywasinthediningroom,torunaway.Hehadjumpedontothesoftflowerbedplantedwithhortensiasthatsurroundedthehouse.ItwasthatdullsoundofsomeonelandingontheearththatMalikhadheardat

thesametimeasMaigret.

Andhehadracedoutside.Itmustbeserious,seriousenoughtomakehimbehaveinawaythatwasstrange,tosaytheleast.‘Doesyourbrotherplaytennistoo?’askedMaigret,lookingupandgazingat

theyoungmanopposite.‘Whydoyouaskthat?No,mybrotherisn’tsporty.’‘Howoldishe?’‘Sixteen…He’sjustfailedhisbaccalaureate,andmyfatherisfurious.’‘Isthatwhyhelockedhiminhisroom?’‘Probably…Georges-Henryandmyfatherdon’talwaysgetalongtoowell.’‘Youontheotherhandmustgetalongverywellwithyourfather,isthat

right?’‘Fairlywell.’Maigrethappenedtoglanceatthehandofthemistressofthehouseandwas

astonishedtoseethatshewasgrippingherknifesohardthatherknuckleshadabluishtinge.Thethreeofthemsatthere,waiting,whilethebutlerchangedtheplatesonce

again.Theairwasstillerthanever,sostillthatyoucouldheartheslightestrustleoftheleavesinthetrees.Whenhehadregainedhisfootinginthegarden,Georges-Henryhadsetoffat

arun.Inwhichdirection?NottowardstheSeine,forhewouldhavebeenseen.Behindthehouse,atthebottomofthegarden,wastherailwayline.TotheleftwerethegroundsoftheAmorelleresidence.Thefathermustberunningafterhisson.AndMaigretcouldnothelpsmiling

asheimaginedMalik,doubtlessdrivenbyrage,forcedintothisthanklesschase.Theyhadhadthecheese,andthedessert.Itwasthemomentwhentheyshould

haveleftthetableandmovedintothedrawingroomorontotheterrace,whereitwasstilldaylight.Glancingathiswatch,Maigretsawthatitwastwelveminutessincethemasterofthehousehadrushedoutside.MadameMalikdidnotrise.Hersonwastryingdiscreetlytoremindherofher

dutywhenfootstepswereheardintheadjacenthall.ItwasMalik,withhissmile,aslightlytensesmileallthesame,andthefirst

thingMaigretnoticedwasthathehadchangedhistrousers.Thispairwaswhiteflanneltoo,butclearlyfreshoutofthewardrobe,thecreasestillimmaculate.

HadMalikgotcaughtinsomebramblesduringhischase?Orhadhewadedacrossastream?Hehadn’thadtimetogofar.Hisreappearancewasstillarecord,forhewas

notoutofbreath,hisgreyhairhadbeencarefullyslickedback,andnothinginhisdresswasoutofplace.‘Ihavearascalof—’Thesontookafterhisfather,forheinterruptedhimwithallthenaturalnessin

theworld:‘Georges-Henryagain,I’llbet?Iwasjusttellingtheinspectorthathefailed

hisbaccalaureateandthatyouhadlockedhiminhisroomtomakehimstudy.’Malikdidn’tfalter,showednosatisfaction,noadmirationforthisadroit

rescue.Andyetitwasasmartmove.Theyhadjustsenttheballbackandforthasdeftlyasinagameoftennis.‘Nothankyou,Jean,’saidMaliktothebutler,whowastryingtoservehim.‘If

madamesowishes,we’llgooutontotheterrace.’Thentohiswife:‘Unlessyoufeeltired?…InwhichcasemyfriendMaigretwon’tbeoffended

ifyouretire.Withyourpermission,Jules?…Thesepastfewdayshavebeenagreatstrainforher.Shewasveryfondofherniece.’Whatwasitthatgrated?Thewordswereordinary,thetonebanal.Andyet

Maigrethadthesensethathewasuncovering,orrathergettingawhiffof,somethingdisturbingormenacingbehindeachsentence.Erectnowinherwhitedress,MadameMalikgazedatthem,andMaigret,

withoutknowingexactlywhy,wouldnothavebeensurprisedifshehadcollapsedontheblackandwhitemarblefloortiles.‘Ifyoudon’tmind,’shestammered.Sheextendedherhandoncemore,whichhebrushedandfoundcold.The

threemensteppedthroughtheFrenchwindowsontotheterrace.‘Cigarsandbrandy,Jean,’orderedthemasterofthehouse.AndturningtoMaigret,heaskedpoint-blank:‘Areyoumarried?’‘Yes.’‘Children?’‘Ihavenothadthatgoodfortune.’

AcurlingofMalik’slipthatdidnotescapeJean-Claude,butwhichdidn’tshockhim.‘Sitdownandhaveacigar!’Jeanhadbroughtoutseveralboxes,HavanaandManilacigars,several

decantersofspiritstoo,ofvariousshapes.‘Theyoungestone,yousee,islikehisgrandmother.There’snotahintof

Malikabouthim.’Onethingthathinderedtheconversation,thatirkedMaigret,wasthathe

couldn’treconcilehimselftotheoverlyfamiliartoneofhisformerschoolmate.‘So,MonsieurMalik,didyoucatchhim?’heaskedhesitantly.AndMalikmisinterpretedhisformality.Itwasfatal.Therewasaglimmerof

satisfactioninhiseyes.Heclearlythoughtthattheformerchiefinspectorwasintimidatedbyhiswealthanddidnotdarecallhimbyhisfirstname.‘YoucancallmeErnest,’hesaidcondescendingly,rollingacigarbetweenhis

long,manicuredfingers.‘Wewereschoolmatesafterall…No,Ididn’tcatchhimandIhadnointentionofdoingso.’Hewaslying.Itwasenoughtohaveseenthewayhehadracedoutofthe

room.‘Isimplywantedtoknowwherehewasgoing…He’sveryhighlystrung,as

sensitiveasagirl.‘WhenIlefttheroomforamoment,earlier,Iwentuptohisroomtoscold

him.IwasquiteharshwithhimandI’malwaysworried…’DidhereadinMaigret’seyesthathewasthinkingofMonita,makinga

connectionwiththegirlwhohaddrownedandwhowasalsohighlystrung?Probably,becausehehastenedtoadd:‘Oh!It’snotwhatyouthink.Heloveshimselftoomuchtodothat!Buthe

doesrunawaysometimes.Once,hewentmissingforaweekandwasfoundbychanceonabuildingsitewherehehadjustbeenhired.’Theeldestboylistenedwithindifference.Hewasonhisfather’sside,thatwas

obvious.Hehadadeepcontemptforthisbrothertheyweretalkingaboutandwhotookafterhisgrandmother.‘AsIknewhehadnopocketmoney,IfollowedhimandI’mrelieved…He

simplywenttoseeoldBernadetteandisprobablycryingonhershoulderaswespeak.’

Darknesswasfalling,andMaigrethadtheimpressionthatMalikwaslessconcernedabouthisownfacialexpressions.Hisfeatureshardened,hisgazebecameevensharper,withoutthatironythattempereditsfiercenessalittle.‘AreyouabsolutelysureaboutsleepingatJeanne’s?Icouldsendaservantto

goandcollectyourluggage.’ThisinsistencedispleasedMaigret,whointerpreteditasathreat.Perhapshe

waswrong?Perhapsitwashisilltempercounsellinghim?‘I’llgoandsleepatL’Ange,’hesaid.‘Willyouacceptmyinvitationfortomorrow?You’llmeetsomeinteresting

peoplehere.Therearen’tmanyofus.Sixhousesintotal,includingtheformerchateauacrosstheriver.Buttherearesomerealcharacters!’Andonthatnote,ashotwasheardcomingfromthedirectionoftheriver.

Maigretdidn’thaveachancetoreactbeforehiscompanionexplained:‘OldGrouxshootingwoodpigeon.Aneccentricwhomyou’llmeettomorrow.

Heownsthatentirehillthatyoucansee–orwouldbeabletoseeifitweren’tdark–ontheoppositesideoftheriver.HeknowsIwanttobuyit,andfortwentyyearshe’sbeenrefusingtosell,eventhoughhehasn’tgotacenttohisname.’Whyhadhisvoicedropped,likesomeonewhoissuddenlystruckbyanew

ideamid-sentence?‘Canyoufindyourwayback?Jean-Claudewillseeyoutothegate.Willyou

lockup,Jean-Claude?FollowthetowpathandaftertwohundredmetrestakethelittlewoodlandpaththatgoesstraighttoL’Ange…Ifyoulikestories,you’llhaveyourfill,becauseoldJeanne,whosuffersfrominsomnia,isprobablyalreadywatchingoutforyouandwillgiveyouyourmoney’sworth,especiallyifyousympathizewithherwoesandtakepityonhermanyailments.’Hedrainedhisglassandstoodup,signallingthattheeveningwasover.‘Seeyoutomorrow,aroundmidday.I’mcountingonyou.’Heheldoutastrong,dryhand.‘It’sfunnybumpingintooneanotheraftersomanyyears…Goodnight,my

friend.’Aslightlypatronizing,distant‘goodnight,myfriend’.Already,asMaigretdescendedthestepsaccompaniedbytheeldestson,Malik

hadvanishedinsidethehouse.

Therewasnomoonandthenighthadgrownquitedark.AsMaigretwalkedalongthetowpath,heheardtheslow,repetitiveplashingofapairofoars.Avoicehissed:‘Stop!’Thenoiseceased,givingwaytoanother,thatofacastingnetbeingthrown

overtheside.Poachers,mostlikely.Hecontinuedonhisway,smokinghispipe,hishandsstuffedinhispockets,

annoyedwithhimselfandwiththeothersandwondering,inshort,whathewasdoingthereinsteadofbeingathome.HepassedthewallenclosingtheAmorelles’garden.Ashewalkedpastthe

gate,henoticedalightatoneofthewindows.Nowonhisleftweredarkbushesamongwhich,alittlefurtheron,hewouldfindthepathleadingtooldJeanne’splace.Suddenly,therewasasharpsnapfollowedimmediatelybyafaintnoiseonthe

groundafewmetresaheadofhim.Hefroze,nervous,eventhoughitsoundedliketheshotearlier,whenMalikhadtoldhimaboutanoldeccentricwhospenthiseveningshuntingwoodpigeon.Allwassilent.Buttherehadbeensomeone,notfarfromhim,probablyonthe

Amorelles’wall,someonewhohadshotwitharifleandwhohadnotbeenfiringintheair,atsomewoodpigeonsittingonabranch,buttowardstheground,towardsMaigretashewalkedpast.Hescowled,amixofilltemperandsatisfaction.Heclenchedhisfists,

furious,andyethefeltrelieved.Hepreferredthis.‘Scoundrel!’hegrumbledsoftly.Therewasnopointinlookingforhisattacker,inrushingafterhimasMalik

haddoneearlier.Hewouldn’tfindanythinginthedarkandhemighttripandfallstupidlyintoahole.Hekeptgoing,hishandsstillinhispockets,hispipebetweenhisteeth.His

pacedidnotfalterforaninstant,hisburlyframeanddeliberatelyslowtreaddisplayinghiscontempt.HereachedL’Angeafewminuteslaterwithoutbeingusedasatargetagain.

3.FamilyPortraitintheDrawingRoom

Itwas9.30andMaigretwasnotupyet.Forsometimenowthenoisesfromoutsidehadbeenfilteringinthroughthewide-openwindow–thecluckingofthehensscratchingaroundinthemuckinacourtyard,adog’schainrattling,theinsistenthootingofthetug-boatsandthemoremuffledthrobbingofthebargeengines.Maigrethadahangover,andevenwhathewouldhavecalledastinking

hangover.NowheknewthesecretofoldJeanne,theownerofL’Ange.Thepreviouseveningwhenhe’dgotback,she’dstillbeeninthediningroom,sittingbytheclockwiththecopperpendulum.Malikhadbeenrighttowarnhimthatshewouldbewaitingupforhim.Butitwasprobablynotsomuchthatshewantedtotalk,buttodrink.‘Shecanknockitback,allright!’hesaidtohimself,stillhalf-asleep.He

didn’tdarewakeuptooabruptlyforfearofthethumpingheadacheheknewlayinwaitforhim.Heshouldhaverealizedimmediately.HehadknownotherwomenlikeJeanne

who,afterthechangeoflife,havelostallinterestintheirappearanceanddragthemselvesaround,miserable,moaningandgroaning,theirfaceshinyandtheirhairgreasy,complainingofeveryailmentunderthesun.‘I’dlovealittledrink,’he’dsaid,sittingdownbesideher,orratherstraddling

achair.‘Whataboutyou,MadameJeanne?…WhatcanIpouryou?’‘Nothing,monsieur.I’dbetternotdrink.Everything’sbadforme.’‘Atinyliqueur?’

‘Allright,justtokeepyoucompany…AKummel,then.Wouldyouliketopouroneforyourself?…Thebottlesareontheshelf.Mylegsareveryswollenthisevening.’SoKummelwashertipple,thatwasall.Andhetoohaddrunkthecaraway-

flavouredliqueuroutofpoliteness.Hestillfeltnauseous.HesworehewouldnevertouchanotherdropofKummelaslongashelived.Howmanylittleglasseshadshesurreptitiouslydrained?Shetalked,inher

complainingvoiceatfirst,andthenbecomingmoreanimated.Fromtimetotime,lookingelsewhere,shewouldgrabthebottleandpourherselfaglass.UntilMaigretcaughtonandfoundhimselfrefillinghisglasseverytenminutes.Strangeevening.Themaidhadlongsincegonetobed.Thecatwascurledup

inMadameJeanne’slap,thependulumswungtoandfrobehindtheglassdoorofthegrandfatherclock,andthewomantalked,firstofallaboutMarius,herdeceasedhusband,andthenaboutherself,agirlfromagoodfamilywhohadfollowedMariusandmissedoutonmarryinganofficerwhohadsincebecomeageneral.‘Hecameherewithhiswifeandchildren,threeyearsagonow,afewdays

beforeMariusdied.Hedidn’trecognizeme.’AboutBernadetteAmorelle:‘Theysayshe’smad,butitisn’ttrue.It’sjustthatshe’sgotapeculiarnature.

Herhusbandwasagreatbrute.ItwashewhofoundedthebigSeinequarries.’MadameJeannewasnofool.‘Iknowwhyyou’vecomehere,now…Everyoneknows…Ithinkyou’re

wastingyourtime.’ShewastalkingabouttheMaliks,ErnestandCharles.‘Youhaven’tseenCharlesyet?You’llmeethim…andhiswife,theyoungest

oftheAmorellegirls,MademoiselleAiméeassheusedtobecalled.You’llmeetthem.Weareatinyvillage,aren’twe?Notevenahamlet.Andyetstrangethingshappenhere.Yes,MademoiselleMonitawasfoundattheweir.’No,she,MadameJeanne,didn’tknowanything.Canoneeverknowwhat

goesoninsideayounggirl’shead?Shedrank,Maigretdrank,listenedtoherchatterandrefilledtheglasses,

feelingasifhehadbeenbewitched,andsayingfromtimetotime:‘I’mkeepingyouup.’

‘Ohyoudon’tneedtoworryaboutme.Idon’tsleepverymuch,withallmyachesandpains!Butifyou’retired…’Hestayedawhilelonger.And,whentheyeachwentupseparatestaircases,he

hadheardaclatterasMadameJeannefelldownthestairs.Shecouldn’tbeupyet.Heresolvedtogetoutofbedandtogointothe

bathroom,firsttodrink,todrinkgreatgulpsofcoldwater,thentowashoffhissweatsmellingofalcohol,ofKummel.No!NeveragainwouldhetouchaglassofKummel.Wellwell!Someonehadjustarrivedattheinn.Hecouldhearthemaid’svoice

saying:‘He’sstillasleep,Itellyou…’Heleanedoutofthewindowandsawamaidinablackdressandwhiteapron

talkingtoRaymonde.‘Isitforme?’heasked.Andlookingup,themaidsaid:‘Youcanseeperfectlywellthathe’snotasleep!’Shewasholdingaletter,anenvelopewithablackborder,andshestated:‘I’mtowaitforareply.’Raymondebroughtuptheletter.Hehadputhistrouserson,andhisbraces

dangledagainsthisthighs.Itwasalreadyhot.Afinehazerosefromtheriver.Willyoucomeandseemeassoonaspossible?Itisbestforyoutofollowmymaid,whowillshowyouthewaytomyapartment,otherwiseyouwillnotbeallowedup.Iknowyouaremeetingthemallatlunchtime.BernadetteAmorelle

Hefollowedthemaid,whowasinherfortiesandveryugly,withthesamebeadyeyesashermistress.Shedidnotutterawordandherbodylanguageseemedtobesaying:‘Nopointtryingtogetmetotalk.IhavemyinstructionsandIwon’tletmyselfbepushedaround.’Theyfollowedthewall,wentthroughthegateandwalkedupthedrive

leadingtothevastAmorelleresidence.Birdsweresinginginallthetrees.Thegardenerwaspushingawheelbarrowfullofmanure.ThehousewaslessmodernthanthatofErnestMalik,lesssumptuous,asif

alreadydimmedbythemistsoftime.‘Thisway…’

Theydidnotenterthroughthebigmaindooratthetopofthesteps,butthroughalittledoorintheeastwing.Theyclimbedastaircasewhosewallswerehungwithnineteenth-centuryprintsandhadnotyetreachedthelandingwhenadooropenedandMadameAmorelleappeared,aserect,asimperiousasonthepreviousday.‘Youtookyourtime,’shedeclared.‘Thegentlemanwasn’tready…Ihadtowaitwhilehegotdressed.’‘Thisway,inspector.Iwouldhavethoughtthatamanlikeyouwouldbean

earlyriser.’Itwasherbedroom,avastroom,withthreewindows.Thefour-posterbed

wasalreadymade.Therewereobjectslyingaroundonthefurniture,givingtheimpressionthattheelderlyladylivedherentirelifeinthisroom,whichwasherexclusivepreserve,whosedoorshewasreluctanttoopen.‘Sitdown.Please…Ihatetalkingtosomeonewhoremainsstanding.You

maysmokeyourpipe,ifyouneedto.Myhusbandsmokedhispipealldaylong.Thesmellisnotasbadascigarsmoke…So,youhaddinneratmyson-in-law’s?’Maigretmighthavefounditamusingtohearhimselfbeingtreatedlikealittle

boy,butthatmorning,hissenseofhumourhaddesertedhim.‘IdidindeedhavedinnerwithErnestMalik,’hesaidgruffly.‘Whatdidhetellyou?’‘ThatyouwereamadoldwomanandthathissonGeorges-Henrywasnearly

asmadasyou.’‘Didyoubelievehim?’‘Then,whenIwasonmywaybacktoL’Ange,someone,whoprobablydeems

mycareerhasbeenlongenough,tookapot-shotatme.Isupposethattheyoungmanwashere?’‘Whichyoungman?…YoumeanGeorges-Henry?Ididn’tseehimall

evening.’‘Andyethisfatherclaimedthathewasshelteringhere—’‘Ifyoutakeeverythinghesaysasgospel—’‘Youhaven’theardfromhim?’‘Notatall,andI’dbeveryhappyto.Inshort,whatdidyoufindout?’

Justthenhelookedatherandwondered,withoutknowingwhy,whethershereallywantedhimtohavefoundoutsomething.‘Youseemtobegettingonfamouslywithmyson-in-lawErnest,’shewenton.‘WewereinthesameclassatschoolinMoulins,andheinsistsoncallingme

bymyfirstname,asifwewerestilltwelveyearsold.’Hewasinafoulmood.Hisheadhurt.Hispipetastedstaleandhehadbeen

obligedtoleaveandfollowthemaidwithoutdrinkinghiscoffee,becausetherewasnonereadyatL’Ange.Hewasbeginningtotireofthisfamilywherepeopleallspiedononeanother

andnobodyseemedtobespeakingthetruth.‘IfearforGeorges-Henry,’shewasmurmuringnow.‘Hewassofondofhis

cousin.Iwouldn’tbesurprisediftherehadbeensomethingbetweenthem.’‘He’ssixteen.’Shelookedhimupanddown.‘Anddoyouthinkthatmakesanydifference?…Iwasneversomuchinlove

asIwasatsixteenand,wereItohavedonesomethingstupid,itisatthatagethatIwouldhavedoneit.You’ddowelltofindGeorges-Henry.’Andhe,frosty,almostsarcastic:‘WheredoyousuggestIlook?’‘That’syourjob,notmine.Iwonderwhyhisfatherclaimedhehadseenhim

cominghere.Malikknowsverywellthat’snottrue.’Hervoicebetrayedagenuineconcern.Shepacedupanddowntheroom,but

eachtimeMaigretmadetogettohisfeet,sherepeated:‘Sitdown.’Shespokeasiftoherself.‘They’vearrangedabigluncheontoday.CharlesMalikandhiswifewillbe

there.TheyhavealsoinvitedoldCampoisandthatoldstick-in-the-mudGroux.Ireceivedaninvitationtoo,firstthingthismorning.IwonderifGeorges-Henrywillbeback.’‘Youhavenothingelsetotellme,madame?’‘Whatdoesthatmean?’‘Nothing.WhenyoucametoMeungyesterday,youhintedthatyourefusedto

believethatyourgranddaughterhaddiedanaturaldeath.’Shestaredhardathim,withoutrevealinganythingofherthoughts.

‘Andnowthatyou’rehere,’sheretortedwithanoteofanger,‘areyougoingtotellmethatyoufindwhat’sgoingonnatural?’‘Ididn’tsaythat.’‘Well!Goahead.Gotothisluncheon.’‘Willyoubethere?’‘Idon’tknow.Keepyoureyesandearsopen.And,ifyouareasgoodasthey

sayyouare…’Shewasdispleasedwithhim,thatwasclear.Washenotbeingflexible

enough,respectfulenoughofheridiosyncrasies?Wasshedisappointedthathehadn’tuncoveredanythingyet?Shewasonedgeandanxious,despiteherself-control.Sheheadedforthe

door,thusdismissinghim.‘I’mafraidthosescoundrelsreallyareclevererthanyou!’shesaidbywayofa

partingshot.‘We’llsee.Rightnow,I’llwageranythingyoulikethattheyarealldownstairswaitingforyou.’Itwastrue.Ashesteppedintothecorridor,adooropenednoiselessly.Amaid

–notthesameonewhohadbroughthimhere–saiddeferentially:‘MonsieurandMadameMalikarewaitingforyouinthemorningroom.If

youwouldbesogoodastofollowme…’Thehousewascool,thewallspaintedwithfadedcoloursandeverywhere

werecarveddoors,overmantels,paintingsandengravings.SoftcarpetsmuffledfootstepsandtheVenetianblindsletinjustenoughlight.Onelastdoor.HetooktwostepsforwardsandfoundhimselffacingMonsieur

andMadameMalikinfullmourning,waitingforhim.

Whatwasitthatgavehimtheimpressionnotofreality,butofacarefullycomposedfamilyportrait?HedidnotyetknowCharlesMalik,inwhomhefoundnoneofhisbrother’sfeatures,eventhoughtherewasafamilyresemblance.Hewasalittleyounger,morecorpulent.Hisruddyfacewaspinker,andhiseyeswerenotgreylikeErnest’s,butanalmostinnocentblue.Nordidhehavehisbrother’sassurance,andthereweredarkcirclesunderhis

eyes,acertainflabbinessabouthislips,ananxiouslookinhiseyes.Hestoodveryuprightinfrontofthemarblefireplace,andhiswifewasseated

closetohiminaLouisXVIarmchair,herhandsinherlap,asforaphotograph.

Theentiresceneexudedsorrow,overwhelminggriefeven.CharlesMalikspokeinafalteringvoice.‘Docomein,inspector,andpleaseforgiveusforhavingaskedyoutodropin

toseeusforamoment.’AsforMadameMalik,shelookedverymuchlikehersister,butwasmore

refined,withsomethingofhermother’svivacity.Thatvivacity,atpresent,wasasifshrouded–understandably,givenherrecentbereavement.Inherrighthandsheheldalittlehandkerchiefscrewedintoaball,whichshescrunchedconstantlyduringtheirconversation.‘Dopleasesitdown.Iknowthatwewillbemeetingeachotherlateronatmy

brother’shouse.Myselfinanycase,forIdoubtmywifefeelsuptoattendingthisluncheon.Idon’tknowunderwhatcircumstancesyoucamehereandIshouldlike—’Helookedathiswife,whomerelygazedathimwithsimplicitybut

determination.‘Thisisaverydifficulttimeforus,inspector,andmymother-in-law’s

obstinacybodesevenworsetocome.You’vemether.Idon’tknowwhatyoumakeofher.’Maigret,inanycase,tookgoodcarenottotellhim,becausehesensedthat

CharlesMalikwasbeginningtoflounderandwassummoninghiswifetohisaidoncemore.‘Remember,Motheriseighty-twoyearsold,’shesaid.‘It’salltooeasyto

forgetbecauseshehassomuchenergy…Sadly,hermindisn’talwaysasalertasherbody.She’scompletelydevastatedbythedeathofmydaughter,whowasherfavourite.’‘Iappreciatethat,madame.’‘Youcansee,now,theatmospherewehavebeenlivinginsincethetragedy.

Motherhasgotitintoherheadthatthereissomemysterybehindit.’‘Theinspectorhascertainlygatheredthat,’continuedCharlesMalik.‘Don’t

getupset,darling…Mywifeisveryhighlystrung,inspector.Weallareatthemoment.Ouraffectionformymother-in-lawaloneisstoppingusfromtakingthestepsthatwouldseemnecessary.Thatiswhyweareaskingyou…’Maigretprickeduphisears.‘…weareaskingyou…tocarefullyweighuptheprosandconsbefore—’

Goodness!Couldithavebeenthisbumbling,tubbymanwhohadfiredatMaigretthepreviousevening?Therewasnothingimplausibleaboutthisnotionthathadjustoccurredtohim.ErnestMalikwasacold-bloodedanimalandmostlikely,ifhehadfired,he

wouldhaveaimedmoreaccurately.WhereasCharles,ontheotherhand…‘Iunderstandyoursituation,’continuedthemasterofthehouse,leaningon

themantelpieceinamorefamily-portraitposethanever.‘Itisdelicate,verydelicate.Inshort—’‘Inshort,’brokeinMaigret,inhismostingratiatingtone,‘Iwonderwhaton

earthI’mdoinghere.’HecovertlywatchedCharlesMalikandcaughthislittletremorofdelight.Thatwasexactlywhattheyhadwantedhimtosay.Whatwashedoingthere,

infact?Noonehadinvitedhim,otherthananoldwomanofeighty-twowhowasn’tcompletelycomposmentis.‘Iwouldn’tgosofarastosaythat,’CharlesMalikcorrectedhim,verymuch

thegentleman,‘giventhatyouareafriendofErnest’s,Ithinkitwouldbebetter—’‘Tellme.’‘Yes…Ithinkitwouldbefitting,orratherdesirable,thatyoudonotoverly

encouragemymother-in-lawintheseideaswhich…that—’‘Youareconvinced,MonsieurMalik,thatyourdaughter’sdeathwas

absolutelynatural?’‘Ithinkitwasanaccident.’Hewasblushing,buthadrepliedfirmly.‘Andwhataboutyou,madame?’Thehandkerchiefwasjustatinyballinherhand.‘Ithinkthesameasmyhusband.’‘Inthatcase,clearly…’Hewasgivingthemhope.Hecouldsensethemswellingwiththehopethat

theyweregoingtobeforeverridofhisburdensomepresence.‘…Iamobligedtoacceptyourbrother’sinvitation.Then,ifnothinghappens,

ifnonewdevelopmentsrequiremypresence…’Herose,almostasill-at-easeastheywere.Hewaseagertobeoutside,totake

adeepbreathoffreshair.

‘SoI’llseeyouinalittlewhile,’CharlesMalikwassaying.‘Iapologizefornotshowingyouout,butIstillhavethingstodo.’‘Don’tmentionit.Myhumblerespects,madame.’

Hewasstillinthegrounds,walkingdowntowardstheSeine,whenhewasstruckbyanoise.Itwasthatofthehandleofaruraltelephoneturning,withtheshortringsignallingthatthecallhadbeenheard.‘Hehastelephonedhisbrothertoreportbacktohim,’thoughtMaigret.Andhebelievedhecouldguesswhatwasbeingsaid:‘Phew!He’sleaving.Hepromised.Aslongasnothinghappensatlunch.’Atug-boatwaspullingitseightbargestowardstheHauteSeine,anditwasa

tug-boatwithagreentriangle,anAmorelleandCampoistug-boat;thebargeswerealsoAmorelleandCampois.Itwasonlyhalfpasteleven.Hecouldn’tfacegoingtoL’Ange,wherethere

wasnothingforhimtodo.Hewalkedalongtheriverbankmullingoverhisconfusedthoughts.HepausedlikeasightseerinfrontofErnestMalik’sluxurypontoon.HehadhisbacktotheMaliks’residence.‘Well!Maigret?’ItwasErnestMalik,dressedthistimeinagreysalt-and-peppersuitand

wearingwhitekidshoesandapanamahat.‘Mybrotherhasjusttelephonedme.’‘Iknow.’‘Apparentlyyouhavealreadyhadenoughofmymother-in-law’snonsense.’Therewassomethingsuppressedinhisvoice,somethingemphaticinhiseyes.‘IfIunderstandcorrectly,youwanttogetbacktoyourwifeandyourlettuce

patch?’Then,withoutknowingwhy(perhapsthatiswhatisknownasinspiration),

Maigret,makinghimselfheavier,thicker,moreinertthanever,replied:‘No.’Malikreacted.Despiteallhissang-froid,hecouldnothelphimself.Fora

moment,helookedlikesomeonetryingtoswallowhissaliva,andhisAdam’sapplevisiblyroseandfelltwoorthreetimes.‘Ah!…’

Abriefglanceaboutthem,buthewasn’tplanningtopushMaigretintotheSeine.‘Westillhaveagoodwhileaheadofusbeforetheguestsarrive.Weusually

lunchlate.Comeintomystudyforamoment.’Notawordwasspokenastheycrossedthegrounds.Maigretglimpsed

MadameMalikarrangingflowersinthevasesinthedrawingroom.Theyskirtedthehouse,andMalikwalkedaheadofhisguestintoafairlyvast

study,withdeepleatherarmchairsandwallsdecoratedwithmodelships.‘Youmaysmoke.’Hecarefullyshutthedoorandhalf-loweredtheVenetianblinds,becausethe

sunwasstreamingintotheroom.Atlasthesatdownathisdeskandstartedfiddlingwithacrystalpaperknife.Maigrethadperchedonthearmofanarmchairandwasslowlyfillinghis

pipe,givingtheimpressionthathismindwasablank.Whenthesilencehadgoneonforsometime,heaskedquietly:‘Whereisyourson?’‘Whichone?’Then,correctinghimself:‘Thisisnotaboutmyson.’‘It’saboutme,isn’tit?’‘Whatdoyoumean?’‘Nothing.’‘Well!Yes,itisaboutyou.’Besidethiswiry,elegantmanwithrefined,well-groomedfeatures,Maigret

cutanoafishfigure.‘Howmuchareyouofferingme?’‘WhatmakesyouthinkthatIwasplanningtoofferyouanything?’‘Iimagineyouare.’‘Whynot,afterall?Thepoliceforceisn’tverygenerous.Idon’tknowwhat

kindofapensiontheypayyou.’AndMaigret,stillgentleandhumble:‘Threethousand,twohundred.’Headded,withdisarmingcandour:‘Ofcourse,wehavesomesavings.’

Thistime,ErnestMalikwastrulydisconcerted.Thisseemedalltooeasy.Hehadthefeelinghisformerschoolmatewaslaughingathim.Andyet…‘Listen—’‘I’mallears—’‘Iknowwhatyou’regoingtothink.’‘Ithinksolittle!’‘You’regoingtothinkthatyourpresenceherebothersme,thatIhave

somethingtohide.Andsupposingthatwerethecase?’‘Yes,supposingthatwerethecase?It’snoneofmybusiness,isit?’‘Areyoubeingsarcastic?’‘Never.’‘You’dbewastingyourtimewithme,yousee.Youprobablythinkyou’re

veryclever.Youhavehadasuccessfulanddistinguishedcareerchasingthievesandmurderers.Well,Julesmyfriend,therearenothievesormurderershere.Doyouunderstand?Throughthegreatestofcoincidences,youhavelandedinaworldyoudon’tknowandwhereyouarelikelytodoalotofdamage.That’swhyI’mtellingyou—’‘Howmuch?’‘Ahundredthousand.’Maigretdidn’tbataneyelid,thenMaliksaid,noddinghesitantly:‘Ahundredandfifty.I’llgouptotwohundredthousand.’Hewasonhisfeetnow,jittery,tense,stillfiddlingwiththepaperknife,which

suddenlysnappedbetweenhisfingers.AbeadofbloodformedonhisindexfingerandMaigretcommented:‘You’vehurtyourself.’‘Bequiet.Orratheranswermyquestion.I’llwriteoutachequefortwo

hundredthousandfrancs.Notacheque?Nomatter…ThecarwilltakeustoParislaterandI’llpickupthecashfrommybank.ThenI’lldriveyoubacktoMeung.’Maigretsighed.‘What’syouranswer?’‘Whereisyourson?’Thistime,Malikcouldnotcontainhisanger.

‘It’snoneofyourbusiness.It’snoone’sbusiness,doyouhear?I’mnotinyourofficeatQuaidesOrfèvresandneitherareyou.Iamaskingyoutoleavebecauseyourpresencehereisill-timed,tosaytheleast.Peoplearetalking.They’rewondering—’‘Whatexactlyaretheywondering?’‘Onelasttime,I’maskingyoupolitelytoleave.Andifyoudo,I’mprepared

toofferyouaverygenerousreward.Isityesorisitno?’‘It’sno,ofcourse.’‘Verywell.Inthatcase,I’mgoingtohavetochangemytune.’‘Goahead.’‘I’mnoangelandIneverwas.OtherwiseIwouldn’tbewhereIamtoday.

Now,throughyourpig-headedness,throughyourstupidity,yes,stupidity,you’relikelytounleashacalamitythatyoudon’tevensuspect.Andyou’rehappy,aren’tyou?Youthinkyou’restillinthePoliceJudiciairegrillingsomelittlecutthroatorsomeyoungdelinquentwho’sstrangledanoldwoman.‘Ihaven’tstrangledanyone,youshouldknowthat.Ihaven’trobbedanyone

either.’‘Inthatcase—’‘Silence!Youwanttostay,soyou’llstay.You’llcarryonpokingyourbig

noseineverywhere.Well,onyourheadbeit.‘Yousee,Maigret,I’malotstrongerthanyouareandI’veprovedit.‘IfI’dbeenmadeofthesamestuffasyou,I’dhavebecomeagoodlittle

income-taxcollectorlikemyfather.‘Meddleinwhatdoesn’tconcernyouifyoumust!‘Onyourheadbeit.’Hehadregainedhisoutercalmandhislipswereagaincurledinasneer.Maigret,whohadrisen,waslookingaroundforhishat.‘Whereareyougoing?’‘Outside.’‘Aren’tyouhavinglunchwithus?’‘I’dratherlunchelsewhere.’‘Asyouwish.Andthereagain,you’rebeingpetty.Pettyandnarrow-minded.’‘Isthatall?’‘Fornow,yes.’

And,hatinhand,Maigretstrodecalmlyovertothedoor.Heopeneditandwentout,withoutlookingback.Outside,ashapedartedoff,andhejusthadthetimetorecognizeJean-Claude,theeldestson,whomusthavebeeneavesdroppingbeneaththeopenwindowandhadoverheardtheentireconversation.Hewalkedaroundthehouseand,inthemaindrive,passedtwomenwhomhe

hadn’tyetmet.Onewasshortandstockywithathickneckandbig,coarsehands:Monsieur

Campoisprobably,forhematchedthedescriptionJeannehadgivenhimthepreviousevening.Theother,whomusthavebeenhisgrandson,wasastrappingboywithanopenface.Theystaredathiminbewilderment,ashemadehiswaycalmlytowardsthe

gate,thentheybothturnedaroundtolookathim,stoppingeventowatchhim.‘That’sonethingoutoftheway!’saidMaigrettohimselfashewalkedoff

alongthetowpath.Aboatwascrossingtheriver,steeredbyanoldmaninayellowishlinensuit,

withasplendidredtie.ItwasMonsieurGroux,onhiswaytothegathering.Theywouldallbethere,excepthim,forwhosebenefitthislunchhadbeenarrangedinthefirstplace.WhataboutGeorges-Henry?Maigretbegantomovefaster.Hewasn’thungry,

buthewasterriblythirsty.Inanycase,hesworetohimselfagainthat,whateverhappened,hewoulddrinknomorelittletipplesofKummelwitholdJeanne.WhenhewalkedintoL’Ange,hedidnotseetheownerinherusualplaceby

thegrandfatherclock.Hepokedhisheadaroundthehalf-openkitchendoorandRaymondecalledout:‘Ithoughtyouweren’thavinglunchhere?’Then,raisingherplumparmstotheheavens:‘Ihaven’tcookedanything.Madameisunwellanddoesn’twanttocome

downstairs.’Therewasn’tevenanybeerinthehouse.

4.TheTopKennel

Itwouldhavebeenhardtosayhowithappened:thefactwasthatMaigretandRaymondewerenowfriends.Onlyanhourago,shewassorelytemptedtobanhimfromenteringherkitchen.‘Ihavenothingtoeat,Itellyou.’What’smore,shedidn’tlikemen.Shefoundthemviolentandtheysmelled

unpleasant.MostofthemenwhocametoL’Ange,eventhemarriedones,triedtogropeheranditdisgustedher.Shehadwantedtobecomeanun.Shewastallandlanguiddespiteher

apparentenergy.‘Whatareyouafter?’sheaskedimpatiently,seeingMaigretstandinginfront

oftheopenlarder.‘Alittleleftoversomething-or-other.Anything.It’ssohotthatIhaven’tgot

theenergytogoandeatupatthelock.’‘Well,therearen’tanyleftovershere!Firstofall,intheory,theplaceisclosed.

Asamatteroffact,it’supforsale.Hasbeenforthreeyears.Andeachtimethesaleisabouttogothrough,theoldladywavers,findsreasonstoobjectandendsupsayingno.Shedoesn’tneedtomakeherlivingfromit,doesshe!’‘Whataboutyou,whatareyougoingtoeat?’‘Breadandcheese.’‘Doyounotthinkthere’llbeenoughforthetwoofus?’Helookedkind,withhisslightlyflushedfaceandhisroundeyes.Hehad

madehimselfathomeinthekitchenandignoredRaymondewhenshesaid:

‘Getoutofhere,ithasn’tbeencleanedyet.I’lllayyouaplaceinthediningroom.’Hehaddughisheelsin.‘I’llgoandseeifthereisn’tatinofsardinesleft,butit’llbeluckyifthereis.

Therearenoshopsaroundhere.Thebutcher,thecharcuterieandeventhegrocerfromCorbeilcomeanddelivertothebighouses,theMaliks,theCampois.Before,theyusedtostophereandwewereabletostockup.Buttheoldladybarelyeatsathingnowadaysandshethinksthatothersshoulddolikewise.Wait,letmegoandseeifthereareanyeggsinthehenhouse.’Therewerethree.Maigretinsistedonmakingtheomelette,andshelaughedas

shewatchedhimwhisktheeggyolksandwhitesseparately.‘Whydidn’tyougoandhavelunchattheMaliks’,seeingasyou’reinvited?I

heartheircookusedtobecheftothekingofNorwayorSweden,Idon’trememberwhich.’‘I’dratherstayhereandhaveabitetoeatwithyou.’‘Inthekitchen!Withnotablecloth!’Yetitwastrue.AndRaymonde,unwittingly,wasprovidinghimwith

invaluablehelp.Hefeltrelaxedhere.Hehadremovedhisjacketandrolleduphisshirt-sleeves.Fromtimetotime,hegotuptopourboilingwateroverthecoffee.‘Iwonderwhatkeepsherhere,’Raymondehadsaid,amongotherthings,

talkingaboutoldJeanne.‘She’sgotmoremoneythanshe’lleverspend,nochildrenandnoheirs,sinceshebootedhernephewsoutalongtimeago.’Itwasinsightslikethatwhich,addedtomemoriesofthepreviousevening,to

insignificantdetails,helpedfleshoutforMaigretasolidpictureoftheinnowner’scharacter.Shehadoncebeenbeautiful,Raymondealsotoldhim.Anditwastrue.You

couldtell,eventhoughshewasoverfifty,despiteherill-kemptlook,herlank,greasyhairandhersallowcomplexion.Awomanwhohadbeenbeautifulandwasintelligent,butwhohadsuddenly

letherselfgo,whodrank,wholivedafiercelyreclusiveexistence,complaininganddrinkingtothepointoftakingtoherbedfordaysonend.‘She’llnevermakeuphermindtoleaveOrsenne.’

Well!Bythetimeallthecharactershadtakenonthesamehumanroundness,whenhecould‘feel’themthewayhecouldfeeltheownerofL’Ange,themysterywouldbeveryclosetobeingsolved.TherewasBernadetteAmorelle,whomhewasclosetounderstanding.‘OldMonsieurAmorelle,whodied,wasn’tatalllikehissons-in-law.More

likeMonsieurCampois.Idon’tknowifyouseewhatImean.Hewastough,butfair.Hewouldgodowntothelocktochatwithhisbargemenandhewasn’ttooproudtositandhaveadrinkwiththem.’Inotherwords,theywerethefirstgenerationwho’ddonewellforthemselves,

withtheirbig,unpretentioushouses.Thenthenextgeneration,thetwodaughterswhohadmarriedtheMalik

brothers,themodernresidence,thepontoon,theluxurycars.‘Tellme,Raymonde,didyouknowMonitawell?’‘OfcourseIdid.Iknewherwhenshewasalittlegirl,becauseI’vebeenat

L’Angeforsevenyearsand,sevenyearsago,she’djustturnedten.Arighttomboy…Shewasalwaysgivinghergovernesstheslipandthey’dgohuntingallovertheplaceforher.SometimesalltheservantswouldbesentalongthetowpathcallingMonita.ShehadusuallyrunoffwithhercousinGeorges-Henry.’Maigrethadneverseteyesonhimeither.Hehadheardpeopledescribehim.‘Hewasn’talldresseduptothenineslikehisbrother!Nearlyalwaysin

shorts,andrathergrubbyshortsatthat,withhisbarelegsandtousledhair.Hewasterrifiedofhisfather!’‘WereMonitaandGeorges-Henryinlove?’‘Idon’tknowwhetherMonitawasinlove.Awomanhidesherfeelingsbetter.

Buthedefinitelywas.’Itwaspeacefulinthiskitchenwhereonlyasingleslantingrayofsunshine

filteredin.Maigretsmokedhispipe,hiselbowsonthepolishedheavytimbertable,andsippedhiscoffee.‘Haveyouseenhimsincehiscousin’sdeath?’‘Isawhimatthefuneral.Hewasverypale,red-eyed.Rightinthemiddleof

theservice,hestartedsobbing.Atthecemetery,whenpeoplewerefilingpasttheopengrave,hesuddenlybegangrabbingtheflowersbythehandfulandthrowingthemontothecoffin.’‘Andsince?’

‘Ithinkthey’rekeepinghimlockedupinsidethehouse.’ShestaredatMaigretinquisitively.Shehadheardthathewasafamous

policeman,thatduringhiscareerhehadarrestedhundredsofcriminalsandsolvedthemostcomplicatedcases.Andthismanwashereinherkitchen,dressedcasually,smokinghispipeandtalkingtoherinformally,askinghermundanequestions.Whatcouldhebehopingfor?Shefeltsomethingakintopityforhim.Hewas

probablygettingold,becausethey’dretiredhim.‘Now,Imustwashmydishes,thenI’vegottomopthefloor.’Hedidn’tleaveandhisfacewasstillasplacid,asifdevoidofthought.‘Inshort,’hemutteredsuddenly,‘MonitaisdeadandGeorges-Henryhas

gone.’Shelookedupabruptly.‘Areyousurehehasgone?’Andherose,hisattitudenowhardened,displayingasuddendetermination.‘Listentomeforamoment,Raymonde.Holdon.Givemeapencilanda

pieceofpaper.’Shetoreapagefromagrease-stainednotebookinwhichshekepther

accounts.Shedidnotunderstandwhathewasleadingupto.‘Yesterday…Let’ssee…Wewereonthecheese.Soitwasaroundnine

o’clockintheevening…Georges-Henryjumpedoutofhisbedroomwindowandranoff.’‘Inwhichdirection?’‘Offtotheright.IfhehadgonedowntotheSeine,Iwouldhaveseenhim

runningacrossthegarden.Ifhehadgonetotheleft,Iwouldalsohaveseenhimbecausethediningroomhaswindowsonbothsides.Holdon…Hisfatherranafterhim.ErnestMalikstayedawayfortwelveminutes.It’struethatduringthosetwelveminuteshetookthetimetochangehistrousersandrunacombthroughhishair.Todothat,hemusthavegoneuptohisbedroom.Atleastthreeorfourminutes.Now,youknowtheareawell,thinkcarefullybeforeyoureply.WhichwaycouldGeorges-HenryhavegoneifhehadintendedtoleaveOrsenne?’‘Totherightishisgrandmotherandhisuncle’shouse,’shesaid,lookingatthe

roughsketchhewasdrawingasshespoke.‘There’snowallbetweenthetwo

gardensbutahedgethathasacoupleofgapsinit.’‘Andthen?’‘Fromtheneighbouringgardenhewouldhavebeenabletoreachthelittle

paththatgoestothestation.’‘Youcan’tturnoffthepathbeforethestation?’‘No…Orperhapshetookaboatacrosstheriver.’‘Isthereawayoutfromthebottomofthegarden?’‘Onlywithaladder.BoththeAmorellesandtheMalikshaveawallthat’stoo

hightoclimbover.Therailwaylinerunspasttheendofbothgardens.’‘Anotherquestion.WhenIcamebackanhourlater,therewasaboatonthe

water.Iheardsomeonecastingafishingnet.’‘That’sAlphonse,thelock-keeper’sson.’‘Thankyou,Raymonde.Ifyoudon’tmind,we’llhavedinnertogether.’‘Butthere’snothingtoeat.’‘There’sagrocer’snexttothelock.I’llbuythenecessaries.’Hewaspleasedwithhimself.Hehadthesenseofhavingsetfootondryland

again,andRaymondewatchedhimlumberoffinthedirectionofthelock.Theweirwasaroundfivehundredmetresaway.Therewerenoboatsinthelock,andthelock-keeperwassittingonhisblue-stonedoorstepwhittlingapieceofwoodforoneofhiskids,whileinthegloomykitchenawomancameandwent,ababyinherarms.‘Tellme…’venturedMaigret.Themanhadjumpedtohisfeetandtouchedhiscap.‘You’vecomeabouttheyounglady,haven’tyou?’Thelocalpeoplealreadyknewwhohewas.Everyonewasawareofhis

presence.‘Well,yesandno…Idon’tsupposeyouknowanythingabouther?’‘ExceptthatIwastheonewhofoundher.Overthere,onthethirdsectionof

theweir.Itwasaterribleshock,becauseweknewherwell.SheoftenusedtocomethroughthelockinhercanoeonthewaydowntoCorbeil.’‘Wasyoursonoutonthewaterlastnight?’Themanlookeduncomfortable.‘Don’tworry,I’mnotinterestedinpoachers.Ispottedhimataroundten

o’clock,butI’dliketoknowwhetherhewasalreadyoutanhourearlier.’

‘He’lltellyouhimself.You’llfindhiminhisworkshop,ahundredmetresfurtherdown.He’stheboatbuilder.’Awoodenshedwheretwomenwerebusyfinishingoffaflat-bottomed

fishingboat.‘IwasonthewaterwithAlbert,yes…He’smyapprentice.Firstofallweput

outthecreels,thenwhenwecameback—’‘IfsomeonehadcrossedtheriverbyboatbetweentheMaliks’houseandthe

lockataroundnineo’clock,wouldyouhaveseenthem?’‘Definitely.Firstofall,itwasn’tdarkyet.Then,evenifwehadn’tseenhim,

we’dhaveheardhim.Whenyoufishthewaywedo,youkeepyourearsprickedand…’Inthelittlegrocer’sshopwherethebargemenstockedup,Maigretbought

sometinnedfood,eggs,cheeseandsausage.‘Icantellthatyou’reatL’Ange!’commentedtheshopkeeper.‘There’snever

anythingtoeatthere.They’ddobettertoclosedownforgood.’Maigretwalkeduptothestation.Itwasmerelyahaltwithacrossing-keeper’s

cottage.‘No,monsieur,nobodycamebyaroundthattimelastnight,oruptotenthirty.

Iwassittingonachairinfrontofthehousewithmywife.MonsieurGeorges-Henry?Definitelynothim.Weknowhimwellandbesides,hewouldhavestoppedforachat,becauseheknowsustooandhe’snotstuck-up.’ButMaigretpersisted.Hepeeredoverthehedges,chattedtogoodpeopleout

gardening,nearlyallofthemretired.‘MonsieurGeorges-Henry?No,wehaven’tseenhim.Hassomething

happenedtohimtoo?’Abigcardrovepast.ItwasErnestMalik’s,butitwasn’thimatthewheel,it

washisbrotherCharles,headinginthedirectionofParis.Itwasseveno’clockbythetimeMaigretgotbacktoL’Ange.Raymondeburst

outlaughingasheemptiedhispockets,whichwerebulgingwithprovisions.‘Withallthat,we’llbeabletohaveabitetoeat,’shesaid.‘IsMadameJeannestillinbed?Hasnoonebeentoseeher?’Raymondehesitatedforamoment.‘MonsieurMalikcameearlier.WhenItoldhimthatyou’dgonetothelock,he

wentupstairs.Thetwoofthemwereuptherewhisperingforaquarterofan

hour,butIcouldn’thearwhattheyweresaying.’‘DoesheoftencomeandseeJeanne?’‘Hedropsinoccasionally.Youdon’thaveanynewsofGeorges-Henry?’Maigretwentintothegardentosmokeapipeuntildinnerwasready.

BernadetteAmorelleseemedtohavebeenspeakingthetruthwhenshetoldhimthatshehadn’tseenhergrandson.True,thatprovednothing.Maigretwasclosetobelievingthattheywerealllying,everysingleoneofthem.Andyethefeltthatshehadbeentellingthetruth.TherewassomethinginOrsenne,somethingintheMalikfamily,thathadto

behushedupatallcosts.WasitinsomewayconnectedwithMonita’sdeath?Possibly,butitwasn’tcertain.Thefactwasthattwopeoplehadbrokenaway.Firstofall,oldMadame

Amorellehadtakenadvantageofherdaughterandson-in-law’sabsencetobedriventoMeungintheold-fashionedlimousinetosummonMaigrettotherescue.Then,onthesameday,whentheformerinspectorhappenedtobeinErnest

Malik’shouse,therehadbeenasecondescape.Thistime,itwasGeorges-Henry.Whyhadhisfatherclaimedthattheyoungmanwasathisgrandmother’s?

Why,inthatcase,hadhenottakenhimthere?Andwhyhadhenotseenhimagainthenextday?Allthatwasstillunclear,forsure.ErnestMalikhadbeenrightwhenhehad

lookedatMaigretwithasmilethatwasamixtureofsarcasmandcontempt.Thiswasn’tacaseforhim.Hewasoutofhisdepth.Thisworldwasunfamiliartohim,andhehaddifficultypiecingitalltogether.Eventhedecorshockedhimforitsartificiality.Thosehugemansionswithdesertedgardensandclosedblinds,thosegardenerstrundlingupanddownthepaths,thatpontoon,thosetiny,heavilylacqueredboats,thosegleamingcarssittingingarages…Andthesepeoplewhostucktogether,thesebrothersandsisters-in-lawwho

loathedeachotherperhaps,butwhowarnedeachotherofdangerandclosedranksagainsthim.Whatwasmore,theywereindeepmourning.Theyhadontheirsidethe

dignityofbereavementandgrief.Inwhatcapacity,whatrightdidhehavetocomesniffingaroundhereandpokinghisnoseintotheirbusiness?

Hehadalmostgivenupearlier,justashewasreturningtoL’Angeforlunch,tobeexact.WhathadstoppedhimhadbeenRaymonde,whohadbeensoeasytowinover,andtherelaxed,messyatmosphereofthekitchen.Itwasthewordsshehadinadvertentlyletslip,herelbowscasuallyonthetable,thathadlodgedinhismind.ShehadspokenofMonita,whowasatomboyandwhokeptrunningaway

withhercousin.OfGeorges-Henrywithhisgrubbyshortsandunkempthair.NowMonitawasdeadandGeorges-Henryhaddisappeared.Hewouldseekandhewouldfind.That,atleast,washisprofession.Hehad

beenallaroundOrsenne.Hewasnowalmostcertainthattheyoungmanhadnotleft.Atleasthewasprettysurethathehadlainlowsomewhereuntilnightfallandthatthenhehadbeenabletoremainunseen.Maigretatevoraciously,inthekitchenagain,justhimandRaymonde.‘IfMadameweretoseeus,shewouldn’tlikeit,’saidRaymonde.‘Sheasked

meearlierwhatyou’deaten.ItoldherthatIservedyoutwofriedeggsinthediningroom.Shealsoaskedmewhetheryou’dmentionedleaving.’‘BeforeorafterMalik’svisit?’‘After.’‘Inthatcase,I’llwagerthattomorrowshe’llrefusetocomedownfromher

roomagain.’‘Shecamedownearlier.Ididn’tseeher.Iwasatthebottomofthegarden.But

Inoticedthatshe’dbeendown.’Hesmiled.Hehadunderstood.HepicturedJeannedescendingnoiselessly,

havingwatchedherhousemaidgoout,tocomeandgetabottlefromtheshelf!‘Imaybebacklate,’heannounced.‘Havetheyinvitedyouagain?’‘No,butIfeellikegoingoutforastroll.’Atfirsthestayedonthetowpathwaitingfornightfall.Thenheheadedforthe

levelcrossing,wherehesawthekeeper,intheshadows,sittingoutsidehiscottage,smokingalong-stemmedpipe.‘DoyoumindifItakeawalkbesidetherailwaytrack?’‘Dearme,it’sagainsttheregulations,butseeingasyou’refromthepolice…

Keepalookoutforthetrainthatcomesbyatseventeenminutespastten.’

Threehundredmetresfurtheronhecaughtsightofthewallofthefirstproperty,thatofMadameAmorelleandCharlesMalik.Itwasn’tcompletelydarkyet,butinsidethehouses,thelampshadlongbeenlit.Therewaslightonthegroundfloor.Oneofthefirst-floorwindows,oneofthe

oldlady’sbedroomwindows,waswideopen,anditwasratherstrangetopeepintoaprivateworldfromadistance,throughtheblue-tingedairandthetranquillityofthegarden,anddiscoveranapartmentwhosefurnitureandobjectsseemedtobefrozeninayellowishlight.Hepausedforafewmomentstowatch.Ashadowcrossedhisfieldofvision.

ItwasnotthatofBernadette,butofherdaughter,Charles’wife,whowaspacingupanddownanxiouslyandseemedtobespeakingemphatically.Theoldladymustbeinherarmchair,orherbed,orinoneofthecornersof

thebedroomthatwashiddenfromhisview.Hecontinuedalongtherailwaytrackandcametothesecondgarden,thatof

ErnestMalik.Itwaslessbushyandhadmoreopenspace,withwide,well-maintainedpaths.Heretoo,lampswereon,butthelightonlyfilteredthroughtheblindsandMaigretwasn’tabletoseeinside.Hestoodlookingdownintothegardenitself,where,camouflagedbythe

younghazelnuttreesplantedalongtherailwayline,Maigretcouldmakeouttwotallshapes,paleandsilent,andherememberedtheGreatDanesthathadboundedovertolicktheirmaster’shandthedaybefore.Theywereprobablyletlooseeverynight,andwerelikelytobeferocious.Totheright,attheendofthegarden,stoodalittlecottagewhichMaigrethad

notyetseenandwhichwasprobablywherethegardenersandthedriverlived.Therewasalightontheretoo,asingleone,whichwentouthalfanhourlater.Therewasnosignofthemoonyet,butthenightwasnotasdarkasthe

previousone.Maigretsatdownquietlyontheembankment,facingthehazelnuttreeswhichconcealedhim,andwhichhecoulddrawasidewithhishandlikeacurtain.The10.17trainspedpastlessthanthreemetresfromhimandhewatchedits

redlampdisappeararoundthebendinthetrack.ThefewlightsfromOrsennewentoutonebyone.OldGrouxwasprobably

notouthuntingwoodpigeonthatnight,sincethepeaceandquietwasn’tshatteredbyanygunshots.

Atlast,atnearlyeleveno’clock,thetwodogs,lyingsidebysideattheedgeofalawn,roseasoneandlopedtowardsthehouse.Theyvanishedforamomentbehindit,and,whenMaigretsawthemagain,the

twoanimalswereprancingaroundtheshapeofamanwhowaswalkinghurriedlyandseemedtobemakingstraightforhim.ItwasErnestMalik,withoutadoubt.Theshapewastooslimandtoo

energetictobethatofoneoftheservants.Hewalkedsilentlyacrossthelawn.Inhishandhehadanobjectthatitwasimpossibletoidentify,butwhichlookedquitebulky.Foragoodwhile,MaigretwonderedwhereonearthMalikcouldbegoing.He

sawhimsuddenlyveertotherightandcomesoclosetothewallthathecouldhearthedogs’panting.‘Quiet,Satan…Quiet,Lionne.’There,betweenthetrees,wasalittlebrickbuildingthatmusthavepre-dated

thehouse,alowbuildingcoveredinancienttiles.Formerstablesperhaps,orakennel?‘Akennel,’Maigretsaidtohimself.‘He’ssimplyfeedingthedogs.’Butno!Malikpushedthedogsaway,tookakeyoutofhispocket,andwent

insidethebuilding.Thekeycouldclearlybeheardturninginthelock.Thentherewassilence,averylongsilence,duringwhichMaigret’spipewentout,buthedidn’tdarere-lightit.Halfanhourwentby,andfinallyMalikemergedandlockedthedoor

carefullybehindhim.Then,afterlookingaroundcautiously,hestroderapidlytowardsthehouse.Ateleventhirty,everythingwasasleeporseemedtobeasleep.WhenMaigret

walkedpastthebackoftheAmorelles’garden,henoticedonlyatinynight-lightburninginoldBernadette’sroom.

NolightsonatL’Angeeither.Hewaswonderinghowhewouldgetinwhenthedooropenednoiselessly.HesaworrathersensedRaymonde,whostoodthereinhernightdressandslippers.Sheputherfingeronherlipsandwhispered:‘Goupstairsquickly.Don’tmakeanoise.Shedidn’twantmetoleavethe

doorunlocked.’

Hewouldhavelikedtolinger,toaskherafewquestionsandhavesomethingtodrink,butacreakingsoundcomingfromJeanne’sroomalarmedthegirl,whorushedupthestairs.Thenhestoodstillforagoodwhile.Asmelloffriedeggshungintheair,with

awhiffofalcohol.Whynot?Hestruckamatch,tookabottlefromtheshelfandtuckeditunderhisarmtogoupstairstobed.OldJeannewasshufflingaroundinherroom.Shemustknowthathewas

back.Buthehadnowishtogoandkeephercompany.Hetookoffhisjacket,hiscollarandhistieandundidhisbraces,lettingthem

dangledownhisbackandthen,inhistoothmug,mixedbrandyandwater.Onelastpipe,leaningonthewindow-sill,absentlycontemplatingthegently

rustlingfoliage.HeawokeatseventothesoundofRaymondebustlingaboutinthekitchen.

Withhispipeinhismouth–thefirstpipe,thebest–hewentdownstairsandboomedacheerful‘Goodmorning’.‘Tellme,Raymonde,youwhoknoweveryhousearoundhere—’‘IdoandIdon’t.’‘Fine.AtthebottomofErnestMalik’sgarden,ononesidethere’sthe

gardeners’cottage.’‘Yes.Thedriverandtheservantssleeptheretoo.Notthemaids.Theysleepin

thehouse.’‘Butwhataboutontheotherside,closetotherailwayembankment?’‘There’snothing.’‘There’saverylowbuilding.Asortofelongatedhut.’‘Thetopkennel,’shesaid.‘What’sthetopkennel?’‘Intheolddays,longbeforeIcamehere,thetwogardenswereone.Itwasthe

Amorelles’estate.OldAmorellewasahunter.Thereweretwokennels,thebottomone,asitwascalled,fortheguarddogs,andthetoponeforthehuntinghounds.’‘Doesn’tErnestMalikhunt?’‘Nothere,thereisn’tenoughgameforhim.Hehasahouseanddogsin

Sologne.’Butsomethingwasbotheringhim.

‘Isthebuildingingoodrepair?’‘Idon’tremember.Ihaven’tbeeninthegardenforalongtime.Therewasa

cellarwhere—’‘Areyoucertaintherewasacellar?’‘Thereusedtobeone,inanycase.Iknowbecausepeopleusedtosaythat

therewasahiddentreasureinthegarden.BeforeMonsieurAmorellebuilthisplace,fortyyearsago,orperhapsmore,therewasalreadyasortoflittleruinedchateau.ItwasrumouredthatatthetimeoftheRevolution,thepeoplefromthechateauhidtheirvaluablessomewhereinthegrounds.Atonepoint,MonsieurAmorelletriedtofinditandcalledinwaterdiviners.Theyallsaidthatthesearchshouldfocusonthecellarofthetopkennel.‘Noneofthatisofanyimportance,’mutteredMaigret.‘Whatmattersisthat

thereisacellar.Anditisinthatcellar,mydearRaymonde,thatpoorGeorges-Henrymustbelockedup.’Hesuddenlylookedatherdifferently.‘WhattimeisthereatrainforParis?’‘Intwentyminutes.Afterthatthereisn’tanotheroneuntil12.39.Otherspass

through,buttheydon’tstopatOrsenne.’Hewasalreadyhalfwayupthestairs.Withoutstoppingtoshave,hegot

dressedandalittlelatercouldbeseenstridingtowardsthestation.Heremployerstartedthumpingonthefloorofherroom,andRaymondetoo

wentupstairs.‘Hashegone?’askedoldJeanne,whowasstilllyinginherdampsheets.‘He’sjustleftinahurry.’‘Withoutsayinganything?’‘No,madame.’‘Didhepay?Helpmeoutofbed.’‘Hedidn’tpay,madame,buthelefthissuitcaseandallhisthings.’‘Oh!’saidJeanne,disappointedandpossiblyworried.

5.Maigret’sAccomplice

Pariswaswonderfullyvastandempty.ThecafésaroundGaredeLyonsmelledofbeerandcroissantsdunkedincoffee.Amongotherthings,Maigretenjoyedamemorablycheerfulquarterofanhourinabarber’sshoponBoulevarddelaBastille,fornoreason,simplybecauseitwasParisonanAugustmorning,andperhapstoobecauseshortlyhewouldbegoingtoshakehandswithhisoldfriends.‘You’reobviouslyjustbackfromaholiday,you’vereallycaughtthesun.’Itwastrue.Thepreviousday,probably,whilehewasrunningaroundOrsenne

tocheckthatGeorges-Henryhadn’tleftthevillage.Itwasfunnyhow,fromadistance,thisaffairlostitssubstance.Butnow,

freshlyshaven,thebackofhisneckbare,alittlesmudgeoftalcumpowderbehindhisears,MaigretclamberedontotherunningboardofanomnibusandafewminuteslaterwalkedthroughthegatesofthePoliceJudiciaire.Heretoo,therewasaholidayatmosphereandtheairinthedesertedcorridors,

whereallthewindowswerewideopen,hadasmellheknewwell.Alotofemptyoffices.Inhisorratherhisformeroffice,hefoundLucas,whowasdwarfedbythelargespace.Lucasleapedtohisfeet,asifashamedtobecaughtoutsittinginthechairofhisformersuperior.‘You’reinParis,chief?…Haveaseat.’HeimmediatelynoticedMaigret’ssunburn.Thatday,everyonewouldnotice

hissunburnandnineoutoftenofthemwouldnotfailtoremarkwithsatisfaction:‘You’veobviouslycomeupfromthecountry!’

Asifhehadn’tbeenlivinginthecountryforthelasttwoyears!‘Tellme,Lucas,doyourememberMimile?’‘Mimilefromthecircus?’‘That’sright.I’dliketogetholdofhimtoday.’‘Yousoundasifyou’reonacase,chief.’‘Afool’serrand,morelike!Anyway…I’lltellyouallaboutitanothertime.

CanyoutrackdownMimile?’Lucasopenedthedoortotheinspectors’officeandspokeinahushedvoice.

HemusthavebeentellingthemtheformerchiefwasthereandthatheneededMimile.Duringthehalf-hourthatfollowed,nearlyallofMaigret’sformerteamcontrivedtopopintoLucas’officeundersomepretextoranother,tocomeandshakehandswithhim.‘You’vecaughtthesun,chief!You’veobviously—’‘Andanotherthing,Lucas.Icoulddoitmyself,butit’stiresome.I’dlikethe

lowdownontheAmorelleandCampoisfirmofQuaiBourbon.ThesandquarriesoftheSeine,thetug-boatsandeverythingelse.’‘I’llputJanvieronit,chief.Isiturgent?’‘I’dliketobedonewithitbymidday.’HemoochedaroundHQ,droppedintothefinancedivision.Theyhadheardof

AmorelleandCampois,buttheydidn’thaveanyinsideinformation.‘Abigoutfit.Theyhavealotofsubsidiaries.It’sarobustconcernandwe

haven’thadanydealingswiththem.’Itwasgoodtobreathetheairoftheplace,toshakehands,toseethepleasure

ineverypairofeyes.‘So,how’syourgarden,chief?Andwhataboutthefishing?’HewentuptoCriminalRecords.NothingontheMaliks.Itwasatthelast

moment,whenhewasonthepointofleaving,thatitoccurredtohimtosearchundertheletterC.Campois…RogerCampois…Hello,hello!There’safileonCampois:Roger

Campois,sonofDésiréCampois,industrialist.BlewhisbrainsoutinahotelroomontheBoulevardSaint-Michel.Hecheckedthedates,theaddresses,thefirstnames.DésiréCampoishad

indeedbeenthepartnerofoldAmorelle,hewasthemanMaigrethadglimpsedatOrsenne.HehadbeenmarriedtoacertainArmandeTenissier,daughterofa

civilengineeringentrepreneurandnowdeceased,withwhomhehadhadtwochildren,aboyandagirl.Itwastheboy,Roger,Désiré’sson,whohadcommittedsuicideattheageof

twenty-two.ForsomemonthshadbeenfrequentingthegamblingdensoftheLatinQuarterandhadrecentlylostheavilyatthegamingtables.

Asforthedaughter,shehadmarriedandhadborneachild,probablytheyoungmanhehadseenwithhisgrandfatheratOrsenne.Hadshediedtoo?Whathadbecomeofherhusband,acertainLorigan?There

wasnomentioninthefile.‘Fancyabeer,Lucas?’AttheBrasserieDauphine,ofcourse,behindthePalaisdeJustice,wherehe

haddownedsomanybeersinhislife.Theairwaspungent,likeafruit,withrefreshingblastspunctuatingthewarmatmosphere.Anditwasadelightfulsighttoseeamunicipalstreetcleanersprayingwidebandsofwateronthetarmac.‘Iwouldn’tdreamofquestioningyou,chief,butIconfessthatI’mwondering

—’‘WhatI’mupto,eh?I’mwonderingtoo.Anditishighlylikelythattonight

I’llbegettingmyselfintoserioustrouble.Look!HerecomesTorrence!’FatTorrence,whohadbeentaskedwithlocatingMimile,knewwheretofind

him.Hehadalreadyaccomplishedhismission.‘Unlesshe’schangedhisjobinthelasttwodays,chief,you’llfindhim

workingasananimalkeeperatLunaPark.Abeer!’Then,Janvier,goodoldJanvier–howgoodtheyallwerethatday,andhow

gooditwastobewiththem,howgooditwastobeworkingwiththeboysagain!–Janviertoocameandsatdownatthetablewhereanimpressivepileofsaucershadbeguntoaccumulate.‘WhatexactlydoyouwanttoknowabouttheAmorelleandCampoisoutfit,

chief?’‘Everything…’‘Holdon…’Hetookascrapofpaperoutofhispocket.‘OldCampois,firstofall.Arrivedattheageofeighteenfromhisnative

Dauphiné.Awilyandobstinatefarmer.Initiallyemployedbyabuilding

contractorintheVaugirardneighbourhood,thenbyanarchitect,andthenfinallybyacontractorinVilleneuve-Saint-Georges.That’swherehemetAmorelle.‘Amorelle,bornintheBerry,marriedhisboss’sdaughter.HeandCampois

becamepartners,andtheybothboughtpropertiesupstreamfromParis,wheretheyfoundedtheirfirstsandquarrycompany.Thatwasforty-fiveyearsago.’LucasandTorrencewatchedtheirformerchiefwithanamusedsmileashe

listenedimpassively.Itwasasthough,whileJanvierwasspeaking,Maigret’sfacehadturnedintothatoftheolddays.‘Ifoundallthatoutfromanelderlyemployeewhoisvaguelyrelatedtoa

memberofmywife’sfamily.Iknewhimbysightandafewlittledrinkswereenoughtogethimtotalk.’‘Goon.’‘It’sthesamestoryaswithallbigcompanies.Afterafewyears,Amorelleand

CampoisownedhalfadozensandquarriesintheHauteSeinearea.Then,insteadoftransportingtheirsandbybarge,theyboughtboats.Well,tugs.Apparentlyitcausedquiteastiratthetime,becauseitwastheruinofthehorse-drawnbarges.ThereweredemonstrationsoutsidetheirofficesontheÎleSaint-Louis…Becausetheoffices,whichwerenotsograndinthosedays,werealreadywheretheyaretoday.Amorelleevenreceivedthreateningletters.Hestoodhisgroundanditallblewover.‘Nowadays,it’sahugecompany.Youcan’timaginethesizeofabusinesslike

that,anditleavesmeflabbergasted.Theybranchedoutintostonequarries.ThenAmorelleandCampoisboughtsharesinconstructionsitesinRouenwheretheyhadtheirtug-boatsbuilt.Theynowhavemajorityshareholdingsinatleasttenbusinesses,shippingoperations,quarriesandshipbuilders,aswellascivilengineeringfirms,andinacementcompany.’‘WhatabouttheMaliks?’‘I’mcomingtothem.Mymantoldmeaboutthemtoo.ApparentlyMalik

numberone—’‘Whatdoyoumeanbynumberone?’‘Thefirsttoenterthecompany.Letmecheckmynotes.ErnestMalik,from

Moulins.’‘That’sright.’

‘Hewasn’tinthebusinessatall,butwassecretarytoahigh-upmunicipalcouncillor.ThatwashowhemetAmorelleandCampois.Becauseofthetenders.Bribesandallthat!…Andhemarriedtheeldestdaughter.ThatwasshortlyafterthesuicideoftheyoungCampois,whohadbeenpartofthefirm.’Maigrethadwithdrawnintohimselfandhiseyeshadnarrowedtoslits.Lucas

andTorrenceexchangedlooksagain,amusedtoseethechiefastheyhadknownhiminhisheyday,withhislipspursedaroundthestemofhispipe,hisfatthumbstrokingthebowlandthathunchingoftheshoulders.‘That’saboutall,chief…Oncehe’djoinedthefirm,ErnestMalikbroughtin

hisbrotherfromsomebackwater.Hewasevenlessfromthatworld.SomesaythathewasjustasmallinsuranceagentfromtheLyonarea.Evenso,hemarriedtheseconddaughterand,sincethen,theMalikshavesatonalltheboardsofdirectors.Becausethefirmconsistsofamyriadofdifferentcompaniesthatareinterconnected.ApparentlyoldCampoiseffectivelyhasnoauthority.What’smore,hewasallegedlyfoolishenoughtosellahugenumberofshareswhenhebelievedtheywereattheirpeak.‘But,inoppositiontotheMaliks,thereisstilltheoldAmorellewidow,who

can’tstandthem.Anditisshewhostillhas–atleastitisthoughtshehas–themajorityshareholdingsinthevariouscompanies.Companygossiphasitthattoinfuriatehersons-in-law,sheiscapableofdisinheritingthemasfarasthelawallows.‘That’sallImanagedtodigup.’Afewmorebeers.‘Willyouhavelunchwithme,Lucas?’Theyhadlunchtogether,likeinthegoodolddays.ThenMaigrettookan

omnibustoLunaPark,whereatfirsthewasdisappointednottofindMimileinthemenagerie.‘He’sboundtobeinoneofthelocalcafés!YoumightfindhiminLeCadran.

OrperhapsatLéon’s,unlesshe’satthetobacconist’sonthecorner.’Mimilewasatthetobacconist’sandMaigretbeganbybuyinghimanaged

marcbrandy.Hewasamanofindeterminateage,withcolourlesshair,oneofthosemenwhomlifehasworndownlikeacointothepointwheretheyhavenocontours.Youcouldnevertellwhetherhewasdrunkorsober,forhealwayshadthesamehazylook,thesamenonchalantair,fromdawntilldusk.

‘WhatcanIdoforyou,boss?’HehadacriminalrecordatthePréfecture,quiteathickfile.Buthehad

calmeddownyearsago,andnowdidtheoccasionalsmallfavourforhisformerfoeatQuaidesOrfèvres.‘CanyouleaveParisfortwenty-fourhours?’‘AslongasIcanfindthePole.’‘WhatPole?’‘AfellowIknow,butwhosenameistoocomplicatedformetoremember.He

waswithCirqueAmarforalongtimeandhecouldtakecareofmyanimals.Letmetelephone.Alittledrinkfirst,ehboss?’Twolittledrinks,threelittledrinks,acoupleofbriefcallsfromthetelephone

boothandfinallyMimileannounced:‘I’myourman!’WhileMaigretexplainedwhathewantedofhim,Mimilehadthedismayed

lookofaclownbeinghitrepeatedlyovertheheadwithastick,hisrubberylipsrepeatingoverandoveragain:‘WellIdon’tknow,Ireallydon’tknow…It’sonlybecauseit’syouwho’s

askingmetodoitthatI’mnotreportingyoutothepolicerightaway.Talkofaweirdjob,thisisaweirdjob,allright.’‘Haveyougotit?’‘I’vegotit.I’vecompletelygotit.’‘Willyoumakesureyouhaveeverythingyouneed?’‘Andmore!IknowwhatI’mdoing.’Asaprecaution,Maigretdrewhimalittlemapoftheplace,checkedthe

timetableandrepeatedhisdetailedinstructionstwice.‘Everythinghastobereadybyteno’clock,Igetit!Youcancountonme.As

longasyou’retheonewhotakestherapifthere’strouble.’Theyboardedthesametrain,shortlyafterfouro’clock,pretendingnotto

knoweachother,andMimile,whohadputanoldbicyclebelongingtotheownerofthemenagerieintheluggagecompartment,gotoffonestationbeforetheOrsennehalt.Afewminuteslater,Maigretcalmlyalighted,likeanoldregular,andlingered

tochattothecrossing-keeper,whodoubledasstationmaster.

HebeganbycommentingthatitwashotterinthecountrythaninParis,anditwastrue,fortheheatinthevalleywassuffocatingthatday.‘Tellme,theymustserveareasonablydecentwhitewineinthatcafé,do

they?’Thecaféwasfiftymetresfromthestation,andshortlythetwomenwere

sittingatatablewithabottleofwhitewineinfrontofthem.Soontherewasaseriesoflittleglassesinfrontofthemtoo,thatsucceededeachotheratanincreasinglyrapidrate.Anhourlater,itwasplainthatthecrossing-keeperwouldsleepwellthat

night,andthatwasallthatMaigretrequiredofhim.Asforhim,hehadmadeapointofspillingmostofthealcoholthattheyhad

beenservedandhedidnotfeeltoosleepyasheambleddowntotheriverandalittlelaterwalkedintothelittlegardenofL’Ange.Raymondelookedsurprisedtoseehimagainsosoon.‘WhataboutMadameJeanne?’heasked.‘She’sstillinherroom.Bytheway,aletterarrivedforyou.Itwasdelivered

justafteryouleft.Maybethetrainhadn’tarrivedyet.IfIhadn’tbeenallalone,I’dhavebroughtittothestation.’Withablackborder,ofcourse.Monsieur,IwishyoutostoptheinvestigationwhichIaskedyoutocarryoutinamomentof

understandabledepression,givenmyageandtherecentshockIhavesuffered.Thismayhaveledmetointerpretcertaintragiceventsinawaythatisincompatiblewiththe

facts,andInowregrethavingdisturbedyouinyourretirement.YourpresenceatOrsenneonlycomplicatesanalreadypainfulsituationandIamtakingthe

libertyofaddingthattheindiscretionwithwhichyouhavesetaboutthetaskIentrustedtoyouandtheclumsinessyouhaveexhibitedsofarpromptmetodemandyourimmediatedeparture.Ihopeyouwillunderstandandnotinsistonupsettingafamilyunderagreatdealofstrain.DuringmythoughtlessvisittoMeung-sur-Loire,Ileftabundleoftenthousandfrancson

yourtabletocoveryourinitialexpenses.Youwillfindenclosedachequeforthesameamount.Pleaseconsiderthiscaseover.Yourssincerely,BernadetteAmorelle

Thenotewasindeedinherlarge,pointedhandwriting,butitwasn’therstyle.Maigretgaveawrygrimaceandputtheletterandthechequeinhispocket,convincedthatthewordshehadjustreadwerethoseofErnestMalikratherthantheelderlylady.

‘IalsohavetotellyouthatMadameJeanneaskedmeearlierwhenyouwereplanningtoleave.’‘Isshethrowingmeout?’PlumpRaymonde,whosecurveswerebothsturdyandsoft,blushedadeep

red.‘That’snotwhatImeantatall.It’sjustthatsheclaimsshe’sgoingtobeillfor

awhile.Whenshehasoneofherattacks…’Heglancedcovertlyatthebottlesthatwerethemainreasonforthoseattacks.‘Andthen?’‘Thehouseisgoingtobesoldanydaynow.’‘Onceagain!’saidMaigretsardonically.‘Andthenwhat,dearRaymonde?’‘Don’tyouworryaboutme.I’drathershe’dtoldyouherself.Shesaysthatit’s

notproperformetobealoneinthehousewithaman.Sheheardthatthetwoofusatetogetherinthekitchen.Shescoldedme.’‘Whendoesshewantmetoleave?’‘Tonight.Tomorrowmorningatthelatest.’‘Andtherearenootherinnsaroundhere,arethere?’‘There’sonefivekilometresaway.’‘Well,Raymonde,we’llseeaboutthattomorrowmorning.’‘ThethingisI’vegotnofoodthiseveningandI’vebeenforbidden—’‘I’lleatupatthelock.’Whichhedid.Therewasalittlegrocer’sshopforthebargemenwheredrinks

wereserved,astherearebesidemostlocks.Agroupofboatswasinthelockandthewomen,surroundedbytheirbrood,weredoingtheirshoppingwhilethemencameinforaquickdrink.AllthesepeopleworkedforAmorelleandCampois.‘Givemeabottleofwhitewine,apieceofsausageandhalfapoundofbread,’

heordered.Therewasnorestaurant.Hesatdownattheendofatable,andwatchedthe

watercascadingoverthelockgates.Inthepast,thebargesusedtomaketheirwayslowlyalongthebanks,drawnbyheavyhorseswhichalittlegirl,oftenbarefootonthetowpath,drovewithastick.Thosewerethebargesonwhichthehorsesusedtosleeptoothatcouldstillbe

seenonsomecanalsbutwhich,thankstoAmorelleandCampois’smoke-

belchingtug-boatsandmotorizedbarges,haddisappearedfromtheHauteSeine.Thesausagewasgood,andthewinelight,withaslightlyacidictaste.The

groceryshopsmelledofcinnamonandoil.Theupstreamlockgatesnowopen,thetugleditsbargeslikechickstowardsthetopofthemillraceandthelock-keepercametohaveadrinkatMaigret’stable.‘Ithoughtyouhadtoleavetonight.’‘Whotoldyouthat?’Thelock-keeperlookedsheepish.‘Youknow,ifwelistenedtoalltherumoursweheard…!’Malikwasfightingback.Hewasn’twastinganytime.Hadhecomeallthe

waytothelockhimself?Fromadistance,Maigretcouldsee,amidthefoliage,theroofsofthe

Campois’andtheAmorelles’statelyhouses–thatoftheelderlyMadameAmorelleandofherson-in-law,thatofErnestMalik,themostluxuriousofall,thatofCampois,halfwayupthehill,almostrustic,althoughsolidlybourgeoiswithitspinkwalls.Ontheothersideofthewaterwasthequaint,dilapidatedlittlemanorhouseofMonsieurGroux,whopreferredtomortgagehispropertiesratherthanseehiswoodsturnedintoquarries.Hewasn’tfaraway,MonsieurGroux.Youcouldseehim,bareheadedinthe

sun,dressedasalwaysinkhaki,sittinginagreencanoemooredbetweentwopolesandfishingwitharodandline.Therewasn’tabreathofwind,noripplesonthewater.‘Youknowaboutthesethings,don’tyou.Tellme,willtherebeamoon

tonight?’‘Thatdependswhattime.Itwillrisejustbeforemidnightbehindthewood

youseeupstream.It’sinitsfirstquarter.’Maigretwasfairlypleasedwithhimselfandyethecouldn’tridhimselfofa

littleknotofanxietythathadlodgedinhischestandwasgrowinginsteadofabatingasthetimepassed.Apangofnostalgiatoo.HehadspentanhouratQuaidesOrfèvres,withmen

heknewsowellthattheystillcalledhimchief,butwho…Whathadtheysaidtoeachotherafterhehadleft?Thathewasmissingthe

job,naturally!Thatlifeinhisruralretreatwasn’tasrosyashewouldhavethem

believe!Thathehadseizedonthefirstopportunitytoexperiencethethrillsofthepastagain!Anamateur,inotherwords!Helookedlikeanamateur.‘Anotherdropofwhite?’Thelock-keeperdidn’tsayno.Hehadthehabitofwipinghismouthwithhis

sleeveaftereverysip.‘IamsurethatyoungMalik–Georges-Henry–musthavegonefishinglotsof

timeswithyourson?’‘Ohyes,sir.’‘Iexpecthelovedthat,didn’the?’‘Helovedthewater,helovedthewoods,helovedanimals!’‘Agoodboy!’‘Agoodboy,yes.Notproud.Ifyoucouldhaveseenthepairofthemwiththe

littleyounglady…They’doftengoouttogetherinthecanoe.I’doffertoletthemthroughthelock,eventhoughwedon’tnormallyallowsmallboatsthrough.Buttheyweretheoneswhosaidno.Theypreferredtocarrytheboattotheothersideofthelock.I’dseethemgoinghomeatdusk.’Atdusk,orratherafterduskhadfallen,Maigrethimselfhadanunsavouryjob

todo.Then,everyonewouldknow.They’dknowwhetherhehadgotitwrong,ifhewasjustanolddogwhohaddeservedhisretirement,orwhetherhewasstillgoodforsomething.Hepaidandsetoffslowlyalongtheriverbank,puffingawayathispipe.The

waitwaslong,asifthateveningthesunrefusedtogodown.Theshimmeringwaterflowedslowly,silently,withonlyabarelyperceptiblemurmur.Themidgeshovereddangerouslyclosetothesurfaceofthewater,tauntingthefishandmakingthemjump.Hesawnoone,neithertheMalikbrothers,northeirhouseholdservants.That

eveningeverythingwasatastandstill.Shortlybeforeteno’clock,leavingbehindhimthelightshininginJeanne’sroomatL’AngeandinthekitchenwhereRaymondesat,hemadehiswaytothestation,ashehaddonethepreviousnight.Thelittleglassesofwhitewinehaddoubtlesshadtheireffect,becausethe

crossing-keeperwasnotathispostoutsidehishouse.Maigretwasabletowalkpastunseenandfollowthetrack.

Behindthecurtainofhazelnuttrees,moreorlessatthespotwherehehadhiddenthepreviousnight,hefoundMimileinposition,acalmMimile,legsapart,acigarettethathadgoneoutdanglingfromhislips,whoseemedtobetakingabreathoffreshair.‘Nosignofhimyet?’‘No.’Theystoodwaitinginsilence.Fromtimetotime,theywhisperedafewwords.

Asonthepreviousnight,therewasawindowopeninBernadetteAmorelle’sapartmentandtheyoccasionallyglimpsedtheoldladymovingaroundinthefaintglow.ItwasnotuntilhalfpasttenthatafigureappearedintheMaliks’gardenand

thingshappenedexactlyastheyhaddonethenightbefore.Themanwascarryingaparcelandhisdogsranuptohimthenfollowedhimtothedoorofthetopkennel.Hewentinside,stayedalotlongerthanthepreviousnightandfinallywentbackintothehouse,wherealightwentonatafirst-floorwindow,whichopenedforamomentwhiletheshutterswerebeingclosed.Thedogsroamedthegardensbeforesettlingdownforthenight,comingto

snifftheairnotfarfromthewall,doubtlesssensingthepresenceofthetwomen.‘ShallIgo,boss?’whisperedMimile.OneoftheGreatDanessnarled,asifabouttogrowl,butthecircusmanhad

alreadythrownanobjectinitsdirectionwhichlandedonthegroundwithasoftthud.‘Unlessthey’rebettertrainedthanIthink,’mutteredMimile.‘ButI’mnot

scaredofthat.Thesebourgeoisfolkdon’tknowhowtotraindogsandevenifthey’regivenawell-trainedanimal,theysoonspoilit.’Hewasright.Thetwodogsprowledaroundtheobject,sniffing.Maigret,

anxious,hadlethispipegoout.Eventuallyoneofthedogsgingerlypickedupthemeatinitsmouthandshookit,whiletheotherone,jealous,gaveamenacinggrowl.‘There’senoughforeveryone!’sniggeredMimile,throwingasecondpiece.

‘Noneedtofight,mybeauties!’Thewholethinglastedbarelyfiveminutes.Thepalehoundslurchedaboutfor

amoment,thenturnedincircles,sick,andfinallylaydownontheirsides.Atthatmoment,Maigretwasnotproudofhimself.

‘It’sdone,boss.Shallwego?’Itwasbettertowaitalittleuntilitwascompletelydarkandallthelightswere

out.Mimilewasgrowingimpatient.‘Themoonwillbeupshortlyandit’llbetoolate.’Mimilehadbroughtaropewhichwasalreadytiedtothetrunkofayoungash

treebesidethetrack,closeupagainstthewall.‘I’llgofirst.’Thewallwasaroundthreemetreshigh,butitwasingoodcondition,withno

bulges.‘Itwillbehardertoclimbbackoverfromhere.Unlesswefindaladderin

theirwretchedgarden.Ohlook!There’sawheelbarrowdownthatlittlepath.Wecanstanditupagainstthewall.That’llhelp.’Mimilewasexcited,happy,likeamanbackinhiselement.‘IfanyonehadtoldmethatI’dbedoingthisthingwithyou…’Theynearedtheformerkennelorstable,whichwasasingle-storeybrick

buildingwithaconcreteyardenclosedbyafence.‘Noneedforatorch,’whisperedMimilefiddlingwiththelock.Thedoorwasopenandtheyimmediatelycaughtastrongwhiffofmouldy

straw.‘Closethedoor!Well,itlookstomeasifthere’snooneinhere!’Maigretswitchedonhistorchandtheysawnothingaroundthemotherthana

brokenoldwoodenstall,amildewedharnesshangingfromahook,awhiponthefloor,andstrawmixedwithhayanddust.‘Downbelow,’saidMaigret.‘Theremustbeahatchoranopeningofsome

kind.’Theysimplyhadtoshiftthestrawtofindarobusttrapdoorwithheavy

hinges.Thedoorwassecuredonlywithabolt,whichMaigretdrewbackslowlywithaheavyheart.‘Whatareyouwaitingfor?’hissedMimile.Nothing.Andyetithadbeenyearssincehehadfeltthatparticularemotion.‘Doyouwantmetoopenit?’No.Heraisedthetrapdoor.Notasoundcamefromthecellar,andyetthey

bothinstantlyhadthefeelingthattherewasalivingcreaturedownthere.

Thetorchsuddenlylitupthedarkspacebelowthem,andthepalerayslightedonaface,ashapethatleapedup.‘Staycalm,’saidMaigretquietly.Hetriedtotracktheshapewithhistorchasitdartedfromonewalltoanother

likeahuntedanimal.Hesaidmechanically:‘Iamafriend.’Mimilesuggested:‘ShallIgodown?’Andavoicefrombelowsaid:‘Don’ttouchme!’‘Don’tworry!Noone’sgoingtotouchyou.’Maigrettalked,talkedasinadreamorratherasiftryingtosootheachildwho

ishavinganightmare.Andthescenedidindeedresembleanightmare.‘Staycalm.Let’sgetyououtofhere.’‘WhatifIdon’twanttocomeout?’Theshrill,febrilevoiceofamadchild.‘ShallIgodown?’Mimileofferedagain,keentobedonewiththings.‘Listen,Georges-Henry!Iamafriend.Iknoweverything.’Andsuddenlyitwasasifhehadspokenthemagicwords.Theboy’sagitation

abruptlyceased.Therewasafewseconds’silence,thenachangedvoiceaskedwarily:‘Whatdoyouknow?’‘Firstofallweneedtogetoutofhere,youngman.Ipromiseyouthatyou

havenothingtofear.’‘Where’smyfather?Whathaveyoudonewithhim?’‘Yourfatherisinhisbedroom,inbed,probably.’‘It’snottrue!’Hisvoicewasfullofanimosity.Theywerelyingtohim.Hewasalmost

certaintheywerelyingtohim,aspeoplehaddoneallhislife.ThiswastheobsessivefearthathisvoicerevealedtoMaigret,whowasbeginningtolosepatience.‘Yourgrandmothertoldmeeverything.’‘It’snottrue!’‘Itwasshewhocametofetchmeandwho—’

Andtheboy,almostshouting:‘Shedoesn’tknowanything!I’mtheonlyonewho—’‘Hush!Trustme,Georges-Henry.Come.Whenyoucomeoutofhere,we’ll

talkcalmly.’Wouldhelethimselfbecajoled?OtherwiseMaigretwouldhavetogodown

intothehole,useforce,seizehimbodilyandoverpowerhim,andhemightfightback,scratchandbitelikeapanic-strickenyounganimal.‘ShallIgodown?’repeatedMimile,whowasgrowingrestlessand

occasionallyturnedtowardsthedoor,afraid.‘Listen,Georges-Henry.I’mfromthepolice.’‘Thishasnothingtodowiththepolice!Ihatethepolice!Ihatethepolice!’Hebrokeoff.Anideahadjuststruckhimandhecontinuedinadifferent

voice:‘Anyway,ifyouwerethepoliceyou’dhave—’Heshrieked:‘Leavemealone!Leavemealone!Goaway!You’relying!Youknowyou’re

lying!Goandtellmyfather—’Justthen,fromoverbythedoorwhichhadopenednoiselessly,avoicerang

out:‘I’msorrytodisturbyou,gentlemen.’Maigret’storchlituptheshapeofErnestMalik,whowasstandingthere,very

calmly,abigguninhishand.‘Ibelieve,mypoorJules,thatIwouldbewithinmyrightstoshootyou,along

withyourfriend.’Fromdownbelow,theycouldheartheboy’steethchattering.

6.MimileandhisPrisoner

Withoutbetrayingtheleastsurprise,Maigretturnedslowlytowardsthenewcomerandappearednottonoticethegunpointingathim.‘Gettheboyoutofthere,’hesaidinhismostnaturalvoice,likeamanwho,

havingtriedtocompleteataskandfailed,wasaskinganothertotryhishand.‘Nowlisten,Maigret—’Malikbegan.‘Notnow.Nothere.Later,I’lllistentoanythingyoulike.’‘Doyouadmitthatyouhaveputyourselfinthewrong?’‘I’mtellingyoutotakecareofthechild.Youwon’t?Mimile,godowninto

thehole.’OnlythendidErnestMaliksaysharply:‘Youcancomeout,Georges-Henry.’Theboydidnotmove.‘Doyouhearme?Comeout!Yourpunishmenthasgoneonlongenough.’Maigretshuddered.Sothatwaswhattheywouldhavehimbelieve?Thatthis

wasapunishment?‘Thatwashopeless,Ernest.’And,leaningoverthehole,hesaidinacalm,gentlevoice:‘Youcancomenow,Georges-Henry.Youhavenothingmoretofear.Notfrom

yourfatherorfromanyoneelse.’Mimileheldouthishandandhelpedtheyoungmantohoisthimselfup

throughthetrapdoor.Georges-Henrystoodhunched,avoidinglookingathisfather,waitingforthechancetorunaway.

Andthat,Maigrethadforeseen.Forhehadanticipatedeverything,even–andespecially–Malik’sburstinginonthem.AndMimilehadbeengivenpreciseinstructions,sonowallhehadtodowasactonthem.Thefourofthemcouldnotstandthereintheoldkennelindefinitely,and

Maigretwasthefirsttowalktowardsthedoor,ignoringMalik,whostoodbarringhispath.‘We’llbemorecomfortabletalkinginsidethehouse,’hemurmured.‘Youinsistontalking?’Maigretshrugged.AshepassedMimile,heshothimalookthatmeant:‘Act

withcaution’.Forthiswasadelicateoperationandoneslipcouldruineverything.They

exitedonebyoneandGeorges-Henryemergedlast,carefultokeepadistancefromhisfather.ThefourofthemwalkeddownthepathandnowitwasMalik’sturntodisplayacertainanxiety.Thenightwaspitchblack.Themoonhadn’trisenyet.Maigrethadswitchedoffhistorch.Therewasbarelyanotherhundredmetrestogo.Whatwastheboywaiting

for?HadMaigretgotitwrong?Nowitwasasifnoonedaredspeak,noonewantedtotakeresponsibilityfor

whatwasabouttohappen.Anothersixtymetres.Inoneminute,itwouldbetoolateandMaigretfeltlike

givingGeorges-Henryanudgetobringhimbackdowntoearth.Twentymetres…tenmetres…Maigretwouldhavetoresignhimself.What

werethefourofthemgoingtodoinsidethehousewhosewhitefaçadeloomedinfrontofthem?Fivemetres.Toolate!Orratheritwasn’t.Georges-Henryprovedhimself

cannierthanMaigrethimself,forhehadbankedononething:oncetheyreachedthehouse,hisfatherwouldhavetogoaheadtoopenthedoor.Atthatexactmomenthedartedoffand,asecondlater,therustleofgrasses

andbranchescouldbeheardinthethicket.Mimilehadbeenquicktospottheboy’smoveandsetoffinpursuit.Malikbarelylostasecond,butitwasasecondtoolong.Hisreflexwastoaim

hisgunatthecircus-man’ssilhouette.Hewouldhavefired.Butbeforehehadtimetosqueezethetrigger,Maigretbroughthisfistdownonhisforearmandthegunclatteredtotheground.

‘Andsowehaveit!’saidMaigretwithsatisfaction.Hedidnotdeigntopickuptheweapon,whichhekickedintothemiddleof

thepath.Forhispart,asortofhumanpridepreventedErnestMalikfromgoingtoretrieveit.Whatwouldbethepoint?Thegamebeingplayednowbetweenthetwoofthemcouldnotinanywaybe

affectedbyagun.ForMaigret,itwasquiteanemotionalmoment.Preciselybecausehehad

anticipatedit.Thenightwassostillthattheycouldhear,alreadysomedistanceaway,thefootstepsofthetwomenrunning.Malikandhelistenedout.TheycouldclearlyhearthatMimilewascloseontheboy’sheels.Theymusthaveenteredtheneighbouringestate,stillrunning,andfromthere

theywouldprobablyheaddowntothetowpath.‘Andsowehaveit,’repeatedMaigretasthesoundfadeduntilitwasbarely

audible.‘Shallwegoinside?’Malikturnedthekeywhichhehadinsertedinthelockearlierandstoodaside.

Thenheswitchedonthelightandtheysawhiswifestandinginawhitebathrobeonthebendinthestairs.Shestaredatthetwoofthem,round-eyedinamazementandatalossfor

words,untilherhusbandsnappedirritably:‘Gotobed!’

ThetwoofthemwereinMalik’sstudyandMaigret,standing,begantofillhispipe,dartingsmuglittleglancesathisadversary.MeanwhileMalikpacedupanddown,hishandsbehindhisback.‘Aren’tyouplanningtolodgeacomplaint?’Maigretaskedquietly.‘It’sthe

perfectopportunity.Yourtwodogspoisoned.Climbingoverthewallandtrespassing.Youcouldevenclaimtherewasakidnapattempt…Aftersunsettoboot…Thatwouldcarryasentenceofhardlabour.Goon,Ernest…Thetelephoneisthere,withinreach.AcalltotheCorbeilgendarmerieandthey’llhavetoarrestme.‘What’swrong?…What’sstoppingyou?’Usingafamiliartonenolongerbotheredhimnow,quitetheopposite,butit

wasnotthechumminessMalikhadusedontheirfirstmeeting.Itwasthe

contemptuousfamiliaritythattheformerinspectorusedtoemploywithhis‘customers’.‘Don’tyouwantthewholeworldtoknowthatyouwerekeepingyourson

lockedupinacellar?…Firstofall,it’syourrightasafather.Therighttopunish.Howmanytimes,whenIwaslittle,wasIthreatenedwithbeinglockedinthecellar!’‘Shutup,willyou?’MalikhadplantedhimselfinfrontofMaigretandwasstaringathimintently,

tryingtofathomwhatlaybehindhiswords.‘Whatexactlydoyouknow?’‘Finally!ThequestionI’vebeenwaitingfor.’‘Whatdoyouknow?’askedMalikagain,becomingimpatient.‘Andyou,whatareyouafraidofmeknowing?’‘Ihavealreadyaskedyounottopokeyournoseinmybusiness.’‘AndIrefused.’‘Forthesecondandlasttime,I’mtellingyou—’ButMaigretwasalreadyshakinghishead.‘No…Yousee,that’simpossiblenow.’‘Youdon’tknowanything.’‘Inthatcase,whatareyouafraidof?’‘Youwon’tfindoutanything.’‘SoI’mnotabothertoyou,then.’‘Asfortheboy,hewon’ttalk.Iknowyou’rerelyingonhim.’‘Isthatallyouhavetosaytome,Ernest?’‘I’maskingyoutothink.Icouldhavekilledyouearlier,andI’mbeginningto

wishIhad.’‘Youmaywellhavebeenwrongnotto.Inafewmoments,whenIleavehere,

you’llstillhaveachancetoshootmeintheback.It’struethatnowtheboyisfaraway,andthatthere’ssomeonewithhim.Comeon!I’mreadyforbed.So,notelephone?Nocomplaint?Nogendarmerie?Understood?Agreed?’Heheadedforthedoor.‘Goodnight,Ernest.’Ashewasabouttodisappearintothehall,hechangedhismindandwentback

intotheroom,tosay,withasolemnexpressionandaheavygaze:

‘Yousee,whatIamgoingtodiscoverisIsuspectsougly,sovile,thatI’mloathtocontinue.’Heleftwithoutlookinground,slammingthedoorhardbehindhim,andmade

hiswaytothegate,whichwaslocked.Thesituationwasabsurd:herehewasinthegroundsofthehousewithnoonetolethimout.Thelightwasstilloninthestudy,butMalikwasnotthinkingaboutseeinghis

enemyoffthepremises.Scalethebackwall?Maigretdidnotthinkhewasagileenoughtodosoalone.

FindthepaththatwouldtakehimtotheAmorelles’garden,wherethegatemightnotbelocked?Heshruggedandheadedovertothegardeners’cottage,andtappedonthe

door.‘Whatisit?’cameasleepyvoicefrominside.‘AfriendofMonsieurMalik’swhoneedssomeonetounlockthegatefor

him.’Heheardtheoldgardenermovingaroundasheputonhistrousersandhunted

aroundforhisclogs.Thedooropenedafraction.‘Howcomeyouareinthegardens?Wherearethedogs?’‘Ithinkthey’reasleep,’mutteredMaigret.‘Unlessthey’redead.’‘WhataboutMonsieurMalik?’‘He’sinhisstudy.’‘Buthehasthekeytothegate.’‘Maybe.Buthe’ssopreoccupiedthatitdidn’tevenoccurtohim.’Thegardenerwalkedaheadofhim,grumbling,turningroundfromtimeto

timetodartaninquisitivelookatthisnocturnalvisitor.WhenMaigrethastenedhisstep,themanshuddered,asifhewereexpectingtobehitfrombehind.‘Thankyou,mygoodman.’HereturnedserenelytoL’Ange.HehadtothrowpebblesatRaymonde’s

windowtowakeherandaskhertoopenthedoor.‘Whattimeisit?Iwasn’texpectingyoubacktonight.EarlierIheardpeople

runningalongthelittlepath.Wasn’tthatyou?’Hepouredhimselfadrinkandwenttobed.Ateighto’clockthenextmorning,

freshlyshavenandcarryinghissuitcase,heboardedthetrainforParis.Athalf

pastnine,havingdrunkacoffeeandeatencroissantsinalittlecafé,hewalkedintoQuaidesOrfèvres.Lucaswasconferringinhissuperior’soffice.Maigretsatdownathisold

desk,nexttotheopenwindow,andanAmorelleandCampoistughappenedtobepassingontheSeine,givingtwoloudsirenblastsbeforedisappearingunderthePontdelaCité.Atteno’clock,Lucascamein,holdingasheafofpapers,whichhesetdown

onacornerofthedesk.‘You’reintown,chief?IthoughtyouwerebackinOrsenne.’‘Hastherebeenatelephonecallformethismorning?’‘Notyet.Areyouexpectingone?’‘Youneedtoinformtheswitchboard.Tellthemtoputthecalldirectlythrough

tome,or,ifI’mnothere,totakeamessage.’Hedidn’twanttoappearanxious,buthesmokedonepipeafteranother.‘CarryonwithyourworkasifIweren’there.’‘Nothingexcitingthismorning.AstabbinginRueDelambre.’Thedailyroutine.Heknewitsowell.Hehadremovedhisjacket,asintheold

dayswhenhewasathomehere.Hewanderedinandoutofthevariousoffices,shookhands,caughtsnatchesofaninterrogationoratelephoneconversation.‘Don’tmindme,boys.’Athalfpasteleven,hewentdownforabeerwithTorrence.‘Bytheway,there’ssomethingI’dlikeyoutofindoutforme.Stillonthe

subjectofErnestMalik.Iwanttoknowifhe’sagambler.Orifhewasinthepast,whenhewasyoung.Itmustbepossibletofindsomeonewhoknewhimtwentyortwenty-fiveyearsago.’‘Iwill,chief.’Ataquartertotwelve,therewasstillnothing,andMaigret’sshouldersgrew

morestooped,hisgaitmorehesitant.‘IthinkI’vebeenacompleteidiot!’heevensaidtoLucas,whowasdealing

withroutinebusiness.Eachtimethetelephonerangintheoffice,hepickedituphimself.Atlast,a

fewsecondsbeforemidday,someonewasaskingforMaigret.‘Maigretspeaking…Whereareyou?…Whereishe?’

‘InIvry,boss.I’llbequick,becauseI’mworriedhe’lltakeadvantage.Idon’tknowthenameofthestreet.Ididn’tgetachancetoseeit.Alittlehotel.It’sathree-storeybuildingandthegroundfloorispaintedbrown.It’scalledAMaBourgogne.There’sagasworksrightopposite.’‘What’shedoing?’‘Ihavenoidea.Ithinkhe’ssleeping.I’dbettergo.’MaigretwentandstoodinfrontofamapofParisandthesuburbs.‘DoyouknowagasworksinIvry,Lucas?’‘IthinkIgetwhereitis,it’sjustpastthestation.’Afewminuteslater,Maigret,sittinginanopen-toppedtaxi,washeading

towardsthesmokeofIvry.Hehadtocombthestreetsforawhileuntilhefoundagasworksandeventuallyspottedaseedyhotelwhosegroundfloorwaspainteddarkbrown.‘ShallIwaitforyou?’askedthedriver.‘Ithinkthatwouldbeagoodidea.’Maigretwalkedintotherestaurantareawhereworkers,nearlyallforeigners,

wereeatingatthemarbletables.Apowerfulsmellofstewandcheapredwineassailedhisthroat.Asturdygirlinblackandwhitewoveamongthetables,carryinganimpossiblenumberofsmall,greyceramicdishes.‘Areyoulookingforthefellowwhocamedowntotelephoneearlier?Hesaid

totellyoutogouptothethirdfloor.Youcangothroughhere.’Anarrowcorridor,withgraffitionthewalls.Thestaircasewasdark,litonly

byasmallwindowonthesecondfloor.Oncepastit,Maigretcaughtsightoftwofeetandapairoflegs.ItwasMimile,sittingonthetopstair,anunlitcigaretteinhismouth.‘Givemealightfirst,boss.Ididn’tevenstoptoaskformatcheswhenIwent

downstairstotelephone.Ihaven’tbeenabletohaveasmokesincelastnight.’Therewasamixtureofjoyandmockeryinhislight-colouredeyes.‘Doyouwantmetoshoveoversoyoucansitdowntoo?’‘Whereishe?’OnthelandingMaigretwasabletomakeoutfourdoorspaintedthesame

drearybrownasthefaçade.Theyboretheclumsilypaintednumbers11,12,13and14.

‘He’sinnumber12!I’vegot13.It’sfunny,anyonewouldthinkthey’ddoneitonpurpose…Thirteen,unluckyforsome!’Heinhaledthesmokeavidly,stoodupandstretched.‘Ifyou’dliketocomeintomypad…butIwarnyouitstinksandtheceiling’s

low.WhileIwashereonmyown,Ithoughtitbesttobeouthereandbartheway,youunderstand?’‘Howdidyoumanagetotelephone?’‘Exactly…I’dbeenwaitingforanopportunityallmorning.’Causewe’ve

beenhereawhile.Sincesixo’clockthismorning.’Heopenedthedoorofnumber13,andMaigretglimpsedanironbedstead

paintedblackandanuglyreddishblanket,astraw-bottomedchairandabasinwithnojugonapedestaltable.Thethird-floorroomswereundertheeavesand,fromthecentreoftheroom,youhadtostoop.‘Let’snotstayherebecausehe’sasslipperyasaneel.He’salreadytriedtorun

offtwicethismorning.AtonepointIthoughthemighttryandescapeovertherooftops,butIrealizedthatit’simpossible.’Thegasworksopposite,withitscoal-blackenedyards.Mimilehadthetousled

lookofsomeonewhohadn’tsleptandhadn’twashed.‘We’reactuallybetteroffonthestairsanditdoesn’tsmellsobad.Hereit

stinksofsickflesh,don’tyoufind?Likethesmellofanolddressing.’

Georges-Henrywasasleep,orwaspretendingtobe,becausewhentheypressedtheirearstothedoor,theycouldnothearasoundfromhisroom.ThetwomenstayedonthestaircaseandMimileexplained,chain-smokingtocatchup:‘Firstofall,howImanagedtotelephoneyou.Ididn’twanttoleavemy

stakeout,asyoupolicecallit.Butontheotherhand,Ihadtocontactyou,aswe’dagreed.Atonepoint,ataroundnineo’clock,awomancamedown,theonefromnumber14.Ithoughtofaskinghertogiveyouacall,ortogetamessagetoQuaidesOrfèvres.Exceptthathere,itmightnotbeaverygoodideatomentionthepoliceandImighthavegotmyselfthrownout.‘“Betterwaitforanotheropportunity,Mimile,”Isaidtomyself.“Thisisno

timetogetintoafight.”‘WhenIsawthefellowfromnumber11comingoutofhisroom,Iknewat

oncethathewasaPole.WhenitcomestoPolish,I’myourman,Ispeakabitof

theirlanguage.‘Istartedtochattohimandhewasveryhappytohearhislingo.Itoldhim

somestoryaboutachick.Thatshewasintheroom.Thatshewantedtoditchme.Inshort,heagreedtostandguardforthefewminutesIneededtogodownstairsandtelephone.’‘Areyousurethekidisstillinthere?’Mimilegavehimacheekywinkandtookfromhispocketapairofplierswith

whichhegrippedthetipofthekeythatwasontheinsideofthedoorbutwasprotrudingslightlyfromthekeyhole.HebeckonedtoMaigrettocomeoverquietlyand,withanextraordinarily

gentlemovement,heturnedthekeyandopenedthedooracrack.Maigretpeeredinand,inaroomjustliketheonenextdoor,whosewindow

wasopen,hesawtheyoungmanstretchedoutfullyclothedacrossthebed.Hewasasleep,therewasnodoubtaboutit.Hesleptasboysofthatagesleep,

hisfeaturesrelaxed,hismouthhalf-openinachildlikepout.Hehadnottakenhisshoesoffandoneofhisfeethungovertheendofthebed.Mimileshutthedooragainjustasgently.‘Nowletmetellyouwhathappened.Thatwasabrilliantideaofyourstohave

metakemybicycle.Andanevenmorebrilliantideaofminetohideitnearthelevelcrossing.‘Yourememberhowheracedoff.Arealrabbit.Hezigzaggedthroughthe

gardensanddivedintotheundergrowthhopingtoshakemeoff.‘Atonepoint,wewentthroughahedge,oneaftertheother,andIstilldidn’t

managetocatchsightofhim.Itwasthesoundthattoldmethathewasmakingforahouse.Notexactlytowardsthehouse,buttowardsasortofshedfromwhichIsawhimtakeoutabicycle.’‘Hisgrandmother’shouse,’addedMaigret.‘Thebikemusthavebeena

woman’sbike,theonebelongingtohiscousinMonita.’‘Awoman’sbike,yes.Hejumpedontoit,buthecouldn’tgofastalongthe

gardenpaths,andIwasstillonhistail.Ididn’tdaretalktohimyet,becauseIdidn’tknowwhatwashappeningyourend.’‘Malikwantedtoshootyou.’‘Ithoughtasmuch.It’sfunny,butIhadafeeling.AtonepointIevenstood

still,forlessthanasecondperhaps,asifIwaswaitingfortheshot.Anyway,we

weregropingaroundinthedarkagain,andnowhe’dgotoffhisbikeandwaspushingit.Hepasseditoveranotherhedge.WefoundourselvesonalittlepaththatrandowntotheSeineand,theretoo,hecouldn’tgofast.Onthetowpath,itwasdifferent,andIlostalotofground,butIcaughtupwithhimonthewayuptothestation,becauseofthehill.‘Hemusthavebeenquiteconfident,becausehecouldn’thaveguessedthatI

hadmybikeabitfurtheron.‘Poorkid!Hewaspedallingforallhewasworth.Hewascertainhewasgoing

tothrowmeoff,wasn’the?‘Well,hewaswrong!Igrabmybikeinpassing,Igiveitsomeoomphand,

justwhenhe’sleastexpectingit,hereIamridingalongsidehimasifnothing’shappened.‘“Don’tbeafraid,kid,”Isaytohim.‘Iwantedtoreassurehim.Hewentcrazy.Hepedalledfasterandfaster,it

madehisbreathallhot.‘“Don’tbeafraid,I’mtellingyou…YouknowInspectorMaigret,don’tyou?

Hedoesn’twanttohurtyou,hewantstohelpyou.”‘Fromtimetotime,heturnedtowardsmeandyelledfuriously:‘“Leavemealone!”‘Then,withasobinhisvoice:‘“Istillwon’tsayanything.”‘Ifeltsorryforhim,Itellyou.Somejobyougaveme.Tosaynothingofthe

factthatgoingdownahill,Ican’trememberwhere,onamainroad,heswervesandendsupfacedownonthetarmac,andIliterallyheardthecrackashisheadhittheroad.‘Igetoffmybike.Iwanttohelphimup.Hewasalreadybackinthesaddle,

crazier,angrierthanever.‘“Stop,kid.Youmusthavehurtyourself.There’snoharminustalkingfora

minute,isthere?I’monyourside,Iam.”‘I’dbeenwonderingforawhilewhathewasupto,hunchedoverhis

handlebars,withonehandhiddenfromview.Ishouldaddthatthemoonhadcomeupanditwasfairlylight.‘Irideupcloser.Iwasn’tametreawayfromhimwhenhemakesamovement.

Iduck.Luckily!Thatlittlerascalhadjustthrownamonkeywrenchthathe’d

takenoutofhissaddlebagatmyhead.Itmissedmyforeheadbyawhisker.‘Nowhewasevenmorefrightened.HereckonedIwasangrywithhim,that

I’dgethimback.AndIcarriedontalking.ItwouldbealaughifIcouldrepeateverythingIsaidtohimthatnight.‘“Yourealizethatyouwon’tgetridofme,don’tyou?BesidesI’munder

orders.Gowhereyoulike,you’llalwaysfindmebehindyou…Ireporttotheinspector.Oncehe’sthere,thiswon’tbemybusinessanymore.”‘Hemusthavetakenthewrongroadatacrossroads,becausenowwewere

headingawayfromParis.Aftergoingthroughumpteenvillages,allghostlyinthemoonlight,wecameoutonRouted’Orléans.That’ssomedistancefromtheRoutedeFontainebleau!‘Eventuallyhewasforcedtoslowdown,butherefusedtospeaktomeor

eventolookinmydirection.‘ThenitgrewlightandwewereontheoutskirtsofParis.Ihadanotherclose

shave,becausehehadthebrightideaofdivingintothelittlebackstreetstotryandshakemeoff.‘Hemusthavebeenwornout…Icouldseehowpalehewas,hiseyelidswere

red.Heonlymanagedtostayonhisbikethroughhabit.‘“We’ddobettertocallitanightandgetsomekip,kid.You’llendupmaking

yourselfill.”‘Andthen,hespoketome.Hemusthavedoneitautomatically,without

realizing.Yes,I’mconvincedhewassoexhaustedthathenolongerknewwhathewasdoing.Haveyoueverseenthefinishinglineofacross-countryracewhentheguyhastohavesomeoneholdinghimupwhilehe’scompletelyoblivioustoalltheexcitementaroundhim?‘“Idon’thaveanymoney,”hesaystome.‘“That’snotaproblem,Ido.We’llgowhereveryoulike,butyouneedto

rest.”‘Wewereinthisneighbourhood.Ididn’tthinkhe’dtakemeatmywordso

quickly.Hesawtheword“hotel”overthedoor,whichwasopen.Thereweresomeworkerscomingout.‘Hegotoffthebikeandhecouldbarelystandupstraight,hewassostiff.If

thecaféhadbeenopen,I’dhaveboughthimadrink,butIdon’tknowifhe’dhaveacceptedit.

‘He’sproud,youknow.He’sastrangeboy.Idon’tknowwhathisplanis,buthe’sstickingtoit,andit’snotoveryet.‘Weshovedthetwobikesunderthestairs.Iftheyhaven’tbeenstolen,they

shouldstillbethere.‘Hewentupaheadofme.Onthefirstfloor,hedidn’tknowwhattodo,

becausetheredidn’tappeartobeanyonearound.‘“Patron!”Ishouted.‘Theownerturnedouttobeawoman.Strongerthanaman,anddifficult.‘“Whatdoyouwant?”‘Andshegaveusalookthatshowedshewasthinkingdirtythoughts.‘“Wewanttworooms.Nexttoeachotherifpossible.”‘Intheendshegaveustwokeys,rooms12and13.That’sall,boss.Now,if

youdon’tmindstayinghereforamoment,I’dliketogoandhaveadrinkortwoandmaybesomethingtoeat.I’vebeensmellingfoodcookingsincethismorning.’

‘Openthedoorforme,’saidMaigretwhenMimilecamebackup,reekingofalcohol.‘Youwanttowakehimup?’protestedMimile,whohadbeguntoconsiderthe

youngmanashisprotégé.‘You’ddobettertolethimkiptohisheart’scontent.’Maigretgaveareassuringwaveandwentintotheroomwithoutmakinga

sound,tiptoeingovertothewindowandrestinghiselbowsontheledge.Menwereloadingthegas-worksfurnacesandtheflamesshotupbrightyellowinthesunlight.Hecouldimaginethesweatonthetorsosoftheworkersstrippedtothewaistastheywipedtheirforeheadswiththeirgrimyarms.Itwasalongwait.Maigrethadplentyoftimetothink.Fromtimetotime,he

turnedtowardshisyoungcompanion,whowasbeginningtoleavetherealmofdeepandpeacefulsleeptoenterintothemorerestlessphasethatprecedesawakening.Sometimeshisbrowfurrowed.Hismouthopenedwider,asifheweretryingtosaysomething.Hewasprobablydreamingthathewasspeaking.Hebecamefierce.Hewassaying‘no’withallthestrengthofhisbeing.Thenhisexpressionbecamemoredistraughtandheappearedtobeonthe

vergeoftears.Buthedidnotcry.Hetossedandrolledover,makingthesagging

bedcreak.Heswattedaflythathadlandedonhisnose.Hiseyelidsflickered,startledbytheglareofthesunlight.Finallyhiseyeswerewideopen,staringattheslantingceilinginnaive

surprise.ThenhegazedatthebulkyformofMaigret,whostoodwithhisbacktothelight.Suddenlyhewasfullyalert.Hedidnotstir,butremainedabsolutelystill,and

acolddeterminationreminiscentofhisfatherstoleoverhisfaceandhardenedhisfeatures.‘Istillwon’tsayanything,’heannounced.‘Iamnotaskingyoutosayanything,’repliedMaigretwithahintofgruffness

inhisvoice.‘Andbesides,whatcouldyoutellme?’‘WhywasIfollowed?Andwhatareyoudoinginmyroom?Where’smy

father?’‘Hestayedbackathome.’‘Areyousure?’Itwasasifhedidnotdarebudge,asiftheslightestmovementmightputhim

insomeunknownperil.Helaythereonhisback,hisnervesonedge,hiseyeswide.‘Youhavenorighttofollowmelikethis.Iamfree.Ihaven’tdoneanything.’‘WouldyouratherItookyouhometoyourfather?’Alarminhisgreyeyes.‘That’swhatthepolicewoulddoimmediatelyiftheycaughtyou.You’rea

minor.You’rejustachild.’Sittingupabruptly,theboywasovercomebydespair.‘ButIdon’twantto!…Idon’twantto!…’hehowled.MaigretheardMimilemovingaroundonthelanding,nodoubtthinkinghe

wasabully.‘Iwanttobeleftalone.Iwant—’Maigretcaughttheyoungman’spanic-strickenglanceinthedirectionofthe

windowandunderstood.Ifhehadn’tbeenblockinghispath,Georges-Henrymighthavetriedtothrowhimselfout.‘Likeyourcousin?’hesaidslowly.‘Whotoldyouthatmycousin…?’‘Listen,Georges-Henry.’

‘No.’‘Youhavetolistentome.Iknowaboutthepredicamentyouarein.’‘It’snottrue.’‘Doyouwantmetospellitout?’‘Iforbidyou.Doyouunderstand?’‘Shh!…Youcan’tgobacktoyourfather’shouseandyoudon’twantto.’‘I’llnevergobackthere.’‘What’smore,youareinaframeofmindtodosomethingstupid.’‘That’smybusiness.’‘No.It’sotherpeople’sbusinesstoo.’‘Nobodycaresaboutme.’‘Thefactremainsthatyouneedsomeonetokeepaneyeonyouforafew

days.’Theyoungmansniggeredruefully.‘Andthat’swhatIhavedecidedtodo,’Maigretfinished,calmlylightinghis

pipe.‘Withorwithoutyouragreement…It’suptoyouwhich.’‘Wheredoyouwanttotakeme?’Itwasalreadyobviousthathewasplottinghisescape.‘Idon’tknowyet.Iadmitthatit’satrickyquestion,but,inanycase,youcan’t

stayinthisdump.’‘It’snoworsethanacellar.’‘Come,come!’Thiswasaslightimprovementsincehewasabletobeironic

abouthiscircumstances.‘Firstofall,we’regoingtohaveanicelunchtogether.You’rehungry.Of

courseyouare.’‘Itdoesn’tmatter,Istillwon’teat.’Heavens,hecouldbechildish!‘WellI’mgoingtoeat.I’mfamished,’statedMaigret.‘Andyouwillbehave

yourself.Thefriendyou’vealreadymetandwhofollowedyouhereismoreagilethanIamandhe’llkeepaneyeonyou.Allright,Georges-Henry?Youcoulddowithabath,butIdon’tseeanychanceofhavingonehere.Washyourface.’Heobeyedsulkily.Maigretopenedthedoor.

‘Comein,Mimile.Isupposethetaxi’sstilldownstairs?Thethreeofusaregoingforlunchsomewhere,inanice,quietrestaurant.Orratherthetwoofus,becauseyou’vealreadyeaten.’‘Icaneatagain,don’tworry.’ItsoundedasthoughGeorges-Henryhadhisfeetbackonthegroundagain

sinceoncetheyweredownstairsheprotested:‘Whataboutthebikes?’‘We’llcomebackforthemorsendsomeonetopickthemup.’And,tothedriver:‘BrasserieDauphine.’Itwasnearlythreeo’clockintheafternoonwhentheysatdowntoeatinthe

coolshadeofthebrasserieandanimpressiveselectionofhorsd’oeuvredisheswasplacedinfrontofthem.

7.MadameMaigret’sChick

‘Hello!…Isthatyou,MadameMaigret?What?WhereamI?’ThatquestionremindedhimofhisdaysinthePoliceJudiciairewhenhe

wouldgoforfourorfivedayswithoutreturninghome,sometimeswithoutbeingabletolethiswifeknowwherehewas,andwouldfinallytelephonefromthemostunexpectedplaces.‘InParis,quitesimply.AndIneedyou.I’llgiveyouhalfanhourtoget

dressed.Iknow…It’simpossible…Itdoesn’tmatter…Inhalfanhour,takeJoseph’scar…orratherJosephwillcomeandpickyouup.What?Supposingit’snotfree?…Don’tworry,I’vealreadytelephonedhim.He’lldriveyoutoLesAubraisandthetrainwillgetintoGared’Orsayatsixo’clock.Tenminuteslater,ataxiwilldropyouoffatPlacedesVosges.’ThiswastheMaigrets’formerParishome,whichtheyhadkept.Without

waitingforhiswifetoarrive,MaigrettookGeorges-HenryandMimiletotheapartment.Thewindowswereprotectedwithgreypaper,thereweredustcoversandnewspapersstillonallthefurniture,andfleapowderontherugs.‘Ineedahand,boys.’ItcouldnotbesaidthatGeorges-Henryhadbecomemorehumanduringthe

meal.Butalthoughhehadn’tutteredawordandhadcontinuedtolookdaggersatMaigret,atleasthehadeatenheartily.‘Istillconsidermyselfaprisoner,’hestated,onceinsidetheapartment,‘andI

warnyouthatI’llescapetheminuteIcan.Youhavenorighttokeepmehere.’‘That’sright!Meanwhile,Ineedahandoverhere,please!’

AndGeorges-Henrysettoworkwiththeothers,foldingthenewspapers,removingthedustcovers,andlastlypushingtheelectricvacuumcleaneraround.TheyhadfinishedandMaigretwaspouringsomeArmagnacintothreelittleglassesfromtheelegantsettheyhadn’ttakentothecountryforfearofbreakingit,whenMadameMaigretarrived.‘Areyourunningabathforme?’sheaskedinsurpriseathearingthewater

pouringintothebathtub.‘No,darling.It’sforthisyoungman,acharmingboywho’sgoingtobe

stayingherewithyou.HisnameisGeorges-Henry.Hehaspromisedtorunawayatthefirstopportunity,butI’mrelyingonMimile–letmeintroducehim,bytheway–andonyoutostophimfromleaving.Doyouthinkyou’vedigestedyourlunch,Georges-Henry?Thengoandhaveabath.’‘Areyouleaving?…Willyoubebackfordinner?…Youdon’tknow,as

usual!Andthere’snothingtoeathere.’‘You’vegotallthetimeintheworldtogoshoppingwhileMimilekeepsan

eyeontheboy.’Hewhisperedafewthingstoherandshelookedatthebathroomdoorwitha

suddentenderness.‘Allright!I’lltry.Howoldishe?Seventeen?’Halfanhourlater,Maigretfoundhimselfinthefamilyatmosphereofthe

PoliceJudiciaire,askingforTorrence.‘He’sback,chief.Heshouldbeinhisoffice,unlesshe’sgonedownforabeer.

Ileftamessageforyouonyourolddesk.’Itwasaboutatelephonecallthathadcomeinataroundthreeo’clock:PleasetellDetectiveChiefInspectorMaigretthatlastMondayBernadetteAmorellehadherlawyercometodrawupherwill.HeisMaîtreBallu,whoprobablylivesinParis.

Theswitchboardoperatorcouldn’tsayexactlywherethetelephonecallhadoriginated.Shehadsimplyheardanoperatorsaying:‘Hello!Corbeil!I’mputtingyouthroughtoParis.’ItprobablycamefromOrsenneornearby.‘Itwasawoman’svoice.Imaybewrong,butIhadtheimpressionthatitwas

someonewhowasnotinthehabitofmakingtelephonecalls.’‘AskCorbeilwherethetelephonecalloriginated.’HewentintotheofficeofTorrence,whowasbusywritingareport.

‘Imadeinquiriesasyourequested,chief.Icontactedadozenorsoclubs,butIonlyfoundtracesofErnestMalikattwoofthem,theHaussmannandtheSporting.Malikstillgoestothemoccasionally,butmuchlessregularlythaninthepast.Apparentlyhe’sapokerace.Henevergoesnearthebaccarattable.Pokerandécarté.Herarelyloses!AttheSporting,IwasluckyenoughtocomeacrossanoldgamblinginspectorIusedtoknowthirtyyearsago.‘Whenhewasstillastudent,Malikwasoneofthebestpokerplayersinthe

LatinQuarter.Theoldinspector,whowasawaiteratLaSourceatthattime,claimsthatheearnedhislivingatcards.‘Hesethimselfafigurewhichheneverexceeded.Assoonashe’dwonthat

amount,hehadtheself-controltowithdrawfromthegame,whichmadehimunpopularwithhispartners.’‘HaveyouevercomeacrossalawyercalledBallu?’‘Thatnameringsabell.Holdon!’Torrenceflickedthroughadirectory.‘Batin…Babert…Bailly…Ballu…75,QuaiVoltaire.It’sjustacrossthe

road!’Strangely,thislawyerbusinesstroubledMaigret.Hedidn’tlikeitwhenanew

leadsuddenlyemergedanddisruptedhisinvestigation,andhewastemptedtoignorethisone.Theswitchboardoperatorinformedhimthatthecallhadcomefromthepost

officeinSeine-Port,fivekilometresfromOrsenne.Thepostmistress,questionedoverthetelephone,answeredthatthecallerhadbeenawomanagedaroundtwenty-fivetothirty,andthatwasallshecouldsay.‘Ididn’tgetachancetolookather,becauseitwasthetimewhentheycome

tocollectthemailbags.What?Shelookedlikeaworker…Yes!Amaidperhaps.’Wasn’titjustlikeMaliktogetoneofhisservantstocall?MaigretgavehisnameonarrivalatMaîtreBallu’spractice.Hisofficewas

closed,butheagreedtoseeMaigret.Hewasextremelyelderly,almostasoldasBernadetteAmorelleherself.Hislipswerenicotine-stained,andhespokeinareedy,crackedvoice,thenheldatortoiseshelleartrumpettowardshisvisitor.‘Amorelle!Yes,Icanhearyou.Sheisindeedanoldfriend!Wegoback…

Wait…Itwasbeforethe1900World’sFairthatherhusbandcametoseeme

aboutalandmatter.Astrangeman!IrememberaskinghimwhetherhewasarelativeoftheGenevaAmorelles,anoldProtestantfamilywho…’HedeclaredthathehadindeedbeentoOrsennetheMondayoftheprevious

week.Andyes,BernadetteAmorellehasaskedhimtodrawupanewwill.Hecouldnotsayanythingaboutthecontentsofthewillitself,ofcourse.Itwasthere,inhisantiquatedsafe.Whethertherehadbeenother,previouswills?Perhapsten,perhapsmore?

Yes,hisoldfriendwasinthehabitofmakingwills,aninnocenthabit,wouldn’tyouagree?WasMonitaMaliknamedinthisnewdocument?Thelawyerwassorry,buthe

couldn’tsayanythingonthatsubject.Professionalconfidentiality!‘She’sasfitasafiddle!I’mcertainthatthisisnotherlastwillandthatIwill

onceagainhavethepleasureofgoingtovisither.’SoMonitahaddiedtwenty-fourhoursafterthelawyer’svisittoOrsenne.

Werethetwoeventsconnected?Whyonearthhadsomeonetakenthetroubletothrowthisnewinformationin

Maigret’sface,asitwere?HewalkedalongtheSeine.Hewasonhiswayhometohavedinnerwithhis

wife,Georges-HenryandMimile.FromthePontdelaCité,hesawatug-boatchugginguptheSeinewithitsfiveorsixbarges.AnAmorelleandCampoistug-boat.Justthen,aspankingnewbigyellowtaxi,thelatestmodel,drovepast,andthesetwominordetailsprobablyinfluencedhisdecision.Hedidn’tstoptothink.Heraisedhisarm.Thetaxidrewupbythekerb.‘Haveyougotenoughpetrolforalongdrive?’Maybeifthecar’sfueltankhadn’tbeenfull…‘RoutedeFontainebleau.AfterCorbeil,I’lldirectyou.’Hehadn’thaddinner,buthehadeatenalatelunch.Heaskedthedriverto

stopatatobacconist’ssohecouldbuyapacketofshagandsomematches.Itwasamildeveningandthetaxihaditsroofdown.Hehadsatnexttothe

driver,perhapswiththeintentionofstartingaconversation.Buthebarelyopenedhismouth.‘Turnlefthere.’‘AreyougoingtoOrsenne?’‘Doyouknowit?’

‘YearsagoIsometimesdrovegueststoL’Ange.’‘We’regoingfurther.Continuealongthetowpath.It’snotthishouse,orthe

nextone.Keepgoing.’TheyhadtotakeanarrowtrackontherighttoreachtheCampoishouse,

whichcouldnotbeseenfromtheoutsideforitwascompletelyenclosedbywallsand,insteadofanirongate,therewasasoliddoubledoor,paintedlightgreen.‘Waitforme!’‘I’vegotplentyoftime!I’djusthaddinnerwhenyouflaggedmedown.’Maigretpulledthebellcordandfromthegardencameapleasantpeallikethat

ofapresbytery.Therewasanancientboundarystoneeithersideoftheentranceandalittledoorsetinoneofthebigwoodenpanels.‘Doesn’tlookasifanyone’sgoingtoanswer,’commentedthedriver.Itwasnotlate–justaftereighto’clockintheevening.Maigretrangagainand

thistimefootstepscouldbeheardcrunchingthegravel;anelderlycookinablueapronturnedaheavykeyinthelock,openedthelittledooracrackandeyedMaigretwarily.‘Whatdoyouwant?’Heglimpsedadenselyplantedsecludedgarden,fullofsimpleflowersand

unexpectednooksandcranniesovergrownbyweeds.‘I’dliketospeaktoMonsieurCampois.’‘He’sleft.’Shewasalreadyabouttoclosethedoor,buthehadsteppedforwardstostop

her.‘CanyoutellmewhereImightfindhim?’DidsheknowwhohewasfromhavingseenhimprowlingaroundOrsenne?‘Youwon’tbeabletofindhim.MonsieurCampoishasgoneabroad.’‘Forlong?’‘Foratleastsixweeks.’‘Forgivemeforinsisting,butitisaboutaveryimportantmatter.MayIatleast

writetohim?’‘Youcanwritetohimifyoulike,butIdoubthe’llreceiveyourlettersbefore

hisreturn.MonsieurisonacruisetoNorwayaboardtheStella-Polaris.’

Justthen,Maigretheard,inthegardenbehindthehouse,thesoundofanenginesplutteringtolife.‘Areyousurehehasalreadyleft?’‘I’mtellingyou—’‘Whatabouthisgrandson?’‘HehastakenMonsieurJeanwithhim.’Maigrethadastruggletopushthedooropenbecausethecookwastryingto

closeitforcefully.‘What’swrongwithyou?Whereareyourmanners?’‘What’swrongwithmeisthatMonsieurCampoishasn’tleftyet.’‘That’shisbusiness.Hedoesn’twanttoseeanyone.’‘Buthewillseeme.’‘Willyougetoutofhere,yourudeman!’Ridofthecook,whowasmeticulouslylockingthedoorbehindhim,Maigret

crossedthegardenandcameuponamodestpinkhousewithclimbingrosesinvadingthegreen-shutteredwindows.Ashelookedup,hisgazelightedonanopenwindowandatthiswindow

stoodamanwhowaswatchinghimwithasortofterror.ItwasMonsieurCampois,thelateAmorelle’spartner.

Thereweretrunksinthewidehall,wheretheatmospherewaspleasantlycoolandsmelledofripeningfruit.Theelderlycookjoinedhim:‘Well,ifMonsieursaidit’sallrightforyoutocomein…’shegrumbled.Andshereluctantlyshowedhimintoasittingroomthatresembledaparlour,

with,inonecorner,byawindowwithhalf-closedshutters,oneofthoseoldblackdesksthatevokedtradingcompaniesofthepast,withtheirgreenfilingcabinets,theclerksperchedontallchairs,aringofleatherundertheirbuttocksandapeakedcappulleddownovertheireyes.‘Justwaithere!Toobadifhemisseshisship.’Thewallswerecoveredinfadedwallpaperand,againstthiswallpaper,

photographsstoodoutintheirblackorgiltframes.Therewastheinevitableweddingphoto,aCampoisalreadyplump,hishairinacrewcut,and,leaningagainsthisshoulder,thefaceofawomanwithfulllipsandagentle,sheeplikegaze.

Immediatelytotheright,ayoungmanagedaroundtwenty,hisfacemoreelongatedthanthatofhisparents,hiseyessofter,hetoolookingshyandtimid.And,beneaththatframe,ablackcrepebow.Maigretwaswalkingovertoapianocoveredinphotographswhenthedoor

opened.CampoisstoodinthedoorwayandMaigretthoughthelookedsmallerandolderthanwhenhehadfirstseteyesonhim.Hewasalreadyaveryoldman,despitehissturdyfarmer’sbuild.‘Iknowwhoyouare,’hesaidstraightoff.‘Icouldn’trefusetoseeyou,butI

havenothingtosaytoyou.I’mleavinginamomentforalongtrip.’‘Whereareyousailingfrom,MonsieurCampois?’‘FromLeHavre,whichiswherethecruiseleavesfrom.’‘You’reprobablycatchingthe10.22trainfromParis?You’llmakeit.’‘Pleaseexcuseme,butIhaven’tfinishedpacking.NorhaveIhaddinneryet.I

repeatthatIhaveabsolutelynothingtosaytoyou.’Whatwasheafraidof?Becauseitwasclearthathewasafraidofsomething,

thatwasclear.Hewasdressedinblack,withablackdetachabletie,andthepalenessofhiscomplexioncontrastedsharplywiththedarknessoftheroom.Hehadleftthedooropen,asiftosignalthatthisconversationwouldhavetobebrief,andhedidnotinvitehisvisitortositdown.‘Haveyoubeenonmanycruisesofthiskind?’‘It’s…’Washeabouttolie?Hecertainlywantedto.Hegavetheimpressionthathe

neededsomeonebesidehimtofeedhimhislines.Hisoldhonestyprevailed.Hedidn’tknowhowtolie.Headmitted:‘It’sthefirsttime.’‘Andyouareseventy-fiveyearsold?’‘Seventy-seven!’Goforit!Itwasbesttostakehisall.Thepoormanwasn’tcapableof

defendinghimselfforlongandhisfrightenedgazeshowedthathewasbeatenfromthestart,andwasperhapsalreadyresignedtothefact.‘Iamcertain,MonsieurCampois,thatupuntilthreedaysago,youhadnoidea

youwouldbegoingonthisvoyage.Iwouldevenwagerthatyou’realittleafraid!TheNorwegianfjords,atyourage!’Hestammered,asifgivingarehearsedanswer:

‘I’vealwayswantedtovisitNorway.’‘Butyouweren’tplanningongoingtherethismonth!Someoneplanneditfor

you,didn’tthey?’‘Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.MygrandsonandI—’‘Yourgrandsonmusthavebeenassurprisedasyou.Forthemomentitmatters

littlewhoarrangedthiscruiseforyou.Bytheway,doyouknowwheretheticketswerepurchased?’Campoishadnoidea,ashisalarmedexpressionshowed.Hehadbeengivena

parttoplay.Hewasplayingittothebestofhisability,buttherewereeventsthathadnotbeenforeseen,includingMaigret’ssuddenintrusion,andthepoormandidn’tknowwhichwaytoturn.‘Listen,inspector,IrepeatthatIhavenothingtosaytoyou.Iaminmyown

home.I’mleavingshortlyforacruise.AcknowledgethatIhavetherighttoaskyoutoleavemealone.’‘Icametotalktoyouaboutyourson.’Ashehadforeseen,oldCampoisbecameperturbed,turnedashenandshotan

anguishedlookattheportrait.‘Ihavenothingtosaytoyou,’herepeated,clingingtothosewordsthatno

longermeantanything.Maigretlistenedout,havingheardafaintnoiseinthecorridor.Campoismust

haveheardittoo,andhemadeforthedoor:‘Leaveus,Eugénie.Theluggagecanbeputinthecar.I’mcomingstraight

away.’Thistime,heclosedthedoorandwentandsatmechanicallyinhisplace,at

thedeskwhichmusthavefollowedhimthroughouthislongcareer.Maigretsatdownoppositehimwithoutbeinginvitedtodoso.‘I’vethoughtlongandhardaboutyourson’sdeath,MonsieurCampois.’‘Whyhaveyoucometotalktomeaboutthat?’‘Youknowverywell.Lastweek,ayounggirlwhomyouknowdiedinthe

samecircumstances.Earlier,Ileftayoungmanwhoverynearlycametothesameend.Andit’syourfault,isn’tit?’Heprotestedemphatically:‘Myfault?’

‘Yes,MonsieurCampois!Andyouknowit.Youmaynotwanttoadmitit,butdeepdown—’‘Youhavenorighttocometomyhouseandsaysuchdreadfulthingstome.

I’vebeenanhonestmanallmylife.’ButMaigretdidnotallowhimthetimetowallowinprotestations.‘WheredidErnestMalikmeetyourson?’Theoldmandrewhishandacrosshisforehead.‘Idon’tknow.’‘WereyoualreadylivinginOrsenne?’‘No!InthosedaysIlivedinParis,ontheÎleSaint-Louis.Wehadabig

apartmentaboveouroffices,whichweren’tasbigastheyarenowadays.’‘Didyoursonworkinthoseoffices?’‘Yes.Hehadjustobtainedhislawdegree.’‘DidtheAmorellesalreadyhavetheirhouseinOrsenne?’‘Theyarrivedherefirst,yes.Bernadettewasaverybusywoman.Shelovedto

entertain.Shewasalwayssurroundedbyyoungpeople.OnSundays,shewouldinvitelotsoffriendstothecountry.Mysonusedtocometoo.’‘WasheinlovewiththeeldestAmorelledaughter?’‘Theywereengaged.’‘AnddidMademoiselleLaurencelovehim?’‘Idon’tknow.Iimagineso.Whyareyouaskingmethat?Afteralltheseyears

…’HewouldhavelikedtoreleasehimselffromthissortofspellthatMaigrethad

castoverhim.Twilightwasgatheringintheroomwheretheportraitsstareddownatthemwiththeirdeadeyes.Mechanically,theoldmanhadpickedupameerschaumpipewithalongcherrywoodstem,whichhedidn’tthinkoffillingwithtobacco.‘HowoldwasMademoiselleLaurenceatthetime?’‘Ican’tremember.I’llhavetocount.Wait…’Hemuttereddateshalf-heartedly,asifsayingarosary.Hisbrowfurrowed.

Perhapshestillhopedthatsomeonewouldcomeandsavehim?‘Shemusthavebeenseventeen.’‘Soheryoungersister,MademoiselleAimée,wasbarelyfifteen?’‘Thatmustberight,yes.I’veforgotten.’

‘AndyoursonmetErnestMalik,who,unlessI’mmistaken,wasatthetimeprivatesecretarytoamunicipalcouncillor.ItwasthroughthatcouncillorthathehimselfmettheAmorelles.Hewasabrilliantyoungman.’‘Maybe…’‘Hebecamefriendswithyoursonand,underhisinfluence,yourson

changed?’‘Hewasaverygoodboy,averygentleboy,’protestedthefather.‘Whostartedgamblingandgotintodebt—’‘Ididn’tknow.’‘Biggerandbiggerdebts,moreandmoreblatant.Thingsgotsobadthathe

endeduphavingtolivebyhiswits.’‘Itwouldhavebeenbetterifhe’dtoldmeeverything.’‘Areyousureyouwouldhaveunderstood?’Theoldmanhunghisheadandadmitted:‘Atthattime,Imight—’‘Youmightnothaveunderstood,youmighthavethrownhimout.Ifhehad

toldyou,forexample,thathe’dtakenthemoneyfromyourpartner’scoffers,orthathe’dfalsifiedtheaccounts,or—’‘Bequiet!’‘Hepreferredtodie.Perhapsbecausehewasadvisedtokillhimself?Perhaps

…’Campoiswipedbothhandsoverhisanguishedface.‘Butwhycomeandspeaktomeofallthistoday?Whatareyouhopingfor?

Whatareyoutryingtoachieve?’‘Admit,MonsieurCampois,thatatthattime,youthoughtwhatIamthinking

today.’‘Idon’tknowwhatyouarethinking…Idon’twanttoknow!’‘Evenifatthetimeofyourson’sdeathyouweren’tsuspiciousstraightaway,

youmusthavestartedtowonderwhenMalikmarriedMademoiselleAmorelleafewmonthslater.Youfollowme,don’tyou?’‘Icouldn’tdoanything.’‘Andyouattendedthewedding!’‘Ihadto.IwasAmorelle’sfriend,hispartner.HeworshippedErnestMalik,

whoinhiseyescoulddonowrong.’

‘Soyoukeptquiet.’‘IhadadaughterwhowasstillunmarriedandIneededtofindherahusband.’Maigretrose,burly,threatening,andgavethecrushedoldmanalookfullof

intenseanger.‘And,foryearsandyears,youhave…’Hisvoice,whichhadrisen,softenedagainashewatchedthefaceofthe

elderlyman,whoseeyesfilledwithtears.‘Butforgoodness’sake,’Maigretwentonwithasortofdread,‘youknewall

alongthatitwasMalikwhokilledyourson.‘Yetyousaidnothing!‘Yetyoucarriedonshakinghandswithhim!‘Yetyouboughtthishouseclosetohis!‘Andstilltoday,you’rewillingtodoashetellsyou!’‘WhatchoicedidIhave?’‘Becausehedroveyoutothebrinkofpoverty.Because,throughGod-knows-

whatcunningschemes,hemanagedtodivestyouofmostofyourshares.BecausenowyouaremerelyanameintheAmorelleandCampoisconcern.Because—’Andhisfistcamedownonthedesk.‘Butdammit!Don’tyourealizeyouareacoward,thatit’sbecauseofyouthat

Monitaisdeadlikeyoursonandthataboy,Georges-Henry,nearlyfollowedsuit?’‘Ihavemydaughterandmygrandson.Iamold!’‘Youweren’toldwhenyoursondied.Butyouwerealreadysoobsessedwith

moneythatyouweren’tevencapableofstandinguptoaMalik.’Itwasalmostdarknowinthelongroomwhereithadn’toccurredtoeitherof

thetwomentoswitchonthelight.Visiblyterrified,theoldmanaskedinadullvoice:‘Whatareyougoingtodo?’‘Whataboutyou?’Campois’shouldersslumped.‘Areyoustillplanningtogoonthiscruisethatdoesn’tappealtoyouatall?

Youcan’tsee,canyou,thatyou’rebeingsentawayinhaste,thewaytheweakaresentawayinacrisis?Whenwasthiscruisedecidedon?’

‘Malikcametoseemeyesterdaymorning.Ididn’twantto,butintheendIgavein.’‘Whatexcusedidhegive?’‘Thatyouwerepokingaroundinourbusinessaffairsandtryingtocause

troubleforus.ThatitwouldbebetterifIweren’taround.’‘Didyoubelievehim?’Theoldmandidnotreply,andcontinuedafterawhileinawearyvoice:‘He’salreadybeenherethreetimestoday.Hecausedhavoctospeedupmy

departure.Halfanhourbeforeyouarrived,hetelephonedmeagaintoremindmethatitwastimetoleave.’‘Areyoustillintentongoing?’‘Ithinkit’sbest,givenwhatisprobablygoingtohappen.ButIcouldstayin

LeHavre.Itdependsonmygrandson.HeusedtospendalotoftimewithMonita.Ithinkhecherishedhopesabouther.Hewasveryupsetbyherdeath.’Theoldmansuddenlysprangupandrushedtowardstheold-fashioned

telephoneonthewall.Ithadgivenastridentring,callinghimtoorder.‘Hello!Yes…Theluggageisinthecar.I’mleavinginfiveminutes…Yes…

Yes…No…No…Itwasn’tforme…Probably…’HehungupanddartedaslightlysheepishlookatMaigret.‘It’shim.I’dbetterleave.’‘Whatdidheaskyou?’‘Ifanyonehadbeentoseeme.Hesawataxigopast.Itoldhim—’‘Iheard.’‘CanIleave?’Whatwasthepointofstoppinghim?Hehadworkedhardinthepast.Hehad

succeededbythesweatofhisbrow.Hehadachievedanenviableposition.And,forfearoflosinghismoney,forfearofthepovertyhehadknownasa

child,hehadbeenscaredoutofhiswits.Andnowhehadreachedtheendofhislife,hewasstillscared.‘Eugénie!Istheluggageinthecar?’‘Butyouhaven’thaddinner!’‘I’llhavesomethingtoeatontheway.WhereisJean?’‘Bythecar.’

‘Goodbye,inspector.Don’tsaythatyou’veseenme.Ifyoucarryondownthelittlepathandturnleft,you’llseeastonecross,andyou’llcomeoutontothemainroadthreekilometresfromhere.There’satunnelundertherailwaytrack.’Maigretslowlycrossedthegardenthatlaybathedintranquillity,thecook

followinghimstealthily.Thetaxi-driverwassittingonthegrassborderingthepathplayingwiththewildflowers.Beforegettingbackintothecar,heputonebehindhisear,thewaymischievousboyswedgeacigarette.‘Doweturnround?’‘Straighton,’gruntedMaigret,lightinghispipe.‘Thenleftwhenyouseea

cross.’Itwasnotlongbeforetheyheardinthedarknesstheengineofanothercar

goingintheoppositedirection,thatofoldCampoisheadingforsafety.

8.TheSkeletonintheCupboard

Tostokehisillhumour,heaskedthetaxitostopatapoorlylitcaféinCorbeilandorderedtwoglassesofmarc,oneforthedriverandtheotherforhimself.Thebittertasteofthebrandymadehisthroatconstrict,andhesaidtohimself

thatmarchadbeenafeatureofthisinvestigation.Why?Purechance.Itwasprobablythedrinkheleastliked.Besides,therehadalsobeenoldJeanne’sdisgustingKummel,andthatmemory,thattête-à-têtewiththebloatedoldalcoholic,stillmadehimfeelnauseous.Yetshehadoncebeenbeautiful.HenowknewthatshehadlovedMalik,who

hadusedherthewayheusedeveryoneandeverything.Andnowitwasacuriousmixtureofloveandhatred,ofbitternessandanimaldevotionthatshenursedforthisman,whoonlyneededtoappearandsnaphisfingersforhertodohisbidding.Therearepeoplelikethatintheworld.Thereareothers,likethesetwo

customersinthelittlebar,theonlytwocustomersatthislatehour,afatman,whowasaporkbutcher,andashrewd,thincharacterwholikespontificating,proudofbeingaclericalworker,maybeatthetownhall,bothofthemplayingdraughtsatteno’clockatnightbesideahugestovepipeagainstwhichtheporkbutcherleanedfromtimetotime.Theporkbutcherwasself-confidentbecausehehadmoneyanditdidn’t

matterifhelosttheround.Theskinnymanthoughtthatlifewasunfairbecauseaneducatedmanwithadegreeshouldhaveamorecomfortableexistencethanabutchererofpigs.‘Anothermarc…sorry,twomarcs!’

CampoisandhisgrandsonwereontheirwaytoGareSaint-Lazare.Hetoomustbeallchurnedup.HewasprobablymullingMaigret’sharshwordsinhismindandrelivingoldmemories.HewasheadingforLeHavre.HehadnearlysetsailfortheNorwegianfjords,

againsthiswishes,dispatchedtherelikeaparcel,becauseMalik…Andhewasalreadyaveryoldman.Itistoughtellingelderlypeoplelikehimhometruths,asMaigrethadjustdone.Theywerebackinthecar.Maigretsatinhiscorner,glumandscowling.BernadetteAmorellewasevenolder.Andwhathedidn’tknow,whathe

couldn’tknow,becausehewasn’tGodAlmighty,wasthatshehadseenoldCampoisdrivepastinhiscarladenwithtrunks.Shetoohadunderstood.PerhapsshewasclevererthanMaigret?Thereare

women,oldwomenespecially,whohavearealgiftofsecondsight.IfMaigrethadbeenthere,besidetherailwaytrack,ashehadbeenonthetwo

previousnights,hewouldhaveseenherthreewindowsopen,withthelightson,andinthatrosyglow,theoldladycallinghermaid.‘HemadeoldCampoisleave,Mathilde.’Hewouldn’thaveheard,buthewouldhaveseenthetwowomenhavealong

conversation,eachaspeevishastheother,thenhewouldhaveseenMathildevanish,MadameAmorellepacingupanddownherroom,andfinallyherdaughterAimée,CharlesMalik’swife,comeinlookingguilty.Thedramawasunfolding.Ithadbeenbrewingforovertwentyyears.Forthe

pastfewdays,sinceMonita’sdeath,ithadbeenthreateningtoexplodeanyminute.

‘Stophere!’BanginthemiddleofthePontd’Austerlitz.Hedidn’tfeellikegoingstraight

backhome.TheSeinewasblack.Therewerelittlelightsonthesleepingbarges,shadowsroamingthebanks.Hishandsinhispockets,Maigretsmokedashewalkedslowlythroughthe

emptystreetswherethelampsmadestringsoflights.AtPlacedelaBastille,atthecornerofRuedelaRoquette,thelightswere

brighter,lurid,withthatpallidglaretypicalofpoorneighbourhoods–likethose

fairgroundstallswhereyoucanwinpacketsofsugarorbottlesofsparklingwine–lightstolurethepeopleoutoftheirdark,narrow,suffocatingstreets.Hetoowalkedtowardsthoselights,towardsthetoovastandtooemptycafé

whereanaccordionwasplayingandwhereafewmenandafewwomenweredrinkingandwaitingforwho-knows-what.Heknewthem.Hehadspentsomanyyearsdealingwithpeople’severyday

doingsthatheknewthemall–evenpeoplelikeMalik,whothinktheyaremorepowerfulorclevererthantherest.Withthattype,there’sadifficultmomenttogetthrough,when,despite

yourself,youallowyourselftobeimpressedbytheirbeautifulhouse,theircar,theirservantsandtheirairs.Youhavetoseethemliketheothers,toseethemnaked…Now,itwasErnestMalikwhowasfrightened,asfrightenedasasmall-time

pimpfromRuedelaRoquettewhohasbeencartedoffinthemeatwagonattwoo’clockinthemorning.MaigretdidnotseethetwowomeninBernadette’sbedroomactingouta

heart-breakingscene.HedidnotseeAiméedroptoherkneesontheruganddragherselfkneelingovertohermother’sfeet.Thisnolongermattered.Everyfamilyhasaskeletoninthecupboard.Twobeautifulhouses,downtherebytheriver,onanattractivebendwherethe

Seinewidened,twobeautifulhousessurroundedbygreeneryagainstthegentlehills,thesortofhousesthatmakepeoplesighlonginglyastheygazeatthemfromtrains.Thoselivinginthemmustbesohappy!Andlonglives,likethatofCampois,whohadworkedhard,andwhowasnow

wornoutandbeingshuntedaside.AndthatofBernadetteAmorelle,whohaddispensedsomuchfranticenergy.Hewalkedfuriously.PlacedesVosgeswasdeserted.Therewasalightathis

windows.Herangthebellandgrowledhisnameashepassedtheconcierge’slodge.Hiswife,whorecognizedhisstep,cameandopenedthedoor.‘Shh!He’sasleep.He’sonlyjustdroppedoff.’Sowhat?Wasn’thegoingtowakehimup,grabhimbytheshouldersand

shakehim?‘Comeon,youngman,thisisnotimetomakeafuss.’

Let’sputanendonceandforalltothisskeletoninthecupboard,tothisvilebusiness,which,fromstarttofinish,wasallafilthymatterofmoney.Forthatisalltherewasbehindthosebeautifulhouseswiththeirimmaculate

gardens:money!‘Youlookgrumpy.Haveyouhaddinner?’‘Yes…No.’Actually,hehadn’thaddinnerandheatewhileMimilestoodatthewindow,

smokingcigarettes.WhenMaigretstartedwalkingtowardstheguestroom,whereGeorges-Henrywassleeping,MadameMaigretprotested:‘Youshouldn’twakehim.’Heshrugged.Afewhoursmoreorless…Lethimsleep!Nottomentionthat

hewastiredtoo.HecouldnotguessthatBernadetteAmorellehadstolenoutofherhouse

alone,inthemiddleofthenight,andthatheryoungerdaughter,Aimée,hereyescrazed,triedinvaintotelephone,whileCharles,behindher,keptrepeating:‘Whatonearth’swrongwithyou?Whatdidyourmothersaytoyou?’Maigretdidnotwakeupuntileighto’clockthenextmorning.‘He’sstillasleep,’hiswifeannounced.Maigretshaved,dressedandhadbreakfastonacornerofthetable,thenfilled

hisfirstpipe.Whenhewentintotheyoungman’sroom,Georges-Henrybegantostir.‘Getup,’hesaidinthatcalm,slightlywearyvoicethatheusedwhenhewas

determinedtoputanendtosomething.Ittookhimafewmomentstorealizewhytheboywouldn’tgetoutofbed.He

wasnakedunderthesheetsanddidn’tdareshowhimself.‘Stayinbedifyoulike.Youcangetdressedlater.Howdidyoufindoutwhat

yourfatherhaddone?ItwasMonitawhotoldyou,wasn’tit?’Georges-Henrystaredathimingenuinehorror.‘Youcantalk,nowthatIknow—’‘Whatdoyouknow?Whotoldyou?’‘OldCampoisknewtoo.’‘Areyousure?Hecouldn’thave.Ifhe’dknown—’‘Thatyourfatherkilledhisson?Onlyhedidn’tkillhimwithaknifeora

bullet.Andthosemurders—’

‘Whatelsehaveyoubeentold?Whathaveyoudone?’‘Well,therearesomanyviledoingsinthisbusinessthatonemoreoroneless

…’Hefeltsick.Thatoftenhappenedtohimwhenhereachedtheendofan

investigation,perhapsbecauseofthestrain,perhapsbecause,whenamanisstrippednaked,whatyoufindtendstobeuglyanddepressing.Apleasantsmellofcoffeefilledtheapartment.Youcouldhearthebirdsand

thefountainsofPlacedesVosges.Peopleweregoingofftoworkinthecool,gentlemorningsunlight.Infrontofhim,apalekidwhohadpulledtheblanketsuptohischinandwas

gazingsteadfastlyathim.WhatcouldMaigretdoforhim,fortheothers?Nothing!Youdon’tarresta

Malik.Thelawdidn’tdealwiththosecrimes.Therewouldonlybeonesolution…Itisfunnythathethoughtofitjustbeforethetelephonecall.Hewasstanding

there,puffingonhispipe,ill-at-easewiththisboywhodidnotknowwhattodo,andforasecondhehadavisionofErnestMalikwithsomeonehandinghimapistol,calmlygivinghimtheorder:‘Shoot!’Buthewouldn’tshoot!Hewouldneveragreetokillhimself!Hewouldneed

help.Thetelephoneranginsistently.MadameMaigretansweredthenknockedatthe

door.‘It’sforyou,Maigret.’Hewentintothediningroomandgrabbedthereceiver.‘Hello…’‘Isthatyou,chief?Lucashere.WhenIarrivedinmyofficeIfoundanurgent

messageforyoufromOrsenne,yes…Lastnight,MadameAmorelle…’Probablynoonewouldhavebelievedhimifhehadclaimedthat,fromthat

moment,heknew.Andyetitwastrue.Shehadfollowedmoreorlessthesamereasoningashim,ofcourse!Shehad

reachedthesameconclusions,almostatthesametime.Exceptthatunlikehim,shehadseenthingsthroughtothebitterend.

And,sincesheknewthataMalikwouldn’tshoot,shehadcalmlypulledthetrigger.‘…MadameAmorellekilledErnestMalikwithapistolshot.Athishome,yes

…inhisstudy.Hewasinhispyjamasanddressinggown.Thegendarmerietelephonedhereatdawnaskingustoinformyou,becauseshe’saskingtoseeyou.’‘I’llgo,’hesaid.Hewentbackintothebedroomwheretheyoungmanhadputonhistrousers,

hisbarechestpainfullythin.‘Yourfatherisdead,’saidMaigret,avertinghisgaze.Asilence.Heturnedround.Georges-Henrywasnotcrying,butstoodstock

still,lookingathim.‘Didhekillhimself?’Sotheyweren’ttwobutthreeofthemtohavethoughtofthesamesolution.

Whoknowswhetherthekidhadn’tbeentempted,atonepoint,topickupthegun?Therewasstillatraceofincredulityinhisvoiceasheaskedagain:‘Didhekillhimself?’‘No.Itwasyourgrandmother.’‘Whotoldher?’Hewasbitinghislips.‘Whotoldherwhat?’‘Whatyouknow…Campois?’‘No,son.That’snotwhatyouwerethinkingof.’Andtheboyturnedred,provingMaigretright.‘There’ssomethingelse,isn’tthere?It’snotbecauseinthepastyourfather

drovetheCampoisboytocommitsuicidethatBernadetteAmorellekilledhim.’Hepacedupanddown.Hecouldhavepressedthematter.Hewouldhave

defeatedanopponentwhowasnotanequalmatchforhim.‘Stayhere,’hesaidatlast.Hewenttofetchhishatfromthediningroom.‘Keepaneyeonhim,’heshoutedtohiswifeandMimile,whowasnow

havinghisbreakfast.

Itwasagloriousday,theairsodeliciousinitsmorningfreshnessthatyoufeltlikebitingintoit,likeafruit.‘Taxi…RoutedeFontainebleau.I’lldirectyou.’Therewerethreeorfourcarsonthetowpath,thoseofthepublicprosecutor,

nodoubt.Afewcuriousonlookersinfrontofthegate,whereanindifferentgendarmestoodguard.HegreetedMaigret,whowalkeddownthedriveandwassoonmountingthesteps.ThedetectivechiefinspectorfromtheMelunFlyingSquadwasalreadythere,

hishatonhishead,acigarinhismouth.‘Pleasedtoseeyouagain,Maigret…Ididn’tknowyouwerebackinthejob.

Acuriousbusiness,eh!She’swaitingforyou.Sherefusestotalkbeforeshe’sseenyou.Itwasshewhotelephonedthegendarmerieataroundoneo’clockthismorningtoannouncethatshehadjustkilledherson-in-law.‘You’llsee.She’sascalmasifshehadjustmadejamorcleanedouther

cupboards.‘Actuallyshespentthenighttidyingupherthingsand,whenIgothere,her

suitcasewaspacked.’‘Wherearetheothers?’‘Hersecondson-in-law,Charles,isinthedrawingroomwithhiswife.The

deputypublicprosecutorandtheexaminingmagistratearequestioningthem.Theyclaimtheyknownothing,thattheoldladyhadbeenactingstrangelyforawhile.’Maigretlumberedupthestairsand,somethingherarelydid,heemptiedhis

pipeandputitinhispocketbeforeknockingatthedoor,whereasecondgendarmestoodguard.Itwasasimplegesture,butitwasasortofhomagetoBernadetteAmorelle.‘Whatisit?’‘DetectiveChiefInspectorMaigret.’‘Lethimcomein.’Shehadbeenleftalonewithhermaidand,whenMaigretwentin,shewas

sittingataprettylittlewritingdesk,busypenningaletter.‘It’sformylawyer,’shesaid,apologizing.‘Leaveus,Mathilde.’Thesunwasstreaminginthroughthethreewindowsofthisbedroomwhere

theoldwomanhadspentsomanyyears.Therewasajoyfulglintinhereyesand

even–goodnessknowsifthemomentmightseemincongruous–asortofplayfulness.Shewaspleasedwithherself.Shewasproudofwhatshehaddone.Shehada

slightlymockingattitudetowardstheburlyinspectorwho,unlikeher,wouldnothavebeencapableoffinishingthingsoff.‘Therewasnoothersolution,wasthere?’shesaid.‘Sitdown.YouknowthatI

hatetalkingtosomeonewhoisstanding.’Then,risingherself,blinkingalittlebecauseofthedazzlingsuninhereyes:‘Lastnight,whenIfinallygotAiméetotellmeeverything…’Hemadethemistakeofregisteringsurprise.Aflicker.Astartatthemention

ofAimée,CharlesMalik’swife.MadameAmorellewasascleverasMaigretandunderstood.‘Ishouldhaverealizedthatyoudidn’tknowthat.WhereisGeorges-Henry?’‘Atmyplace,withmywife.’‘AtyourhouseinMeung?’AndshesmiledatthememoryofMaigret,whomshehadmistakenforthe

gardenerwhenshehadgonetofetchhim,havingenteredthroughthelittlegreengardendoor.‘InParis,inmyapartmentinPlacedesVosges.’‘Doesheknow?’‘Itoldhimbeforecominghere.’‘Whatdidhesay?’‘Nothing.He’scalm.’‘Poorboy!Iwonderhowhefoundthecouragenottosayanything.Don’tyou

thinkit’sfunny,goingtoprisonatmyage?Thesegentlemen,bytheway,areverykind.Atfirst,theywouldn’tbelieveme.TheythoughtIwasconfessingtoprotecttherealculprit.Theynearlydemandedproof.‘Itwentverywell.Idon’tknowexactlywhattimeitwas.Ihadmypistolin

mybag.Iwentoverthere.Therewasalightonthefirstfloor.Irangthebell.MalikaskedmewhatIwantedfromthewindow.‘“Totalktoyou,”Ianswered.‘I’mconvincedhewasfrightened.Heaskedmetocomebackthenextday,

claimingthathewasn’tfeelingwell,thathewassufferingfromneuralgia.‘“Ifyoudon’tcomedownrightaway,”Ishouted,“I’llhaveyouarrested.”

‘Intheendhecamedown,inhispyjamasanddressinggown.Haveyouseenhim?’‘Notyet.’‘Iinsisted:“Let’sgointoyourstudy.Whereisyourwife?”‘“She’sinbed.Ithinkshe’sasleep.”‘“Good.”‘“Mother,areyousurethiscan’twaituntiltomorrow?”‘AnddoyouknowwhatIreplied?‘“Thatwon’tdoyouanygood.Afewhoursmore,orless…”‘Hetriedtofollow.Hewasascoldasapike.I’vealwayssaidhewaslikea

pike,butpeoplelaughedatme.‘Heopenedthedoortohisstudy.‘“Sitdown,”hesaidtome.‘“There’snoneed.”‘HadheguessedwhatIwasabouttodo?I’mconvincedhehad,becausehe

automaticallyglancedatthedeskdrawerwhereheusuallykeepshisgun.IfI’dgivenhimthetime,I’llwagerthathewouldhavedefendedhimselfandhewouldprobablyhaveshotfirst.‘“Listen,Malik,”Iwenton.“Iknowaboutallyourviledeeds.Rogerisdead

(RogerwasCampois’son),yourdaughterisdead,yourson…”’Maigrethadopenedhiseyeswideatthewordsyourdaughter.Hehadfinally

understoodandhelookedattheoldwomanwithastupefactionthathenolongersoughttohide.‘“Sincethere’snootherwayoutandnoonehadthegutstodoit,itmayas

wellbeanelderlygrandmotherwhotakescareofit.Goodbye,Malik.”‘AndasIsaidthelastword,Ifired.Hewasthreepacesawayfromme.He

clutchedhisstomach,becauseIshottoolow.Isqueezedthetriggertwomoretimes.‘Hefell,andLaurencecamerushingin,half-crazy.‘“There,”Isaidtoher.“Nowwecanliveinpeaceandwecanallbreatheat

last.”‘PoorLaurence.Ithinkitwasareliefforhertoo.Aimée’stheonlyoneto

shedanytearsforhim.

‘“Calladoctorifyoulike,butIdon’tthinkthere’sanypoint,”Icontinued.“He’swellandtrulydead!Andifheweren’t,I’dfinishhimoffwithabulletthroughthebrain.Now,Isuggestyoucomeandspendtherestofthenightatourhouse.There’snoneedtocalltheservants.”‘Webothleft.Aiméecamerunningtomeetus,whileCharlesstoodinthe

doorwaylookingshifty.‘“Whathaveyoudone,Mother?WhyisLaurence…?”‘ItoldAimée.Shesuspectedasmuch,aftertheconversationwehadjusthad

inmyroom.Charlesdidn’tdareopenhismouth.Hefolloweduslikeabigdog.‘Icamebackhereandtelephonedthegendarmerie.Theywerevery

courteous.’‘So,’murmuredMaigretafterasilence,‘it’sAimée.’‘I’mjustanoldfool,Ishouldhaveguessed.I’dalwayshadmysuspicions

aboutRogerCampois,forexample.AtleastthatitwasMalikwhohadgothimintothehabitofgambling.‘Iwassothrilled,atthetime,thathewouldbeourson-in-law!Hewasmore

brilliantthantheothers.Hewasabletoentertainme.Myhusbandhadthetastesofapettybourgeois,acountrybumpkineven,itwasMalikwhotaughtushowtoliveinstyle,whotookustoDeauville.Beforethat,IhadneversetfootinacasinoandIrememberhegavemethefirstchipstoplayroulette.’‘HemarriedLaurence—’‘BecauseAiméewastooyoung,wasn’tshe?Becauseshewasonlyfifteenat

thetime?IfAiméehadbeentwoyearsolder,RogerCampoismightperhapshavelived.HewouldhavemarriedtheolderdaughterandMaliktheyounger.’Theycouldhearpeoplecomingandgoingdownbelow.Throughthewindows

theysawagroupheadingfortheMaliks’house,wherethebodystilllay.‘Aiméetrulylovedhim,’sighedMadameAmorelle.‘Shestillloveshim,in

spiteofeverything.Shehatesmenow,forwhatIdidlastnight.’Theskeletoninthecupboard!Iftherehadonlybeen,inthatmetaphorical

cupboard,justtheskeletonoftheshyRogerCampois!‘WhendidhethinkofbringinghisbrotherfromLyontomarryyouryoungest

daughter?’‘Perhapstwoyearsafterhisownmarriage.AndIwasnaive!Icouldseethat

Aiméewasonlyinterestedinherbrother-in-law,thatshewasmuchmoreinlove

withhimthanhersisterwas.Strangersmistookherforhiswife,andwhenwetravelledtogether,shewastheone,despiteheryoungage,thattheycalledmadame.‘Laurencewasn’tjealous.Shewasblindtoit,washappytoliveintheshadow

ofherhusband,whosepersonalitycrushedher.’‘SoMonitawasthedaughterofErnestMalik?’‘Ifoundoutyesterday.Butthereareotherthingsthat,atmyage,I’drathernot

know.’ThisbrotherwhowasbroughtfromLyon,wherehewasjustalow-wage

earnerandthenmarriedofftoarichheiress.Didheknow,atthetime?Probably!He’sspineless,meek!Hegotmarriedbecausehewastoldtoget

married.Heactedasascreen!Inexchangeforplayingthepartofhusband,hesharedtheMaliks’fortunewithhisbrother.SoErnesthadtwowives,andchildreninbothhomes.AndthatwaswhatMonitahadfoundout.Thatwaswhathadoverwhelmed

herwithdisgustanddrivenhertodrownherself.‘Idon’tknowexactlyhowshediscoveredthetruth,but,sincelastnight,I

haveanidea.Lastweek,Ihadthelawyercometochangemywill.’‘MaîtreBallu,Iknow—’‘IhadnotbeengettingalongwiththeMaliksforalongtime,andfunnily

enoughitwasCharlesIhatedthemost.Why,Idon’tknow…I’dalwaysfoundhimunderhand.Iwasclosetothinkingthathewasworsethanhisbrother.‘Iwantedtodisinheritthepairofthem,andleavemyentirefortunetoMonita.‘Thatsameevening,Aiméeadmittedyesterdayduringthescenewehad,

ErnestcametoseeCharlestodiscussthematter.‘Theywereveryworriedaboutthisnewwill,whosecontentstheydidn’t

know.TheyspentalongtimetalkinginCharles’studyonthegroundfloor.Aiméewentuptobed.Itwasonlymuchlater,whenherhusbandcameuptobedthatshesaid:‘“Hasn’tMonitacomeback?”‘“Whydoyousaythat?”‘“Shedidn’tcomeupandsaygoodnighttomeasusual.”

‘Charleswentintothegirl’sroom.Shewasn’tthereandthebedhadn’tbeensleptin.Hewentdownstairsandfoundherinthelounge,ashen-faced,sittinginthedarkasiffrozen.‘“Whatareyoudoinghere?”‘Sheappearednottohear.Sheconsentedtogoupstairs.‘Iamconvinced,now,thatshehadoverheardeverything.Sheknew.Andthe

nextmorning,beforeanyonewasup,shewentoutasifgoingforherswim,whichsheoftendid.‘Exceptthatshedidn’tintendtoswim.’‘Andshe’dhadtheopportunitytospeaktohercousin…hercousinwhomshe

lovedandwhois,infact,herbrother.’Therewasatimidknockatthedoor.BernadetteAmorelleopeneditandfound

herselffacingthechiefinspectorfromMelun.‘Thecarisdownstairs,’heannounced,notwithoutsomeembarrassment,forit

wasthefirsttimeinhiscareerthathehadhadtoarrestaneighty-two-year-oldwoman.‘Infiveminutes,’sheanswered,asifshewerespeakingtoherbutler.‘Westill

haveafewthingstosaytoeachother,myfriendMaigretandI.’WhenshewentbacktoMaigret,shecommented,demonstratingher

astonishingalertness:‘Whyhaven’tyousmokedyourpipe?Youknowverywellthatyoucan.I

cametofetchyou.Ididn’tknowwhatwasafoot.AtfirstIwonderedwhetherMonitahadbeenkilledbecauseIhadjustmadehermyheiress.Iconfesstoyou–butthisisnoneoftheirbusiness,therearethingsthatarenoneoftheirbusiness–thatIthoughtthattheymightwanttopoisonme.There,inspector.There’sstilltheboy.I’mpleasedthatyoutookcareofhim,forIcan’tgettheideaoutofmyheadthathewouldhaveendeduplikeMonita.‘Putyourselfintheirshoes…Attheirage,suddenlyfindingout…‘Intheboy’scase,itwasevenmoreserious.Hewantedtoknow.Boysare

moreenterprisingthangirls.Heknewthathisfatherkepthisprivatepapersinalittlecupboardinhisbedroomandthathealwayskeptthekeyonhim.‘Heforcedthecupboardopen,thedayafterMonita’sdeath.ItwasAiméewho

toldme.ErnestMaliktoldhereverything,heknewhecouldtrusther,thatshewasworsethanaslave.

‘Malikrealizedthecupboardhadbeenbrokenintoandheimmediatelysuspectedhisson.’‘Whatdocumentscouldhehavefound?’sighedMaigret.‘Iburnedthemlastnight.IaskedLaurencetogoandfetchthem,butLaurence

didn’tdaregobackintothehousewhereherhusband’sbodylay.‘Aiméewent.‘Therewerelettersfromher,littlenotestheypassedtoeachother,arranging

tomeet.‘TherewerereceiptssignedbyRogerCampois.NotonlydidMaliklendhim

moneytosinkhimfurther,buthegothimloansfrommoney-lenders,whichhethenredeemed.‘Hekeptallthat.’And,withcontempt:‘Despiteeverything,hehadthesoulofabook-keeper!’ShedidnotunderstandwhyMaigretcorrectedherasheheavedhimselftohis

feet:‘Ofataxcollector!’Itwashewhosawherintothecar,andsheextendedherarmthroughthe

windowtoshakehishand.‘You’renottooannoyedwithme?’sheaskedasthepolicecarpulledaway,

takinghertoherprison.Andheneverknewifshemeantforhavingdraggedhimawayfromthepeace

andquietofhisgardeninMeung-sur-Loireforafewdaysorforfiringthegun.Therehadbeenaskeletoninthecupboardformanyyears,anditwastheold

ladywhohadtakenituponherselftocleanthingsup,likethosegrandmotherswhocan’tbearthehousetobedirty.

1.

TheshipmusthavereachedtheQuarantineLandingataboutfourinthemorning,andmostofthepassengerswereasleep.Somehadhalf-awakenedattheloudrattlingoftheanchor,butinspiteoftheirearlierintentions,veryfewofthemhadventuredupondecktogazeatthelightsofNewYork.Thefinalhoursofthecrossinghadbeenthehardest.Evennow,intheestuary,

afewcablelengthsfromtheStatueofLiberty,astrongswellheavedundertheship…Itwasraining.Orrather,drizzling:acolddampnessthatfellallaround,soakingeverything,makingthedecksdarkandslippery,glisteningontheguardrailsandmetalbulkheads.AsforMaigret,justastheenginesfellsilenthehadputhisheavyovercoaton

overhispyjamasandgoneupondeck,whereafewshadowsstrodethiswayandthat,zigzagging–nowhighoverhead,nowwaylowerdown–astheshippitchedatanchor.Smokinghispipe,hehadlookedatthelightsandtheothervesselsawaiting

thehealthandcustomsofficials.HehadnotseenJeanMaura.Passinghiscabinandnoticinglightunderthe

door,hehadalmostknocked,butwhybother?Hehadreturnedtohisowncabintoshave.Hehadswallowed–hewouldrememberthis,thewayoneremembersunimportantdetails–amouthfulofbrandystraightfromthebottleMadameMaigrethadslippedintohissuitcase.Whathadhappenednext?Hewasfifty-six;thiswashisfirstcrossingandhe

wasamazedtofindhimselfsolackingincuriosity,sounimpressedbythemagnificentview.Theshipwascomingtolife.Stewardsnoisilydraggedluggagealongthe

corridorsasonepassengerafteranotherrangforassistance.WhenhewasreadyMaigretwentbackupondeck.Themistydrizzlewas

turningmilky,andthelightsweregrowingdiminthatpyramidofconcrete

Manhattanhadsetbeforehim.‘You’renotangrywithme,areyou,inspector?’MaigrethadnotheardMauracomeuptohim.Theyoungmanwaspale,but

everyoneoutondeckthatmorninglookedbleary-eyedandalittleashen.‘Angrywithyouforwhat?’‘Youknow…Iwastoonervous,onedge…Sowhenthosepeopleaskedme

tohaveadrinkwiththem…’Allthepassengershaddrunktoomuch.Itwasthefinalevening;thebarwas

abouttoclose.TheAmericansinparticularhadwantedtoenjoytheirlastchanceattheFrenchliqueurs.JeanMaura,however,wasbarelynineteen.Hehadjustbeenthroughalong

periodofintenseemotionalstrainandhadrapidlybecomeintoxicated,unpleasantlyso,growingmaudlinandthreateningbyturns.Maigrethadfinallyputhimtobedtowardstwointhemorning.He’dhadto

draghimoffbyforcetohiscabin,wheretheboyroundedonhiminprotest.‘Justbecauseyou’rethefamousDetectiveChiefInspectorMaigretdoesn’t

meanyoucantreatmelikeachild!’heshoutedfuriously.‘Onlyoneman–youhearme?–onlyonemanonearthhastherighttoordermearound,andthat’smyfather…’Nowhewasashamed,feelingupsetandqueasy,anditfelltoMaigrettobuck

himup,toclapaheartyhandonhisshoulder.‘Iwentthroughthesamethingwellbeforeyoudid,youngman.’‘Ibehavedbadly,Iwasunfair.Youunderstand,Ikeptthinkingaboutmy

father…’‘Ofcourse.’‘I’msogladtobeseeinghimagainandtomakesurethatnothinghas

happenedtohim…’Smokinghispipeinthefinedrizzle,Maigretwatchedagreyboatheavingup

anddownontheswelldrawskilfullyalongsidethegangwayladder.Officialsseemedpracticallytoleapaboard,thenvanishedintothecaptain’squarters.Menwereopeningtheholds.Thecapstanswerealreadyrevolving.Moreand

morepassengerswereappearingondeck,andinspiteofthepoorlight,afewoftheminsistedontakingphotographs.Otherswereexchangingaddresses,

promisingtowrite,toseeoneanotheragain.Stillotherswereintheship’slounges,fillingouttheircustomsdeclarations.Thecustomsmenleft,thegreyboatpulledaway,andtwomotor-boatsarrived

alongsidewithofficialsfromtheimmigration,policeandhealthdepartments.Meanwhile,breakfastwasservedinthediningroom.AtwhatpointdidMaigretlosetrackofJeanMaura?Thatiswhathehadthe

mosttroubledetermininglateron.Hehadgonetohaveacupofcoffee,hadthenhandedouthistips.Peoplehebarelyknewhadshakenhishand.Nexthehadqueuedupinthefirst-classlounge,whereadoctorhadtakenhispulseandcheckedhistonguewhileotherofficialsexaminedhispapers.Atonepoint,outondeck,therewasacommotion.Maigretwastoldthat

journalistshadjustcomeaboardandweretakingpicturesofaEuropeanministerandafilmstar.Onelittlethingamusedhim.Heheardajournalistwhowasgoingoverthe

passengerlistwiththepurserexclaim(orsohethought,forMaigret’sknowledgeofEnglishdatedbacktohisschoolboydays):‘Huh!That’sthesamenameasthefamouschiefinspectorofthePoliceJudiciaire.’WherewasMauraatthatmoment?Passengersleaningontheirelbowsatthe

railcontemplatedtheStatueofLibertyastheshipmovedon,pulledbytwotugs.Smallbrownboatsascrammedwithpeopleassubwaycarskeptpassingclose

totheship:commutersfromJerseyCityorHobokenontheirwaytowork.‘Wouldyoucomethiswayplease,MonsieurMaigret?’ThesteamerhadtiedupattheFrenchLinepier,andthepassengerswere

disembarkinginsinglefile,anxioustoreclaimtheirluggageinthecustomshall.WherewasJeanMaura?Maigretlookedforhim.Thenhisnamewascalled

again,andhehadtodisembark.Hetoldhimselfthathewouldfindtheyoungmandownonthepierwithalltheirluggage,sincetheyhadthesameinitials.Therewasnofeelingofuneasinessintheair,notension.Maigretfeltleaden,

tiredoutbyadifficultcrossingandbytheimpressionthathehadmadeamistakeinleavinghishouseinMeung-sur-Loire.Hefeltsooutofhiselement!Insuchmoments,heeasilyturnedpeevish,and,

ashehatedcrowdsandformalitiesandhadahardtimeunderstandingEnglish,hismoodwassouringrapidly.

WherewasMaura?Nowhehadtosearchforhiskeys,forwhichheinevitablyfumbledendlesslythroughallhispocketsuntiltheyturnedupintheplacewheretheynaturallyhadtobe.Evenwithnothingtodeclare,hestillhadtounwrapallthelittlepackagescarefullytiedupbyMadameMaigret,whohadneverpersonallyhadtogothroughcustoms.Whenitwasallover,hecaughtsightofthepurser.‘Youhaven’tseeyoungMaura,haveyou?’‘He’snolongeronboard,inanycase…Heisn’there,either.Youwantmeto

findout?’Theplacewaslikeatrainstation,butmorehectic,withportersbanging

suitcasesintopeople’slegs.ThetwomenlookedeverywhereforMaura.‘Hemusthaveleft,MonsieurMaigret.Someoneprobablycametogethim,

don’tyouthink?’Whoeverwouldhavecometogethim,sincenoonehadbeeninformedofhis

arrival?Maigretwasobligedtofollowtheporterwhohadcarriedoffhisluggage.He

hadnoideawhatthebarmanhadhandedhiminthewayofsmallchangeorwhatheshouldgiveasatip.Hewasliterallypushedintoayellowcab.‘HotelStRegis,’hesaidfourorfivetimesbeforehecouldmakehimself

understood.Itwasperfectlyidiotic.Heshouldnothavelethimselfbesoaffectedbythat

boy.Becausehewas,afterall,onlyaboy.AsforMonsieurd’Hoquélus,Maigretwasbeginningtowonderifhewasanymorereliablethantheyoungman.Itwasraining.Theyweredrivingthroughagrimyneighbourhoodwith

nauseatinglyuglybuildings.WasthisNewYork?Tendays…No,itwaspreciselyninedaysearlierthatMaigrethadstillbeen

ensconcedinhisusualspotattheCaféduChevalBlanc,inMeung,whereitwasalsoraining,asithappens.ItrainsonthebanksoftheLoirejustaswellasinAmerica.Maigretwasplayingcards.Itwasfiveintheafternoon.Wasn’thearetiredcivilservant?Washenotfullyenjoyinghisretirementand

thehousehehadlovinglysetup?Ahouseofthekindhehadlongedforallhislife,oneofthosecountryhouseswiththewonderfulsmellofripeningfruit,new-mownhay,beeswax,nottomentionasimmeringragout,andGodknowsMadameMaigretknewherwayaroundsimmeringaragout!

Nowandthen,withaninfuriatinglittlesmile,foolswouldaskhim,‘Youdon’tmissittoomuch,then,Maigret?’Misswhat?TheechoingchillycorridorsofthePoliceJudiciaire,theendless

investigations,thedaysandnightsspentchasingaftersomelowlifeorother?Sothere!Hewashappy.Hedidnotevenreadthecrimereportsormore

sensationallocalnewsitemsinthenewspapers.AndwheneverLucascametoseehim–Lucaswhoforfifteenyearshadbeenhisfavouriteinspector–itwasunderstoodthattherewouldbeabsolutelynoshoptalk.Maigretisplayingbelote.Hebidshigh-tierceintrump.Justthenthewaiter

comestotellhimheiswantedonthetelephone,andoffhegoes,cardsinhand.‘Maigret,isthatyou?’Hiswife.Forhiswifehasneverbeenabletocallhimbyanythingbuthis

familyname.‘There’ssomeoneupfromParisheretoseeyou…’Hegoeshome,ofcourse.Infrontofhishouseisparkedawell-polished

vintagecarwithauniformedchauffeuratthewheel.Glancinginside,Maigretthinksheseesanoldmanwithaplaidblanketaroundhim.Heentershishouse.Asalwaysinsuchcircumstances,MadameMaigret

awaitshimbythedoor.‘It’sayoungman,’shewhispers.‘Iputhiminthesittingroom.There’san

elderlygentlemaninthecar,hisfather,perhaps.Iwantedhimtoaskthemaninside,buthesaidIshouldn’tbother…’Andthatishow,stupidly,whilecosilyplayingcards,oneletsoneselfbe

shippedofftoAmerica!Alwaysthesamesonganddancetobeginwith,thesamenervousness,the

clenchedfists,thedartingsidelongglances…‘I’mfamiliarwithmostofyourcases…Iknowyou’retheonlymanwho…

andthat…’andblahblahblah.Peoplealwaysthinktheirpredicamentisthemostextraordinarydramainthe

world.‘I’mjustayoungman…You’llprobablylaughatme…’Convincedtheywillbelaughedat,theyallfindtheirsituationsosingularthat

nooneelsewilleverunderstandit.‘MynameisJeanMaura.I’malawstudent.MyfatherisJohnMaura.’

Sowhat?You’dswearhethinksthewholeuniverseshouldrecognizethatname.‘JohnMaura,ofNewYork.’Puffingonhispipe,Maigretgrunts.‘Hisnameisofteninthepapers.He’saverywealthyman,wellknownin

America.Forgivemefortellingyouthis,butit’snecessary,sothatyou’llunderstand…’Andhestartstellingacomplicatedstory.ToayawningMaigret,whocouldn’t

careless,whoisstillthinkingabouthiscardgameandwhoautomaticallypourshimselfaglassofbrandy.MadameMaigretcanbeheardmovingaroundinthekitchen.Thecatrubsagainsttheinspector’slegs.Glimpsedthroughthecurtains,theoldmanseemstobedozinginthebackofthecar.‘MyfatherandI,yousee,we’renotlikeotherfathersandsons.I’mallhehas

intheworld.I’mallthatcounts.Busythoughheis,hewritesmealonglettereveryweek.Andeveryyear,duringtheholidays,wespendtwoorthreemonthstogetherinItaly,Greece,Egypt,India…I’vebroughtyouhislatestletterssothatyou’llunderstand.They’retypewritten,butdon’tassumefromthisthattheyweredictated.Asarulemyfathercomposeshispersonallettersonasmallportabletypewriter.’‘“Mydear…”’Onemightalmostusesuchatonewithabelovedwoman.TheAmericanpapa

worriesabouteverything,abouthisson’shealth,hissleep,hisoutings,hismoods,indeedevenhisdreams.Heisdelightedaboutthecomingholidays:whereshallthetwoofthemgothisyear?Thetoneisquiteaffectionate,bothmaternalandwheedling.‘I’dliketoconvinceyouthatI’mnotahigh-strungboywhoimaginesthings.

Foraboutsixmonths,somethingserioushasbeengoingon,I’msureofthis,althoughIdon’tknowwhatitis.Igetthefeelingthatmyfatherisafraid,thathe’snolongerthesame,thathe’sawareofsomedanger.‘Ishouldaddthatthewayheliveshassuddenlychanged.Formonthsnowhe

hastravelledconstantly,fromMexicotoCaliforniaandontoCanadaatsuchahecticpacethatIfeelthisissomesortofnightmare.‘Iwassureyouwouldn’tbelieveme…I’veunderlinedeachpassageinhis

letterswherehewritesofthefuturewithakindofimplicitterror.

‘You’llseethatcertainwordscropupagainandagain,wordsheneverusedbefore.‘“Ifyoushouldfindyourselfonyourown…”‘“IfIweretobelosttoyou…”‘“Whenyouwillbealone…”‘“WhenIamnolongerthere…”‘Thesewordsrecurmoreandmorefrequently,asiftheyhaunthim,yetI

knowmyfatherhasanironconstitution.Icabledhisdoctorforreassurance;Ihavehisreply.Hemakesfunofmeandassuresmethat,barringsomeaccident,myfatherhasagoodthirtyyearsaheadofhim.‘Doyouunderstand?’It’swhattheyallsay:Doyouunderstand?‘Iwenttoseemylegaladviser,Monsieurd’Hoquélus,whomyoudoubtless

knowbyreputation.He’sanoldman,asyouknow,amanofexperience.Ishowedhimtheselatestletters…IsawthathewasalmostasworriedasIwas.‘Andyesterdayheconfidedinmethatmyfatherhadinstructedhimtocarry

outsomeinexplicabletransactions.‘Monsieurd’Hoquélusismyfather’sagentinFrance,amanherelieson.He

istheonewhowasauthorizedtogivemeallthemoneyImightneed.Well,recentlymyfatherhastoldhimtomakelifetimegiftsofconsiderablesumstovariouspeople.‘Notinordertodisinheritme–believeme,onthecontrary:accordingto

signedbutnotnotarizedcontracts,thesesumswillbehandedovertomeinthefuture.‘Why,whenIamhissoleheir?‘Becauseheisafraid,don’tyousee,thathisfortunemaynotbepassedonto

meinthepropermanner.‘I’vebroughtMonsieurd’Hoquéluswithme.He’sinthecar.Ifyouwouldlike

tospeaktohim…’Howcouldanyonenotbeimpressedbythegravityoftheoldnotary?Andhe

saysalmostthesamethingsastheyoungman.‘Iamconvinced,’hebegins,weighinghiswords,‘thatsomeimportantevent

hasoccurredinthelifeofJoachimMaura.’‘WhydoyoucallhimJoachim?’

‘Itishisrealfirstname.IntheUnitedStates,headoptedthemorecommonnameofJohn.AndI,too,amcertainthathefeelsheisinseriousdanger.WhenJeanadmittedtomethatheintendedtogooverthere,IdidnotventuretodissuadehimbutIdidadvisehimtogoaccompaniedbyapersonofsomeexperience…’‘Whynotyourself?’‘Becauseofmyage,firstofall.Andthenforreasonswhichyouwillperhaps

understandlateron…IamconfidentthatwhatisrequiredinNewYorkisamanfamiliarwithpolicematters.IwilladdthatmyinstructionshavealwaysbeentogiveJeanMaurawhatevermoneyhemightwantandthatinthepresentcircumstances,Icanonlyapprovehisdesireto…’Theconversationhadlastedfortwohours,inhushedvoices,andMonsieur

d’HoquélushadnotbeenindifferenttotheappealofMaigret’sagedbrandy.Fromtimetotime,theinspectorhadheardhiswifecometolistenatthedoor,notfromcuriosity,buttofindoutifshecouldfinallysetthetable.Afterthecarhadleft,whatwasheramazementwhenMaigret,nonetooproud

ofhavinglethimselfbepersuaded,hadtoldherbluntly,‘I’mleavingforAmerica.’‘Whatdidyousay?’Andnowayellowcabwastakinghimthroughunfamiliarstreetsmade

depressingbydrizzle.WhyhadJeanMauradisappearedattheverymomentwhentheyreachedNew

York?WasMaigrettobelievethathehadmetsomeoneorthat,inhishastetoseehisfatheragain,hehadcavalierlylefthiscompanioninthelurch?Thestreetswerebecomingmoreelegant.Thecabstoppedatacornerofwhat

MaigretdidnotyetknowwasthefamousFifthAvenue,andadoormanhurriedovertohim.Afreshquandaryaboutpayingthecabdriverwiththisunfamiliarmoney.

ThenofftothelobbyoftheStRegisandthereceptiondesk,wherehefinallyfoundsomeonewhospokeFrench.‘IwouldliketoseeMrJohnMaura.’‘Onemoment,please…’‘Canyoutellmeifhissonhasarrived?’‘NoonehasaskedforMrMaurathismorning.’

‘Ishein?’Pickingupthereceiver,theclerkrepliedfrostily,‘Iwillaskhissecretary.’‘Hello…MrMacGill?…Thisisthefrontdesk…Thereissomeonehere

askingtoseeMrMaura…Whatwasthat?…I’llaskhim…MightIhaveyourname,sir?’‘Maigret.’‘Hello…MrMaigret…Isee…Verywell,sir.’Hangingup,theclerkannounced,‘MrMacGillaskedmetotellyouthatMr

Mauraseespeopleonlybyappointment.Ifyouwishtowritetohimandgivehimyouraddress,hewillcertainlysendyouhisreply.’‘WouldyoubekindenoughtotellthisMrMacGillthatIhavearrivedfrom

FranceexpresslytoseeMrMauraandthatIhaveimportantinformationforhim.’‘Iamsorry…Thesegentlemenwouldneverforgivemefordisturbingthema

secondtime,butifyouwouldtakethetroubletowriteanotehere,inthelobby,Iwillhaveitsentupwithabellboy.’Maigretwasfurious.MorewithhimselfthanwiththisMacGill,whomhedid

notknowbuthadalreadybeguntodetest.Justashedetested,immediatelyandcompletely,everythingaroundhim:the

gilt-encrustedlobby,thebellboyssmirkingathim,theprettywomencomingandgoing,thecockymenwhojostledhimwithoutdeigningtoapologize.

Monsieur,IhavejustarrivedfromFrance,entrustedwithanimportantmissionbyyoursonandM.

d’Hoquélus.Mytimeisaspreciousasyours,soIwouldbegratefulifyouwouldseemerightaway.Yourssincerely,Maigret

Foragoodquarterofanhourhewaslefttofumeoffinhiscorner,soangrythathesmokedhispipeeventhoughheknewthiswashardlytheplaceforit.Atlastabellboyarrived,whoaccompaniedhimupintheelevator,ledhimalongacorridor,knockedonadoorandabandonedhim.‘Comein!’WhyhadheenvisionedMacGillasamiddle-agedpersonofforbidding

aspect?Hewasatall,muscularyoungman,fashionablydressed,whocametowardshimholdingouthishand.

‘Forgiveme,sir,butMrMauraisbesiegedbysomanysolicitantsofallsortsthatwemustcreateastrongbarrieraroundhim.Youtellmeyou’vejustcomeoverfromFrance…AmItounderstandthatyouarethe…theformer…thatistosay…’‘TheformerDetectiveChiefInspectorMaigret,yes.’‘Please,dositdown.Cigar?’Severalboxesofthemweresetoutonatable.Ahugemahoganydesk

dominatedtheimmensedrawingroomyetdidnotmakeitseematalllikeanoffice.DisdainingtheHavanacigars,Maigrethadrefilledhispipeandnowstudied

theothermanrathercoolly.‘Youwrotethatyou’vebroughtusnewsofMonsieurJean?’‘Ifyouwillallowme,I’llspeakpersonallyofthattoMonsieurMaurawhen

you’vebeenkindenoughtotakemetohim.’MacGillshowedallhisteeth,whichwerequitebeautiful,inasmile.‘It’seasytosee,sir,thatyouarefromEurope.Otherwiseyouwouldknow

thatJohnMauraisoneofthebusiestmeninNewYork,thatevenIhavenoideawhereheisatthismomentand,finally,thatIhandleallhisaffairs,includingthemostpersonalones.Youmaythereforespeakcandidlyandtellme…’‘I’llwaituntilMrMauraagreestoreceiveme.’‘Hewouldstillhavetoknowwhatallthisisabout.’‘Itoldyou,it’sabouthisson.’‘AmI,givenyourprofession,toassumethattheyoungmanhasdone

somethingfoolish?’Unflinching,Maigretcontinuedtostarecoldlyattheotherman.‘Forgivemeforinsisting,inspector.Althoughyouhaveretired,accordingto

thenewspapers,Isupposethatyouarestilladdressedbyyourtitle?Forgiveme,asIsaid,forremindingyouthatweareintheUnitedStates,notFrance,andthatJohnMaura’stimeislimited.Jeanisacharmingboy,perhapsabittoosensitive,butIwonderwhathecouldhave…’Maigretcalmlyroseandpickedupthehathehadplacedontherugbesidehis

chair.‘I’llbetakingaroominthishotel.WhenMrMaurahasdecidedtoseeme…’‘HewillnotbebackinNewYorkforabouttwoweeks.’

‘Canyoutellmewhereheisatpresent?’‘That’shardtosay.HetravelsbyplaneandwasinPanamathedaybefore

yesterday.TodayhemighthavelandedinRioorVenezuela…’‘Thankyou.’‘DoyouhavefriendsinNewYork,inspector?’‘NoonebesidesafewpolicechiefswithwhomI’veworkedonoccasion.’‘Wouldyouallowmetoinviteyoutolunch?’‘IthinkIwouldratherhavelunchwithoneofthem…’‘AndifIinsisted?Iamsorryabouttherolemypositionforcesmetoplayand

Idohopeyouwon’tholditagainstme.I’molderthanJean,butnotbymuch,andamquitefondofhim.Youhaven’tevengivenmeanynewsofhim…’‘Excuseme,butmayIknowhowlongyou’vebeenMrMaura’sprivate

secretary?’‘Aboutsixmonths.WhatImeanis,I’vebeenwithhimforsixmonthsbut

haveknownhimalongtime,ifnotforever.’Someonewaswalkinginthenextroom.MaigretsawMacGill’sfacechange

colour.Thesecretarylistenedanxiouslytotheapproachingfootsteps,watchedthegiltknobonthedoortothenextroomslowlyturn,thenopenslightly.‘Comehereamoment,Jos…’Athin,nervousface,crownedwithhairthatwasstillblondalthoughstreaked

withwhite.EyesthattookinMaigret;aforeheadfoldingintoafrown.Thesecretaryhurriedover,butthenewarrivalhadalreadychangedhismindandenteredtheoffice,stillstaringatMaigret.‘Havewe…?’hebegan,aswhenoneappearstorecognizesomebodyand

triestoremembermore.‘DetectiveChiefInspectorMaigretofthePoliceJudiciaire.Moreprecisely,

formerInspectorMaigret,asI’vebeenretiredforayearnow.’JohnMaurawasshorterthanaverage,lean,butapparentlyendowedwith

exceptionalenergy.‘Isittomethatyouwishtospeak?’HeturnedtoMacGillwithoutwaitingforareply.‘Whatisit,Jos?’‘Idon’tknow,chief…Theinspector…’

‘Ifyouwouldn’tmind,MrMaura,Iwouldliketospeaktoyouinprivate.It’saboutyourson.’Buttherewasnotasinglereactioninthefaceofthemanwhowrotesuch

affectionateletters.‘Youmayspeakinfrontofmysecretary.’‘Verywell…YoursonisinNewYork.’AndMaigret’seyesneverleftthetwomen.Washemistaken?Hefelt

distinctlythatMacGillwasshaken,whereasMaura’ssoleresponsewassimplytosaycasually,‘Oh…’‘Aren’tyousurprised?’‘Youmustknowthatmysonisfreetodowhateverhelikes.’‘Aren’tyouatleastastonishedthathehasn’tyetcometoseeyou?’‘GiventhatIdon’tknowwhenhemayhavearrived…’‘Hearrivedthismorning,withme.’‘Inthatcase,youmustknow.’‘Iknownothing,that’sjustit.Intherushofdisembarkationandarrival

formalitiesIlostsightofhim.ThelasttimeIsawandspoketohimwaswhentheshipwasanchoredattheQuarantineLanding.’‘It’squitepossiblethathemetupwithsomefriends.’AndJohnMauraslowlylitalongcigarwithhisinitialsontheband.‘I’msorry,inspector,butIdonotseehowmyson’sarrival—’‘Hasanyconnectionwithmyvisit?’‘ThatismoreorlesswhatIwantedtosay.Iamverybusythismorning.With

yourpermission,Iwillleaveyouwithmysecretary,towhomyoumayspeakfreely.Pleaseexcuseme,inspector.’Aratherabruptnod.Heturnedonhisheelandvanishednextdoor.Aftera

moment’shesitation,MacGillmurmured,‘Withyourpermission…’Andhedisappearedinthewakeofhisemployer,closingthedoorbehindhim.

Maigretwasaloneintheoffice,aloneandnotveryproudofhimself.Heheardwhisperingintheneighbouringroom.Hewasabouttoleaveangrilywhenthesecretaryreappeared,briskandsmiling.‘Yousee,mydearsir,youwerewrongtodistrustme.’‘IthoughtMrMaurawasinVenezuelaorRio…’Theyoungmanlaughed.

‘BackatQuaidesOrfèvres,whereyouhadheavyresponsibilities,didn’tyoueverusealittlewhitelietogetridofavisitor?’‘Thanksanywayforhavingtreatedmetothesamething!’‘Come,don’tholdagrudgeagainstme…Whattimeisit?Eleventhirty…If

it’sallrightwithyou,I’llphonethedesktoreserveyouaroom,otherwiseyou’dhavesomedifficultygettingone.TheStRegisisoneofthemostexclusivehotelsinNewYork.I’llgiveyoutimetotakeabathandchange,and,ifyoulike,we’llmeetatthebaratoneo’clock,afterwhichwe’llhavelunchtogether.’Maigretwastemptedtorefuseandwalkoutwreathedinhissurliest

expression.Hewouldhavebeenquitecapable,hadtherebeenashipthatveryeveningforEurope,ofsailinghomewithoutpursuinganycloseracquaintancewiththiscitythathadwelcomedhimsoharshly.‘Hello…Frontdesk,please…Hello,MacGillhere.Wouldyouplease

reserveasuiteforafriendofMrMaura…Yes…MrMaigret.Thankyou.’Andturningtowardtheinspector,heasked,‘DoyouspeakalittleEnglish?’‘Likeallthosewholearneditinschoolandhaveforgottenit.’‘Inthatcase,you’llsometimesfindthingsdifficultatfirst.Isthisyourfirst

triptotheUnitedStates?…IassureyouthatIwillbereadytoassistyouinanywayIcan.’Someonewasbehindtheconnectingdoor,probablyJohnMaura.MacGill

knewthis,too,butdidnotseembotheredbyit.‘Justfollowthebellboy.I’llseeyoulater,inspector.AndJeanMaurawill

havedoubtlessreappearedintimetohavelunchwithus.I’llhaveyourluggagebroughtuptoyou.’Anotherelevator.Asittingroom,abedroom,abathroom,aporterwaitingfor

histip,atwhomMaigretstaredinbafflementbecausehehadrarelybeensobewildered–andevenhumiliated–inhislife.Tothinkthattendaysearlierhe’dbeenquietlyplayingbelotewiththedoctor,

thefertilizerdealerandthemayorofMeunginthewarmandalwaysratherdimlylitCaféduChevalBlanc!

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