Inspector Cadaver Read Online Free

sits up, gropes around and finally finds the pear-switch,
which is hanging at the head of his bed. The bulb lights up in its frosted-glass
tulip-shaped shade and he sees in front of him a girl who has put on a brown woollen
coat over her night clothes.
    ‘Sshh …’ she whispers.
‘I need to talk to you. Don’t make any noise.’
    And then she sits down on a chair, staring
straight ahead like a sleepwalker.

2. The Girl in the
Nightdress
    An exhausting, yet heady night. Maigret slept
without sleeping. He dreamed without dreaming, that is to say, he dreamed consciously,
intentionally prolonging dreams that took their cue from real sounds.
    The sound of the mare kicking its stall was
real enough, for instance. But what was not, what was the result of his state of mind,
was that Maigret, snug in his bed and sweating profusely, could also see the half-light
of a stable, the animal’s hindquarters, a little hay still in the rack and, beyond
that, the rainy yard, feet splashing in black puddles, and finally, from the outside,
the house in which he was staying.
    It was a kind of division. Maigret was in
his bed. He was intensely enjoying its warmth, the pleasurable country smell of the
mattress, which became all the more pungent as he soaked it with sweat. But at the same
time he was everywhere in the house. Who knows if at one point in his dream he
wasn’t the house itself?
    He was aware of the cows stirring through
the night in their barn, and at four in the morning he heard the footsteps of a stable
boy crossing the yard, lifting the latch and, by the light of a storm lantern, perhaps
he actually saw the lad sitting on a stool and squeezing milk into tin pails?
    He must have fallen back into a deep sleep
because hestarted awake at the din of the lavatory flushing. He even
felt afraid for a moment, the noise was so sudden and violent, but then moments later he
was playing his game again, conjuring up the master of the house leaving the lavatory,
his braces hanging down by his thighs, and padding back to his room. Madame Naud was
sleeping, or pretending to sleep, facing the wall. Étienne Naud had only turned on
the little light above the washstand. He shaved, his fingers numb from the icy water.
His skin was pink, tight, shiny.
    Then he sat down in an armchair to put on
his boots. As he was about to leave the room, a murmur came from the blankets. What was
his wife saying to him? He bent down to her, replied in an undertone, then noiselessly
shut the door again and went down the stairs on tiptoe. Whereupon Maigret, who had had
enough of the night’s bewitchment, leaped out of bed and turned on his bedside
light.
    On the bedside table his watch said five
thirty. He listened intently and had the impression the rain had stopped, or else had
turned into a silent drizzle.
    Of course he had eaten well and drunk well
the night before, but he hadn’t overdone it. And yet he felt as if he were waking
after a night hitting the bottle. As he fished various things out of his wash bag, he
stared goggle-eyed at his unmade bed, and particularly at the chair next to it.
    He was sure it wasn’t a dream:
Geneviève Naud had been there. She had walked in without knocking. She had sat in
that chair, holding herself very upright, not touching its back. In the first flush of
his amazement, he had thought she was distraught. But, in fact, he was the more troubledof the two of them. He had never been in such an awkward position,
lying in bed in his nightshirt, his hair mussed up, a sour taste in his mouth, as a girl
settled down at his bedside to confide in him.
    He had muttered something like, ‘If
you’d like to turn round for a moment, I’ll get up and put on some clothes
…’
    ‘There’s no need. I’ll be
quick. I’m pregnant with Albert Retailleau’s child. If my father finds out,
no one will be able to stop me killing myself …’
    He could not even look her in the face as he
was lying down. She seemed to wait for a moment to