Maigret Read Online Free Page A
Book: Maigret Read Online Free
Author: Georges Simenon
the lamp, his legs outstretched in
front of the log fire.
‘Do you come to Paris
often?’
Maigret, propping up the bar of the
Floria, shook his head and merely replied:
‘Uh-huh, from time to time
…’
He was feeling buoyant again. He did not
express his good humour in smiles, but he had an inner feeling of well-being. One of
his gifts was the ability to laugh inwardly without betraying his outer gravitas. A
woman was sitting next to him. She asked him to buy her a drink and he nodded in
acquiescence.
Two years ago, a prostitute would never
have made that mistake. But his overcoat with its velvet collar and his standard
black, hard-wearing serge suit and tie told her nothing. If she mistook him for a
provincial out on the town, it meant he had changed.
‘Something happened here,
didn’t it?’ he muttered.
‘The boss got bumped off last
night.’
She also misread the look in his eye,
which she thought was one of interest. But things were not so straightforward!
Maigret was back in a world he had long since left behind. This nondescript little
woman, he knew her without knowing her. He was certain that she did not have a
record and that, on her passport, her occupation was given as
artiste
or
dancer
. As for the Chinese barman who served them, Maigret could have
recited his criminal history. The cloakroom attendant, on the other hand, had
clocked him and had greeted him anxiously, trying to place him.
Among the waiters,
there were at least two whom Maigret had brought into his office in the past for
questioning in cases similar to Pepito’s killing.
He ordered a brandy with water. He
vaguely watched the room and instinctively positioned crosses, as he had done on
paper. Customers who had read the papers were asking questions and the waiters were
explaining, pointing out the spot near the fifth table where the body had been
found.
‘Would you like to share a bottle
of champagne?’
‘No, dear.’
The woman almost guessed, and was at
least intrigued as Maigret’s gaze followed the new owner, a young man with
fair hair whom he had known as the manager of a Montparnasse dance hall.
‘Will you see me home?’
‘Of course! In a while.’
In the meantime, he went into the
toilets and guessed where Philippe had hidden. At the back of the main room, he
could glimpse the office with its door ajar. But that was of no interest. He knew
the scenario before setting foot in Rue Fontaine. The actors too. Going round the
room, he could point to each person, saying:
‘At this table, we have a newlywed
couple from the South out for a night on the town. This young man who is already
drunk is a young German who will end the night minus his wallet. Over there, the
gigolo with a criminal record and packets of cocaine in his pockets. He is in
cahoots with the head waiter, who has done three years inside. The plump brunette
spent ten years at Maxim’s and is winding up her career in
Montmartre—’
He returned to the
bar.
‘Can I have another
cocktail?’ asked the woman, for whom he had already bought a drink.
‘What’s your
name?’
‘Fernande.’
‘What were you doing last
night?’
‘I was with three young men, boys
from good families, who wanted to take ether. I went with them to a hotel in Rue
Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.’
Maigret did not smile, but he could have
continued the story for her.
‘First, we went into the pharmacy
in Rue Montmartre separately and bought a little bottle of ether each. I
wasn’t entirely sure what was going to happen. We got undressed. But they
didn’t even look at me. All four of us lay down on the bed. When they inhaled
the ether, one got up and said in this strange voice: “Oh! There are angels on
top of the wardrobe … Aren’t they lovely … I’m going to catch them
…” He tried to get up and fell on to the rug. Me, the smell made me feel sick.
I asked them if
front of the log fire.
‘Do you come to Paris
often?’
Maigret, propping up the bar of the
Floria, shook his head and merely replied:
‘Uh-huh, from time to time
…’
He was feeling buoyant again. He did not
express his good humour in smiles, but he had an inner feeling of well-being. One of
his gifts was the ability to laugh inwardly without betraying his outer gravitas. A
woman was sitting next to him. She asked him to buy her a drink and he nodded in
acquiescence.
Two years ago, a prostitute would never
have made that mistake. But his overcoat with its velvet collar and his standard
black, hard-wearing serge suit and tie told her nothing. If she mistook him for a
provincial out on the town, it meant he had changed.
‘Something happened here,
didn’t it?’ he muttered.
‘The boss got bumped off last
night.’
She also misread the look in his eye,
which she thought was one of interest. But things were not so straightforward!
Maigret was back in a world he had long since left behind. This nondescript little
woman, he knew her without knowing her. He was certain that she did not have a
record and that, on her passport, her occupation was given as
artiste
or
dancer
. As for the Chinese barman who served them, Maigret could have
recited his criminal history. The cloakroom attendant, on the other hand, had
clocked him and had greeted him anxiously, trying to place him.
Among the waiters,
there were at least two whom Maigret had brought into his office in the past for
questioning in cases similar to Pepito’s killing.
He ordered a brandy with water. He
vaguely watched the room and instinctively positioned crosses, as he had done on
paper. Customers who had read the papers were asking questions and the waiters were
explaining, pointing out the spot near the fifth table where the body had been
found.
‘Would you like to share a bottle
of champagne?’
‘No, dear.’
The woman almost guessed, and was at
least intrigued as Maigret’s gaze followed the new owner, a young man with
fair hair whom he had known as the manager of a Montparnasse dance hall.
‘Will you see me home?’
‘Of course! In a while.’
In the meantime, he went into the
toilets and guessed where Philippe had hidden. At the back of the main room, he
could glimpse the office with its door ajar. But that was of no interest. He knew
the scenario before setting foot in Rue Fontaine. The actors too. Going round the
room, he could point to each person, saying:
‘At this table, we have a newlywed
couple from the South out for a night on the town. This young man who is already
drunk is a young German who will end the night minus his wallet. Over there, the
gigolo with a criminal record and packets of cocaine in his pockets. He is in
cahoots with the head waiter, who has done three years inside. The plump brunette
spent ten years at Maxim’s and is winding up her career in
Montmartre—’
He returned to the
bar.
‘Can I have another
cocktail?’ asked the woman, for whom he had already bought a drink.
‘What’s your
name?’
‘Fernande.’
‘What were you doing last
night?’
‘I was with three young men, boys
from good families, who wanted to take ether. I went with them to a hotel in Rue
Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.’
Maigret did not smile, but he could have
continued the story for her.
‘First, we went into the pharmacy
in Rue Montmartre separately and bought a little bottle of ether each. I
wasn’t entirely sure what was going to happen. We got undressed. But they
didn’t even look at me. All four of us lay down on the bed. When they inhaled
the ether, one got up and said in this strange voice: “Oh! There are angels on
top of the wardrobe … Aren’t they lovely … I’m going to catch them
…” He tried to get up and fell on to the rug. Me, the smell made me feel sick.
I asked them if