Maigret and the Man on the Boulevard Read Online Free

a day or two, I should think.”
    â€œWill there have to be a post mortem?”
    â€œThat’s up to the magistrate. He may not think it necessary.”
    She glanced at her watch.
    â€œThere’s a train in twenty minutes,” she said to her sister.
    And to Maigret:
    â€œWould you mind taking us to the station?”
    â€œDon’t you want to wait for Monique?”
    â€œShe can make her own way.”
    The Gare de Lyon was a good deal out of their way. They watched the two almost identical figures going up the stone steps.
    Gruffly, Santoni said: “She’s as hard as nails! The poor fellow can’t have had much of a life.”
    â€œNot with her, at any rate.”
    â€œWhat do you make of that business of the shoes? The obvious answer would be that he bought them today, except that they aren’t new.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t have dared. You heard what she said.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t have dared to buy a loud tie, either.”
    â€œIt will be interesting to see whether the daughter is like her mother.”
    Before returning to the Quai des Orfèvres, they stopped for a meal at a brasserie. Maigret telephoned his wife, to tell her to expect him when she saw him.
    The brasserie too smelled of winter, with damp coats and hats hanging from all the hooks, and dense clouds of steam rising from the dark windows.
    At the gatehouse of Police Headquarters, Maigret was met by the man on duty, who announced:
    â€œThere’s a young woman waiting to see you. She says she has an appointment. I sent her straight up.”
    â€œHas she been here long?”
    â€œTwenty minutes or so.”
    The fog had turned to a thin drizzle, and the dusty treads of the main staircase were intricately patterned with damp footprints. Although most of the offices were empty, here and there a crack of light showed under a door.
    â€œDo you want me to stay?”
    Maigret nodded. Santoni had been with him on the case from the start. He might as well see it through to the end.
    There was a young woman sitting in an armchair in the waiting room, though all that could be seen of her was a pale blue hat. There was only one dim light on in the room. The desk clerk was reading an evening paper.
    â€œShe’s waiting to see you, chief.”
    â€œI know.”
    And to the young woman:
    â€œMademoiselle Thouret? Will you come with me, please.”
    He switched on the green-shaded light that hung above the chair across the desk from his own, and invited her to take a seat. She did so, and he could see that she had been crying.
    â€œMy uncle has told me of my father’s death.”
    He did not say anything at first. Like her mother, she had a handkerchief in her hand, but hers was rolled into a ball, and she was kneading it, as Maigret used to knead plasticine when he was a child.
    â€œI thought my mother would be with you.”
    â€œShe’s gone back to Juvisy.”
    â€œHow is she?”
    What could he say?
    â€œYour mother was very brave.”
    Monique was not unattractive. She did not look much like her mother, though she was of the same heavy build. This was less marked in her case, because her young skin was softer and her body more supple. She was wearing a well-cut suit. The chief superintendent found this a little surprising. She had certainly not made it herself, nor had it been bought in a cheap shop.
    A few drops of moisture gathered on her eyelashes as she asked:
    â€œWhat happened exactly?”
    â€œYour father was stabbed with a knife.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œThis afternoon, between half-past four and a quarter to five.”
    â€œI simply can’t understand it.”
    Why was it that he had a feeling she was not being altogether sincere? Her mother too had expressed incredulity, but being the sort of woman she was, that was only to be expected. Basically, as far as Madame Thouret was concerned, it was a disgraceful thing to get oneself