Maigret (2015- Reissue) by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Noir
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-06T12:00:00+00:00

7.

Eugène arrived first, just before eleven o’clock. Although it was not yet spring, his clothes reflected the sunny weather. He wore a light-grey linen suit, so soft that with every movement his muscles rippled beneath the fabric. His hat was the same shade of grey, and his shoes of fine buckskin. And when he pushed open the glass door of the Police Judiciaire, a gentle fragrance wafted into the corridor.

This was not the first time he had set foot inside Quai des Orfèvres. He glanced to the right and to the left, like a regular visitor, still smoking his gold-tipped cigarette. The morning briefing was over. People were waiting gloomily outside the inspectors’ offices.

Eugène went up to the clerk, greeting him by raising a finger to his hat.

‘Say, my good man, I believe Inspector Amadieu is expecting me.’

‘Take a seat.’

He sat down casually, crossed his legs, lit another cigarette and opened a newspaper at the racing section. His blue limousine seemed to be stretching in front of the gate. Maigret spotted it from a window and went down into the street to inspect the left wing, but there were no scratches on it.

A few hours earlier, he had entered Amadieu’s office without removing his hat, his expression wary.

‘I’ve brought in a man who knows the truth.’

‘That’s a matter for the examining magistrate!’ Amadieu had replied, continuing to leaf through a pile of reports.

Then Maigret had knocked on the chief’s door and had gathered at once that his visit was not welcome.

‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Good morning, Maigret.’

They were both equally ill at ease and needed few words to communicate.

‘Chief, I’ve worked all night and I’ve come to ask you to arrange for three or four individuals to be brought in for questioning.’

‘That’s up to the examining magistrate,’ objected the head of the Police Judiciaire.

‘The examining magistrate won’t get anything out of them. You know what I mean.’

Maigret knew he was a thorn in everyone’s side and that they would have liked to tell him to go to hell, but still he persisted. He stood there for ages, his massive bulk hovering over the chief, blocking his line of vision. Eventually the chief gave in and phone calls were made from one office to another.

‘Come in here for a moment, Amadieu!’

‘Coming, chief.’

Words were exchanged.

‘Our friend Maigret tells me that …’

At nine, Amadieu steeled himself to go over to Gastambide’s office via the back corridors of the Palais de Justice. When he returned twenty minutes later, he had in his pocket the necessary warrants to question Cageot, Audiat, the owner of the Tabac Fontaine, Eugène, the fellow from Marseille and the short deaf man.

Eugène was already in the building waiting to see Amadieu, and so was Audiat. Maigret had made him come upstairs, where, since early morning, he had been sitting scowling at the end of the corridor watching the police officers’ comings and goings.

At 9.30, inspectors set off to round up the others, while Maigret, heavy with sleep, roamed the establishment to which

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