Maigret And The Hundred Gibbets by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-03-17T15:12:56+00:00

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CHAPTER 7

The Trio

There are four daily newspapers in Liège. It took Maigret two hours to go round their offices and, as he expected, in each he found a number missing from the files: the one for 15 February.

The town was at its busiest in the rectangle of streets called the Carré, where the luxury stores, the large brasseries, the cinemas and dance-halls are.

It is a popular meeting-place and, at least three times, the Inspector saw Joseph Van Damme walking around, stick in hand.

When he went back to the Hôtel du Chemin de Fer, there were two messages waiting for him. The first was a telegram from Lucas, to whom he had confided various jobs just as he was leaving.

Ashes found in stove room Louis Jeunet rue Roquette examined by expert stop identified remains Belgian and French banknotes stop quantity indicates large sum

The other was a letter which had been brought to the hotel by messenger. It was typed on ordinary typing-paper. It said:

Sir,

It is my honour to inform you that I am ready to provide any information which may help the inquiry which you have undertaken.

For various reasons, I have to be careful but, if my proposal interests you, I would be grateful if we could meet this evening, about eleven o’clock, at the Café de la Bourse, behind the Théâtre Royal.

In the meantime, I remain, Sir, etc…

No signature. On the other hand, it was rather unusual language, typical business jargon, for a note of this kind:

“It is my honour to inform you… I would be grateful… If my proposal interests you… In the meantime, I remain…”

Maigret dined alone and realized that, almost without knowing it, the general drift of his preoccupations had changed. He was thinking less about Jean Lecocq d’Arneville, alias Louis Jeunet, who had killed himself in a hotel bedroom in Bremen.

But he was haunted by Jef Lombard’s drawings, by the hanged men all over on the walls, swinging from the cross of a church, from trees in a wood, from a nail in a garret, grotesque or sinister hanged men, scarlet or white in the face, in costumes of all periods.

At half past ten, he set off towards the Théâtre Royal, and it was five to eleven when he pushed open the door of the Café de la Bourse, a quiet little place, frequented by regulars and, in particular, by card-players.

A surprise was in store for him: In a corner by the counter, three men were seated at a table: Maurice Belloir, Jef Lombard, and Joseph Van Damme.

There was a moment’s hesitation on both sides while the waiter helped the Inspector off with his overcoat. Belloir, automatically half rose to greet him. Van Damme did not stir. Lombard, who looked incredibly nervous, was fidgeting on his chair, waiting for his companions to decide on some attitude.

Would Maigret walk over to them, shake hands, and sit down at their table? He knew them. He had lunched with the Bremen business-man. Belloir had given him a glass of brandy at his house in Rheims.

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