Maigret and the Lazy Burglar by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Georges Simenon
Published: 2011-12-08T14:55:45+00:00

* * *

V

IN FACT he was giving himself a change, playing truant as it were, and he felt slightly guilty about it. But not too much so, because for one thing what Olga had said about the chitterlings was no exaggeration; for another thing the Beaujolais, though a little heavy, was very fruity; and lastly because, seated in a corner, at a table spread with rough paper instead of a cloth, he could ruminate at his ease.

The patronne, a short, stout woman with a bun of grey hair on top of her head, sometimes opened the kitchen door a crack and threw a rapid glance round the restaurant. She had a blue apron like the ones Maigret’s mother used to wear long ago; the blue was still dark round the edges, but had faded in the middle, where it had been rubbed harder in the wash.

It was also true that the waitress, a tall, dark woman with a pasty complexion, looked sour and suspicious. From time to time she winced as though momentarily in pain, and the superintendent would have sworn she had just had a miscarriage.

The other customers included some workmen in their overalls, several Algerians, and a newspaper-woman in a man’s jacket and peaked cap.

What would be the use of showing a photo of Cuendet to the waitress or to the heavily moustached patron who was attending to the wine? From the table where Maigret was sitting, and which had no doubt been his as well, the Swiss—provided he wiped the steamy window-pane every three minutes—could have kept an eye on the street and on the house that interested him.

He had certainly not confided in anybody. He must have been taken, as he was everywhere, for just a quiet little man; and in a sense this was true.

In his own way, Cuendet was a craftsman; and because Maigret was thinking at the same time about the fellows in the Rue La Fayette —that was what he called ruminating—he found the man slightly old-fashioned—like this restaurant, which would soon make way for a spick-and-span self-service counter.

Maigret had known other solitary workers, such as the famous Commodore, with his monocle and the red carnation in his buttonhole, who used to stay in the most fashionable hotels—a faultlessly attired, dignified, white-haired figure—and was never once caught red-handed.

The Commodore had never seen the inside of a prison, and no one knew how he had met his end. Had he retired to the country with a change of identity, or spent his declining years basking in the sunshine of an island in the South Seas? Had he been murdered by some tough with an eye to his savings?

At that time, too, there had been organized gangs; but their methods of work were not the same as nowadays, and above all they were differently composed.

Twenty years ago, for instance, in a matter like the Rue La Fayette affair, Maigret would have known at once where to look—the exact district and almost the exact tavern frequented by the bad lots.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.