Maigret and the Loner by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Georges Simenon
ISBN: 9780891904298
Google: dez4SAAACAAJ
Amazon: 015655139X
Goodreads: 1389898
Publisher: Harcourt
Published: 1970-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

* * *

5

TORRENCE! BRING ME THE PHONE BOOK FROM NEXT door.”

Maigret turned to the name Mahossier, little dreaming that he would find eleven subscribers of that name listed in the Paris directory. Which of them was the one referred to by the anonymous caller?

Maigret, having warned the switchboard operator that he would be making a number of calls, began working down the list.

No occupation was given for the first subscriber. He tried the number and got no reply. There was no reply from the second number, either. The third name was that of a florist in Passy.

“May I speak to your husband, please?”

“I have no husband. I divorced him five years ago.”

No reply from the next number. In August most of the people living in Paris were on vacation, of course.

His next call was to a secretarial college on Boulevard Voltaire.

No answer. That made four. He got seven no-answers in all, and Torrence, who was standing by the window, marveled at his patience.

He skipped the next number, since the subscriber was a doctor, with an office on Place des Vosges. But he got through to the one after that, a painting and decorating firm on Avenue Trudaine.

“Hello! Whom are you calling?”

“I’d like to speak to Monsieur Mahossier, please.”

“Monsieur Mahossier left for La Baule yesterday.”

“Will he be away long?”

“At least three weeks. Possibly four. Who is speaking?”

“Is this his home number?”

“No. These are his business premises. Monsieur and Madame Mahossier have an apartment on Rue de Turbigo.”

“Do they have a house in La Baule?”

“Yes, It’s called the ‘Umbrella Pines.’ They’ve had it for about ten years.”

Avenue Trudaine was in Montmartre and Rue de Turbigo just a stone’s throw from Les Halles.

He began pacing up and down the room. He didn’t want to look a fool, especially in front of Torrence, and he certainly would if the anonymous phone caller was leading him up the garden path.

“Put a call through to Domestic Airlines, will you? Find out if there’s a flight to La Baule tomorrow morning, and whether it’s possible to get back the same day.”

Torrence went into the inspectors’ room to make the call. Within a few minutes he was back.

“There’s a flight to La Baule at ten past ten, returning at half past six. Shall I get a seat for you?”

“Yes, please.”

Mahossier … Mahossier … Maigret murmured the name to himself, with an almost painful effort at recollection. He knew the name. He must have heard it somewhere, or possibly seen it on the front of a building.

He went upstairs to see the Examining Magistrate.

“Any new developments, Monsieur Maigret?” young Judge Cassure asked, in his friendly way.

“Nothing much, except that I now know the name and former address of the young woman on whose account Vivien walked out on his wife and daughter.”

“What’s become of her?”

“Unfortunately, the concierge of the apartments is fairly new to the place. The old concierge retired to Sancerre, where she died last year. All the present tenants are under forty.”

For an instant he hestitated. Then, taking his courage in both hands, he said:

“I’ve just had an anonymous phone call.

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