Maigret and the Nahour Case by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Georges Simenon
ISBN: 9780156551496
Google: KS47DIo6q4oC
Amazon: 0151555591
Goodreads: 140638
Publisher: Harvest
Published: 1965-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 5

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The bar was dark and silent, two Englishmen sitting on tall stools were moving their lips, but one couldn’t hear what they were saying. The walls were covered with oak panels, and the lamps in sconces gave out a dim light only every four or five yards. In a corner a young woman sat waiting, in front of a pinkish cocktail. In the opposite corner four men occasionally leaned toward each other.

Here, too, it was Sunday, a hollow day, outside reality. Through the cream-colored curtains one could just see a little dirty snow, black trees, and the head of a passer-by.

“Check your coat, sir?”

“I’m sorry…”

His investigations usually led him to local bistros or noisy bars near the Champs-Elysées, and not to palaces. He took off his coat and sighed with relief as he pulled off his hot scarf.

“A beer,” he ordered under his breath to the barman, who looked at him as though he were trying to remember where he had seen him before.

“Carlsberg… Heineken?”

“Either.”

Good old Lucas was also stopped by the young lady in the checkroom.

“What will you have?”

“How about you, chief?”

“I ordered a beer.”

“The same for me, then.”

The word grillroom was written in weakly lit letters over an open door, through which came a faint noise of plates.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not very.”

“Do you know the room numbers?”

“437,438, and 439. Two bedrooms and a small sitting room.”

“How about Nelly?”

“She sleeps in one of the rooms. 437 is a large room with two beds, for Madame Nahour and her friend.”

“I’ll be back at once.”

In the vast marble hallway Maigret walked toward a door marked telephone.

“Can you give me room 437, please?”

“Just a minute…”

“Hello… Madame Nahour?”

“Who’s speaking?”

“Superintendent Maigret.”

“This is Anna Keegel speaking. Madame Nahour is in the bath.”

“Ask her if she’d rather I came up in about ten minutes or whether she wants to have lunch first.”

He waited for some time. He could hear indistinct voices.

“Hello… She isn’t hungry, because she ate on the plane, but she’d rather you didn’t come up in less than half an hour.”

Maigret and Lucas went into the grillroom a few minutes later. It was as well upholstered as the bar, with the same wooden panels, the same sconces, and small lights on the tables. Only three or four of the tables were taken, and everybody was whispering, as if in church. The maître d’hôtel, the chefs, and the waiters came and went in silence, like the priests of some cult.

When he was handed an enormous menu, Maigret shook his head.

“Assiette anglaise,” he muttered.

“For me, too.”

“Two cold meats,” corrected the maître d’hôtel.

“And a beer.”

“I’ll send you the wine steward.”

“Can you telephone the Quai and tell them we’re here? Tell them to try to get in touch with Janvier, who must still be at Orly. Give them the room number.”

Maigret suddenly looked heavy, and Lucas, who recognized this symptom, took care not to ask him any unnecessary questions.

The meal was eaten in almost complete silence, under the blasé eyes of the maître d’hôtel and the waiters.

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