Maigret and the Reluctant Witness by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-03-17T15:13:20+00:00

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CHAPTER SIX

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It was a little time before Maigret could thread his way across among the cars, for this was the rush-hour. On reaching the opposite sidewalk, he looked up at the apartment he had just left. The balcony ran the whole width of the house, divided halfway along by a wrought-iron fence. It was quite dark now, and light was shining through at least half of the curtained windows.

The french windows on the fifth floor stood half open, and a man with a cigarette in his mouth, who was leaning on the balcony rail to look down into the street, drew back hastily when he saw the chief inspector.

It was the one who had just gone up and who had frowned when he passed Maigret at the door of the elevator, the man who called himself Jacques Sainval and whose business was film advertising.

He had gone back into the apartment. The french window was closing now. What would he be saying to Véronique Lachaume, as she set the table?

There was a bar opposite the building, not a bistro, but one of those American bars with high stools and soft lighting that are becoming more and more numerous in the Champs Elysées district.

Maigret went in; the place was crowded, but he found a stool by the wall. It was hot. There was a lot of noise, women’s laughter, cigarette smoke. A pretty girl in black dress and white apron waited, smiling, to take his coat and hat.

When the barman turned his way, also looking as if he were wondering where he’d seen him before, Maigret hesitated briefly before ordering:

“A hot toddy!”

Then he inquired:

“The telephone?”

“In the basement.”

“Can you give me a token?”

“See the girl at the switchboard.”

It wasn’t the sort of spot he went to by choice, and he felt, as usual, a little out of place there, for in his young days such bars hadn’t existed. The wooden paneling on the walls was painted with hunting scenes full of pink-coated riders, and a real hunting horn was hanging just above the bar.

As he made for the stairs at the far end of the room, he could feel himself being stared at. The barman had finally recognized him. So, probably, had others. Most of the women were young. The men, though rather older, didn’t belong to his generation.

He too had noticed several familiar faces, and he remembered that there were some television studios just up the street.

He went down the oak staircase, found another pretty woman sitting in front of a telephone switchboard near the cloakroom door.

“A token, please.”

There were three glass-fronted booths, but the telephones inside were without dials.

“What number do you want?”

He was obliged to give the number of Police Headquarters, and the young woman recognized it herself, and looked more closely at Maigret.

“Booth 2.”

“Police Headquarters.”

“Maigret speaking. Would you let me have Lucas?”

“One minute, Chief Inspector…”

He had to wait, Lucas was already speaking to someone. At last his voice came over the line.

“I’m sorry, Chief. As it happens, that was the examining magistrate.

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