A Maigret Trio: Maigret's FailureMaigret and the Lazy BurglarMaigret in Society (A Harvest Book) by Simenon Georges

Author:Simenon, Georges [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780156551373
Amazon: 0156551373
Goodreads: 140643
Publisher: Harvest Books
Published: 1940-06-01T08:00:00+00:00

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V

MAIGRET did not expect to find a house that still smelt of the funeral, as in lower-class or even middle-class homes, with the scent of tapers and chrysanthemums, a red-eyed widow, and relatives from distant parts, dressed in deep mourning, sitting around eating and drinking. On account of his country childhood, the smell of alcohol, and especially that of marc-brandy, remained associated for him with death and funerals.

“Drink this, Catherine,” they used to say to the widow before setting off for the church and the cemetery. “You need something to buck you up.”

She would drink up, weeping at the same time. The men used to drink at the local inn, and when they returned home.

If hangings decorated with silver tears had adorned the main entrance in the morning, they had been removed a long time ago and the courtyard had resumed its normal appearance, half in the shade, half in the sun, with a uniformed chauffeur washing a long black limousine, and three cars, including a yellow sports car, waiting at the foot of the steps.

It was as huge as the Elysée and Maigret remembered that the house had often served as the setting for balls and charity bazaars.

At the top of the steps, he pushed open a glass door and found himself all alone in an entrance-hall paved with marble. Double doors standing open on his left and right afforded him a glimpse of the state rooms in which various objects, no doubt the old coins and snuffboxes which had been mentioned to him, were displayed as in a museum.

Should he make for one of those doors, or go up the double flight of stairs leading to the first floor? He was hesitating when a major-domo, appearing from heaven knows where, came up to him in silence, took his hat out of his hands, and without asking for his name murmured:

“This way.”

Maigret followed his guide up the staircase, across another drawing-room on the first floor, and then through a long room which was obviously a picture-gallery.

He was not kept waiting. The servant opened a door a little way, and announced in a soft voice:

“Chief-Inspector Maigret.”

The boudoir which he entered did not look out on to the courtyard but on to a garden, and the foliage of the trees, full of birds, brushed against the two open windows.

Somebody got up from an arm-chair and for a moment he failed to realize that it was the woman he had come to see, the Princess Isabelle. His surprise must have been obvious for as she came towards him she said:

“You expected me to look rather different, didn’t you?”

He did not dare to say yes. He made no reply, taken aback by her appearance. In the first place, for all that she was dressed in black, she did not give the impression of being in deep mourning, though he would have been hard put to it to say why. She did not appear to be greatly distressed.

She was smaller than in the photographs, but, unlike Jaquette for instance, she was not bent under the weight of the years.

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