Maigret Takes a Room: Inspector Maigret #37 by Simenon Georges

Author:Simenon, Georges [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Crime, thriller
ISBN: 9780141981352
Amazon: 0141981350
Goodreads: 60441231
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 1951-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

6.

Concerning a defenceless woman in a bed and a detective chief inspector who grows fierce

Basically, he needed to give himself courage. Even during the days before, when he was disturbing peaceful households eating soup to ask them questions while staring at them with his big eyes, he was more uneasy than he wanted to appear.

And yet he knew Madame Boursicault from having spotted her through the window, just a bare arm on the first day, when her husband had left, then, the next day, her face and the shape of her thin body under the sheet.

She was an ageless creature now, with an emaciated face, colourless and lifeless, like saints are sometimes portrayed in religious paintings, and he awkwardly remembered the two or three occasions when their eyes had met across the street. Did she know who he was? Did she just think he was a new tenant at Mademoiselle Clément’s? Had the concierge talked to her about him while she was doing her housekeeping?

He still had a sense of having made personal contact. Her pupils were small and dark, and they were where all her vital strength seemed to be concentrated.

‘You’re a big, strong man, you’re in good shape, you can come and go in the street, and here you are, leaning on a window, studying a poor, sick woman as if she were an exciting spectacle …!’

Maybe that wasn’t what she was thinking at all. In all likelihood it only existed in Maigret’s imagination.

Still, it was unpleasant, and he flinched as he climbed towards her flat, giving her time to finish the meal that the concierge had brought her. Madame Keller must, while cleaning, have told her his visit was of little importance, a mere matter of routine.

She was probably going to tidy the place up a little, change the sheets, the pillow-cases.

‘Same again!’ he said.

He ordered the same thing three times in a row and only left the bistro when he felt a certain warmth in his throat and his head. On the opposite pavement he saw Mademoiselle Isabelle coming back and giving him a cheerful smile. She looked healthy, full of vitality, of …

Where were his thoughts taking him? He stuffed his pipe. Then he put it in his pocket, remembering that he was going to see a sick person, and frowned at the thought that he might not be able to smoke for some time.

He climbed the stairs and knocked at the door, which showed a chink of light at the bottom, even though it was still daylight outside.

‘Come in!’

It was the concierge. She opened the door to him. The tray rested on a chair with a red velvet seat. Only half of the soup had been eaten, and a kind of purée had been poked with the tip of the fork.

‘I’m sorry for bothering you, Madame Boursicault …’

He hadn’t been mistaken. Clean sheets had been put on, and the woman’s nightdress had been changed. Madame Keller had even done her hair. Her brown hair, mixed with grey, still bore the trace of the comb.

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