to
HQ?’ suggested Amadieu. ‘I’ll show you the transcript of the
interrogations.’
‘What’s
the use?’
‘What do you intend to
do?’
He was on edge. What could be brewing
behind Maigret’s stubborn brow? Already he was being slightly less
cordial.
‘We mustn’t let our efforts
undermine each other. The chief is of the same opinion as me and it’s he who
advised me to reach an agreement with you.’
‘Well, aren’t we
agreed?’
‘About what?’
‘About the fact that Cageot killed
Pepito and that it was probably he who killed Barnabé a fortnight
earlier.’
‘Being agreed about it isn’t
sufficient grounds to arrest him.’
‘Of course not.’
‘So?’
‘So nothing. Or rather, I will
only ask one thing of you. I imagine it will be easy for you to get a summons
against Cageot from Gastambide?’
‘And then what?’
‘Then I’d like there to be
an inspector on duty at Quai des Orfèvres with that summons in his pocket. As soon
as I telephone him, he should come and meet me.’
‘Meet you where?’
‘Wherever I am! It would be better
if instead of one summons, he has several. You never know.’
Amadieu’s glum face had grown
longer.
‘Fine,’ he snapped.
‘I’ll talk to the chief.’
He called the waiter and paid for one
round. Then he spent ages buttoning and unbuttoning his overcoat in the hope that
Maigret would finally say something.
‘Well! I wish
you every success.’
‘That’s very kind. Thank
you.’
‘When do you think it will
be?’
‘Perhaps later today. Perhaps not
until tomorrow morning. Actually, I think it would be better if it were to happen
tomorrow morning.’
Just as his companion was heading off,
Maigret had an afterthought.
‘And thank you for
coming!’
‘You’re welcome.’
Left on his own, Maigret paid for the
second round, then paused at the table where Lucas and his colleague were
sitting.
‘Any news, chief?’ asked
Lucas.
‘Soon. Where will I be able to get
hold of you at around eight tomorrow morning?’
‘I’ll be at Quai des
Orfèvres. Unless you’d rather I came here.’
‘See you tomorrow here!’
Outside, Maigret stopped a taxi and
asked to be dropped off in Rue Fontaine. Night was falling. Lights went on in the
windows. As they drove past the Tabac Fontaine, he asked the driver to slow
down.
In the little bar, the dozy girl was at
the till, the owner
behind the bar, while the waiter was wiping the tables. But
there was no sign of Audiat, or Eugène or his friend from Marseille.
‘I bet they’re furious at
being deprived of their game of
belote
this evening!’
A few moments later, the taxi drew up
opposite theFloria. Maigret asked the driver to wait, and pushed
the half-open door.
It was cleaning time. A single lamp was
on, casting a wan light over the wall hangings and the red and green paintwork. The
tablecloths had not yet been put on the unvarnished tables, and the musicians’
instruments lay scattered around the stage still in their cases.
The overall effect was shabby and
dismal. The office door, at the back, was open and Maigret had a fleeting glimpse of
a woman’s shape. He walked past a waiter sweeping the floor and suddenly
emerged into the bright light.
‘It’s you!’ exclaimed
his sister-in-law.
Her face was flushed and she became
flummoxed.
‘I wanted to see the—’
A young man was leaning against the
wall, smoking a cigarette. It was Monsieur Henry, the Floria’s new owner, or
rather Cageot’s new front man.
‘This gentleman has been very
kind—’ stammered Madame Lauer.
‘I wish I could have done
more,’ apologized the young man. ‘Madame has told me that she’s
the mother of the police officer who killed … I mean who’s accused of shooting
Pepito. I know nothing about it. I took over the place the following day.’
‘Thank you again, monsieur. I can
see
HQ?’ suggested Amadieu. ‘I’ll show you the transcript of the
interrogations.’
‘What’s
the use?’
‘What do you intend to
do?’
He was on edge. What could be brewing
behind Maigret’s stubborn brow? Already he was being slightly less
cordial.
‘We mustn’t let our efforts
undermine each other. The chief is of the same opinion as me and it’s he who
advised me to reach an agreement with you.’
‘Well, aren’t we
agreed?’
‘About what?’
‘About the fact that Cageot killed
Pepito and that it was probably he who killed Barnabé a fortnight
earlier.’
‘Being agreed about it isn’t
sufficient grounds to arrest him.’
‘Of course not.’
‘So?’
‘So nothing. Or rather, I will
only ask one thing of you. I imagine it will be easy for you to get a summons
against Cageot from Gastambide?’
‘And then what?’
‘Then I’d like there to be
an inspector on duty at Quai des Orfèvres with that summons in his pocket. As soon
as I telephone him, he should come and meet me.’
‘Meet you where?’
‘Wherever I am! It would be better
if instead of one summons, he has several. You never know.’
Amadieu’s glum face had grown
longer.
‘Fine,’ he snapped.
‘I’ll talk to the chief.’
He called the waiter and paid for one
round. Then he spent ages buttoning and unbuttoning his overcoat in the hope that
Maigret would finally say something.
‘Well! I wish
you every success.’
‘That’s very kind. Thank
you.’
‘When do you think it will
be?’
‘Perhaps later today. Perhaps not
until tomorrow morning. Actually, I think it would be better if it were to happen
tomorrow morning.’
Just as his companion was heading off,
Maigret had an afterthought.
‘And thank you for
coming!’
‘You’re welcome.’
Left on his own, Maigret paid for the
second round, then paused at the table where Lucas and his colleague were
sitting.
‘Any news, chief?’ asked
Lucas.
‘Soon. Where will I be able to get
hold of you at around eight tomorrow morning?’
‘I’ll be at Quai des
Orfèvres. Unless you’d rather I came here.’
‘See you tomorrow here!’
Outside, Maigret stopped a taxi and
asked to be dropped off in Rue Fontaine. Night was falling. Lights went on in the
windows. As they drove past the Tabac Fontaine, he asked the driver to slow
down.
In the little bar, the dozy girl was at
the till, the owner
behind the bar, while the waiter was wiping the tables. But
there was no sign of Audiat, or Eugène or his friend from Marseille.
‘I bet they’re furious at
being deprived of their game of
belote
this evening!’
A few moments later, the taxi drew up
opposite theFloria. Maigret asked the driver to wait, and pushed
the half-open door.
It was cleaning time. A single lamp was
on, casting a wan light over the wall hangings and the red and green paintwork. The
tablecloths had not yet been put on the unvarnished tables, and the musicians’
instruments lay scattered around the stage still in their cases.
The overall effect was shabby and
dismal. The office door, at the back, was open and Maigret had a fleeting glimpse of
a woman’s shape. He walked past a waiter sweeping the floor and suddenly
emerged into the bright light.
‘It’s you!’ exclaimed
his sister-in-law.
Her face was flushed and she became
flummoxed.
‘I wanted to see the—’
A young man was leaning against the
wall, smoking a cigarette. It was Monsieur Henry, the Floria’s new owner, or
rather Cageot’s new front man.
‘This gentleman has been very
kind—’ stammered Madame Lauer.
‘I wish I could have done
more,’ apologized the young man. ‘Madame has told me that she’s
the mother of the police officer who killed … I mean who’s accused of shooting
Pepito. I know nothing about it. I took over the place the following day.’
‘Thank you again, monsieur. I can
see
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