The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin by Georges Simenon

probably ask you to stage a meeting with
     him.’
    â€˜Perhaps we’ll have found
     his friend Delfosse by then.’
    â€˜No matter.’
    â€˜Do you really think they’re
     innocent? The examining magistrate won’t hear of letting anyone go. And now I
     think of it, I’ll have to tell him the truth about you.’
    â€˜Well, leave it as long as you
     can, if possible. What’s going on outside?’
    â€˜Journalists, I expect. I’m
     going to have to make a statement to the press. Who shall I say you are?’
    â€˜I have no identity! An unknown
     person. No papers on me at all.’
    Chief Inspector Delvigne was still
     uneasy in his mind. He continued to steal glances at Maigret, his anxiety tinged
     with admiration.
    â€˜I don’t understand any of
     this!’
    â€˜Neither do I.’
    â€˜It’s almost as if
     Graphopoulos came to Liège to get himself killed. And while I think of it,
     it’s high time to inform his family. I’m seeing the Greek consul
     tomorrow morning.’
    Maigret had picked up his bowler hat,
     and was ready to leave.
    â€˜Don’t treat me too politely
     in front of the press,’ he advised.
    The chief inspector opened the door. In
     the outer office half a dozen reporters were clustered round a man whom Delvigne
     recognized.
    It was the manager of the Hôtel Moderne
     who had been in earlier that afternoon. He was talking animatedly to the
journalists, who were taking notes.
     Suddenly, he turned round and saw Maigret. His face flushed crimson, and he pointed
     at him.
    â€˜But that’s him!’ he
     cried. ‘There’s no doubt about that!’
    â€˜I know. He has just admitted he
     stayed at the hotel.’
    â€˜And did he also admit he took the
     basket?’
    Delvigne looked uncomprehending.
    â€˜What basket?’
    â€˜Well, the laundry basket, for
     heaven’s sake! With the kind of staff we have these days, I might never have
     noticed.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Here’s what I mean. On
     every landing in the hotel, there’s a big wicker basket for dirty linen. Well,
     just now, they came back from the laundry, and I noticed myself that one of them was
     missing. The one from the third floor. I asked the chambermaid. She claims she
     thought they’d taken it for repairs because the lid didn’t fit
     properly.’
    â€˜What about the linen?’
    â€˜Well, that’s the
     extraordinary thing! The linen from there had been put in the second-floor
     basket.’
    â€˜Are you sure that your basket is
     the one that was used to move the corpse?’
    â€˜I’ve just got back from the
     morgue, where they showed it to me.’
    He was panting. He couldn’t get
     over being so closely involved in the affair. But the person most affected was Chief
     Inspector Delvigne, who dared not even look at Maigret. He forgot about the
     reporters and their previous agreement.
    â€˜What have
     you got to say about that?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ said Maigret,
     imperturbably.
    â€˜Look here,’ said the hotel
     manager. ‘He could have taken the basket out without being seen. To get in at
     night, you ring the bell, and the porter operates the cord without getting out of
     bed. But to let yourself out, you just have to turn the door handle.’
    One reporter handy with his pencil was
     making a rapid sketch of Maigret, whom he represented with heavy jowls and as
     unsavoury an appearance as possible.
    Delvigne ran his hand through his hair
     and blurted out:
    â€˜Come back into my office a
     minute.’
    He didn’t know where to look. A
     reporter asked him:
    â€˜Has he confessed?’
    â€˜No comment!’
    And Maigret replied calmly:
    â€˜I warn you that I do not intend
     to answer any more questions.’
    â€˜Girard, bring the car
     up!’
    â€˜Should I sign a statement,’
     the hotel manager was