The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin by Georges Simenon Page A

asking.
    â€˜Presently!’
    Chaos. And all the while Maigret simply
     stood smoking his pipe and looking round at those present, one after another.
    â€˜Handcuffs?’ Girard
     asked.
    â€˜Yes. No. Come over here,
     you.’
    He was in a hurry to be alone in the car
     with his opposite number.
    As they drove through the deserted
     streets, he asked, almost begging:
    â€˜What do you
     think that means?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜This business about the laundry
     basket. That man is virtually accusing you of having taken a wicker basket from the
     hotel. The one they found the corpse in.’
    â€˜Yes, he did seem to be
     insinuating that.’
    The word ‘insinuating’ had a
     delicious irony to it, considering the passionate exclamations of the hotel
     manager.
    â€˜Is that true?’
    Instead of replying, Maigret went
     on:
    â€˜The basket must have been taken
     out either by Graphopoulos or by me. If by Graphopoulos, you must admit it’s
     astonishing. A man who takes the trouble to fetch his own coffin.’
    â€˜Excuse me … But just
     now, when you told me who you were, I didn’t think of asking you
     for … um … some proof of identity.’
    Maigret felt in his pockets and handed
     his companion his detective chief inspector’s badge.
    â€˜Yes, of course. My apologies. The
     basket business now …’
    And with a sudden burst of courage,
     helped by the darkness inside the car:
    â€˜Do you know that even if you
     hadn’t asked me to, I’d have been obliged to arrest you, after that
     man’s clear statement?’
    â€˜Naturally.’
    â€˜Were you expecting that
     accusation?’
    â€˜Me? No!’
    â€˜And you think Graphopoulos took
     the basket himself?’
    â€˜I
     don’t think anything yet.’
    Delvigne, frustrated, the blood flooding
     his cheeks, fell silent and retreated into his corner. When they arrived at the
     prison, he went quickly through the admission formalities, avoiding looking his
     companion in the face.
    â€˜The warder will now take charge
     of you,’ he said by way of farewell.
    He must have felt rather bad about that.
     In the street, he wondered whether he had not been somewhat too impolite towards his
     colleague.
    â€˜But he asked me himself to make
     it look as though I was being tough.’
    Yes, but not when they were alone. And
     that had been before the statement by the hotel manager. Could it be that Maigret,
     just because he came from Paris, was having some fun at his expense?
    â€˜Well, if so, he’ll regret
     it …’
    Girard was waiting in the office,
     reading through the list of points made by Maigret.
    â€˜Making progress, then?’ he
     said approvingly as the chief arrived.
    â€˜Oh, you think so, do
     you?’
    His tone made Girard open his eyes
     wide.
    â€˜But … the arrest of
     that man … the laundry basket that—’
    â€˜The basket … yes! Oh
     yes, talk about it all you like! The basket that …! Get me the telegraph
     switchboard!’
    And when he had a line, he dictated a
     wire:
Police Judiciaire, Paris
    Please send soonest detailed
     description and if possible fingerprints Detective Chief Inspector Maigret.
     Police headquarters, Liège
.
    â€˜What’s that all
     about?’ asked Girard.
    It wasn’t the best thing to say.
     His chief looked at him furiously.
    â€˜Nothing at all, you hear? It
     means I’m fed up with stupid questions. It means I want a bit of
     peace.’
    And realizing how ridiculous his anger
     was, he stopped short and simply said, ‘Oh damn and blast!’
    Then he shut himself in his office,
     alone with the thirteen points on Maigret’s list.

8. Chez Jeanne
    â€˜Behave yourself!’ said the
     plump woman, with a throaty chuckle. ‘They might see us …’
    Standing up, she moved towards the