âSheâs gone out, same as every afternoon, but youâll probably find her on the hill near the old chateau. She took a book with her, and thatâs her
favourite place.â
âDoes this road lead there?â
âYes, turn right after the last house.â
Halfway up the hillside, Maigret had to get off the bicycle and push it. He was feeling more nervous than he would have liked, perhaps because once again he had the impression that he was on the wrong track.
It wasnât Saint-Hilaire who fired those shots, thatâs for sure, he told himself. Yet all the same â¦
The road he was following crossed a kind of public garden. On the left, where the ground sloped, a little girl was sitting near three goats tethered to stakes. The road went round a sudden bend, and
just above him, a hundred metres uphill, Maigret saw Ãléonore sitting on a bench with a book in her hands. He called to the girl, who looked about twelve.
âDo you know the lady sitting up there?â
âYes, sir.â
âDoes she often come to sit on that bench and read?â
âYes, sir!â
âEvery day?â
âI think so, sir, but when Iâm at school I donât see her.â
âWhat time did you arrive here today?â
âOh, ages ago, sir. I left home as soon as Iâd had something to eat.â
âAnd where do you live?â
âIn the house you can see down there.â
It was half a kilometre away, a low-built house with something of the look of a farmhouse about it.
âWas the lady already there then?â
âNo, sir.â
âWhen did she arrive?â
âI canât say exactly, sir, but it would be about two hours ago.â
âAnd she hasnât moved since then?â
âNo, sir.â
âNot even to go for a little walk along the road?â
âNo, sir.â
âDoes she have a bicycle?â
âNo, sir!â
Maigret took a two-franc coin out of his pocket and
put it into the childâs hand. She closed her fingers on the coin without looking at it and stayed there motionless in the middle of the road,
her eyes following him, as he mounted the bicycle again and rode off towards the village.
He stopped outside the post office and drafted a telegram to Paris.
Urgent. Need to know where Henry Gallet was 15 hours Saturday. Maigret, Sancerre.
âI should let that be for now, old fellow!â
âYou told me yourself it was urgent, inspector. Anyway I hardly feel a thing!â
Good man, Moers! The doctor had given his ear a dressing as complicated and thick as if he had six bullets in his head. The sparkling bright glass of his pince-nez looked strange in the middle of all that white linen.
Maigret had not felt anxious about him until seven in the evening, knowing that his injury was not a severe one â and now he found him just where he had spent the morning, in front of his sheets of glass, his candle and his spirit stove.
âI havenât found out anything else about Monsieur Jacob. Iâve just reconstructed a letter signed
Clément
addressed to I donât know whom, and talking about a present intended for a prince in exile. The word
bution
comes in twice, and
loyalism
once.â
âThatâs of minor interest now,â said Maigret. For all this was obviously to do with the swindle on which Gallet had embarked. The pink file had provided him with information on that subject, as well as several phone calls to the
owners of chateaux and manor houses in the Berry and
Cher areas. At some time or other, probably three or four years after his marriage, and one or two years after his father-in-lawâs death, Ãmile Gallet had decided that it would be a good
idea to make use of the old documents relating to the
Le Soleil
material that he had inherited.
The journal, its text from the pen of Préjean himself, had a very small print run, reserved almost exclusively for the few
favourite place.â
âDoes this road lead there?â
âYes, turn right after the last house.â
Halfway up the hillside, Maigret had to get off the bicycle and push it. He was feeling more nervous than he would have liked, perhaps because once again he had the impression that he was on the wrong track.
It wasnât Saint-Hilaire who fired those shots, thatâs for sure, he told himself. Yet all the same â¦
The road he was following crossed a kind of public garden. On the left, where the ground sloped, a little girl was sitting near three goats tethered to stakes. The road went round a sudden bend, and
just above him, a hundred metres uphill, Maigret saw Ãléonore sitting on a bench with a book in her hands. He called to the girl, who looked about twelve.
âDo you know the lady sitting up there?â
âYes, sir.â
âDoes she often come to sit on that bench and read?â
âYes, sir!â
âEvery day?â
âI think so, sir, but when Iâm at school I donât see her.â
âWhat time did you arrive here today?â
âOh, ages ago, sir. I left home as soon as Iâd had something to eat.â
âAnd where do you live?â
âIn the house you can see down there.â
It was half a kilometre away, a low-built house with something of the look of a farmhouse about it.
âWas the lady already there then?â
âNo, sir.â
âWhen did she arrive?â
âI canât say exactly, sir, but it would be about two hours ago.â
âAnd she hasnât moved since then?â
âNo, sir.â
âNot even to go for a little walk along the road?â
âNo, sir.â
âDoes she have a bicycle?â
âNo, sir!â
Maigret took a two-franc coin out of his pocket and
put it into the childâs hand. She closed her fingers on the coin without looking at it and stayed there motionless in the middle of the road,
her eyes following him, as he mounted the bicycle again and rode off towards the village.
He stopped outside the post office and drafted a telegram to Paris.
Urgent. Need to know where Henry Gallet was 15 hours Saturday. Maigret, Sancerre.
âI should let that be for now, old fellow!â
âYou told me yourself it was urgent, inspector. Anyway I hardly feel a thing!â
Good man, Moers! The doctor had given his ear a dressing as complicated and thick as if he had six bullets in his head. The sparkling bright glass of his pince-nez looked strange in the middle of all that white linen.
Maigret had not felt anxious about him until seven in the evening, knowing that his injury was not a severe one â and now he found him just where he had spent the morning, in front of his sheets of glass, his candle and his spirit stove.
âI havenât found out anything else about Monsieur Jacob. Iâve just reconstructed a letter signed
Clément
addressed to I donât know whom, and talking about a present intended for a prince in exile. The word
bution
comes in twice, and
loyalism
once.â
âThatâs of minor interest now,â said Maigret. For all this was obviously to do with the swindle on which Gallet had embarked. The pink file had provided him with information on that subject, as well as several phone calls to the
owners of chateaux and manor houses in the Berry and
Cher areas. At some time or other, probably three or four years after his marriage, and one or two years after his father-in-lawâs death, Ãmile Gallet had decided that it would be a good
idea to make use of the old documents relating to the
Le Soleil
material that he had inherited.
The journal, its text from the pen of Préjean himself, had a very small print run, reserved almost exclusively for the few
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