He was exceeding his authority – by a
considerable extent, even, and in the home of a hostile official like the mayor of
Ouistreham.
‘Too bad!’
From the hall he could clearly hear
breathing, but only one person’s. No movement. Lucas had his hand on his
revolver. Maigret opened the door with one shove.
He stopped short, as stunned and
confused as he had ever been. Had he been expecting to catch someone red-handed?
This was something else! And completely
baffling. Monsieur Grandmaison’s lip was split, his chin and dressing gown all
bloodied, his hair mussed up, and he looked as punch-drunk as a boxer who had
stumbled to his feet after a knock-out.
And he seemed barely able to stand,
propped up against a corner of the mantelpiece but leaning so far back that it
seemed impossible for him to stay upright.
A few steps away, a rough-looking Big
Louis with blood on his still-clenched fists. The mayor’s blood!
It was Big Louis’ panting they had
heard out in the corridor. He was the one out of breath, doubtless from beating the
other man. He smelled of alcohol. The glasses on the small table had been tipped
over.
The policemen were so astounded and the
others so
exhausted that it was a good
minute at least before anyone said a word.
Then Monsieur Grandmaison wiped his lip
and chin with a corner of his dressing gown and stammered, while trying to stand up
straight, ‘What the … What …?’
‘Do excuse me,’ said Maigret
courteously, ‘for having entered your home unannounced. I heard a noise, and
the front door was not locked.’
‘That’s not true!’
The mayor had evidently recovered his
spirits.
‘In any case, I’m glad we
arrived in time to protect you and …’
He glanced over at Big Louis, who did
not seem the least bit upset and was now even smiling strangely while studying the
mayor’s reaction.
‘I do not need to be
protected.’
‘But this man has attacked
you …’
Standing at a mirror, Monsieur
Grandmaison was trying to make himself more presentable and seemed frustrated at
failing to stop his lip from bleeding.
It was an extraordinary and unsettling
display of strength and weakness, self-assurance and cowardice.
With his impressive shiner, wounds and
bruises, his face had lost its slightly childish, rosy-cheeked glow, and there was a
dull look in his eyes.
He was recovering his aplomb
surprisingly quickly, though, and, leaning against the mantelpiece, he soon
challenged the policemen.
‘I take it that you broke into my
house.’
‘Pardon me: we wished to come to
your rescue.’
‘Not true,
because you did not know that I was in any danger at all!
And … I … was … not!
’
Maigret studied the impressive figure of
Big Louis from head to toe.
‘Nonetheless, I trust that you
will allow me to take this gentleman away.’
‘Absolutely not!’
‘He beat you. And rather brutally
at that.’
‘We’ve sorted it all out!
And it’s nobody’s business but my own!’
‘I have every reason to believe
that it was on him that you fell this morning, while going a bit quickly
downstairs.’
Big Louis’ grin was as pretty as a
picture. He was in heaven. While he was getting his breath back, he missed nothing
of what was happening and found these developments delightful. He, at least, must
have understood all the hidden facets of the situation and could savour the jest to
the full!
‘I did tell you earlier today,
Monsieur Maigret, that I’d undertaken my own investigation. I am not meddling
with yours. Do me the favour of not interfering with mine. And don’t be
surprised if I file a complaint against you for illegal entry.’
It was hard to tell whether he cut a
tragic or comic figure. He was standing on his dignity and drawing himself up
imposingly – with a bleeding lip! And a face that was one big bruise! And a dressing
gown in tatters!
Big Louis
considerable extent, even, and in the home of a hostile official like the mayor of
Ouistreham.
‘Too bad!’
From the hall he could clearly hear
breathing, but only one person’s. No movement. Lucas had his hand on his
revolver. Maigret opened the door with one shove.
He stopped short, as stunned and
confused as he had ever been. Had he been expecting to catch someone red-handed?
This was something else! And completely
baffling. Monsieur Grandmaison’s lip was split, his chin and dressing gown all
bloodied, his hair mussed up, and he looked as punch-drunk as a boxer who had
stumbled to his feet after a knock-out.
And he seemed barely able to stand,
propped up against a corner of the mantelpiece but leaning so far back that it
seemed impossible for him to stay upright.
A few steps away, a rough-looking Big
Louis with blood on his still-clenched fists. The mayor’s blood!
It was Big Louis’ panting they had
heard out in the corridor. He was the one out of breath, doubtless from beating the
other man. He smelled of alcohol. The glasses on the small table had been tipped
over.
The policemen were so astounded and the
others so
exhausted that it was a good
minute at least before anyone said a word.
Then Monsieur Grandmaison wiped his lip
and chin with a corner of his dressing gown and stammered, while trying to stand up
straight, ‘What the … What …?’
‘Do excuse me,’ said Maigret
courteously, ‘for having entered your home unannounced. I heard a noise, and
the front door was not locked.’
‘That’s not true!’
The mayor had evidently recovered his
spirits.
‘In any case, I’m glad we
arrived in time to protect you and …’
He glanced over at Big Louis, who did
not seem the least bit upset and was now even smiling strangely while studying the
mayor’s reaction.
‘I do not need to be
protected.’
‘But this man has attacked
you …’
Standing at a mirror, Monsieur
Grandmaison was trying to make himself more presentable and seemed frustrated at
failing to stop his lip from bleeding.
It was an extraordinary and unsettling
display of strength and weakness, self-assurance and cowardice.
With his impressive shiner, wounds and
bruises, his face had lost its slightly childish, rosy-cheeked glow, and there was a
dull look in his eyes.
He was recovering his aplomb
surprisingly quickly, though, and, leaning against the mantelpiece, he soon
challenged the policemen.
‘I take it that you broke into my
house.’
‘Pardon me: we wished to come to
your rescue.’
‘Not true,
because you did not know that I was in any danger at all!
And … I … was … not!
’
Maigret studied the impressive figure of
Big Louis from head to toe.
‘Nonetheless, I trust that you
will allow me to take this gentleman away.’
‘Absolutely not!’
‘He beat you. And rather brutally
at that.’
‘We’ve sorted it all out!
And it’s nobody’s business but my own!’
‘I have every reason to believe
that it was on him that you fell this morning, while going a bit quickly
downstairs.’
Big Louis’ grin was as pretty as a
picture. He was in heaven. While he was getting his breath back, he missed nothing
of what was happening and found these developments delightful. He, at least, must
have understood all the hidden facets of the situation and could savour the jest to
the full!
‘I did tell you earlier today,
Monsieur Maigret, that I’d undertaken my own investigation. I am not meddling
with yours. Do me the favour of not interfering with mine. And don’t be
surprised if I file a complaint against you for illegal entry.’
It was hard to tell whether he cut a
tragic or comic figure. He was standing on his dignity and drawing himself up
imposingly – with a bleeding lip! And a face that was one big bruise! And a dressing
gown in tatters!
Big Louis
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