Servières, when the doctor suddenly becomes
suspicious of something in his glass. Analysis shows the Pernod bottle to be poisoned.
âPossible culprits: Michoux, Le Pommeret, Servières; Emma, the waitress; the vagrant â who might have entered the café some time during the day without being seen â and also our unknown person designated X.
âLetâs continue.
Sunday morning, Jean Servières disappears. His car is found, with bloodstains, not far from his home. Before
this discovery, the
Brest Beacon
receives a report of
the events nicely calculated to sow panic in Concarneau.
âThen Servières is seen, first in Brest, later in Paris, where he seems to be hiding and to which he has apparently gone of his own free will.
âOnly one possible culprit here: Servières himself.
â
The same day, Sunday, Monsier Le Pommeret has an aperitif with the doctor, returns to his home, has dinner there and dies afterwards, from the effects of strychnine poisoning.
âPossible culprits: at the café, if thatâs where he was poisoned, the doctor, Emma and again our X. This time, the vagrant has to be ruled out, because the café was never empty for a moment, and it wasnât the bottle that was
poisoned â only the one glass.
âIf the crime was committed in Le Pommeretâs own house, possible culprits: his landlady, the vagrant and our sempiternal X.
âBear with me now; weâre coming to the end.
Tonight, Monday, a customs guard is shot in the leg as he walks down an empty street. The doctor is still in prison, under close watch. Le Pommeret is dead. Servières is in Paris in the
hands of the Sûreté. Emma and the vagrant are at that very moment embracing and then devouring a chicken, before my own eyes.
âThus, only one possible culprit: X. That is to say, a person we havenât yet encountered in the course of events. A person who could have committed all the crimes, or only this last one.
âWe donât know who this person is. We have no description of him. Just one clue: whoever it is, he was interested in making something happen tonight â had a pressing interest. That bullet wasnât fired by a random prowler.
âNow, donât ask me to arrest X. Because youâll agree,
Monsieur le Maire
, that anyone in town â especially someone who knows the principal characters involved in this business and,
in particular, the regular customers at the Admiral café â could be that X.
âEven you.â
These last words were spoken casually as Maigret leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs towards the fire. The mayor gave the merest start. âI hope thatâs just a little retaliation â¦â
Then Maigret stood up suddenly, knocked out his pipe on the hearth and declared, as he walked up and down:
âNot at all! You wanted answers? Well, there you are. I just wanted to show you that a case like this is no simple little police operation that can be handled by making a few telephone calls from an armchair â¦Â And I will add,
Monsieur le Maire
, with all due respect, that when I take charge of an investigation, I insist above all, dammit, on being
left
alone
!â
That came out with no premeditation. It had been incubating for days. Perhaps to calm down, Maigret took a swallow of whisky and looked at the door like a man who has said what he has to say and is waiting for permission to leave.
The mayor was silent for a few minutes, contemplating the white ash of his cigar. Finally, he let it fall into a blue porcelain bowl and rose slowly, his eyes seeking Maigretâs.
âListen, chief inspector â¦â
He must have been weighing his words, for they were separated by pauses.
âI may have been wrong, in the course of our brief connection, to show some impatience â¦â
This was rather unexpected â especially in this setting,
where the man seemed more
suspicious of something in his glass. Analysis shows the Pernod bottle to be poisoned.
âPossible culprits: Michoux, Le Pommeret, Servières; Emma, the waitress; the vagrant â who might have entered the café some time during the day without being seen â and also our unknown person designated X.
âLetâs continue.
Sunday morning, Jean Servières disappears. His car is found, with bloodstains, not far from his home. Before
this discovery, the
Brest Beacon
receives a report of
the events nicely calculated to sow panic in Concarneau.
âThen Servières is seen, first in Brest, later in Paris, where he seems to be hiding and to which he has apparently gone of his own free will.
âOnly one possible culprit here: Servières himself.
â
The same day, Sunday, Monsier Le Pommeret has an aperitif with the doctor, returns to his home, has dinner there and dies afterwards, from the effects of strychnine poisoning.
âPossible culprits: at the café, if thatâs where he was poisoned, the doctor, Emma and again our X. This time, the vagrant has to be ruled out, because the café was never empty for a moment, and it wasnât the bottle that was
poisoned â only the one glass.
âIf the crime was committed in Le Pommeretâs own house, possible culprits: his landlady, the vagrant and our sempiternal X.
âBear with me now; weâre coming to the end.
Tonight, Monday, a customs guard is shot in the leg as he walks down an empty street. The doctor is still in prison, under close watch. Le Pommeret is dead. Servières is in Paris in the
hands of the Sûreté. Emma and the vagrant are at that very moment embracing and then devouring a chicken, before my own eyes.
âThus, only one possible culprit: X. That is to say, a person we havenât yet encountered in the course of events. A person who could have committed all the crimes, or only this last one.
âWe donât know who this person is. We have no description of him. Just one clue: whoever it is, he was interested in making something happen tonight â had a pressing interest. That bullet wasnât fired by a random prowler.
âNow, donât ask me to arrest X. Because youâll agree,
Monsieur le Maire
, that anyone in town â especially someone who knows the principal characters involved in this business and,
in particular, the regular customers at the Admiral café â could be that X.
âEven you.â
These last words were spoken casually as Maigret leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs towards the fire. The mayor gave the merest start. âI hope thatâs just a little retaliation â¦â
Then Maigret stood up suddenly, knocked out his pipe on the hearth and declared, as he walked up and down:
âNot at all! You wanted answers? Well, there you are. I just wanted to show you that a case like this is no simple little police operation that can be handled by making a few telephone calls from an armchair â¦Â And I will add,
Monsieur le Maire
, with all due respect, that when I take charge of an investigation, I insist above all, dammit, on being
left
alone
!â
That came out with no premeditation. It had been incubating for days. Perhaps to calm down, Maigret took a swallow of whisky and looked at the door like a man who has said what he has to say and is waiting for permission to leave.
The mayor was silent for a few minutes, contemplating the white ash of his cigar. Finally, he let it fall into a blue porcelain bowl and rose slowly, his eyes seeking Maigretâs.
âListen, chief inspector â¦â
He must have been weighing his words, for they were separated by pauses.
âI may have been wrong, in the course of our brief connection, to show some impatience â¦â
This was rather unexpected â especially in this setting,
where the man seemed more
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