porter â¦â
âDonât do that.â
Yogurt man was within hearing distance. Yet Maigret hardly lowered his voice as he said:
âGo and phone the Police Judiciaire. Say youâre phoning for me. Tell them to send two men here â¦Â preferably Lucas and Janvier â¦Â Got that?â
âIs it about the tramp?â
âNever mind why.â
The bar was completely quiet now that the noisy aperitif hour was over.
The red-haired man had not moved or reacted. The girl in black turned a page of her newspaper.
The other bartender was looking curiously at Maigret. The minutes ticked by, flowing drop by drop as it were, second by second.
The man behind the bar was doing his reckoning up. There was a rustle of banknotes and a jingle of coins. The one who had gone to phone returned:
âThey said theyâd do it.â
âThanks.â
The inspectorâs bulk dwarfed the slender bar stool. He smoked one pipe after another, unaware of emptying his glass of whisky, and forgot that he had had no lunch.
âGive me a café au lait.â
The words came from the corner where yogurt man was sitting. The waiter glanced at Maigret, gave a shrug and called towards the service hatch:
âCafé au lait! Just the one!â
And, turning to the inspector, he murmured:
âThatâs all heâll order between now and seven oâclock â¦Â Itâs just the same with the other one there â¦â
He pointed his chin in the direction of the Russian girl.
Twenty minutes went by. Heurtin, wearying of walking up and down, had come to a stop on the edge of the pavement. A man getting into his car mistook him for a beggar and held out a coin, which he dared not refuse.
Did he have any of the twenty francs left? Had he eaten anything since the night before? Had he slept?
The bar still attracted him. Again he approached, sheepishly, keeping his eyes open for the waiters and porters who had already kicked him off the terrace.
But now it was a slack time, and he was able to stand outside the window, where he could be seen pressing his face to the glass, flattening his nose comically, while his small eyes peered inside.
The red-haired man was raising his cup of coffee to his lips. He did not turn to look outside.
So how was it that the same smile as before now made his eyes glint?
A Coupole employee, who could not have been more than sixteen, shouted at the ragged man, who moved away yet again, dragging one foot.
Sergeant Lucas got out of a taxi, came in, obviously surprised, then looked all round the almost deserted bar with even greater astonishment.
âWas it you who â¦?â
âWhatâll you have?â
And in a whisper:
âTake a look through the window.â
Lucas took a moment to locate the figure outside. His face lit up.
âWell Iâll be damned! So you managed to â¦â
âI did nothing at all â¦Â Waiter! Cognac!â
The Russian girl called out in a strong accent:
âWaiter, bring me
Illustration
. Also business telephone directory.â
âDrink up, Lucas. I want you to go out and keep an eye on him, all right?â
âYou donât think it would be better to â¦?â
And one of the sergeantâs hands could be seen feeling for his handcuffs.
âNot yet â¦Â Go to it.â
Maigretâs nerves were so taut that, for all his outward calm, he almost crushed the glass in his large hand as he drank from it.
The man with red hair seemed in no hurry to leave. He wasnât reading, he wasnât writing, he was looking at nothing in particular. And, outside, Joseph Heurtin was still waiting!
At four in the afternoon, the situation had not changed in any way, except that the man on the run from the Santé had now moved to a bench, from which he kept his eyes trained on the entrance to the bar.
Maigret had eaten a sandwich, though he was not hungry.
âDonât do that.â
Yogurt man was within hearing distance. Yet Maigret hardly lowered his voice as he said:
âGo and phone the Police Judiciaire. Say youâre phoning for me. Tell them to send two men here â¦Â preferably Lucas and Janvier â¦Â Got that?â
âIs it about the tramp?â
âNever mind why.â
The bar was completely quiet now that the noisy aperitif hour was over.
The red-haired man had not moved or reacted. The girl in black turned a page of her newspaper.
The other bartender was looking curiously at Maigret. The minutes ticked by, flowing drop by drop as it were, second by second.
The man behind the bar was doing his reckoning up. There was a rustle of banknotes and a jingle of coins. The one who had gone to phone returned:
âThey said theyâd do it.â
âThanks.â
The inspectorâs bulk dwarfed the slender bar stool. He smoked one pipe after another, unaware of emptying his glass of whisky, and forgot that he had had no lunch.
âGive me a café au lait.â
The words came from the corner where yogurt man was sitting. The waiter glanced at Maigret, gave a shrug and called towards the service hatch:
âCafé au lait! Just the one!â
And, turning to the inspector, he murmured:
âThatâs all heâll order between now and seven oâclock â¦Â Itâs just the same with the other one there â¦â
He pointed his chin in the direction of the Russian girl.
Twenty minutes went by. Heurtin, wearying of walking up and down, had come to a stop on the edge of the pavement. A man getting into his car mistook him for a beggar and held out a coin, which he dared not refuse.
Did he have any of the twenty francs left? Had he eaten anything since the night before? Had he slept?
The bar still attracted him. Again he approached, sheepishly, keeping his eyes open for the waiters and porters who had already kicked him off the terrace.
But now it was a slack time, and he was able to stand outside the window, where he could be seen pressing his face to the glass, flattening his nose comically, while his small eyes peered inside.
The red-haired man was raising his cup of coffee to his lips. He did not turn to look outside.
So how was it that the same smile as before now made his eyes glint?
A Coupole employee, who could not have been more than sixteen, shouted at the ragged man, who moved away yet again, dragging one foot.
Sergeant Lucas got out of a taxi, came in, obviously surprised, then looked all round the almost deserted bar with even greater astonishment.
âWas it you who â¦?â
âWhatâll you have?â
And in a whisper:
âTake a look through the window.â
Lucas took a moment to locate the figure outside. His face lit up.
âWell Iâll be damned! So you managed to â¦â
âI did nothing at all â¦Â Waiter! Cognac!â
The Russian girl called out in a strong accent:
âWaiter, bring me
Illustration
. Also business telephone directory.â
âDrink up, Lucas. I want you to go out and keep an eye on him, all right?â
âYou donât think it would be better to â¦?â
And one of the sergeantâs hands could be seen feeling for his handcuffs.
âNot yet â¦Â Go to it.â
Maigretâs nerves were so taut that, for all his outward calm, he almost crushed the glass in his large hand as he drank from it.
The man with red hair seemed in no hurry to leave. He wasnât reading, he wasnât writing, he was looking at nothing in particular. And, outside, Joseph Heurtin was still waiting!
At four in the afternoon, the situation had not changed in any way, except that the man on the run from the Santé had now moved to a bench, from which he kept his eyes trained on the entrance to the bar.
Maigret had eaten a sandwich, though he was not hungry.
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