Read Online Chief Inspector Maigret Visits London by Margaret de Rohan - Free Book Online

cross the dual carriage-way on the way to her mews house. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the grey car go across the roundabout at the Maida Vale tube station end of the avenue. It’s a long way off, his brain registered automatically, there’s plenty of time to get to the other side.
    When they had almost reached the traffic island in the centre of the road, he realised that the car’s speed was increasing incrementally, second by second: it was now going much faster than they could walk. Then it was almost on top of them, and all he could do was to give Nicole an almighty shove to safety before the car hit him. Then there was nothingness. Fade to black.
    As she fell to the asphalt, Nicole heard the sickening sound of Swedish steel colliding with French flesh. The car paused momentarily then accelerated again, and she lost consciousness.
    When she regained consciousness she was strapped on a stretcher in an ambulance speeding with its siren blaring towards St Mary’s hospital.
    â€˜Where is Inspector Martin?’ she murmured. ‘What’s happened to him? Is he alright?’
    â€˜Ssh, lie still,’ the paramedic said, adjusting her oxygen mask.
    An hour later, when Philippe Maigret called Georges Martin, the phone was answered by an unfamiliar female voice.
    â€˜Who are you?’ the voice asked briskly.
    â€˜Who are you?’ Philippe Maigret countered, ‘and why are you answering Inspector Martin’s phone?’
    â€˜I’m a triage sister in Accident and Emergency at St Mary’s hospital. Are you a friend of Georges Martin, sir?’
    â€˜Yes, I’m a friend and colleague. What’s happened to him?’
    â€˜I regret… I regret… ’
    â€˜
Mon Dieu
! He’s not… he’s not… ’ Philippe Maigret couldn’t bring himself to say the word.
    â€˜I think you should come as soon as possible, sir. He’s been very seriously injured.’
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜Apparently it was a hit and run.’ ‘And what of the woman who was with him, Madame Vachon?’
    â€˜I don’t know anything about her I’m afraid. I’m in the critical response unit – she might be in another part of the hospital.’
    â€˜What’s your name, sister?’
    â€˜I’m Lorna Rogers, sir. And you are… ?’
    â€˜I’m Chief Inspector Philippe Maigret, of the
Police Nationale
in Paris. I’ll pass the phone to Sergeant Gillespie now, so you can give him all the details, while I see if arrangements can be made for a police escort to the hospital. Thank you, sister.’
    Five minutes later the police car, with a motor-cycle out-rider, was speeding from Scotland Yard to the Edgware Road with sirens wailing. Philippe Maigret sat ashen-faced and grim in the back of the car holding hands with Megan, who alternated between tears and prayers. A police driver, especially trained for high-speed car chases, was driving at a terrifying speed, while Chief Inspector Scott sat next to him, holding on to the strap of his seat belt so tightly that his knuckles had already turned white.
    When they arrived at St Mary’s there was a small amount of good news, but much more bad news. Georges Martin was alive, but barely, and he was still in surgery. If he survived both the surgery,
and
the next twelve hours, it would be by the Grace of God, not to mention the skill of the surgeons who were operating on him. And it would probably also be a miracle.
    When she could bear the waiting no longer, Megan went outside into the warm afternoon sunshine on the noisy Edgware Road. She was amazed at how completely normal everything seemed. Don’t you know that inside this hospital a good, courageous man is fighting for his life, she screamed silently at the people passing by. Some stared curiously at her tear-stained face then looked away quickly, while others barely gave her a second glance. I’ve got to do