Read Online Maigret and the Spinster by Georges Simenon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Georges Simenon
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similar to this one less than a fortnight ago.”
“What does that prove?”
Gérard was trembling. He looked about him wildly, as though in search of help, and his glance rested on his sister’s coffin being hoisted into the hearse by the men in black.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“I don’t know yet…”
“If you questioned the locksmith, he must have told you that I got that key…”
He had got it from Cécile! The locksmith’s statement had established that beyond doubt.
“On Monday, September twenty-fifth,” he had stated, “a young woman of about thirty came into my workshop, produced a Yale key, and asked me if I could make her a copy. I said I would need the original key to work from. She objected that it was her only key, and that she would be needing it, so I made a wax impression. Next day, she came to collect the new key, and paid me twelve francs seventy-five centimes…It was only when I read in the papers that Cécile Pardon had been murdered, and in particular when I learned from her description that she had a slight squint, that…”
The procession was beginning to move. The master of ceremonies bustled up to Gérard, waving his arms. Maigret whispered:
“We’ll talk later…”
Gérard and his sister Berthe were placed immediately behind the hearses, but they had not gone ten yards before Monfils, disputing their right of precedence, came forward to join them.
The Boynets and the Machepieds, less officious, scorned any hypocritical show of grief and followed behind, deep in discussion regarding the succession. Monsieur Dandurand and the gentlemen of the flashy rings came next, all except one, who brought up the rear of the procession, driving the big car.
From the start, on account of the temperamental horse, the pace was distinctly brisk. When the time came, however, to turn left off the main road for the church, there was a fearful snarl-up. All traffic was brought to a halt for several minutes, including three streetcars in a row.
In view of her condition, Gerard’s wife was not present.
Her confinement was due within a week or less. Maigret had spent an hour with her the previous night, in their lodgings, comprising two rooms over a butcher’s shop on Rue du Pas-de-la-Mule.
She was barely twenty-three years of age, yet her face was not youthful, but aged with the resignation of the poor. It was plain to see that she had tried, with all the inadequate means at her command, to make the two rooms habitable. Some of her possessions had no doubt already found their way to the pawnshop. Maigret noticed that the gas had been cut off.
“Gérard has always been unlucky,” she sighed without rancor. “And yet he has many virtues…He’s a great deal more intelligent than many others who have good jobs…Maybe that’s his trouble?”
Her name was Hélène. Her father was working for a credit company. She had been too scared to let him know how things really stood in her house, and had led him to believe that Gérard was working, and that the marriage was a happy one.
“He may seem somewhat aggressive to you, but look at it from his point of view. Lately, everything has gone against him. He’s out from morning till night, answering advertisements for jobs…Surely you don’t regard him as a suspect? He’s the soul of honesty. Maybe it’s just because he is so scrupulously honest that he’s a failure…Let me give you an example! In his last job, he worked in a shop selling vacuum cleaners. There was a break-in. Gérard suspected that one of his fellow employees was involved. He said nothing, but later the boss subjected him to a barrage of questions, making Gérard feel that he himself was under suspicion. And rather than involve anyone else, Gérard gave notice…”
“Oh, by all means make a thorough search! You won’t find anything of interest here except bills…”
And the flowerpot on the window sill! Maigret had noticed that the soil had been recently
“What does that prove?”
Gérard was trembling. He looked about him wildly, as though in search of help, and his glance rested on his sister’s coffin being hoisted into the hearse by the men in black.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“I don’t know yet…”
“If you questioned the locksmith, he must have told you that I got that key…”
He had got it from Cécile! The locksmith’s statement had established that beyond doubt.
“On Monday, September twenty-fifth,” he had stated, “a young woman of about thirty came into my workshop, produced a Yale key, and asked me if I could make her a copy. I said I would need the original key to work from. She objected that it was her only key, and that she would be needing it, so I made a wax impression. Next day, she came to collect the new key, and paid me twelve francs seventy-five centimes…It was only when I read in the papers that Cécile Pardon had been murdered, and in particular when I learned from her description that she had a slight squint, that…”
The procession was beginning to move. The master of ceremonies bustled up to Gérard, waving his arms. Maigret whispered:
“We’ll talk later…”
Gérard and his sister Berthe were placed immediately behind the hearses, but they had not gone ten yards before Monfils, disputing their right of precedence, came forward to join them.
The Boynets and the Machepieds, less officious, scorned any hypocritical show of grief and followed behind, deep in discussion regarding the succession. Monsieur Dandurand and the gentlemen of the flashy rings came next, all except one, who brought up the rear of the procession, driving the big car.
From the start, on account of the temperamental horse, the pace was distinctly brisk. When the time came, however, to turn left off the main road for the church, there was a fearful snarl-up. All traffic was brought to a halt for several minutes, including three streetcars in a row.
In view of her condition, Gerard’s wife was not present.
Her confinement was due within a week or less. Maigret had spent an hour with her the previous night, in their lodgings, comprising two rooms over a butcher’s shop on Rue du Pas-de-la-Mule.
She was barely twenty-three years of age, yet her face was not youthful, but aged with the resignation of the poor. It was plain to see that she had tried, with all the inadequate means at her command, to make the two rooms habitable. Some of her possessions had no doubt already found their way to the pawnshop. Maigret noticed that the gas had been cut off.
“Gérard has always been unlucky,” she sighed without rancor. “And yet he has many virtues…He’s a great deal more intelligent than many others who have good jobs…Maybe that’s his trouble?”
Her name was Hélène. Her father was working for a credit company. She had been too scared to let him know how things really stood in her house, and had led him to believe that Gérard was working, and that the marriage was a happy one.
“He may seem somewhat aggressive to you, but look at it from his point of view. Lately, everything has gone against him. He’s out from morning till night, answering advertisements for jobs…Surely you don’t regard him as a suspect? He’s the soul of honesty. Maybe it’s just because he is so scrupulously honest that he’s a failure…Let me give you an example! In his last job, he worked in a shop selling vacuum cleaners. There was a break-in. Gérard suspected that one of his fellow employees was involved. He said nothing, but later the boss subjected him to a barrage of questions, making Gérard feel that he himself was under suspicion. And rather than involve anyone else, Gérard gave notice…”
“Oh, by all means make a thorough search! You won’t find anything of interest here except bills…”
And the flowerpot on the window sill! Maigret had noticed that the soil had been recently
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