Read Online Maigret Gets Angry by Georges Simenon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Georges Simenon
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the garden itself,
where,
camouflaged by the young hazelnut trees
planted along the railway line, Maigret could make out two tall shapes, pale and silent, and he
remembered the Great Danes that had bounded over to lick their master’s hand the day
before.
They were probably let loose every night, and
were likely to be ferocious.
To the right, at the end of the garden, stood a
little cottage which Maigret had not yet seen and which was probably where the gardeners and the
driver lived.
There was a light on there too, a single one,
which went out half an hour later.
There was no sign of the moon yet, but the night
was not as dark as the previous one. Maigret sat down quietly on the embankment, facing the
hazelnut trees which concealed him, and which he could draw aside with his hand like a
curtain.
The 10.17 train sped past less than three metres
from him and he watched its red lamp disappear around the bend in the track.
The few lights from Orsenne went out one by one.
Old Groux was probably not out hunting woodpigeon that night, since the peace and quiet
wasn’t shattered by any gunshots.
At last, at nearly eleven o’clock, the two
dogs, lying side by side at the edge of a lawn, rose as one and loped towards the house.
They vanished for a moment behind it, and, when
Maigret saw them again, the two animals were prancing around the shape of a man who was walking
hurriedly and seemed to be making straight for him.
It
was Ernest Malik, without a doubt. The shape was too slim and too energetic to be that of one of
the servants. He walked silently across the lawn. In his hand he had an object that it was
impossible to identify, but which looked quite bulky.
For a good while, Maigret wondered where on earth
Malik could be going. He saw him suddenly veer to the right and come so close to the wall that
he could hear the dogs’ panting.
‘Quiet, Satan … Quiet,
Lionne.’
There, between the trees, was a little brick
building that must have pre-dated the house, a low building covered in ancient tiles. Former
stables perhaps, or a kennel?
‘A kennel,’ Maigret said to himself.
‘He’s simply feeding the dogs.’
But no! Malik pushed the dogs away, took a key
out of his pocket, and went inside the building. The key could clearly be heard turning in the
lock. Then there was silence, a very long silence, during which Maigret’s pipe went out,
but he didn’t dare re-light it.
Half an hour went by, and finally Malik emerged
and locked the door carefully behind him. Then, after looking around cautiously, he strode
rapidly towards the house.
At eleven thirty, everything was asleep or seemed
to be asleep. When Maigret walked past the back of the Amorelles’ garden, he noticed only
a tiny night-light burning in old Bernadette’s room.
No lights on at L’Ange either. He was
wondering how he would get in when the door opened noiselessly. He saw
or rather sensed Raymonde, who stood there in her nightdress and
slippers. She put her finger on her lips and whispered:
‘Go upstairs quickly. Don’t make a
noise. She didn’t want me to leave the door unlocked.’
He would have liked to linger, to ask her a few
questions and have something to drink, but a creaking sound coming from Jeanne’s room
alarmed the girl, who rushed up the stairs.
Then he stood still for a good while. A smell of
fried eggs hung in the air, with a whiff of alcohol. Why not? He struck a match, took a bottle
from the shelf and tucked it under his arm to go upstairs to bed.
Old Jeanne was shuffling around in her room. She
must know that he was back. But he had no wish to go and keep her company.
He took off his jacket, his collar and his tie
and undid his braces, letting them dangle down his back and then, in his tooth mug, mixed brandy
and water.
One last pipe, leaning on the window-sill,
absently contemplating the gently rustling foliage.
He awoke at seven to the sound of Raymonde
bustling about in the kitchen. With his pipe in his mouth –
where,
camouflaged by the young hazelnut trees
planted along the railway line, Maigret could make out two tall shapes, pale and silent, and he
remembered the Great Danes that had bounded over to lick their master’s hand the day
before.
They were probably let loose every night, and
were likely to be ferocious.
To the right, at the end of the garden, stood a
little cottage which Maigret had not yet seen and which was probably where the gardeners and the
driver lived.
There was a light on there too, a single one,
which went out half an hour later.
There was no sign of the moon yet, but the night
was not as dark as the previous one. Maigret sat down quietly on the embankment, facing the
hazelnut trees which concealed him, and which he could draw aside with his hand like a
curtain.
The 10.17 train sped past less than three metres
from him and he watched its red lamp disappear around the bend in the track.
The few lights from Orsenne went out one by one.
Old Groux was probably not out hunting woodpigeon that night, since the peace and quiet
wasn’t shattered by any gunshots.
At last, at nearly eleven o’clock, the two
dogs, lying side by side at the edge of a lawn, rose as one and loped towards the house.
They vanished for a moment behind it, and, when
Maigret saw them again, the two animals were prancing around the shape of a man who was walking
hurriedly and seemed to be making straight for him.
It
was Ernest Malik, without a doubt. The shape was too slim and too energetic to be that of one of
the servants. He walked silently across the lawn. In his hand he had an object that it was
impossible to identify, but which looked quite bulky.
For a good while, Maigret wondered where on earth
Malik could be going. He saw him suddenly veer to the right and come so close to the wall that
he could hear the dogs’ panting.
‘Quiet, Satan … Quiet,
Lionne.’
There, between the trees, was a little brick
building that must have pre-dated the house, a low building covered in ancient tiles. Former
stables perhaps, or a kennel?
‘A kennel,’ Maigret said to himself.
‘He’s simply feeding the dogs.’
But no! Malik pushed the dogs away, took a key
out of his pocket, and went inside the building. The key could clearly be heard turning in the
lock. Then there was silence, a very long silence, during which Maigret’s pipe went out,
but he didn’t dare re-light it.
Half an hour went by, and finally Malik emerged
and locked the door carefully behind him. Then, after looking around cautiously, he strode
rapidly towards the house.
At eleven thirty, everything was asleep or seemed
to be asleep. When Maigret walked past the back of the Amorelles’ garden, he noticed only
a tiny night-light burning in old Bernadette’s room.
No lights on at L’Ange either. He was
wondering how he would get in when the door opened noiselessly. He saw
or rather sensed Raymonde, who stood there in her nightdress and
slippers. She put her finger on her lips and whispered:
‘Go upstairs quickly. Don’t make a
noise. She didn’t want me to leave the door unlocked.’
He would have liked to linger, to ask her a few
questions and have something to drink, but a creaking sound coming from Jeanne’s room
alarmed the girl, who rushed up the stairs.
Then he stood still for a good while. A smell of
fried eggs hung in the air, with a whiff of alcohol. Why not? He struck a match, took a bottle
from the shelf and tucked it under his arm to go upstairs to bed.
Old Jeanne was shuffling around in her room. She
must know that he was back. But he had no wish to go and keep her company.
He took off his jacket, his collar and his tie
and undid his braces, letting them dangle down his back and then, in his tooth mug, mixed brandy
and water.
One last pipe, leaning on the window-sill,
absently contemplating the gently rustling foliage.
He awoke at seven to the sound of Raymonde
bustling about in the kitchen. With his pipe in his mouth –
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