wrecked the phone.’
It was open war. Audiat was ill at ease.
He was afraid of making a blunder, for he had no idea what had happened before his
arrival.
‘Are we seeing each other this
evening?’
‘As usual!’
Audiat downed his Pernod and left.
Meanwhile, Louis came and sat down at the table next to Maigret, where the waiter
brought him a hot meal which he had cooked on the gas ring in the back.
‘Waiter!’ Maigret called
out.
‘Here! Nine francs
seventy-five—’
‘Bring me two ham sandwiches and a
beer.’
Louis was eating some reheated
sauerkraut with two appetizing-looking sausages.
‘Is there any ham left, Monsieur
Louis?’
‘There must be an old piece in the
icebox.’
He chewed noisily, crudely exaggerating
his movements. The waiter brought Maigret two dry, shrivelled sandwiches, but he
pretended not to notice.
‘Waiter! Some mustard—’
‘There isn’t any.’
The two hours that followed went faster,
for the bar wasinvaded by passers-by dropping in for an aperitif.
The owner condescended to serve them himself. The door kept opening and closing,
sending a blast of cold air in Maigret’s direction each time.
Now the temperature had dropped to
freezing. For a while, the passing omnibuses were crammed full, and there were
passengers standing on the platform at the rear. Then, gradually, the street grew
empty. The seven o’clock flurry gave way to an unexpected quiet, a prelude to
the very different bustle of the evening.
The toughest hour was between eight and
nine. The place was deserted. The blonde girl behind the till had been replaced by a
woman in her forties, who began sorting all the coins from the cash register into
piles. Louis had gone up to his room, and when he came back down, he was wearing a
jacket and tie.
Joseph Audiat was the first to put in an
appearance, a few minutes after nine. He looked around for Maigret and strolled over
to Louis.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Everything OK. There’s no
reason why it wouldn’t be, is there?’
But Louis did not have the same energy
as earlier. He was tired, and did not look at Maigret with the same cockiness. And
Maigret himself seemed to exhibit a certain weariness. He must have drunk a little
of everything – beer, coffee, calvados, mineral water. Seven or eight saucers were
piled up on the table in front of him, and he had to order another drink.
‘Look! Here come Eugène and his
friend.’
The pale-blue limousine
had drawn up alongside the kerb again, and two men came into the bar, Eugène first
of all, dressed as he had been that afternoon, then a younger, timid-looking man who
smiled at everyone.
‘What about Oscar?’
‘He’s bound to
come.’
Eugène winked, jerking his head in
Maigret’s direction, moved two tables together and went over to fetch the red
mat and the chips from a drawer.
‘Shall we begin?’
They were all putting on an act. But it
was Eugène and the owner who were calling the tune. Especially Eugène, who was
freshly arrived on the scene. He had brilliant white teeth and a genuine
cheerfulness, and women must have gone crazy over him.
‘At least we’ll be able to
see clearly tonight!’ he said.
‘Why?’ asked Audiat, who was
always a bit slow on the uptake.
‘Because we have a luminary among
us!’
That luminary was Maigret, who was
smoking his pipe less than a metre away from the players.
Louis picked up the slate and the chalk
with a ritual gesture. He was the one who usually kept score. He drew the columns
headed with the players’ initials.
‘What are you drinking?’
asked the waiter.
Eugène narrowed his eyes, glanced over
at Maigret’s calvados and replied:
‘The same as the gentleman over
there!’
‘A strawberry cordial,’ said
Audiat, on edge.
The fourth man had a strong Marseille
accent and couldnot have been in Paris long. He took his cue from
Eugène,
It was open war. Audiat was ill at ease.
He was afraid of making a blunder, for he had no idea what had happened before his
arrival.
‘Are we seeing each other this
evening?’
‘As usual!’
Audiat downed his Pernod and left.
Meanwhile, Louis came and sat down at the table next to Maigret, where the waiter
brought him a hot meal which he had cooked on the gas ring in the back.
‘Waiter!’ Maigret called
out.
‘Here! Nine francs
seventy-five—’
‘Bring me two ham sandwiches and a
beer.’
Louis was eating some reheated
sauerkraut with two appetizing-looking sausages.
‘Is there any ham left, Monsieur
Louis?’
‘There must be an old piece in the
icebox.’
He chewed noisily, crudely exaggerating
his movements. The waiter brought Maigret two dry, shrivelled sandwiches, but he
pretended not to notice.
‘Waiter! Some mustard—’
‘There isn’t any.’
The two hours that followed went faster,
for the bar wasinvaded by passers-by dropping in for an aperitif.
The owner condescended to serve them himself. The door kept opening and closing,
sending a blast of cold air in Maigret’s direction each time.
Now the temperature had dropped to
freezing. For a while, the passing omnibuses were crammed full, and there were
passengers standing on the platform at the rear. Then, gradually, the street grew
empty. The seven o’clock flurry gave way to an unexpected quiet, a prelude to
the very different bustle of the evening.
The toughest hour was between eight and
nine. The place was deserted. The blonde girl behind the till had been replaced by a
woman in her forties, who began sorting all the coins from the cash register into
piles. Louis had gone up to his room, and when he came back down, he was wearing a
jacket and tie.
Joseph Audiat was the first to put in an
appearance, a few minutes after nine. He looked around for Maigret and strolled over
to Louis.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Everything OK. There’s no
reason why it wouldn’t be, is there?’
But Louis did not have the same energy
as earlier. He was tired, and did not look at Maigret with the same cockiness. And
Maigret himself seemed to exhibit a certain weariness. He must have drunk a little
of everything – beer, coffee, calvados, mineral water. Seven or eight saucers were
piled up on the table in front of him, and he had to order another drink.
‘Look! Here come Eugène and his
friend.’
The pale-blue limousine
had drawn up alongside the kerb again, and two men came into the bar, Eugène first
of all, dressed as he had been that afternoon, then a younger, timid-looking man who
smiled at everyone.
‘What about Oscar?’
‘He’s bound to
come.’
Eugène winked, jerking his head in
Maigret’s direction, moved two tables together and went over to fetch the red
mat and the chips from a drawer.
‘Shall we begin?’
They were all putting on an act. But it
was Eugène and the owner who were calling the tune. Especially Eugène, who was
freshly arrived on the scene. He had brilliant white teeth and a genuine
cheerfulness, and women must have gone crazy over him.
‘At least we’ll be able to
see clearly tonight!’ he said.
‘Why?’ asked Audiat, who was
always a bit slow on the uptake.
‘Because we have a luminary among
us!’
That luminary was Maigret, who was
smoking his pipe less than a metre away from the players.
Louis picked up the slate and the chalk
with a ritual gesture. He was the one who usually kept score. He drew the columns
headed with the players’ initials.
‘What are you drinking?’
asked the waiter.
Eugène narrowed his eyes, glanced over
at Maigret’s calvados and replied:
‘The same as the gentleman over
there!’
‘A strawberry cordial,’ said
Audiat, on edge.
The fourth man had a strong Marseille
accent and couldnot have been in Paris long. He took his cue from
Eugène,
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