stubbornly.
‘Calm down, boys,’ broke in
Louis. ‘Spades trumps!’
By midnight, their cheerfulness was more
forced. Maigretwas still sitting immobile in his overcoat, his
pipe in his mouth. He looked like part of the furniture. Or even better, he blended
in with the walls. Only his eyes were alive, roving slowly from one player to the
other.
Audiat had been the first to display
signs of unease, and then the deaf man soon began to show some impatience. At
length, he stood up:
‘I have to go to a funeral
tomorrow. I should go to bed.’
‘Oh, drop dead!’ said Eugène
under his breath, certain he wouldn’t be heard.
He said that the way he would have said
anything else, to keep his spirits up.
‘
Rebelote
… and trumps …
and trumps again … Give me your cards …’
Despite the disapproving looks he was
getting, Audiat had drunk three brandies and his face was furrowed. He had turned
pale and his forehead was clammy.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m off too,’ he
said, rising.
He clearly felt sick. He had drunk his
third brandy to perk himself up, but it had finished him off. Louis and Eugène
exchanged glances.
‘You look like a wet rag,’
Eugène said after a moment.
It was just after one o’clock in
the morning. Maigret took out his money and put it on the table. Eugène drew Audiat
into a corner and spoke to him in hushed but urgent tones. Audiat was reluctant, but
eventually allowed himself to be persuaded.
‘See you tomorrow!’ he said,
his hand on the door handle.
‘Waiter! How much?’
The saucers rattled.
Maigret buttoned up his overcoat, filled a fresh pipe and lit it with the gas
lighter by the bar.
‘Good night, gentlemen.’
He left the café and identified the
sound of Audiat’s retreating footsteps. Meanwhile, Eugène slipped behind the
bar, as if to have a word with the owner. Louis immediately understood and
discreetly opened a drawer. Eugène plunged his hand inside then put it in his pocket
and headed for the door with the man from Marseille in tow.
‘See you later,’ he said,
stepping out into the night.
6.
In the glow from the nightclubs’
neon signs, Rue Fontaine was busy with doormen on the pavement and drivers
manoeuvring to park their cars. It was only after Place Blanche, when Maigret and
his quarry turned right on to Boulevard Rochechouart, that the situation became
clearer.
Joseph Audiat walked ahead with a
feverish, irregular step, never once turning round.
Twenty metres behind him came
Maigret’s burly form taking great, calm strides, his hands thrust in his
pockets.
Audiat and Maigret’s footsteps
echoed each other in the silence of the night, Audiat’s more rapid,
Maigret’s tread heavier and more solemn.
Behind them, the purring of
Eugène’s engine could be heard – for Eugène and the man from Marseille had
jumped into the car. They drove at a crawl, hugging the kerb and trying to keep a
distance from the two men. Sometimes they had to change gear to maintain their
speed. Sometimes too they would put on a sudden spurt and then slow down to allow
Audiat and Maigret to get ahead.
Maigret had no need to look over his
shoulder. He knew what was going on. He was aware that the big blue limousine was
behind him. He could picture the faces behind the windscreen.
It was classic. He was
following Audiat because he had the feeling that Audiat would allow himself to be
intimidated more easily than the others. Meanwhile, the others, who knew this, were
following him in turn.
At first, this made Maigret smile
inwardly.
Then, he was no longer smiling, but
frowning. Audiat was not heading towards Rue Lepic, where he had a room, nor towards
the centre of Paris. He continued along the boulevard beneath the overground section
of the métro in the direction of La Chapelle, without stopping at the Barbès
intersection.
It was highly unlikely that
‘Calm down, boys,’ broke in
Louis. ‘Spades trumps!’
By midnight, their cheerfulness was more
forced. Maigretwas still sitting immobile in his overcoat, his
pipe in his mouth. He looked like part of the furniture. Or even better, he blended
in with the walls. Only his eyes were alive, roving slowly from one player to the
other.
Audiat had been the first to display
signs of unease, and then the deaf man soon began to show some impatience. At
length, he stood up:
‘I have to go to a funeral
tomorrow. I should go to bed.’
‘Oh, drop dead!’ said Eugène
under his breath, certain he wouldn’t be heard.
He said that the way he would have said
anything else, to keep his spirits up.
‘
Rebelote
… and trumps …
and trumps again … Give me your cards …’
Despite the disapproving looks he was
getting, Audiat had drunk three brandies and his face was furrowed. He had turned
pale and his forehead was clammy.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m off too,’ he
said, rising.
He clearly felt sick. He had drunk his
third brandy to perk himself up, but it had finished him off. Louis and Eugène
exchanged glances.
‘You look like a wet rag,’
Eugène said after a moment.
It was just after one o’clock in
the morning. Maigret took out his money and put it on the table. Eugène drew Audiat
into a corner and spoke to him in hushed but urgent tones. Audiat was reluctant, but
eventually allowed himself to be persuaded.
‘See you tomorrow!’ he said,
his hand on the door handle.
‘Waiter! How much?’
The saucers rattled.
Maigret buttoned up his overcoat, filled a fresh pipe and lit it with the gas
lighter by the bar.
‘Good night, gentlemen.’
He left the café and identified the
sound of Audiat’s retreating footsteps. Meanwhile, Eugène slipped behind the
bar, as if to have a word with the owner. Louis immediately understood and
discreetly opened a drawer. Eugène plunged his hand inside then put it in his pocket
and headed for the door with the man from Marseille in tow.
‘See you later,’ he said,
stepping out into the night.
6.
In the glow from the nightclubs’
neon signs, Rue Fontaine was busy with doormen on the pavement and drivers
manoeuvring to park their cars. It was only after Place Blanche, when Maigret and
his quarry turned right on to Boulevard Rochechouart, that the situation became
clearer.
Joseph Audiat walked ahead with a
feverish, irregular step, never once turning round.
Twenty metres behind him came
Maigret’s burly form taking great, calm strides, his hands thrust in his
pockets.
Audiat and Maigret’s footsteps
echoed each other in the silence of the night, Audiat’s more rapid,
Maigret’s tread heavier and more solemn.
Behind them, the purring of
Eugène’s engine could be heard – for Eugène and the man from Marseille had
jumped into the car. They drove at a crawl, hugging the kerb and trying to keep a
distance from the two men. Sometimes they had to change gear to maintain their
speed. Sometimes too they would put on a sudden spurt and then slow down to allow
Audiat and Maigret to get ahead.
Maigret had no need to look over his
shoulder. He knew what was going on. He was aware that the big blue limousine was
behind him. He could picture the faces behind the windscreen.
It was classic. He was
following Audiat because he had the feeling that Audiat would allow himself to be
intimidated more easily than the others. Meanwhile, the others, who knew this, were
following him in turn.
At first, this made Maigret smile
inwardly.
Then, he was no longer smiling, but
frowning. Audiat was not heading towards Rue Lepic, where he had a room, nor towards
the centre of Paris. He continued along the boulevard beneath the overground section
of the métro in the direction of La Chapelle, without stopping at the Barbès
intersection.
It was highly unlikely that
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