Read Online Maigret's Holiday by Georges Simenon - Free Book Online
Authors: Georges Simenon
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desk.
âAh! ⦠For the funeral, of
course ⦠But how do you know?â
âI just saw her leaving the
station.â
âDo you know her?â
âYou only need to have seen a picture
of her daughter to recognize her.â
âIâve never met her. Apparently,
sheâs still beautiful â¦â
âVery ⦠and she knows it
â¦â
A few more flourishes.
âHave you had an interesting
afternoon?â
âDoctor Bellamy talked a great deal
and did me the honour of showing me around his home. Tell me, do you by any chance know
a girl of around fourteen or fifteen, tall and skinny, with reddish hair who wears a
pink cotton dress and black woollen stockings?â
The inspector looked at him in surprise.
âIs that all you know about
her?â
âShe has a little handbag made of
coloured beads.â
âAnd you donât know where she
lives?â
âNo.â
âYou donât know her
name?â
âNeither her first name nor her
surname.â
âNor do you know where she
works?â
âI donât even know if she has a
job.â
âYou do realize that Les Sables
dâOlonne has twentythousand souls and that the streets are
crawling with girls like the one you have just described?â
âBut I want to find this particular
one.â
âIn which neighbourhood did you meet
her?â
âAt Doctor Bellamyâs.â
âAnd you didnât ask him â¦
Iâm sorry! I understand ⦠Thatâs already a clue, of course
â¦â
Maigret smiled, and slowly filled a fresh
pipe.
âLook. I feel as though Iâm
bothering you. Iâm here on holiday, thatâs a fact. What is happening at Les
Sables dâOlonne is none of my business. And yet Iâd give a lot to find that
girl.â
âI can try.â
âI donât know whether
sheâll return to the doctorâs house. To be honest, I donât think so.
But who knows whether she might go and hang around the house? Itâs highly likely
that tomorrow sheâll be standing along the route of the funeral procession. Maybe
if you have a word with one of your men â¦â
Mansuy was beginning to worry.
âDo you think he killed his
sister-in-law? The coronerâs just telephoned meââ
âAnd his report is negative, Iâm
sure.â
âCorrect. Youâve heard? Her head
hit the road. Her body somersaulted a couple of times. It curled into a ball like a hare
when itâs shot. But all the injuries are consistent with the tears and stains on
her clothes. She could have been pushed, of course, but without being hit, without her
defending herself â¦â
âShe wasnât pushed.â
âSo you believe it
was an accident?â
âI donât know.â
âYouâve just said that she
wasnât pushed â¦â
âI know nothing,â sighed Maigret
who had become more solemn. âThe fact is, I know no more than you do. Perhaps
less, because I donât know Les Sables dâOlonne. All the same, Iâd like
to find that girl. Iâd also like to have a private talk with Sister Marie des
Anges, which is even harder. Have you ever called a nun in for questioning?â
âNo,â replied the stocky
inspector, flabbergasted.
âMe neither. I can only hope that
sheâll write to me again.â
He was talking to himself, without taking
the trouble to enlighten his colleague.
âCome and have a drink ⦠By the
way, your Polyte yesterday, did he confess?â
âHe wonât confess. Heâs
never confessed in his life. This is at least the tenth time weâve caught him
red-handed and each time he hotly denies it.â
They stopped at a café full of regulars
and, all the way there, Maigret had continued to look about him on the off chance he
might spot the girl.
âYou see, Mansuy, there is something
we
âAh! ⦠For the funeral, of
course ⦠But how do you know?â
âI just saw her leaving the
station.â
âDo you know her?â
âYou only need to have seen a picture
of her daughter to recognize her.â
âIâve never met her. Apparently,
sheâs still beautiful â¦â
âVery ⦠and she knows it
â¦â
A few more flourishes.
âHave you had an interesting
afternoon?â
âDoctor Bellamy talked a great deal
and did me the honour of showing me around his home. Tell me, do you by any chance know
a girl of around fourteen or fifteen, tall and skinny, with reddish hair who wears a
pink cotton dress and black woollen stockings?â
The inspector looked at him in surprise.
âIs that all you know about
her?â
âShe has a little handbag made of
coloured beads.â
âAnd you donât know where she
lives?â
âNo.â
âYou donât know her
name?â
âNeither her first name nor her
surname.â
âNor do you know where she
works?â
âI donât even know if she has a
job.â
âYou do realize that Les Sables
dâOlonne has twentythousand souls and that the streets are
crawling with girls like the one you have just described?â
âBut I want to find this particular
one.â
âIn which neighbourhood did you meet
her?â
âAt Doctor Bellamyâs.â
âAnd you didnât ask him â¦
Iâm sorry! I understand ⦠Thatâs already a clue, of course
â¦â
Maigret smiled, and slowly filled a fresh
pipe.
âLook. I feel as though Iâm
bothering you. Iâm here on holiday, thatâs a fact. What is happening at Les
Sables dâOlonne is none of my business. And yet Iâd give a lot to find that
girl.â
âI can try.â
âI donât know whether
sheâll return to the doctorâs house. To be honest, I donât think so.
But who knows whether she might go and hang around the house? Itâs highly likely
that tomorrow sheâll be standing along the route of the funeral procession. Maybe
if you have a word with one of your men â¦â
Mansuy was beginning to worry.
âDo you think he killed his
sister-in-law? The coronerâs just telephoned meââ
âAnd his report is negative, Iâm
sure.â
âCorrect. Youâve heard? Her head
hit the road. Her body somersaulted a couple of times. It curled into a ball like a hare
when itâs shot. But all the injuries are consistent with the tears and stains on
her clothes. She could have been pushed, of course, but without being hit, without her
defending herself â¦â
âShe wasnât pushed.â
âSo you believe it
was an accident?â
âI donât know.â
âYouâve just said that she
wasnât pushed â¦â
âI know nothing,â sighed Maigret
who had become more solemn. âThe fact is, I know no more than you do. Perhaps
less, because I donât know Les Sables dâOlonne. All the same, Iâd like
to find that girl. Iâd also like to have a private talk with Sister Marie des
Anges, which is even harder. Have you ever called a nun in for questioning?â
âNo,â replied the stocky
inspector, flabbergasted.
âMe neither. I can only hope that
sheâll write to me again.â
He was talking to himself, without taking
the trouble to enlighten his colleague.
âCome and have a drink ⦠By the
way, your Polyte yesterday, did he confess?â
âHe wonât confess. Heâs
never confessed in his life. This is at least the tenth time weâve caught him
red-handed and each time he hotly denies it.â
They stopped at a café full of regulars
and, all the way there, Maigret had continued to look about him on the off chance he
might spot the girl.
âYou see, Mansuy, there is something
we
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