Read Online The Hanged Man of Saint-Pholien by Georges Simenon - Free Book Online
Authors: Georges Simenon
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unaware of the absurdity of the situation. âYouâre the one who hired the
car.â
âPardon me: if I travelled as your
prisoner, itâs up to you to pay.â
A small matter, but didnât it show
how much had happened since Rheims and, most importantly, how much the Belgian
businessman had changed?
Maigret paid and silently showed Van
Damme to his office. After closing the door behind him, the first thing he did was
to stir up the fire in the stove.
Next he took some clothing from a
cupboard and, without a glance at the other man, changed his trousers, shoes and
socks and placed his damp things near the stove to dry.
Van Damme had sat down without waiting
to be asked. In the bright light, the change in him was even more striking:
heâd left his bogus bonhomie, his open manner
and somewhat strained smile back at Luzancy and now, with
a grim and cunning look, he was waiting.
Pretending to pay him no attention,
Maigret kept busy for a little while around his office, organizing dossiers,
telephoning his boss for some information that had nothing to do with the current
case.
Finally, he went over to confront Van
Damme.
âWhen, where and how did you first
meet the man who committed suicide in Bremen and who was travelling with a passport
in the name of Louis Jeunet?â
The other man flinched almost
imperceptibly but faced his challenger with bold composure.
âWhy am I here?â
âYou refuse to answer my
question?â
Van Damme laughed, but now his laughter
was cold and sarcastic.
âI know the law as well as you do,
inspector. Either you charge me and must show me the arrest warrant, or you
donât charge me and I donât have to answer you. And in the first case,
the law allows me to wait for the assistance of a lawyer before speaking to
you.â
Maigret did not seem angry or even
annoyed by the manâs attitude. On the contrary! He studied him with curiosity
and perhaps a certain satisfaction.
Thanks to the incident at Luzancy,
Joseph Van Damme had been forced to abandon his play-acting and the pretence he had
kept up not only with Maigret, but with everyone else and even, in the end, with
himself.
There was almost nothing left of the
jolly, shallow businessman from Bremen, constantly on the go between his modern
office and the finest taverns and restaurants. Gone was the happy-go-lucky operator
raking in money with
zestful energy and a
taste for the good life
.
All that remained was a haggard face drained of
colour, and it was uncanny how quickly dark, puffy circles seemed to have appeared
under his eyes.
Only an hour earlier, hadnât Van
Damme still been a free man who, although he did have something on his conscience,
yet enjoyed the self-assurance guaranteed by his brokerâs licence, his
reputation, his money and his shrewdness?
And he himself had emphasized this
change.
In Rheims, he was used to standing round
after round of drinks. He offered his guests the finest cigars. He had only to give
an order, and a café proprietor would hasten to curry favour, phoning a garage to
hire their most comfortable car.
He was somebody!
In Paris? He had refused to pay for the
trip. He invoked the law. He appeared ready to argue, to defend himself at every
turn, fiercely, like a man fighting for his life.
And he was furious with himself! His
angry exclamation after what had happened on the bank of the Marne was proof of
that. There had been no premeditation. He hadnât known the driver. Even when
they had stopped for the flat tyre, he hadnât immediately realized how that
might work to his advantage.
Only when they had reached the
water â¦Â The swirling current, the trees swept by as if they were simply
dead leaves â¦Â Like a fool, without thinking twice, heâd given that
push with his shoulder.
Now he was beside
car.â
âPardon me: if I travelled as your
prisoner, itâs up to you to pay.â
A small matter, but didnât it show
how much had happened since Rheims and, most importantly, how much the Belgian
businessman had changed?
Maigret paid and silently showed Van
Damme to his office. After closing the door behind him, the first thing he did was
to stir up the fire in the stove.
Next he took some clothing from a
cupboard and, without a glance at the other man, changed his trousers, shoes and
socks and placed his damp things near the stove to dry.
Van Damme had sat down without waiting
to be asked. In the bright light, the change in him was even more striking:
heâd left his bogus bonhomie, his open manner
and somewhat strained smile back at Luzancy and now, with
a grim and cunning look, he was waiting.
Pretending to pay him no attention,
Maigret kept busy for a little while around his office, organizing dossiers,
telephoning his boss for some information that had nothing to do with the current
case.
Finally, he went over to confront Van
Damme.
âWhen, where and how did you first
meet the man who committed suicide in Bremen and who was travelling with a passport
in the name of Louis Jeunet?â
The other man flinched almost
imperceptibly but faced his challenger with bold composure.
âWhy am I here?â
âYou refuse to answer my
question?â
Van Damme laughed, but now his laughter
was cold and sarcastic.
âI know the law as well as you do,
inspector. Either you charge me and must show me the arrest warrant, or you
donât charge me and I donât have to answer you. And in the first case,
the law allows me to wait for the assistance of a lawyer before speaking to
you.â
Maigret did not seem angry or even
annoyed by the manâs attitude. On the contrary! He studied him with curiosity
and perhaps a certain satisfaction.
Thanks to the incident at Luzancy,
Joseph Van Damme had been forced to abandon his play-acting and the pretence he had
kept up not only with Maigret, but with everyone else and even, in the end, with
himself.
There was almost nothing left of the
jolly, shallow businessman from Bremen, constantly on the go between his modern
office and the finest taverns and restaurants. Gone was the happy-go-lucky operator
raking in money with
zestful energy and a
taste for the good life
.
All that remained was a haggard face drained of
colour, and it was uncanny how quickly dark, puffy circles seemed to have appeared
under his eyes.
Only an hour earlier, hadnât Van
Damme still been a free man who, although he did have something on his conscience,
yet enjoyed the self-assurance guaranteed by his brokerâs licence, his
reputation, his money and his shrewdness?
And he himself had emphasized this
change.
In Rheims, he was used to standing round
after round of drinks. He offered his guests the finest cigars. He had only to give
an order, and a café proprietor would hasten to curry favour, phoning a garage to
hire their most comfortable car.
He was somebody!
In Paris? He had refused to pay for the
trip. He invoked the law. He appeared ready to argue, to defend himself at every
turn, fiercely, like a man fighting for his life.
And he was furious with himself! His
angry exclamation after what had happened on the bank of the Marne was proof of
that. There had been no premeditation. He hadnât known the driver. Even when
they had stopped for the flat tyre, he hadnât immediately realized how that
might work to his advantage.
Only when they had reached the
water â¦Â The swirling current, the trees swept by as if they were simply
dead leaves â¦Â Like a fool, without thinking twice, heâd given that
push with his shoulder.
Now he was beside
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