Read Online The Hotel Majestic by Georges Simenon - Free Book Online Page B

rain was falling. Lucas was there, with his coat collar turned up, stamping his feet to keep himself warm.
    â€œNot too tired, chief?”
    â€œHave you got someone with you?”
    â€œNo . . . If you need a police inspector, I saw one of our men in the railway office . . .”
    â€œGo and get him . . .”
    Gigi got out, shook hands in a friendly way with the two sailors, and shrugged as she went past the superintendent. She had gone a few steps when she suddenly came back.
    â€œYou can have me followed if you want . . . I can tell you in advance that I’m going to see Charlotte . . .”
    Lucas came back.
    â€œI couldn’t find the inspector . . .”
    â€œNever mind . . . Come on . . .”
    They took a taxi.
    â€œNow, let’s hear what’s happened . . . Why has the magistrate . . .”
    â€œI was going to tell you . . . He summoned me as soon as the second crime had been committed and he had sent some men to arrest Donge . . . He asked me if we had any news, if you’d telephoned and so on . . . Then he handed me a letter, with a nasty smile . . . An anonymous letter . . . I can’t remember the exact words . . . It said that Mrs. Clark, who was once a chorus girl called Mimi, had been Donge’s mistress, that she had a child by him and that he had often threatened her . . . You look as though you’re put out, chief?”
    â€œGo on . . .”
    â€œThat’s all . . . the magistrate was delighted . . .
    â€œSo you see it’s a straightforward story!” he concluded. “Common blackmail . . . And as Mrs. Clark no doubt didn’t want to pay up . . . I’ll go and interrogate Donge shortly in his cell . . .”
    â€œHe’s there already?”
    But the taxi had pulled up at the Quai des Orfèvres. It was half past five in the morning. A thick yellow mist rose from the Seine. Maigret slammed the car door.
    â€œHe’s at the station? . . . Come with me . . .”
    They had to go round the Palais de Justice to get to the Quai de l’Horloge; they went on foot, without hurrying.
    â€œYes . . . The magistrate telephoned me again at about nine in the evening to say that Donge had refused to speak . . . It appears that he said he would only talk to you . . .”
    â€œDid you get any sleep last night?”
    â€œI got two hours, on a sofa . . .”
    â€œGo and get some rest . . . Be at Headquarters at about midday . . .”
    And Maigret went into the Central Police Station. A police van was coming out. There had been a raid at the Bastille and about thirty women had been brought in, some of them new ones without identity cards, and they were sitting round the vast, badly lit room. There was a barrack-room smell, and the air was thick with raucous voices and obscene jokes.
    â€œWhere is Donge? . . . Is he asleep?”
    â€œHe hasn’t slept a wink . . . You’ll see for yourself . . .”
    The separate boxes were shut by doors with bars, as in a stable. In one of them a man sat, with his head in his hands—a barely discernible figure silhouetted against the darkness.
    The key turned in the lock. The hinges creaked. The tall, drooping man got up, as though coming out of a dream. His tie and shoelaces had been taken away. His red hair was unkempt.
    â€œIt’s you, superintendent . . .” he whispered.
    And he rubbed his eyes with his hand, as if to make sure that it was really Maigret who was there.
    â€œI gather you wanted to speak to me?”
    â€œI thought it would be best . . .”
    And he asked, with a childish innocence: “The magistrate isn’t cross? . . . What could I have told him? . . . He was sure I was guilty . . . He even showed my hands to his clerk, saying they were strangler’s hands . . .”
    â€œCome with me . . .”
    Maigret hesitated a moment. What was the point of making him wear handcuffs? They must have put them on to bring him to the station. The