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Authors: Georges Simenon
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and a line of rocks marked by breaking surf; they came about and began to lay their nets less than a
mile out.
âYou really think it was the doctor whoââ
âLetâs go,â said the inspector.
The tide was coming in. When they left the tower, the water was starting to lap at the base. A hundred metres away, a boy was jumping from rock to rock as he checked lobster pots set in crevices. The young policeman could not keep quiet.
âThe strange thing is that anyone would attack Monsieur Mostaguen. Heâs the best man in Concarneau; they even wanted to make him a district councillor â¦Â It seems heâll be all right, but they couldnât remove the
bullet. So, for the rest of his life heâll be carrying a chunk of lead around in his belly! When you think that if he just hadnât felt like lighting a cigar â¦â
Rather than go around the harbour again, they crossed part of it on a ferry that shuttled to the Old Town.
A short distance from where the boys had been throwing stones at the dog the day before, Maigret noticed a wall with an enormous entryway surmounted by a flag and the words âNational Police Barracksâ.
He went in and crossed the courtyard of a building dating from Colbertâs time. In an office there, Leroy was arguing with a police sergeant.
âAbout the doctor?â asked Maigret.
âRight! The sergeant wonât hear of letting him get his meals sent in from outside.â
âUnless you authorize it,â the sergeant told Maigret. âAnd Iâll need a signed document releasing me â¦â
The courtyard was as tranquil as a cloister. A fountain flowed with a cheerful gurgle.
âWhere is he?â
âDown there, to the right. Push open that door. Then itâs the second door along the corridor. Do you want me to go with you to open up? The mayor phoned to say we should treat the prisoner with the utmost consideration.â
Maigret scratched his chin. Leroy and the policeman, who were about the same age, watched him with the same bashful curiosity.
A few minutes later, the inspector stepped alone into a whitewashed cell that was no more dismal than any barracks room.
Michoux was seated at a small pine table. He stood up when Maigret entered, hesitated, then, with his eyes averted, began to speak:
âI assume, inspector, that youâre just staging this farce to head off another crime, to protect me from â¦Â from some attack â¦â
Maigret noticed that no one had relieved the doctor of his braces, his scarf or his shoelaces, as regulations required. With the tip of his shoe he drew a chair over, sat down, filled his pipe and said amiably: âYes, indeed. But do sit down,
doctor!â
6. A Coward
âAre you superstitious, inspector?â
Straddling his chair, his elbows on its back, Maigret pursed his lips in a way that might mean anything at all. The doctor had not sat down.
âI think we all are at certain times, or, if you like, when weâre under pressure â¦â Michoux coughed into his handkerchief, looked at it worriedly, then went on.
âA week ago, I would have said I didnât believe in fortune-telling. And yet â¦Â It must be about five years ago now that I was having dinner with a few friends at the home of an actress in Paris. Over coffee, one of the guests
suggested reading the cards â¦Â Well, do you know what he told me? Of course I laughed! I laughed all the more because it was so different from the usual line â blonde woman, old man who wishes you well, letter that comes from far away, and so on â¦Â To me, he said:
âYouâll die a hideous death, a violent death. Beware of yellow dogs!ââ
Michoux had not looked at the inspector so far, but he glanced at him now. Maigret was placid â huge on the little chair, but a monument of placidity.
âThat doesnât strike you as
mile out.
âYou really think it was the doctor whoââ
âLetâs go,â said the inspector.
The tide was coming in. When they left the tower, the water was starting to lap at the base. A hundred metres away, a boy was jumping from rock to rock as he checked lobster pots set in crevices. The young policeman could not keep quiet.
âThe strange thing is that anyone would attack Monsieur Mostaguen. Heâs the best man in Concarneau; they even wanted to make him a district councillor â¦Â It seems heâll be all right, but they couldnât remove the
bullet. So, for the rest of his life heâll be carrying a chunk of lead around in his belly! When you think that if he just hadnât felt like lighting a cigar â¦â
Rather than go around the harbour again, they crossed part of it on a ferry that shuttled to the Old Town.
A short distance from where the boys had been throwing stones at the dog the day before, Maigret noticed a wall with an enormous entryway surmounted by a flag and the words âNational Police Barracksâ.
He went in and crossed the courtyard of a building dating from Colbertâs time. In an office there, Leroy was arguing with a police sergeant.
âAbout the doctor?â asked Maigret.
âRight! The sergeant wonât hear of letting him get his meals sent in from outside.â
âUnless you authorize it,â the sergeant told Maigret. âAnd Iâll need a signed document releasing me â¦â
The courtyard was as tranquil as a cloister. A fountain flowed with a cheerful gurgle.
âWhere is he?â
âDown there, to the right. Push open that door. Then itâs the second door along the corridor. Do you want me to go with you to open up? The mayor phoned to say we should treat the prisoner with the utmost consideration.â
Maigret scratched his chin. Leroy and the policeman, who were about the same age, watched him with the same bashful curiosity.
A few minutes later, the inspector stepped alone into a whitewashed cell that was no more dismal than any barracks room.
Michoux was seated at a small pine table. He stood up when Maigret entered, hesitated, then, with his eyes averted, began to speak:
âI assume, inspector, that youâre just staging this farce to head off another crime, to protect me from â¦Â from some attack â¦â
Maigret noticed that no one had relieved the doctor of his braces, his scarf or his shoelaces, as regulations required. With the tip of his shoe he drew a chair over, sat down, filled his pipe and said amiably: âYes, indeed. But do sit down,
doctor!â
6. A Coward
âAre you superstitious, inspector?â
Straddling his chair, his elbows on its back, Maigret pursed his lips in a way that might mean anything at all. The doctor had not sat down.
âI think we all are at certain times, or, if you like, when weâre under pressure â¦â Michoux coughed into his handkerchief, looked at it worriedly, then went on.
âA week ago, I would have said I didnât believe in fortune-telling. And yet â¦Â It must be about five years ago now that I was having dinner with a few friends at the home of an actress in Paris. Over coffee, one of the guests
suggested reading the cards â¦Â Well, do you know what he told me? Of course I laughed! I laughed all the more because it was so different from the usual line â blonde woman, old man who wishes you well, letter that comes from far away, and so on â¦Â To me, he said:
âYouâll die a hideous death, a violent death. Beware of yellow dogs!ââ
Michoux had not looked at the inspector so far, but he glanced at him now. Maigret was placid â huge on the little chair, but a monument of placidity.
âThat doesnât strike you as
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