The Methods of Maigret ( PDFDrive )
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The Methods of Maigret ( PDFDrive )

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It sometimes happened to him, especially in the morning, especially when heapproached the looking glass to shave. He would look at the broad face, the hugeeyes, often underlined with pouches, the thinning hair. He would become stern,deliberately, as though to frighten himself. He would tell himself:“That’s the Divisional Chief Inspector!”Who would have dared not to take him seriously? Heaps of people, who didnot have easy consciences, trembled at the mention of his name. He had thepower to question them until they cried out with anguish, to put them in prison,send them to the guillotine.In this very island, there was now someone who, like himself, heard theringing of the bells, who breathed the Sabbath air, someone who was drinking inthe same room as himself the previous evening and who, in a few days, would beshut up once and for all within four walls.He swallowed down his cup of coffee, poured himself out another, which hecarried up to his room, and he had some difficulty in realizing that all this couldbe serious: it was not so very long ago that he was wearing short trousers andwalking across his village square on chilly mornings, his finger tips numb withcold, to go and serve Mass in the small church lit only by wax candles.Now he was a big figure: everyone believed what he said and there was onlyhimself who, from time to time, had to be convinced.Did other people have the same experience? Did Mr. Pyke, for example,sometimes wonder how other people could take him seriously? Did he, be it everso rarely, have the impression that it was all a game?Was the major anything more than an overgrown schoolboy, like the onesthere are in every class, one of those fat and sleepy boys whom the mastercannot resist making fun of?Mr. Pyke had said a terrible thing the previous evening, shortly before thePolyte episode. It was downstairs, at the moment when, like the evening beforeand every other evening, almost everybody was gathered at the Arche. The YardInspector had sat naturally at the major’s table, and at that moment, despite thedifference in age, in rotundity, they had a sort of family resemblance.They must have been drinking late in the afternoon when Mr. Pyke had beento see his fellow countryman at the villa. Enough to have a dulled eye and thicktongue, but too little to lose their dignity. Not only had they been taught thesame manners at school, but later, heaven knows where, they had learned to holdliquor in the same way.They were not sad, but nostalgic rather, a little far away. They gave the

impression of being two holy statues gazing upon the agitation of the world witha condescending melancholy, and, just as Maigret sat down next to him, Mr.Pyke had sighed:“She’s been a grandmother since last week.”He avoided looking at the person in question, whose name he always avoidedmentioning, but it could only be Mrs. Wilcox. She was there, on the far side ofthe room, sitting on a bench in Philippe’s company. The Dutchman and Annawere at the next table.Mr. Pyke had allowed a certain time to elapse, then had added in the sameneutral voice:“Her daughter and son-in-law don’t allow her to set foot in England. Themajor knows them extremely well.”Poor old woman! For all of a sudden Mrs. Wilcox was revealed as an oldwoman. One stopped laughing at her make-up, her dyed hair—with the whiteroots visible—and her artificial animation.She was a grandmother, and Maigret remembered that he had conjured up hisown in his thoughts; he had tried to imagine his reactions as a child if he hadbeen shown a woman like Mrs. Wilcox and told:“Go and kiss your granny!”She was forbidden to live in her own country and she made no protest. Sheknew perfectly well that she wouldn’t have the last word, that it was she whowas in the wrong. Like drunkards who are given a bare minimum of pocketmoney and who try to cheat and cadge a drink here and there.Did she, like drunks, sometimes become emotional over her misfortunes,weep in a corner by herself?Perhaps she had had a lot to drink? For she used to drink as well. Her Philippesaw to the filling of her glass whenever the need arose, while Anna, on the samebench, was only thinking of one thing: the moment when she could finally go offto bed.Maigret was shaving. He hadn’t been able to get into the only bathroom,which Ginette was occupying.“I’ll be out in five minutes!” she had called out to him through the door.From time to time he glanced out on to the square which was not the samecolor as on other days, even now that the bells had ceased. The priest was in themiddle of saying the first Mass. The village one used to rattle it off so quicklythat Maigret had scarcely time to get in the responses as he ran about with thecruets.

impression of being two holy statues gazing upon the agitation of the world with

a condescending melancholy, and, just as Maigret sat down next to him, Mr.

Pyke had sighed:

“She’s been a grandmother since last week.”

He avoided looking at the person in question, whose name he always avoided

mentioning, but it could only be Mrs. Wilcox. She was there, on the far side of

the room, sitting on a bench in Philippe’s company. The Dutchman and Anna

were at the next table.

Mr. Pyke had allowed a certain time to elapse, then had added in the same

neutral voice:

“Her daughter and son-in-law don’t allow her to set foot in England. The

major knows them extremely well.”

Poor old woman! For all of a sudden Mrs. Wilcox was revealed as an old

woman. One stopped laughing at her make-up, her dyed hair—with the white

roots visible—and her artificial animation.

She was a grandmother, and Maigret remembered that he had conjured up his

own in his thoughts; he had tried to imagine his reactions as a child if he had

been shown a woman like Mrs. Wilcox and told:

“Go and kiss your granny!”

She was forbidden to live in her own country and she made no protest. She

knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t have the last word, that it was she who

was in the wrong. Like drunkards who are given a bare minimum of pocket

money and who try to cheat and cadge a drink here and there.

Did she, like drunks, sometimes become emotional over her misfortunes,

weep in a corner by herself?

Perhaps she had had a lot to drink? For she used to drink as well. Her Philippe

saw to the filling of her glass whenever the need arose, while Anna, on the same

bench, was only thinking of one thing: the moment when she could finally go off

to bed.

Maigret was shaving. He hadn’t been able to get into the only bathroom,

which Ginette was occupying.

“I’ll be out in five minutes!” she had called out to him through the door.

From time to time he glanced out on to the square which was not the same

color as on other days, even now that the bells had ceased. The priest was in the

middle of saying the first Mass. The village one used to rattle it off so quickly

that Maigret had scarcely time to get in the responses as he ran about with the

cruets.

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