The Methods of Maigret ( PDFDrive )

Lunch had begun at the Arche. Jojo cannot have remained altogether silent, or
else people could smell something in the air, for silhouettes could be seen from
time to time moving around the town hall.
Presently there would be a whole crowd.
“I’ve a good mind to leave the two of you alone. What do you think, Mr.
Pyke? With someone to watch them, of course, or otherwise we’d risk finding
them in small pieces. Will you stay, Lechat?”
The latter went and settled himself, his elbows on the table, and, for want of
an aperitif or a white wine, poured himself a glass of beer.
Maigret and his English colleague found themselves outside once more in the
sun, which was at its hottest, and strolled a few yards in silence.
“Are you disappointed, Monsieur Pyke?” asked the Chief Inspector finally,
watching him from the corner of his eye.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You came to France to find out our methods and you discover
there are none. Moricourt will talk. I could have made him talk right away.”
“By employing the method you spoke of?”
“That one or another. Whether he talks or not, it’s of no importance. He’ll
retract. He’ll confess again, then retract again. You’ll see doubt being insinuated
into the minds of the jury. The two lawyers will argue like cat and dog, each
whitening his own client, each placing the entire responsibility on his
colleague’s client.”
They didn’t need to raise themselves on tiptoe to see the two young men,
through the town-hall window, sitting on their chairs. On the terrace of the
Arche Charlot was eating his lunch, with his girl friend on his right, and on his
left Ginette, who seemed to be explaining from afar to the Chief Inspector that
she hadn’t been able to refuse the invitation.
“It’s more pleasant to deal with professionals.”
Perhaps he was thinking of Charlot.
“But those are seldom the ones who kill. Real crimes are conceived partly by
accident. These lads started by playing, without attempting to find out where it
was leading them. It was almost like a good joke. To unload pictures signed with
illustrious names on a cracked old woman, worth thousands! And then one fine
morning some odd character called Marcellin climbs on to the deck of the boat at
an inopportune moment…”
“Do you feel sorry for them?”