The Methods of Maigret ( PDFDrive )
mistaking the question in the Englishman’s eyes:“Strong-arm stuff?”Probably, yes. You don’t put on velvet gloves to deal with people likeCaracci. So what? It was of no importance. The case was without interest. If thebarman had been done in, it was probably because he hadn’t been playingstraight, or because he had belonged to a rival gang. Periodically these characterssettle their accounts, kill one another off, and in the long run it is a goodriddance.Whether Caracci talked or held his peace there would sooner or later besomeone who would take the bait, very likely a police informer. Did they haveinformers in England?“Hullo!… Yes… It’s me… Who?… Lechat?… Don’t know him… Where doyou say he’s calling from?… Porquerolles? Put him through to me…”The Englishman’s eye was still riveted upon him like the eye of God in thestory of Cain.“Hullo!… I can’t hear very well… Lechat?… Yes… Right… I got that…Porquerolles… I got that too…”With the receiver to his ear he looked at the rain which was streaming downthe window panes and reflected that there must be sunshine at Porquerolles, asmall island in the Mediterranean, off Hyères and Toulon. He had never beenthere but he had often been told about it. People came back from it as brown asBedouins. In fact it was the first time anyone had telephoned to him from anisland, and he told himself that the telephone wire must pass under the sea.“Yes… What?… A short fair-haired fellow, at Luçon?… Ah yes, Iremember…”He had met an Inspector Lechat when, as a result of some rather complicatedadministrative maneuvers he had been sent for a few months to Luçon, in theVendée.“You’re at present with the flying squad at Draguignan. And you’re ringingfrom Porquerolles…”There was a crackling noise on the line. Every now and then the girls could beheard talking from one town to another.“Hallo! Paris… Paris… Hallo! Paris… Paris…”“Hallo! Toulon… Are you Toulon, dearie? Hallo! Toulon…”Did the telephone work better on the other side of the Channel?Impassive, Mr. Pyke listened and looked at him, and for appearance’s sake
Maigret toyed with a pencil.“Hallo!… Do I know a Marcellin?… What Marcellin? … What? Afisherman?… Try to speak more distinctly, Lechat… I can’t understand whatyou’re talking about… A character who lives in a boat… Yes… Go on… Heclaims to be a friend of mine?… What?… He claimed?… That’s not mybusiness, Lechat, old man… It’s not my area… He had talked about me allevening?… And you say that is why he’s dead?…”He had dropped his pencil and was trying to relight his pipe with his freehand.“I’m making a note, yes… Marcel… It’s not Marcellin any more… As yousay… P for Paul… A for Arthur… C for cinema… yes Pacaud… Have you sentoff fingerprints?… A letter from me?… Are you sure?… Headed paper?… Whatheading… Brasserie des Ternes… It’s possible… And what did I say?”If only Mr. Pyke hadn’t been there looking at him so earnestly!“I’ve written it down, yes… ‘Ginette leaves tomorrow for the sanatorium. Shesends her love. Cordially…’ It’s signed Maigret?… No, it’s not necessarily aforgery… I seem to remember something… I’ll go and look on the files … Godown there?… You know perfectly well it’s nothing to do with me…”He was just going to ring off but he couldn’t resist asking one question, at therisk of shocking Mr. Pyke. “Is the sun shining, down there?… Mistral?… Butthere’s sun as well?… Right… If I’ve any news I’ll call you back… Ipromise…”If Mr. Pyke asked few questions he had a way of looking at you that obligedMaigret to speak.“You know the island of Porquerolles?” he said, lighting his pipe. “They sayit’s very beautiful, as beautiful as Capri and the Greek islands. A man was killedthere last night, but it’s not in my district. They found a letter from me in hisboat.”“It really was from you?”“Very likely. The name Ginette seems to ring a bell. Will you come up withme?”Mr. Pyke already knew all the departments of the Police Judiciare, which hehad been shown round. One behind the other they walked up to the attics, wherefiles are kept of everyone who has had dealings with the police. On account ofthe Englishman Maigret was suffering from a sort of inferiority complex and hewas ashamed of the antiquated clerk in long gray overalls who was suckingcough drops.
- Page 2 and 3: The Methods of Maigretalso publishe
- Page 4 and 5: downpours. It had been raining like
- Page 8 and 9: “Tell me Langlois… By the way,
- Page 10 and 11: friends who is an expert on consump
- Page 12 and 13: to be seen there. Everyone knows ev
- Page 14 and 15: “I don’t know.”It was true. O
- Page 16 and 17: CHAPTER 2« ^ »And so the first ro
- Page 18 and 19: And off they went. The land was fla
- Page 20 and 21: turn: all this in an odd silence.Th
- Page 22 and 23: “Where?”“To the water. Paul l
- Page 24 and 25: is sixty-five. It appears she had h
- Page 26 and 27: should have kept your letter, don
- Page 28 and 29: Paul’s a good chap. But there’s
- Page 30 and 31: wearing a butcher’s yellowish apr
- Page 32 and 33: stayed, perhaps even wrote home for
- Page 34 and 35: “They prefer not to think about i
- Page 36 and 37: “It’s she who runs the Sirènes
- Page 38 and 39: friendship, I sometimes act as her
- Page 40 and 41: “Of course.”“Were there other
- Page 42 and 43: that it was all futile, that he oug
- Page 44 and 45: for the open air.<P“Le Petit Var
- Page 46 and 47: “What about?”“I know perfectl
- Page 48 and 49: to her apron strings and that is wh
- Page 50 and 51: “When?”“When Justine dies.”
- Page 52 and 53: “You must do as you wish,” she
- Page 54 and 55: be heard calling in the distance:
mistaking the question in the Englishman’s eyes:
“Strong-arm stuff?”
Probably, yes. You don’t put on velvet gloves to deal with people like
Caracci. So what? It was of no importance. The case was without interest. If the
barman had been done in, it was probably because he hadn’t been playing
straight, or because he had belonged to a rival gang. Periodically these characters
settle their accounts, kill one another off, and in the long run it is a good
riddance.
Whether Caracci talked or held his peace there would sooner or later be
someone who would take the bait, very likely a police informer. Did they have
informers in England?
“Hullo!… Yes… It’s me… Who?… Lechat?… Don’t know him… Where do
you say he’s calling from?… Porquerolles? Put him through to me…”
The Englishman’s eye was still riveted upon him like the eye of God in the
story of Cain.
“Hullo!… I can’t hear very well… Lechat?… Yes… Right… I got that…
Porquerolles… I got that too…”
With the receiver to his ear he looked at the rain which was streaming down
the window panes and reflected that there must be sunshine at Porquerolles, a
small island in the Mediterranean, off Hyères and Toulon. He had never been
there but he had often been told about it. People came back from it as brown as
Bedouins. In fact it was the first time anyone had telephoned to him from an
island, and he told himself that the telephone wire must pass under the sea.
“Yes… What?… A short fair-haired fellow, at Luçon?… Ah yes, I
remember…”
He had met an Inspector Lechat when, as a result of some rather complicated
administrative maneuvers he had been sent for a few months to Luçon, in the
Vendée.
“You’re at present with the flying squad at Draguignan. And you’re ringing
from Porquerolles…”
There was a crackling noise on the line. Every now and then the girls could be
heard talking from one town to another.
“Hallo! Paris… Paris… Hallo! Paris… Paris…”
“Hallo! Toulon… Are you Toulon, dearie? Hallo! Toulon…”
Did the telephone work better on the other side of the Channel?
Impassive, Mr. Pyke listened and looked at him, and for appearance’s sake
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