The Methods of Maigret ( PDFDrive )

Paul’s cooking, for which he was so ill acclimatized, must have upset him.
He had drunk a lot, Mr. Pyke. Was it from choice, or because he had been
unable to do otherwise? At all events he liked champagne and Maigret had never
thought of offering him any. He had drunk it all evening with the major. They
got on so well together from the start that one might have thought they had
always known one another. They had settled themselves in a corner. On
instructions, Jojo had brought champagne.
Bellam didn’t drink it in champagne glasses but in large ones like beer
glasses. He was so perfect that he looked like a drawing in Punch, with his
silvery gray hair, his rosy complexion, large clear eyes swimming in liquid, and
the huge cigar which never left his lips.
He was an old boy of seventy or seventy-two years, with a mischievous
twinkle in his eye. His voice, probably because of the champagne and the cigars,
was husky. Even after several bottles he maintained an affecting dignity.
“May I introduce Major Bellam,” Mr. Pyke had said at a certain moment. “It
turns out we were at the same school.”
Not the same year, at all events, nor the same decade. One could feel that this
gave them both pleasure. The major called the Chief Inspector “Monsieur
Maigrette.”
From time to time he would give an almost imperceptible signal to Jojo or
Paul, which was enough for them to bring fresh champagne to the table. At other
times a different sign would bring Jojo, who would pour out a glass and take it
over to someone in the room.
This might have had something haughty or condescending about it. The major
did it so charmingly, so naïvely, that it gave no offense. He looked a little as if
he were distributing good marks. When the glass had arrived at its destination he
raised his own and drank a silent toast from where he sat.
Everyone, or almost everyone, dropped in. Charlot, almost the whole evening,
had been working the crane. He had started off by playing with the slot machine
and he could allow himself to spend as much as he liked since it was he who
collected the kitty. The crane must have belonged to him as well. He fitted a coin
into the slot and with sustained concentration turned the knob, directing the
small chromium pincers toward a packet of cheap cigarettes, or a pipe, or a
wallet from a bazaar.
Was it from anxiety that Ginette was not sleeping? Had Maigret been too
harsh with her? In the bedroom, yes, he had been hard. It was not out of spite, as
it might have been, though. Had she thought it was out of spite?