A Man's Head Read Online Free PDF

pretending to be stupid! And then the minute he gets outside, he’ll give you the slip. Have a care, detective chief inspector, your career …’
    â€˜But his head is at stake too …’
    And now Maigret was ensconced in a leather chair in front of a window in a hotel bedroom. From time to time, he trained his binoculars on the Citanguette, where the dockers and boatmen went for a drink.
    Down on the quayside, Inspector Janvier was kicking his heels, trying to look inconspicuous.
    Dufour – as Maigret had observed for himself – had eaten grilled chitterlings and mashed potato and was now drinking a glass of calvados.
    The window of the upstairs bedroom was still shut.
    â€˜Operator, put me through to the Citanguette
.
’
    â€˜The line is busy.’
    â€˜Too bad! Cut them off!’
    A moment later:
    â€˜Is that you, Dufour?’
    The inspector did not waste words:
    â€˜He’s still sleeping!’
    There was a knock on the door. It was Sergeant Lucas.
    The pipe-smoke was so thick that it made him cough.

3. The Torn Newspaper
    â€˜Anything new?’
    After briefly shaking the inspector’s hand, Lucas perched on the edge of the bed.
    â€˜There is something, but it’s nothing special. In the end, the managing director of
Le Sifflet
handed over a letter he got at around ten this morning about the Santé story.’
    â€˜Let me have it!’
    The sergeant handed him a crumpled sheet of paper. It was covered with marks in blue pencil, because at
Le Sifflet
they had simply cut a few passages from the note and linked the remaining sentences together before sending it for
printing.
    There were still typesetter’s marks on it and the initials of the linotype operator who had set it up.
    â€˜A sheet of paper with the top cut off, probably to eliminate some printed matter or other,’ said Maigret.
    â€˜Absolutely! That’s what I thought straight away. And I also reckoned the letter was probably written in a café. I’ve seen Moers, who claims he can recognize the writing paper of most of the cafés in Paris.’
    â€˜Did he find anything?’
    â€˜Took him less than ten minutes. The paper comes from the Coupole on Boulevard Montparnasse. I’ve just come from there … Unfortunately, they get over a thousand customers through the doors every day, and more than fifty people
ask for something to write on.’
    â€˜What did Moers make of the handwriting?’
    â€˜Nothing yet. I’m going to have to give the letter back to him, and he’ll do the usual tests on it. Meanwhile, if you want me to go back the Coupole
 …
?’
    Maigret had not taken his eyes off the Citanguette. The nearest factory had just opened its gates for a crowd of workers, most on bikes, who could be seen vanishing into the grey dusk.
    On the ground floor of the bistro, a single electric light had been turned on, and the inspector could follow the comings and goings of the customers.
    There were half a dozen of them standing at the counter, and one or two of them were eyeing Dufour suspiciously.
    â€˜What’s he doing there?’ asked Lucas when he picked out a fellow-officer in the distance. ‘Oh, it’s Janvier a bit further along, watching the water flow by.’
    Maigret had stopped listening. From his vantage point he could see the foot of the spiral staircase which started behind the bar. A pair of legs had just appeared. They stopped briefly, then the figure of a man walked towards the others, and the
pale head of Joseph Heurtin was lit by the full glare of the electric bulb.
    With the same glance, the inspector picked out an evening paper which had just been put on a table.
    â€˜Lucas, do you know if some newspapers follow up news items in
Le Sifflet
?’
    â€˜I haven’t seen a paper. But they must certainly recycle stories, if only to make life harder for us.’
    The receiver was snatched off its