A Man's Head Read Online Free PDF Page B

cradle:
    â€˜Hello? The Citanguette
…
As quick as you can!’
    For the first time since that morning, there was a sense of urgency about Maigret. On the other side of the Seine, the landlord was speaking to Heurtin, doubtless asking him what he wanted to drink.
    Would not the first priority of a man who had escaped from the Santé prison be to look at the newspaper, which he had only to reach out to take?
    In the bar, Dufour had got up and was in the phone booth.
    â€˜Hello?’
    â€˜Listen, Dufour! There’s a newspaper on that table. On no account must he see it!’
    â€˜So what must I …?’
    â€˜Quick, he’s just sat down. The paper’s there, right under his nose …’
    Maigret was on his feet now, very tense. If Heurtin read the article, it would be the finish of the experiment which had been set up with so much difficulty.
    Now he could see the convicted man, who had collapsed on to the bench seat that ran along the wall, sitting with his elbows on the table and holding his head in both hands.
    The landlord set down a glass of spirits in front of him.
    Dufour was making his way into the bar to get the paper.
    Although Lucas was not aware of the details of the situation, he had guessed and was also leaning at the window. For a brief moment, their view was blocked by a passing tug which had lit its white, green and red lights and was frantically blowing
its hooter.
    â€˜That’s it!’ growled Maigret as Inspector Dufour walked into the main room of the bar.
    With a casual movement, Heurtin had unfolded the paper. Was the item about him on the front page? Would he see it straight away?
    And would Dufour have the presence of mind to avert the danger?
    It was typical of the officer that, before making his move, he felt the need to turn and look out over the Seine towards the window where his chief was watching.
    He didn’t seem to be the right man for the job, slender and neat and tidy in a bistro heaving with rough and ready dockers and factory workers.
    But he went up to Heurtin, pointed to the newspaper and must have said something like:
    â€˜Excuse me, that’s mine.’
    Customers at the bar turned round. The fugitive, taken aback, looked up at the man who had spoken to him.
    Dufour did not back down, tried to grab the paper and leaned forward. At Maigret’s side, Lucas muttered:
    â€˜Ah! … Careful!’
    And that did it! The stand-off did not last long. Heurtin had got slowly to his feet, like a man who does not yet know what he is going to do.
    His left hand was still clutching the edge of the newspaper, which the police officer had not released.
    Suddenly, with his free hand, he seized a soda-water siphon from the next table, and the glass flask smashed into the officer’s skull.
    Janvier was less than fifty metres away, by the river’s edge. But he heard nothing.
    Dufour staggered and fell against the counter, breaking two glasses.
    Three men leaped on Heurtin. Two others were supporting the officer by the arms.
    There must have been a noise, because Janvier finally stopped contemplating the reflections in the water, turned his head towards the Citanguette, started walking and then, after a few steps, broke into a run.
    â€˜Quick! … Take a taxi! … I want you down there!’ Maigret ordered Lucas.
    The younger man didn’t hurry. He knew he’d get there too late.
    As would Janvier, though he was on the spot …
    The fugitive was struggling, shouting something. Was he accusing Dufour of being from the police?
    But regardless of this, he was momentarily left free to move and he made the most of his chance to smash the electric lightbulb with the siphon, which he was still clutching.
    Maigret stood motionless, gripping the window safety rail with both hands. On the quayside below him, a taxi was just setting off. A match was struck in the Citanguette but went out immediately.