Sunday, dancing in a bar which had a band on the river, at
Poissy.
âDo you know what old Lapie called her?
When he talked about her, he used to say âmy cockatooâ on account of her fancy ways
of dressing. You see, inspector â our friend Forrentin here is going to be vexed again,
but Iâm only saying what I think â the people who live in Jeanneville are all more
or less crazy. This is not a land where good Christian folk live. They are poor devils who have
slaved all their lives and dreamed of retiring to the country one day. Well, the great day
arrives! They get taken in byForrentinâs pretty brochures â¦
Donât deny it, Forrentin, everybody knows youâre good at putting sugar all over the
pill ⦠Anyway, they settle into their paradise on earth and then they realize they are
bored rigid ⦠and itâs costing them a hundred francs an hour â¦
âBut itâs too late. Theyâve
invested their nest-egg in it and now theyâre going to have to enjoy it as best they can
or at least fool themselves into thinking theyâre enjoying it. Some go to law over the
branch of a tree that overhangs their garden or a dog that comes and piddles on their begonias.
Then there are others â¦â
Maigret is not asleep; if proof be needed, he
reaches out with his hand to raise his glass to his lips. But the heat makes him sluggish, and
it is very gradually that he slips back into the real world, which he reconstructs step by step,
and once more he sees the unfinished streets of Jeanneville, the infant trees, the houses which
look like sets of cubes, the over-tended gardens, the pottery animals and the glass globes.
âDidnât anyone ever come to see
him?â
Itâs impossible! It is all too calm, too
tidy, too neat. If life here is really as it is portrayed to him, it is not possible that one
fine morning, no longer ago than last Monday, Félicie should go off to do her shopping in
Madame Chochoiâs grocery store, that Pegleg should suddenly abandon his tomato seedlings
to fetch the decanter and one glass from the sideboard in the dining room, go to the arbour,
where, alone, he drinks brandy kept for special occasions, and then â¦
He was wearing his gardening hat when he went up
tohis room with the highly polished wooden floor. What was he going to do
in his bedroom?
No one had heard the shot and yet a gun has been
fired, at very close range, less than two metres from his chest, according to the experts.
If only the revolver had been recovered, it might
have been thought that Pegleg, having become neurasthenic â¦
The deputy mayor looks for a simpler explanation
and, while he tots up his score, murmurs as if it is an answer to every question:
âWhat could you expect? He was an odd
character â¦â
Agreed â but he is dead! Someone killed
him! And Félicie, who looks as if butter wouldnât melt in her mouth, managed to give
the police the slip immediately after the funeral to go to Paris, where she window-shopped as if
nothing had happened, ate cream cakes, drank a glass of port and then rode around on the
Métro!
âI wonder whoâll move into the house
â¦â
The card-players talk nineteen to the dozen, and
Maigret, who is not listening, hears it only as a vague background hum. He doesnât say
that it will be Félicie. His mind wanders. Images surface and disappear. He scarcely has
any idea of time and place ⦠Images of Félicie who by now must be in bed reading. She
isnât afraid of being alone in that house where someone killed her employer ⦠Of the
brother, Ernest Lapie, who is angry because of the will. He doesnât need money, but
itâs beyond his understanding that his brother â¦
â⦠the most solidly built house in
the whole of the development â¦â
Whose voice is that? Most
probably Forrentinâs.
âYou couldnât want for a
Poissy.
âDo you know what old Lapie called her?
When he talked about her, he used to say âmy cockatooâ on account of her fancy ways
of dressing. You see, inspector â our friend Forrentin here is going to be vexed again,
but Iâm only saying what I think â the people who live in Jeanneville are all more
or less crazy. This is not a land where good Christian folk live. They are poor devils who have
slaved all their lives and dreamed of retiring to the country one day. Well, the great day
arrives! They get taken in byForrentinâs pretty brochures â¦
Donât deny it, Forrentin, everybody knows youâre good at putting sugar all over the
pill ⦠Anyway, they settle into their paradise on earth and then they realize they are
bored rigid ⦠and itâs costing them a hundred francs an hour â¦
âBut itâs too late. Theyâve
invested their nest-egg in it and now theyâre going to have to enjoy it as best they can
or at least fool themselves into thinking theyâre enjoying it. Some go to law over the
branch of a tree that overhangs their garden or a dog that comes and piddles on their begonias.
Then there are others â¦â
Maigret is not asleep; if proof be needed, he
reaches out with his hand to raise his glass to his lips. But the heat makes him sluggish, and
it is very gradually that he slips back into the real world, which he reconstructs step by step,
and once more he sees the unfinished streets of Jeanneville, the infant trees, the houses which
look like sets of cubes, the over-tended gardens, the pottery animals and the glass globes.
âDidnât anyone ever come to see
him?â
Itâs impossible! It is all too calm, too
tidy, too neat. If life here is really as it is portrayed to him, it is not possible that one
fine morning, no longer ago than last Monday, Félicie should go off to do her shopping in
Madame Chochoiâs grocery store, that Pegleg should suddenly abandon his tomato seedlings
to fetch the decanter and one glass from the sideboard in the dining room, go to the arbour,
where, alone, he drinks brandy kept for special occasions, and then â¦
He was wearing his gardening hat when he went up
tohis room with the highly polished wooden floor. What was he going to do
in his bedroom?
No one had heard the shot and yet a gun has been
fired, at very close range, less than two metres from his chest, according to the experts.
If only the revolver had been recovered, it might
have been thought that Pegleg, having become neurasthenic â¦
The deputy mayor looks for a simpler explanation
and, while he tots up his score, murmurs as if it is an answer to every question:
âWhat could you expect? He was an odd
character â¦â
Agreed â but he is dead! Someone killed
him! And Félicie, who looks as if butter wouldnât melt in her mouth, managed to give
the police the slip immediately after the funeral to go to Paris, where she window-shopped as if
nothing had happened, ate cream cakes, drank a glass of port and then rode around on the
Métro!
âI wonder whoâll move into the house
â¦â
The card-players talk nineteen to the dozen, and
Maigret, who is not listening, hears it only as a vague background hum. He doesnât say
that it will be Félicie. His mind wanders. Images surface and disappear. He scarcely has
any idea of time and place ⦠Images of Félicie who by now must be in bed reading. She
isnât afraid of being alone in that house where someone killed her employer ⦠Of the
brother, Ernest Lapie, who is angry because of the will. He doesnât need money, but
itâs beyond his understanding that his brother â¦
â⦠the most solidly built house in
the whole of the development â¦â
Whose voice is that? Most
probably Forrentinâs.
âYou couldnât want for a
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