Inspector Cadaver Read Online Free PDF

minutes went by. Then
another five. Every now and then Maigret rapped on the wooden tabletop with a coin to no
effect.
    Finally, after a quarter of an hour, the
woman came back down, even unfriendlier than before.
    ‘What did you ask me for?’
    ‘A glass of the local
brandy.’
    ‘I don’t have any.’
    ‘You don’t have any
brandy?’
    ‘I’ve got some cognac, but no
local brandy.’
    ‘Give me a cognac.’
    She served it to him in a glass with such a
thick bottom there was barely any room for the drink.
    ‘Tell me, madame, aren’t I right
in saying that one of my friends stayed here last night?’
    ‘I don’t know if he’s your
friend.’
    ‘Isn’t he the person who’s
just got up?’
    ‘I have one guest. I just took him his
coffee.’
    ‘Knowing him, I’m sure he must
have bombarded you with questions. Didn’t he?’
    She had gone to get a cloth to wipe the
tables where the previous day’s customers had left wet rings.
    ‘Didn’t Albert
Retailleau spend the evening before he died here?’
    ‘What’s that to you?’
    ‘He was a good lad, I believe. I was
told he’d been playing cards that evening. Is belote what people play round
here?’
    ‘Coinche is our game.’
    ‘So he played coinche with his
friends. He lived with his mother, didn’t he? A fine woman, if I’m not
mistaken.’
    ‘Um …’
    ‘You’re saying
…?’
    ‘I’m not saying anything.
You’re the one who’s talking the whole time and I’ve no idea what
you’re driving at.’
    Upstairs, Inspector Cavre was getting
dressed.
    ‘Does she live far from
here?’
    ‘Down the end of the street, at the
back of a little close. The house with three stone steps …’
    ‘My friend Cavre, who’s staying
with you, hasn’t gone to see her yet, has he?’
    ‘I’d like to know how he could
have, seeing as he’s only just got out of bed!’
    ‘Is he here for a few days?’
    ‘I haven’t asked him.’
    She opened the windows to push back the
shutters. A milky-white sky revealed that it was already light.
    ‘Do you think Retailleau was drunk
that night?’
    Suddenly aggressive, she retorted:
    ‘No drunker than you, already on the
cognac at eight in the morning!’
    ‘What do I owe you?’
    ‘Two
francs.’
    The Trois Mules inn, a slightly more modern
establishment, was directly across the street, but the inspector didn’t see any
point going in. A blacksmith was lighting the fire in his forge. A woman on her front
doorstep was throwing slops across the street. A bell tinkled shrilly, reminding Maigret
of his childhood, and a kid in clogs with a loaf of bread under his arm came out of the
baker’s shop.
    Curtains rustled as he passed. A hand wiped
a steamed-up window and the deeply wrinkled face of an old woman appeared, her eyes
red-rimmed like Inspector Cadaver’s. The church was to the right, grey and covered
with slates that were black and glistening from the rain. A woman in her fifties was
coming out of it, a woman in deep mourning, very thin, very upright, holding a missal
covered in black cloth in one hand.
    Maigret stood idly at the corner of the
square, where a road sign announced ‘School’ to passing motorists. He
followed the woman with his eyes. At the end of the street he saw her disappear into a
sort of cul-de-sac and at that moment realized it was Madame Retailleau. Thinking Cavre
hadn’t seen her yet, he quickened his pace.
    He was right. Reaching the corner of the
alley, he saw the woman climb the three steps of a little house and take a key out of
her bag. Moments later, he was knocking on the glass door with a lace curtain on the
inside.
    ‘Come in.’
    She had just had time to take off her coat
and her mourning veil. The missal was still on the oilcloth table. A white enamel stove
was already alight; meticulouslyclean, the top looked as if it had
been scrubbed with sandpaper.
    ‘Forgive me for bothering you, madame.
Madame Retailleau, isn’t it?’
    He didn’t feel particularly proud