Maigret in Montmartre Read Online Free PDF

course, for a drink in the hope of picking up someone; but they don’t belong to the place. We like to keep it small, Fred and me—we’re not ambitious, and when we’ve saved enough money we shall retire and settle down to a quiet life at Bougival. Ah, here he comes…” A man of about fifty—short, sturdy, very well preserved, his hair still black except for a touch of grey at the temples—came out of the kitchen, pulling on a jacket over his collarless shirt. He must have snatched up the first clothes that came to hand, for he was wearing his evening trousers and had bedroom slippers on his bare feet.
    He, too, was quite calm—even calmer than his wife. He must have known Maigret by name, but it was the first time he had actually set eyes on him, and he came forward slowly, so as to observe him at leisure.
    “I’m Fred Alfonsi,” he announced, extending his hand. “Didn’t my wife ask you to have a drink?”
    As though to confirm something of which he was already sure, he went to N°4 table and rubbed the flat of his hand across it.
    “You really won’t have anything? Do you mind if Rose gets me a cup of coffee?”
    At this, his wife went off to the kitchen and disappeared. The man sat down opposite Maigret, his elbows on the table, and waited.
    “You’re sure there were no clients at that table last night?”
    “Now see here, Inspector, I know who you are, but you don’t know me. Perhaps before coming here you made inquiries from your colleague in the brigade mondaine . His men drop in on me from time to time—it’s their job and they’ve being doing it for years now. They’ll tell you, if they haven’t already done so, that there’s never been any funny business at my place, and that I’m quite a harmless chap.”
    Maigret was amused at the contrast between the man’s words and his appearance, for he had the broken nose and cauliflower ears of an ex-boxer.
    “So when I say there was nobody at that table, you can be sure it’s true. This is a small place, there are only a few of us to run it, and I keep an eye on everything, the whole time. I could tell you exactly how many people came in last night. I’ve only got to look at the tickets on the cash desk; they’re numbered according to the tables.”
    “It was at N°5, wasn’t it, that Arlette sat with her young man?”
    “No—at N°6. The even numbers—2, 4, 6, 8, 10, and 12—are all on the right. The odd numbers are on the left.”
    “Who was at the next table?”
    “N°8? Two couples came in at about four o’clock—Parisians who’d never been here before, who’d come because they didn’t know where else to go, and who soon decided it wasn’t their kind of place. They had just one bottle of champagne and then left. We closed almost directly afterwards.”
    “And you never saw, either at that table or any other, two men by themselves, one of them elderly and, judging by the description rather like you in appearance?”
    Fred Alfonsi, who must have heard this sort of talk before, smiled and rejoined.
    “If you’d spill the beans I might be able to help you. Don’t you think this cat and mouse game has been going on long enough?”
    “Arlette is dead.”
    “What?”
    The man gave a violent start. He got up agitatedly, and shouted down the room:
    “Rose!…Rose?”
    “Coming in a minute…”
    “Arlette’s dead!”
    “ What did you say?”
    She came rushing out at an amazing speed for one so fat.
    “Arlette?” she echoed.
    “She was strangled this morning, in her bedroom,” went on Maigret, watching them closely.
    “Well, I’ll be…Who was the bastard who…”
    “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
    Rose blew her nose and was obviously on the verge of tears. She was staring hard at the photograph on the wall.
    “How did it happen?” asked Fred, going over to the bar.
    Carefully selecting a bottle, he filled three glasses and came over to give the first one to his wife. It was old brandy, and he put one