Maigret in Montmartre Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the other glasses, without comment, on the table in front of Maigret, who finally took a sip of it.
    “She overheard a conversation here, last night, between two men who were talking about a Countess.”
    “What Countess?”
    “I don’t know. One of the men seems to have been called Oscar.”
    There was no reaction to this.
    “When she left here she went to the local police station to report what she’d heard, and they took her to the Quai des Orfèvres.”
    “And that’s why she was bumped off?”
    “Probably.”
    “What about you, Rose—did you notice any two men together?”
    She said she had not. Both she and he seemed genuinely amazed and distressed.
    “I can assure you, Inspector, that if there had been two men here I should know and I’d tell you. We can speak quite straight to each other. You know how this kind of joint works. People don’t come here to see first-class turns or dance to a good band. And it’s no fancy drawing-room either. You’ve read our announcement. They go first of all to other places, looking for a thrill. If they pick up some girl there, then they don’t get this far. But if they don’t find what they want, they end up here more often than not, and by that time they’ve had about as much as is good for them.
    “I’m in with most of the night taxi-drivers and I give them good tips. And the doormen at some of the big night-clubs whisper this address to clients when they show them out.
    “We mostly get foreigners, who imagine they’re going to see something sensational.
    “The only sensational thing was Arlette undressing herself. For about a quarter of a second, when her dress slipped right down to her feet, they saw her absolutely naked. To avoid trouble, I asked her to shave herself—that’s supposed to look less shocking.
    “After that she’d nearly always be asked over to one of the tables.”
    “Did she go to bed with clients?” asked Maigret deliberately.
    “Not here, in any case. And not in working hours. I don’t let them go out before we close. They keep the men here as long as possible by encouraging them to drink and I suppose they promise to meet them when they come out.”
    “And do they?”
    “What d’you think?”
    “Did Arlette, too?”
    “She must have, now and then.”
    “With the young man who was here last night?”
    “No, not with him, I’m sure. He was there from the purest motives, you might say. He came in one evening by chance, with a friend, and fell in love with Arlette at first sight. He came again several times, but never waited till we closed. He probably had to get up early and go to work.”
    “Had she any other regulars?”
    “Hardly any of our clients are regulars, you must surely have realized that. They’re birds of passage. They’re all alike, of course, but they’re always different.”
    “Hadn’t she any men friends?”
    “I know nothing about that,” replied Fred rather stiffly.
    Maigret glanced at Rose and said, a little hesitantly:
    “I suppose you yourself never…”
    “Oh, go ahead—Rose isn’t jealous and she got over that a long time ago. Yes, if you must know, I did.”
    “In her flat?”
    “I never set foot in the place. Here, in the kitchen.”
    “It’s always that way with him,” observed Rose. “You hardly notice he’s gone, before he’s back again. And then the woman comes in, shaking herself like a ruffled hen.”
    She laughed at the thought.
    “You don’t know anything about the Countess?”
    “What Countess?”
    “Oh, never mind. Can you give me the Grasshopper’s address? What’s his real name?”
    “Thomas…He hasn’t any other. He was a foundling. I can’t tell you where he sleeps, but you’ll find him at the races this afternoon. That’s the only thing he cares about. Some more brandy?”
    “No thank you.”
    “Do you suppose the journalists will be coming round?”
    “Most likely. When they get wind of what’s happened.”
    It was difficult to make out whether