My Friend Maigret Read Online Free PDF Page A

church and its white tower. They could see several cafés with shaded terraces.
    â€œI could have booked you rooms at the Grand Hôtel. It has been open for a fortnight.”
    It was a fair-sized block overlooking the harbor, and a man dressed like a cook stood in the doorway.
    â€œI thought it better to put you into the Arche de Noé. Let me explain.”
    There were already a lot of things for the inspector to explain. The terrace of the Arche, on the square, was wider than the others and was bounded by a small wall and green plants. Inside it was cool, a little dark, which was in no way disagreeable, and one was at once struck by the pronounced smell of cooking and of white wine.
    Yet another man dressed as a cook, but without the chef’s cap. He advanced with outstretched hand, a radiant smile on his face.
    â€œDelighted to welcome you, Monsieur Maigret. I have given you the best room. Of course you will have a glass of our local white wine?”
    Lechat whispered:
    â€œThat’s Paul, the proprietor.”
    There were red tiles on the floor. The bar was a proper bistro bar, made of metal. The white wine was cool, a little young, but a good strong one.
    â€œYour health, Monsieur Maigret. I never dared to hope that I should one day have the honor of having you to stay.”
    It didn’t occur to him that it was to a crime that he owed the honor. No one seemed to bother about Marcellin’s death. The groups they had just seen near the jetty were now in the square and imperceptibly approaching the Arche de Noé. Some of them were even sitting down on the terrace.
    In short, what really mattered was Maigret’s arrival, in flesh and blood, just as if he had been a film star.
    Was he cutting a good figure? Did the Scotland Yard people have more self-assurance at the beginning of an investigation? Mr. Pyke looked at everything and said nothing.
    â€œI should like to go and clean up a bit,” Maigret sighed after a while, having drunk two glasses of white wine.
    â€œJojo! Will you show Monsieur Maigret up to his room? Will your friend be going up too, inspector?”
    Jojo was a small dark servant girl, dressed in black, with a broad smile and small pointed breasts.
    The whole house smelt of bouillabaisse and saffron oil. Upstairs, where there was red flooring as in the bar, there were only three or four rooms and they had in fact reserved the best for the chief inspector, the one with one window looking on to the square and the other on to the sea. Ought he to offer it to Mr. Pyke? It was too late. They had already indicated another door for the latter.
    â€œIs there anything you want, Monsieur Maigret? The bathroom is at the end of the corridor. I think there’s some hot water.”
    Lechat had followed him up. It was natural. It was normal. But he didn’t ask him in. It seemed to him that it would be a sort of discourtesy toward his English colleague. The latter might imagine they were hiding something from him, that they weren’t letting him in on the whole case.
    â€œI’ll be down in a few minutes, Lechat.”
    He would have liked to find a kindly word for the inspector, who was looking after him with such care. He seemed to recall that at Luçon his wife had come into the picture a lot. Standing in the doorway, he asked, in a friendly and familiar manner:
    â€œHow is your charming Madame Lechat?”
    And the poor fellow could only stammer:
    â€œDidn’t you know? She left me. It’s eight years ago now since she left.”
    What a gaffe! It all came back to him suddenly. If people talked so much about Madame Lechat at Luçon, it was because she deceived her husband for all she was worth.
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    In his bedroom he did nothing except take off his coat, wash his hands, teeth, and face, stretch in front of the window and lie on his bed for a few minutes as if to try out the springs. The furnishing was antiquated, agreeable, with always the good