The Flemish House Read Online Free PDF

he’s in bed, given that
     he’s a night watchman and never comes home before seven in the morning … Now,
     if you’d like to go upstairs …’
    â€˜There’s no point. And the
     son?’
    â€˜He left for the office ten
     minutes ago.’
    The sound of a spoon falling came from
     the kitchen. Maigret saw a bit of a child’s head.
    â€˜That wouldn’t by any chance
     be …’ he began.
    â€˜It’s the son of poor
     Mademoiselle Germaine, yes! Come in or go out! You’re freezing the whole house
     …’
    The inspector came in. The walls of the
     corridor were painted to look like marble. The kitchen was in chaos, andthe woman muttered vaguely as she picked up her brush and
     bucket.
    On the table there were dirty cups and
     plates. A two-and-a-half-year-old boy was sitting all by himself, eating a boiled
     egg, clumsily, smearing himself with yolk.
    The woman must have been about forty.
     She was thin, with an ascetic face.
    â€˜Are you bringing him
     up?’
    â€˜Since they killed his mother,
     I’ve been looking after him most of the time, yes! His grandfather has to
     sleep half the day. There’s no one else in the house. And when I have clients
     to go and see, I have to leave him with a neighbour.’
    â€˜Clients?’
    â€˜I’m a qualified
     midwife.’
    She had taken off her checked apron, as
     if it stripped her of her dignity.
    â€˜Don’t be scared, my little
     Jojo!’ she said to the child, who was looking at the visitor and had stopped
     eating.
    Did he look like Joseph Peeters? It was
     hard to say. At any rate, he was a feeble child. His features were irregular, his
     head was too big, his neck was thin, and above all he had a thin, wide mouth that
     looked as if it belonged to a child of at least ten.
    He didn’t take his eyes off
     Maigret but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t express any more emotion
     when the midwife felt the need to kiss him, in what was perhaps a rather theatrical
     way, exclaiming:
    â€˜The poor love! Eat your egg, my
     darling!’
    She hadn’t invited Maigret to sit
     down. There was water on the floor and a soup cooking on the stove.
    â€˜So it must have been you they went
     to fetch from Paris?’
    The voice was not quite aggressive, but
     it was far from amiable.
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜There’s no point being
     mysterious here! We know everything!’
    â€˜Explain yourself.’
    â€˜Because you know as well as I do!
     A nice job you’ve accepted here! … But aren’t the police always on the
     side of the rich?’
    Maigret had frowned, not because of the
     gratuitous accusation, but because of what the midwife’s words revealed.
    â€˜It was the Flemings themselves
     who told everyone that we might worry them for now, but that it wouldn’t last,
     and that things would change when some sort of detective chief inspector arrived
     from Paris!’
    She smiled meanly.
    â€˜My goodness! We gave them plenty
     of time to prepare their lies! They know very well that the body of Mademoiselle
     Germaine will never be found! Eat, my little one. Don’t fret …’
    And tears came to her eyes as she looked
     at the boy holding his spoon in the air, without taking his eyes off Maigret.
    â€˜Do you have anything in
     particular to tell me?’ the inspector asked her.
    â€˜Nothing at all! The Peeters must
     have given you all the information you wanted, and they must even have told you that
     the child isn’t their Joseph’s!’
    Was it worth pressing the point? Maigret
     was the enemy. There was a feeling of hate floating in the air of this poor
     house.
    â€˜Now, if you want to see Monsieur
     Piedboeuf, you only need to come back at about midday … That’s when he gets up
     and Monsieur Gérard comes back from the office …’
    She led him back along the corridor and