The Night at the Crossroads Read Online Free PDF Page B

something.’
    â€˜Do you get much traffic on the road at night?’
    â€˜Not a lot, no, but it never stops. Lorries on their way to Les Halles … This region’s known for its early fruits and vegetables, especially its watercress. The drivers sometimes run out of petrol, or need some little repair
made … Would you like to join me for a drink?’
    â€˜No, thanks.’
    â€˜Your loss … but I won’t insist. So! You haven’t sorted out this business with the cars yet? You know, Monsieur Michonnet is going to worry himself sick over it. Especially if he isn’t issued another six-cylinder
car right away!’
    A headlamp gleamed in the distance, growing larger. A rumbling sound. A shadow went past.
    â€˜The doctor from Étampes!’ murmured the garage owner. ‘He went to see a patient in Arpajon. His colleague must have invited him for dinner …’
    â€˜You know every vehicle that goes past here?’
    â€˜Many of them … Look! Those two side-lamps: that’s watercress for Les Halles. Those fellows can never bring themselves to use their headlamps … And they take up the entire road! … Evening,
Jules!’
    A voice replied from up in the cab of the passing lorry, and then the only thing to see was the small red tail-light, which soon dissolved into the night.
    Somewhere, a train, a glowing caterpillar that stretched out into chaos of the night.
    â€˜The 9.32 express … Listen, you’re sure you won’t have anything? … Say, Jojo! When you’ve finished your supper, check the third pump, it’s jammed.’
    More headlamps. But the car went on by. It was not Madame Goldberg.
    Maigret was smoking constantly. Leaving Monsieur Oscar in front of his garage, he began to walk up and down, trailed by Lucas, who kept talking softly to himself.
    Not a single light in the Three Widows house. The policemen went past the gate ten times. Each time Maigret automatically looked up at the window he knew was Else’s.
    Then came the Michonnet villa, brand new, nondescript, with its varnished oak door and silly little garden.
    Then the garage, the mechanic busy repairing the petrol pump, Monsieur Oscar dispensing advice, both hands stuck in his pockets.
    A lorry from Étampes on its way to Paris stopped to fill up. Lying asleep atop the heap of vegetables was the relief driver, who made this same journey every night at the same hour.
    â€˜Thirty litres!’
    â€˜How’s it going?’
    â€˜Can’t complain!’
    The clutch growled and the lorry moved off, down the hill to Arpajon at sixty kilometres an hour.
    â€˜She won’t be coming now,’ sighed Lucas. ‘Probably decided to spend the night in Paris …’
    After they’d covered the 200 metres up and down from the crossroads three more times, Maigret veered off abruptly towards Avrainville. When they reached the inn, there was only one lamp still burning and no one in the café.
    â€˜I think I hear a car …’
    They turned around. And two headlamps were indeed
shining in the direction of the village. A car was turning slowly in front of the garage. Someone was talking.
    â€˜They’re asking for directions.’
    The car came towards them at last, illuminating the telegraph poles one after another. Maigret and Lucas were caught in the light, standing across the road from the inn.
    The sound of brakes. The driver got out and opened a door to the back seat.
    â€˜Is this the right place?’ asked a woman’s voice from inside.
    â€˜Yes, madame. This is Avrainville. And there’s the traditional branch of fir over the front door of the inn.’
    A leg sheathed in silk. A foot placed on the ground. An impression of fur …
    Maigret was about to walk towards the woman.
    At that moment there was a loud bang, a cry – and the woman fell headlong, literally