The Saint-Fiacre Affair Read Online Free PDF Page B

out … Cheers! …’
    And, suddenly uneasy:
    â€˜There were no rows between him
     and the count.’
    â€˜Nothing at all?’
    â€˜I assume you’re just here by
     chance … Since it was a heart attack, there’s no reason to …’
    What annoyed Maigret most was that he
     couldn’t catch the estate manager’s eye. He wiped his moustache and
     moved into the other room.
    â€˜Do you mind if I get changed? … I
     was supposed to be going to high mass and now …’
    â€˜I’ll see you later!’
     said Maigret as he left.
    And he was just closing the door when he
     heard the still invisible woman asking, ‘Who was that?’
    They had put sandstone paving stones
     down in the courtyard, where he had once played marbles on the beaten earth.
    The square was filled with groups of
     people in their Sunday best, and the sound of organ music filtered from the church.
     The children, in their new suits, didn’t dare to play. And handkerchiefs
     protruded from everyone’s pockets. They all had red noses, which they blew
     noisily.
    Scraps of phrases reached
     Maigret’s ears:
    â€˜He’s a policeman from Paris
      …’
    â€˜â€¦Â Apparently he’s come
     about the cow that died at Mathieu’s the other week …’
    A cocky young man with a red flower in
     the buttonhole of his navy-blue serge waistcoat, his face well scrubbed and his hair
     shiny with brilliantine, dared to call out to the inspector:
    â€˜They’re waiting for you at
     Tatin’s, it’s about that guy who stole …’
    And he nudged his friends in the ribs,
     holding in a laugh
that exploded in any
     case as soon as Maigret turned his head away.
    He hadn’t been making it up. At
     Marie Tatin’s the atmosphere was hotter now, and thick with pipe smoke. At one
     table a family of villagers were eating food they had brought from the farm and
     drinking big bowls of coffee. The father was cutting a dried sausage with his
     penknife.
    The young people were drinking lemonade,
     the old ones brandy. And Marie Tatin trotted ceaselessly about.
    In one corner a woman got up as the
     inspector came in and took a step towards him, fearful and hesitant, her lips moist.
     Her hand rested on the shoulder of a little boy; Maigret recognized his red
     hair.
    â€˜Are you the inspector,
     sir?’
    Everyone looked in his direction.
    â€˜First of all I want to tell you,
     sir, that we’ve always been honest people in our family! But we’re poor
      … You understand? … And when I saw that Ernest …’
    The boy, extremely pale, stared straight
     ahead without showing the slightest emotion.
    â€˜Are you the one who took the
     missal?’ Maigret asked him, bending towards him.
    No answer. A keen, shy glance.
    â€˜Answer the inspector …’
    But the little boy didn’t open his
     mouth. His mother swiftly gave him a slap that left a red mark on his left cheek.
     The boy’s head rocked for a moment. His eyes moistened slightly, his lips
     trembled, but he didn’t move.
    â€˜Are you going to give him an
     answer, you little wretch?’
    And to Maigret:
    â€˜Children today! For months
     he’s been pleading with me to buy him a missal! A big one like the one the
     priest has! Can you imagine that? … So, when I was told about the countess’s
     missal, I immediately thought … And besides! I’d been surprised to see him
     coming back between second and third mass, because he usually eats at the presbytery
      … I went into his room and found it under the mattress …’
    Again the mother’s hand struck the
     child’s cheek. He did nothing to defend himself.
    â€˜I couldn’t even read at his
     age! But I was never bad enough to steal a book …’
    There was a respectful silence