some more. Imagine how far, all the way to Moulineaux! Now and then heâd stop and look down at the water. The tugs were beginning to move around. Then the factory workers started filling the streets. He still
kept going, like a man who has no idea what heâs going to do next.â
âAnything else?â
âThatâs about it. Oh, one thing. When he got to Pont Mirabeau, he put both hands in his pockets and took something out of them â¦â
âFive-franc notes.â
âThatâs what Janvier and I both thought we saw. At that point, he started looking round him for something. Obviously a bistro! But nothing was open on the Right Bank. He crossed over. He went into a small bar full of stokers and ordered
a coffee and a tot of rum.â
âThe Citanguette?â
âNot yet. Janvier and I had legs like jelly. And unlike him we couldnât buy a drink to warm us up! Off he went again. He led us this way and that. Janvier, who took a note of all the streets, will give you a full report â¦Â In
the end, we got back to the river, came out near a large factory. Down that way, itâs pretty deserted.
âThere are a few bushes and grass like in the country among all the heaps of spoil. Barges are moored up near a crane. Maybe twenty of them.
âThe Citanguette is an inn you wouldnât expect to find there. A small bistro where they serve food. On the right is an extension with a mechanical piano and a sign saying: âDancing Saturdays and Sundaysâ.
âOur man drank another coffee and more rum. They brought him a plate of sausages after making him wait a long time for it. He spoke to the landlord, and a quarter of an hour later we saw them both disappear upstairs.
âWhen the landlord came back, I went in. I asked him point-blank if he had let any rooms.
âHe said: âWhy? Has
he
been up to something?â
âClearly a man used to having dealings with the police. There was no point trying to bluff it out. I preferred to scare him. I told him that if he breathed one word to his customer, his place would be shut down.
âHe doesnât know him, Iâm sure of that. The clientele is mostly men from the barges, and, as soon as itâs midday, the workers from the factory nearby all troop in for an aperitif.
âApparently when Heurtin got inside his room, he threw himself on the bed without taking his shoes off. The landlord told him off, so he dropped them on the floor and immediately fell asleep.â
âHas Janvier stayed on?â
âHeâs still there. You can call him because the Citanguette has a telephone on account of the bargemen. They often need to get in touch with their owners.â
Maigret picked up the phone. A few moments later, Janvier was on the other end of the line.
âHello? Whatâs our man doing now?â
âSleeping.â
âAnything suspicious to report?â
âNothing. All quiet as quiet. You can hear him snoring from the foot of the stairs.â
Maigret hung up and ran his eyes over the small figure of Dufour from head to foot.
âYou wonât let him give you the slip?â he asked.
The officer was about to protest, but Maigret put one hand on his shoulder and went on in a sober voice:
âListen, son. I know youâll do everything you can. But my job is on the line here! And a lot else besides. Fact is, I canât go myself. The wretch knows me.â
âSir, I swear â¦â
âDonât swear, just go.â
And with a curt movement of his hand, Maigret swept the various documents into the manila folder, which he placed in a drawer.
âAnd if you need more men, donât hesitate to ask.â
Joseph Heurtinâs picture was still on the desk, and Maigret gazed briefly at his bony head, flapping ears and wide, bloodless lips.
Three medics had examined the man. Two had said:
Low intelligence. Fully responsible for his
kept going, like a man who has no idea what heâs going to do next.â
âAnything else?â
âThatâs about it. Oh, one thing. When he got to Pont Mirabeau, he put both hands in his pockets and took something out of them â¦â
âFive-franc notes.â
âThatâs what Janvier and I both thought we saw. At that point, he started looking round him for something. Obviously a bistro! But nothing was open on the Right Bank. He crossed over. He went into a small bar full of stokers and ordered
a coffee and a tot of rum.â
âThe Citanguette?â
âNot yet. Janvier and I had legs like jelly. And unlike him we couldnât buy a drink to warm us up! Off he went again. He led us this way and that. Janvier, who took a note of all the streets, will give you a full report â¦Â In
the end, we got back to the river, came out near a large factory. Down that way, itâs pretty deserted.
âThere are a few bushes and grass like in the country among all the heaps of spoil. Barges are moored up near a crane. Maybe twenty of them.
âThe Citanguette is an inn you wouldnât expect to find there. A small bistro where they serve food. On the right is an extension with a mechanical piano and a sign saying: âDancing Saturdays and Sundaysâ.
âOur man drank another coffee and more rum. They brought him a plate of sausages after making him wait a long time for it. He spoke to the landlord, and a quarter of an hour later we saw them both disappear upstairs.
âWhen the landlord came back, I went in. I asked him point-blank if he had let any rooms.
âHe said: âWhy? Has
he
been up to something?â
âClearly a man used to having dealings with the police. There was no point trying to bluff it out. I preferred to scare him. I told him that if he breathed one word to his customer, his place would be shut down.
âHe doesnât know him, Iâm sure of that. The clientele is mostly men from the barges, and, as soon as itâs midday, the workers from the factory nearby all troop in for an aperitif.
âApparently when Heurtin got inside his room, he threw himself on the bed without taking his shoes off. The landlord told him off, so he dropped them on the floor and immediately fell asleep.â
âHas Janvier stayed on?â
âHeâs still there. You can call him because the Citanguette has a telephone on account of the bargemen. They often need to get in touch with their owners.â
Maigret picked up the phone. A few moments later, Janvier was on the other end of the line.
âHello? Whatâs our man doing now?â
âSleeping.â
âAnything suspicious to report?â
âNothing. All quiet as quiet. You can hear him snoring from the foot of the stairs.â
Maigret hung up and ran his eyes over the small figure of Dufour from head to foot.
âYou wonât let him give you the slip?â he asked.
The officer was about to protest, but Maigret put one hand on his shoulder and went on in a sober voice:
âListen, son. I know youâll do everything you can. But my job is on the line here! And a lot else besides. Fact is, I canât go myself. The wretch knows me.â
âSir, I swear â¦â
âDonât swear, just go.â
And with a curt movement of his hand, Maigret swept the various documents into the manila folder, which he placed in a drawer.
âAnd if you need more men, donât hesitate to ask.â
Joseph Heurtinâs picture was still on the desk, and Maigret gazed briefly at his bony head, flapping ears and wide, bloodless lips.
Three medics had examined the man. Two had said:
Low intelligence. Fully responsible for his
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