A Man's Head Read Free Page B

mackintosh and a grey cap, appeared to be watching the cement being unloaded from the barge.
    It was Inspector Janvier, one of the youngest officers in the Police Judiciaire.
    In Maigret’s room, at the head of the bed, was a phone. The inspector lifted the receiver.
    â€˜Reception?’
    â€˜You wanted something?’
    â€˜Connect me to the bistro on the other side of the river. It’s called the Citanguette.’
    â€˜As you wish,’ said a starchy voice.
    It took some time. But eventually, from his window, Maigret saw the landlord put his cloth down and make for a door. Then the phone rang in his room.
    â€˜You’re through to the number you asked for.’
    â€˜Hello? Is that the Citanguette? … Would you ask the customer who is there now, in your bar, to come to the phone … Yes! … There’s no possible mistake since there’s only one there …’
    And through the window he saw the bewildered landlord speak to Dufour, who stepped into the booth.
    â€˜Listen …’
    â€˜Is that you, chief?’
    â€˜I’m across the river, in the hotel you can see from your table … What’s our man doing?’
    â€˜He’s asleep.’
    â€˜You’ve seen him?’
    â€˜A little while back I went up and listened outside his door … I could hear him snoring … So I opened the door a crack and I saw him … He’s out cold, still in his clothes …’
    â€˜You’re sure the landlord didn’t tip him off?’
    â€˜He’s too scared of the police! He’s already been in trouble, some time back. He was threatened with having his licence taken away. So, he keeps his nose clean.’
    â€˜How many exits?’
    â€˜Two. The front door and another, which opens into a yard. Janvier’s got that covered from his position.’
    â€˜Has anyone gone upstairs?’
    â€˜Nobody. And nobody can without passing me. The stairs are inside the bistro, behind the counter.’
    â€˜Good … Have your lunch there … I’ll phone again later … Try to look like a barge-owner’s agent.’
    Maigret put the receiver down, dragged an armchair to the open window, felt cold, fetched his overcoat from where it hung and put it on.
    â€˜Have you finished your call?’ asked the hotel switchboard.
    â€˜Quite finished. I want you to send up some beer. And tobacco. Dark shag.’
    â€˜We don’t keep tobacco.’
    â€˜Well, you’ll just have to send out for some!’
    At three in the afternoon, he was still in the same place, the binoculars on his knees, an empty glass within reach. A powerful smell of pipe-smoke filled the room, despite the open window.
    He had dropped the morning papers on the floor. They carried the police statement:
Death Penalty Man Escapes from Santé Prison!
    From time to time Maigret continued to shrug his shoulders, cross and uncross his legs.
    At 3.30, he received a phone call from the Citanguette.
    â€˜Any developments?’ he asked.
    â€˜No. He’s still sleeping.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜Quai des Orfèvres have been on the line asking where you are. It seems that the examining magistrate needs to speak to you at once.’
    This time, Maigret did not shrug his shoulders but spat a very blunt epithet, hung up and called the switchboard.
    â€˜Prosecutor’s office, please. It’s urgent.’
    He knew exactly what Monsieur Coméliau would say!
    â€˜Ah! Is that you, detective chief inspector? At last! No one could tell me where you were. But at Quai des Orfèvres they informed me that you had men watching the Citanguette. I rang there …’
    â€˜What’s happened?’
    â€˜First, do you have anything new?’
    â€˜Absolutely nothing.
Our man is asleep
 …’
    â€˜Are you sure? … He hasn’t escaped, has