Maigret and the Man on the Boulevard Read Free Page A

half-past four.”
    â€œAt half-past four, he’s still at work. Have you made inquiries at Kaplan’s?”
    â€œThere hasn’t been time. And, besides, we didn’t know where he worked.”
    â€œWho killed him?”
    â€œThat’s what we are trying to find out.”
    â€œWas he alone?”
    Maigret was beginning to lose patience.
    â€œDon’t you think you’d better get ready? The sooner we leave, the better.”
    â€œWhat have you done with him?”
    â€œBy this time, he will have been taken to the Forensic Laboratory.”
    â€œThe morgue, you mean?”
    What could he say to that?
    â€œMy daughter will have to be told.”
    â€œYou could leave her a note.”
    She considered this.
    â€œNo. We’d better call in at my sister’s. I’ll leave the key with her. She can come over and wait for Monique here. Will you be wanting to talk to her as well?”
    â€œI would like to, yes.”
    â€œWhere should she meet us?”
    â€œIn my office in the Quai des Orfèvres. It would save a lot of time. How old is she?”
    â€œTwenty-two.”
    â€œCouldn’t you give her a call, and break the news to her yourself?”
    â€œWell, for one thing, we’re not on the phone, and for another, she’ll have left her office and will be on her way to the station by now. I won’t keep you long.”
    She went up the stairs, which creaked at every step, not because they were old but because they had been constructed of flimsy planks of wood. It was obvious that the house and everything in it was built on the cheap. Doubtless, it would not survive to be old.
    The two men exchanged glances as they listened to the comings and goings overhead. She was changing into a black dress, they were sure, and probably brushing her hair. When she came downstairs, they once more exchanged glances. They had been right. She was already wearing mourning, and smelled of eau de cologne.
    â€œWould you wait for me outside while I switch off the lights and the gas?”
    She looked doubtfully at the little car, as if afraid that there wouldn’t be room for her. Someone was watching them from the house next door.
    â€œMy sister lives just two streets away. Go right at the next turning, driver, and then it’s the second on the left.”
    The two little houses were identical, except that the panels of glass in the door were a different color here, apricot instead of blue.
    â€œI won’t keep you a moment.”
    But she was gone about a quarter of an hour. When she returned to the car, she had another woman with her, who was also dressed in black, and was so like her in every way that they might have been twins.
    â€œMy sister is coming with us. I daresay we’ll manage to squeeze in somehow. My brother-in-law will go to my house and wait for my daughter. It’s his day off. He’s an inspector on the railways.”
    Maigret sat next to the driver. Santoni and the two women squeezed uncomfortably into the back. The sisters could be heard whispering to one another from time to time, as if in the confessional.
    When they got to the Forensic Laboratory, near the Pont d’Austerlitz, they found the body of Louis Thouret still fully clothed, in accordance with Maigret’s instructions. He was laid out temporarily on the marble slab. It was Maigret, his eyes on the two women, who uncovered the face. It was the first time he had seen them together in a good light. Just now, in the darkened street, he had mistaken them for twins. Now he could see that the sister was three or four years younger, her figure having retained a measure of suppleness, though probably not for much longer.
    â€œDo you recognize him?”
    Madame Thouret, with a handkerchief crumpled in her hand, did not weep. Her sister took her by the arm, desirous of offering comfort and support.
    â€œYes, that’s Louis. That’s my poor Louis. I’m sure