Maigret in New York Read Free

through
unfamiliar streets made depressing by drizzle.
    Why
had Jean Maura disappeared at the very moment when they reached New York? Was Maigret to believe
that he had met someone or that, in his haste to see his father again, he had cavalierly left
his companion in the lurch?
    The streets were becoming more elegant. The cab
stopped at a corner of what Maigret did not yet know was the famous Fifth Avenue, and a doorman
hurried over to him.
    A fresh quandary about paying the cab driver with
this unfamiliar money. Then off to the lobby of the St Regis and the reception desk, where he
finally found someone who spoke French.
    ‘I would like to see Mr John Maura.’
    ‘One moment, please …’
    ‘Can you tell me if his son has arrived?’
    ‘No one has asked for Mr Maura this morning.’
    ‘Is he in?’
    Picking up the receiver, the clerk replied
frostily, ‘I will ask his secretary.’
    ‘Hello … Mr MacGill? … This is the
front desk … There is someone here asking to see Mr Maura … What was that? …
I’ll ask him … Might I have your name, sir?’
    ‘Maigret.’
    ‘Hello … Mr Maigret … I see …
Very well, sir.’
    Hanging up, the clerk announced, ‘Mr MacGill
asked me to tell you that Mr Maura sees people only by appointment. If you wish to write to him
and give him your address, he will certainly send you his reply.’
    ‘Would you be kind enough to tell this Mr MacGill
that
I have arrived from France expressly to see Mr
Maura and that I have important information for him.’
    ‘I am sorry … These gentlemen would never
forgive me for disturbing them a second time, but if you would take the trouble to write a note
here, in the lobby, I will have it sent up with a bellboy.’
    Maigret was furious. More with himself than with
this MacGill, whom he did not know but had already begun to detest.
    Just as he detested, immediately and completely,
everything around him: the gilt-encrusted lobby, the bellboys smirking at him, the pretty women
coming and going, the cocky men who jostled him without deigning to apologize.
Monsieur,
    I have just arrived from France,
entrusted with an important mission by your son and M. d’Hoquélus. My time is as precious as
yours, so I would be grateful if you would see me right away.
    Yours sincerely,
    Maigret
    For a good quarter of an hour he was left to fume
off in his corner, so angry that he smoked his pipe even though he knew this was hardly the
place for it. At last a bellboy arrived, who accompanied him up in the elevator, led him along a
corridor, knocked on a door and abandoned him.
    ‘Come in!’
    Why
had he envisioned MacGill as a middle-aged person of forbidding aspect? He was a tall, muscular
young man, fashionably dressed, who came towards him holding out his hand.
    ‘Forgive me, sir, but Mr Maura is besieged by so
many solicitants of all sorts that we must create a strong barrier around him. You tell me
you’ve just come over from France … Am I to understand that you are the … the former
… that is to say …’
    ‘The former Detective Chief Inspector Maigret,
yes.’
    ‘Please, do sit down. Cigar?’
    Several boxes of them were set out on a table. A
huge mahogany desk dominated the immense drawing room yet did not make it seem at all like an
office.
    Disdaining the Havana cigars, Maigret had
refilled his pipe and now studied the other man rather coolly.
    ‘You wrote that you’ve brought us news of
Monsieur Jean?’
    ‘If you will allow me, I’ll speak personally of
that to Monsieur Maura when you’ve been kind enough to take me to him.’
    MacGill showed all his teeth, which were quite
beautiful, in a smile.
    ‘It’s easy to see, sir, that you are from Europe.
Otherwise you would know that John Maura is one of the busiest men in New York, that even I have
no idea where he is at this moment and, finally, that I handle all his affairs, including the
most personal ones. You may therefore speak candidly and tell me …’
    ‘I’ll wait until Mr