My Friend Maigret Read Free Page B

him. Not content with that he hit him in the face with a heavy instrument. It seems he put an extraordinary ferocity into it.”
    Maigret looked at the Seine, outside, through the curtain of rain, and thought of the Mediterranean sun.
    â€œBoisvert, the commissioner, is a pleasant fellow, whom I’ve known for ages. He doesn’t usually get carried away. He’s just arrived on the scene, but he has to leave again this evening. He agrees with Lechat in thinking it was the conversation about you which started the thing off. He’s not far from saying that it was you, in a sort of way, that was being aimed at through Marcellin. See what I mean? A man who has a big enough grudge against you to go for anyone who claims to be a friend of yours and sticks up for you.”
    â€œAre there people like that at Porquerolles?”
    â€œThat’s what’s puzzling Boisvert. On an island everyone is known. No one can land and go off again without it being known. So far there isn’t the remotest suspect. Or else they’ll have to suspect people without any grounds. What do you think?”
    â€œI think Mr. Pyke would like a trip to the Midi.”
    â€œAnd you?”
    â€œI think I’d like it too if it was a question of going by myself.”
    â€œWhen will you be leaving?”
    â€œI’ll take the night train.”
    â€œWith Mr. Pyke?”
    â€œWith Mr. Pyke!”
    Â 
    Did the Englishman imagine the French police had powerful motorcars at their disposal to take them to the scenes of crimes?
    He must think, at any rate, that Police Headquarters detectives have unlimited expenses for their movements. Had Maigret done right? Alone, he would have been content with a couchette. At the Gare de Lyon he hesitated. Then at the last moment he took two wagon-lit places.
    It was sumptuous. In the corridor they found de luxe travelers, with impressive-looking luggage. An elegant crowd, laden with flowers, was seeing a film star on to the train.
    â€œIt’s the Blue Train,” Maigret mumbled, as if to excuse himself.
    If only he had been able to know what his fellow policeman was thinking! Into the bargain they were obliged to undress in front of one another and, the next morning, they would have to share the minute washing compartment.
    â€œWell,” said Mr. Pyke, in dressing gown and pajamas, “so a case is under way.”
    Just what did he mean by that? His French had something so precise about it that he always looked for a hidden meaning.
    â€œIt’s a case, yes.”
    â€œDid you take a copy of Marcellin’s file?”
    â€œNo. I confess I never thought of it.”
    â€œHave you concerned yourself at all about what has become of the woman: Ginette, I believe?”
    â€œNo.”
    Was there a reproach in the look Mr. Pyke shot at him?
    â€œHave you brought an open arrest warrant with you?”
    â€œNot that either. Only an interrogation permit, which entitles me to summon people and question them.”
    â€œDo you know Porquerolles?”
    â€œI’ve never set foot there. I hardly know the Midi. I was on a case there, once, at Antibes and Cannes, and I remember particularly it was overpoweringly hot and I felt permanently sleepy.”
    â€œDon’t you like the Mediterranean?”
    â€œIn general, I dislike places where I lose the desire to work.”
    â€œThat’s because you like working, is it?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    It was true. On the one hand he railed every time a case came along to interrupt his daily routine. On the other hand as soon as he was left in peace for several days he would become restless, as though anxious.
    â€œDo you sleep well on trains?”
    â€œI sleep well anywhere.”
    â€œThe train doesn’t help you think?”
    â€œI think so little, you know!”
    It embarrassed him to see the compartment filled with smoke from his pipe, the more so as the Englishman