Maigret Gets Angry by Georges Simenon Read Free Book Online

Right
now, I’ll wager anything you like that they are all downstairs waiting for you.’
    It was true. As he stepped into the corridor, a
door opened noiselessly. A maid – not the same one who had brought him here – said
deferentially:
    ‘Monsieur and Madame Malik are waiting for
you in the morning room. If you would be so good as to follow me …’
    The house was cool, the walls painted with faded
colours and everywhere were carved doors, overmantels, paintings and engravings. Soft carpets
muffled footsteps and the Venetian blinds let in just enough light.
    One last door. He took two steps forwards and
found
himself facing Monsieur and Madame Malik in
full mourning, waiting for him.
    What was it that gave him the impression not of
reality, but of a carefully composed family portrait? He did not yet know Charles Malik, in whom
he found none of his brother’s features, even though there was a family resemblance. He
was a little younger, more corpulent. His ruddy face was pinker, and his eyes were not grey like
Ernest’s, but an almost innocent blue.
    Nor did he have his brother’s assurance,
and there were dark circles under his eyes, a certain flabbiness about his lips, an anxious look
in his eyes.
    He stood very upright in front of the marble
fireplace, and his wife was seated close to him in a Louis XVI armchair, her hands in her lap,
as for a photograph.
    The entire scene exuded sorrow, overwhelming
grief even. Charles Malik spoke in a faltering voice.
    ‘Do come in, inspector, and please forgive
us for having asked you to drop in to see us for a moment.’
    As for Madame Malik, she looked very much like
her sister, but was more refined, with something of her mother’s vivacity. That vivacity,
at present, was as if shrouded – understandably, given her recent bereavement. In her
right hand she held a little handkerchief screwed into a ball, which she scrunched constantly
during their conversation.
    ‘Do please sit down. I know that we will be
meeting each other later on at my brother’s house. Myself in any case, for I doubt my wife
feels up to attending this luncheon.
I don’t
know under what circumstances you came here and I should like—’
    He looked at his wife, who merely gazed at him
with simplicity but determination.
    ‘This is a very difficult time for us,
inspector, and my mother-in-law’s obstinacy bodes even worse to come. You’ve met
her. I don’t know what you make of her.’
    Maigret, in any case, took good care not to tell
him, because he sensed that Charles Malik was beginning to flounder and was summoning his wife
to his aid once more.
    ‘Remember, Mother is eighty-two years
old,’ she said. ‘It’s all too easy to forget because she has so much energy
… Sadly, her mind isn’t always as alert as her body. She’s completely
devastated by the death of my daughter, who was her favourite.’
    ‘I appreciate that, madame.’
    ‘You can see, now, the atmosphere we have
been living in since the tragedy. Mother has got it into her head that there is some mystery
behind it.’
    ‘The inspector has certainly gathered
that,’ continued Charles Malik. ‘Don’t get upset, darling … My wife is
very highly strung, inspector. We all are at the moment. Our affection for my mother-in-law
alone is stopping us from taking the steps that would seem necessary. That is why we are asking
you …’
    Maigret pricked up his ears.
    ‘… we are asking you … to
carefully weigh up the pros and cons before—’
    Goodness! Could it have been this bumbling, tubby
man who had fired at Maigret the previous evening? There was
nothing implausible about this notion that had just occurred to
him.
    Ernest Malik was a cold-blooded animal and most
likely, if he had fired, he would have aimed more accurately. Whereas Charles, on the other hand
…
    ‘I understand your situation,’
continued the master of the house, leaning on the mantelpiece in a more family-portrait pose
than ever. ‘It is delicate,