The Hanged Man of Saint-Pholien by Georges Simenon Read Free Book Online

where a young woman in
     a peignoir and a little boy of four were having their breakfast at a nicely laid
     table.
    Beyond the last door was a staircase of
     pale wooden panelling with a red floral carpet runner fixed to each step by a brass
     rod.
    A large green plant sat on the landing.
     The maid was already turning the knob of another door, to a study, where three men
     turned as one towards their visitor.
    There was a reaction of shock, deep
     unease, even real distress that froze the looks in their eyes, which only the maid
     never noticed as she asked in a perfectly natural voice, ‘Would you like me to
     take your coat?’
    One of the three gentlemen was Belloir,
     perfectly dressed, with not a blond hair out of place. The man next to him was a
     little more casually attired, and a stranger to Maigret. The third man, however, was
     none other than Joseph Van Damme, the businessman from Bremen.
    Two of the men spoke simultaneously.
    With a dry hauteur in keeping with the
     décor and frowning as he stepped forwards, Belloir inquired, ‘Monsieur?’
     – while at the same time Van Damme, in an effort to summon up his usual bonhomie,
     held out his hand to Maigret and exclaimed, ‘What a surprise! Imagine seeing
     you here!’
    The third man silently took in the scene
     in what looked like complete bafflement.
    â€˜Please excuse me for disturbing
     you,’ began the inspector. ‘I did not expect to be interrupting a
     meeting this early in the morning …’
    â€˜Not at
     all! Not at all!’ replied Van Damme. ‘Do sit down! Cigar?’
    There was a box on the mahogany desk. He
     hurried to open it and select a Havana, talking all the while.
    â€˜Hold on, I’m looking for my
     lighter … You’re not going to write me a ticket because these are
     missing their tobacco tax stamp, are you? But why didn’t you tell me in Bremen
     that you knew Belloir! When I think that we might have made the trip together! I
     left a few hours after you did: a telegram, some business requiring my presence in
     Paris. And I’ve taken advantage of it to come and say hello to
     Belloir …’
    The latter, having lost none of his
     starchy manner, kept looking from one to the other of the two men as if waiting for
     an explanation, and it was towards him that Maigret turned and spoke.
    â€˜I’ll make my visit as short
     as possible, given that you’re expecting someone …’
    â€˜I am? How do you know?’
    â€˜Simple! Your maid told me that I
     was expected. And as I cannot be the person in question, then
     clearly …’
    His eyes were laughing in spite of
     himself, but his face stayed perfectly blank.
    â€˜Inspector Maigret, of the Police
     Judiciaire. Perhaps you noticed me yesterday evening at the Café de Paris, where I
     was seeking information relevant to an ongoing investigation.’
    â€˜It can’t be that incident
     in Bremen, surely?’ remarked Van Damme, with feigned indifference.
    â€˜The very one! Would you be so
     kind, Monsieur Belloir, as to look at this photograph and tell me if this is indeed
     the man you invited into your home one night last week?’
    He held out a
     picture of the dead man. The deputy bank director looked at it, but vacantly,
     without seeing it.
    â€˜I don’t know this
     person!’ he stated, returning the photo to Maigret.
    â€˜You’re certain this
     isn’t the man who spoke to you when you were returning home from the Café de
     Paris?’
    â€˜What are you talking
     about?’
    â€˜Forgive me if I seem to labour
     the point, but I need some information that is, after all, of only minor importance,
     and I took the liberty of disturbing you at home because I assumed you would not
     mind helping us in our inquiries. On that evening, a drunk was sitting near the
     third billiard table, where you were playing. All the customers