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

wonder if …’
    He hesitated for a moment, looking
     around at the others.
    â€˜You skipped that dinner I wanted
     to treat you to in Bremen. Why not have lunch with us later today?’
    â€˜Unfortunately, I have other
     engagements,’ replied Maigret. ‘Besides, I’ve already taken enough
     of your time.’
    Jef Lombard had gone over to a table. He
     was pale, with irregular features, so tall and thin that his limbs seemed too long
     for his body.
    â€˜Ah!
     Here’s the picture I was looking for,’ muttered Maigret, as if to
     himself. ‘I won’t ask you, Monsieur Lombard, if you know this man,
     because that would be one chance in a million …’
    But he contrived to show him the photo
     anyway – and saw the man’s Adam’s apple seem to swell, bobbing weirdly
     up and down.
    â€˜Don’t know him,’
     Lombard managed to croak.
    Belloir’s manicured fingers were
     drumming on his desk, while Van Damme cast about for something to say.
    â€˜So, inspector, I won’t have
     the pleasure of seeing you again? You’re going straight back to
     Paris?’
    â€˜I’m not sure yet. My
     apologies, gentlemen.’
    Van Damme shook hands with him, so the
     others had to as well. Belloir’s hand was hard and dry. The bearded
     man’s handshake was more hesitant, and Jef Lombard was off in a corner of the
     study lighting a cigarette, so he simply nodded towards Maigret and grunted.
    Maigret brushed past the green plant in
     its enormous porcelain pot and went back down the stairs with their brass carpet
     rods. In the front hall, over the shrill scraping of a violin lesson, he heard a
     woman’s voice saying, ‘Slow down … Keep your elbow level with
     your chin … Gently!’
    It was Madame Belloir and her son. He
     caught sight of them from the street, through the drawing-room curtains.
    It was 2 p.m., and Maigret had just
     finished lunch at the Café de Paris when he noticed Van Damme come in and look
     around as if searching for someone. Spotting Maigret, he smiled and came over with
     his hand outstretched.
    â€˜So this is
     what you call having other engagements! Eating alone in a restaurant! I understand:
     you wanted to leave us in peace.’
    He was clearly one of those people who
     latch on to you without any invitation, ignoring any suggestion that their
     attentions might be unwelcome.
    Maigret took selfish pleasure in his
     chilly response, but Van Damme sat down at his table anyway.
    â€˜You’ve finished? In that
     case, allow me to offer you a
digestif
 … Waiter! Well, what will
     you have, inspector? An old Armagnac?’
    He called for the drinks list, and after
     consultation with the proprietor, chose an 1867 Armagnac, to be served in
     snifters.
    â€˜I was wondering: when are you
     returning to Paris? I’m going there this afternoon, and since I cannot bear
     trains, I’ll be hiring a car … If you like, I’ll take you
     along. Well, what do you think of my friends?’
    He inhaled the aroma of his brandy with
     a critical air, then pulled a cigar case from his pocket.
    â€˜Please, have one, they’re
     quite good. There’s only one place in Bremen where you can get them, and
     they’re straight from Havana!’
    Maigret had emptied his eyes of all
     thought and made his face a blank.
    â€˜It’s funny, meeting again
     years later,’ remarked Van Damme, who seemed unable to cope with silence.
     ‘At the age of twenty, starting out, we’re all on the same footing, so
     to speak. Time passes, and when we get together again, it’s astonishing how
     far away from one another we seem … I’m not saying anything against
     them, mind you, it’s just that, back at Belloir’s house, I
     felt … uncomfortable.
That
     stifling provincial atmosphere! And Belloir himself, quite