The Hotel Majestic by Georges Simenon Read Free Book Online

well! There’s no secret about it. He would have liked to have had a son, make someone of him . . . He chose badly with me, poor lad, because since my operation I can’t have children.”
    â€œDo you know Jean Ramuel?”
    â€œNo. I know he’s the bookkeeper and that he’s not very well, that’s all. Prosper doesn’t tell me much about the Majestic . . . Not like me; I tell him everything that happens here . . .”
    Having reassured her, he tried to make a bit of headway again.
    â€œYou see, what struck me was . . . I oughtn’t to tell you this . . . it’s officially a secret . . . But I feel sure it won’t go any further . . . Well, the automatic which was found in this Mrs. Clark’s handbag had been bought the day before at a gunsmith’s in the Faubourg Saint-Honoré . . . Don’t you think that that’s very odd? There’s this rich, married woman, a mother of a family, who arrives from New York and stays in a luxury hotel in the Champs-Élysées, and who suddenly feels the need to buy a gun . . . And note that it wasn’t a pretty little lady’s pistol, but a proper weapon . . .”
    He avoided her eye, looked at the gleaming toecaps of his shoes, as if amazed at his own smartness.
    â€œNow we know that this same woman slipped down a back staircase a few hours later, to get to the hotel basement . . . One is bound to think that she had a rendezvous . . . And to conclude that it was in view of this rendezvous that she had bought her gun. Suppose for a moment that this woman, who is now so respectable, had a stormy past in days gone by and that someone who knew her at that time had tried to blackmail her . . . Do you know if Ramuel ever lived on the Riviera? . . . Or a certain professional dancing-partner called Zebio? . . .”
    â€œI don’t know him.”
    He could tell, without looking at her, that she was on the point of bursting into tears.
    â€œAnd there’s one other person—the night porter—who could have killed her, because he went down to the basement at about six in the morning . . . It was Prosper Donge who heard him going up the back stairs . . . Not to mention any of the room waiters . . . It’s a great pity that you didn’t know Mimi in Cannes . . . You could have given me details of all the people she knew then . . . Oh well! I would have liked not to have had to go to Cannes . . . I’m bound to be able to find some of the people who knew her, down there . . .”
    He got up, tapped out his pipe, felt in his pocket for some change for the saucer.
    â€œYou don’t need to do that!” she protested.
    â€œGoodnight . . . I wonder what time there’s a train . . .”
    As soon as he got upstairs, he paid his bill and rushed across the street to the bar opposite, a café frequented by employees from all the nightclubs in the district.
    â€œThe telephone, please . . .”
    He got on to the exchange.
    â€œJudicial Police, here. Someone from the Pélican will probably ask you for a Cannes number. Don’t connect them too quickly . . . Wait till I get to you . . .”
    He leapt into a taxi. Rushed to the telephone exchange and made himself known to the night supervisor.
    â€œGive me some headphones . . . Have they asked for Cannes?”
    â€œYes, a minute ago . . . I found out whose number it was . . . It’s the Brasserie des Artistes, which stays open all night . . . Shall I put them through?”
    Maigret put on the headphones and waited. Some of the telephone girls, also wearing headphones, stared at him curiously.
    â€œI’m putting you through to Cannes 18-43, Mademoiselle . . .”
    â€œThank you . . . Hello! The Brasserie des Artistes? . . . Who’s speaking? . . . Is that you, Jean? . . . It’s Charlotte here . . . Yes! . . . Charlotte from the Belle Étoile . . . Wait . . . I’ll shut the door . . . I think there’s someone .