Free Maigret and the Spinster by Georges Simenon Page A

Was it she who had given it to her brother? If so…
    He could see her still, motionless in the waiting room with her handbag on her lap, prepared to sit there for hours, not moving a muscle.
    Maigret recalled his own thoughts:
    “
Either she was called away by someone she knew and trusted, or she was led to believe that she was being taken to see me.
”
    Her brother?
    Gérard had never taken his eyes off him during the whole of the service. Every now and then Berthe would pat his arm to reassure him. Embarrassed, the Chief Superintendent avoided the young man’s gaze.
    “This way, gentlemen…Hurry along, please!”
    At the cemetery, too, there was a great deal of bustle that day. They hastened past the family mausoleums and individual stone monuments, and before long had reached the new section with its slabs of clay surmounted by wooden crosses. The two coffins were hoisted onto trolleys and wheeled along the narrow pathways, followed by the mourners walking in single file.
    “Might I have a word with you, Chief Superintendent? When would be convenient?”
    “Where are you staying?”
    “At the Hôtel du Centre, on Boulevard Montparnasse…”
    It was Monfils, who had caught up with Maigret as they made their way to the graveside.
    “I’ll probably look in on you sometime today.”
    “Wouldn’t you rather I came to your office?”
    “I don’t know what my schedule will be.”
    And Maigret hurried forward to catch up with Berthe, who had been temporarily separated from her brother in the crowd.
    “You shouldn’t let him out of your sight. He’s terribly overwrought. Try to persuade him to go back with you to your place. I’ll come and see him there…”
    She assented with a flicker of her eyelashes. She was a pretty girl, a plump little creature, seeming infinitely remote from the dramatic events of the past few days.
    “Excuse me, Chief Superintendent…”
    Maigret turned to face one of Monsieur Dandurand’s friends.
    “Could you spare me a minute or two? There’s a quiet little bistro just across the road from the cemetery…”
    Leading the procession was a deacon, attended by a small choirboy, who galloped along as fast as his short legs could carry him, in spite of his inconveniently long black skirts and heavy hobnailed boots. Bending over the open grave, the deacon turned the pages of his prayer book, then, his lips still moving, flung the first spadeful of earth on the coffins. Gérard and his cousin Monfils held out their hands simultaneously. There were too many heads in the way for Maigret to see which of them managed to get in first.
    Suddenly, the gathering broke up in disorder. Nouchi bustled across to the Chief Superintendent and subjected him to a shameless stare. He would not have been surprised if she had asked him for his autograph, as she would a film star.
    The bistro stood in the middle of a monument mason’s yard. When Maigret pushed open the door, he found Dandurand’s smart friends already seated at a table. They all stood up.
    “Forgive me for taking up your time like this…What will you have? Waiter! The same for the Chief Superintendent.”
    Charles Dandurand was there with them, smooth and gray, as gray as the tombstones.
    “Take a seat, Chief Superintendent. We would gladly have gone to your office, but maybe it’s better…”
    All the big bosses who were in the habit of forgathering every evening at Albert’s place were there, every bit as self-possessed as a board of directors seated around a table covered in green baize.
    “Cheers! Let’s not beat about the bush. Chief Superintendent Cassieux can vouch for us. He knows we are on the level…”
    The big limousine was waiting at the gates, and a group of kids were clustered around it, admiring the chromium fittings that glinted in the sunlight.
    “It’s about poor Juliette, needless to say. As you know, the law, in its moral wisdom, does not recognize the legality of any transactions entered into in