Free The Hotel Majestic by Georges Simenon

marks were still on his wrists.
    One behind the other, they went along strange corridors, which had little resemblance to those in the Majestic basement. Under the vast Palais de Justice to the Judicial Police building, where they suddenly emerged in a brightly lit passage.
    â€œIn here . . . Have you had anything to eat?”
    The other indicated that he hadn’t. Maigret, who was hungry too, and also thirsty, sent the man on duty to fetch beer and sandwiches.
    â€œSit down, Donge . . . Gigi is in Paris . . . She must be with Charlotte, by now . . . Cigarette?”
    He didn’t smoke them, but he always kept cigarettes in his drawer. Prosper clumsily lit one, like someone who has suddenly, in the space of a few hours, lost all his self-assurance. He was troubled by his gaping shoes, the absence of a tie, and the smell which, after only one night in the cells, emanated from his clothes.
    Maigret stirred up the fire. All the other offices had central heating, which he loathed, and he had managed to keep the old iron stove which had been there for twenty years.
    â€œSit down . . . they’re bringing us something to eat . . .”
    Donge was hesitating as to whether to tell him something, and when he finally decided to speak, stammered in an anguished voice: “Did you see the little boy?”
    â€œNo . . .”
    â€œI saw him for a moment in the foyer of the hotel . . . I can swear to you, superintendent, he’s . . .”
    â€œYour son. I know.”
    â€œYou should see him! His hair’s as red as mine. He has my hands, my large bones . . . They used to laugh at me, when I was a child, because of my big bones . . .”
    The beer and sandwiches arrived. Maigret ate standing up, pacing to and fro across his office, while outside, the sky over Paris began to grow lighter.
    â€œI can’t . . .” Donge finally sighed, timidly putting his sandwich back on the plate. “I’m not hungry . . . Whatever happens, they won’t take me back at the Majestic now, or anywhere else . . .”
    His voice shook. He was waiting for Maigret to help him, but the superintendent let him flounder on.
    â€œDo you think I killed her, as well?”
    As Maigret didn’t answer, he nodded miserably. He wanted to explain it all now, persuade his interrogator; but he didn’t know where to begin.
    â€œYou see I never had much to do with women . . . In our trade . . . And always working down in the basement . . . Some of them burst out laughing when I showed I was fond of them . . . With a face like mine, you see . . . Then, when I knew Mimi, at the Brasserie des Artistes . . . There were three of them . . . You know about that . . . And it’s odd how it turns out, isn’t it? If I had chosen one of the other two . . . But no! I had to fall in love with her! Crazily in love! Superintendent . . . Madly in love! She could have done anything she liked with me! . . . And I thought she’d agree to marry me one day . . . Well, do you know what the magistrate said to me last night? . . . I can’t remember what he said, exactly . . . It made me feel ill . . . He said that what I had really been interested in was the money she brought in . . . He took me for a . . .”
    Maigret looked out of the window, to spare him further embarrassment, watching the Seine turn palely silver.
    â€œShe left with this American . . . I hoped that he’d desert her when he returned to America and that she’d come back to me . . . Then one day we heard that he’d married her . . . The news made me ill . . . It was Charlotte who out of the goodness of her heart, looked after me . . . I told her I couldn’t live in Cannes any longer . . . Every street brought back memories . . . I looked for a job in Paris . . . Charlotte offered to come with me. And you may find it hard to believe, but for a long time we lived together as brother and sister . . .”
    â€œDid you know that Mimi had