Free Cécile is Dead by Georges Simenon Page B

Monfils, who had caught hold of
     Maigret in passing.
    â€˜I’m sure I can be there later
     today.’
    â€˜Wouldn’t you rather I came to
     your office?’
    â€˜I don’t know when I’ll be
     there.’
    And Maigret went over to Berthe, who had
     been briefly separated from her brother by the crowd.
    â€˜I don’t think you should leave
     him alone,’ he told her. ‘He’s in a very agitated state of mind. Try
     to get him to go home with you, and I’ll see him there.’
    She lowered her lashes to show her consent.
     She was pretty, and her plump little figure dispelled any ideas of tragic drama.
    â€˜Tell me, inspector …’
    Maigret turned, to see one of the men who
     had accompanied Dandurand.
    â€˜Could we have a few words with you?
     There’s a quiet bistro at the way out of the cemetery.’
    A deacon, followed by
     a choirboy who looked as if he were galloping as fast as his little legs would carry him
     and impeded by the black cassock, from which heavy, hobnailed shoes emerged, leaned over
     the grave, moved his lips, turned the pages of his missal and threw the first spadeful
     of earth into the pit that had been dug. Gérard and the Monfils cousin were both putting
     out a hand, ready to throw in the next. Heads came between them and Maigret, preventing
     him from seeing who won the day.
    Suddenly the gathering broke up. Nouchi, in
     passing, stared boldly at the inspector. She looked on the point of asking for his
     autograph, as if he were a film star.
    When Maigret opened the door of the bistro
     that stood next to the depot where the tombstones were stored, Monsieur
     Dandurand’s friends, already sitting round a table, all rose together.
    â€˜Forgive me for troubling you … what
     will you drink, inspector? Waiter! The same for the inspector, please.’
    Charles Dandurand was there, clean-shaven
     and grey, as grey as the tombstones.
    â€˜Sit down, inspector. We would have
     gone to your office, but perhaps this is a better place.’
    The whole group of big bosses who met in the
     evenings at Albert’s bar was there, as calm as if they were round the green baize
     table of a board meeting.
    â€˜To your good health! It’s
     hardly worth the trouble of giving you a sales talk, is it? Inspector Cassieux knows us,
     and he knows we’re on the level.’
    The car with the twelve-cylinder engine was
     standing
at the door, with little boys
     admiring the chrome trim, which sparkled in the sun.
    â€˜It’s about poor Juliette, of
     course. You’ll be aware that the law, on the pretext of morality, ignores the
     negotiations that take place in our line of business. We have to manage those for
     ourselves. Now, old Juliette had a stake in ten or so houses at least, leaving aside
     those in Béziers and Rue d’Antin, which belonged to her outright. Monsieur Charles
     will tell you that we have held a meeting here to discuss the best thing to do
     …’
    The others gravely nodded. Monsieur
     Charles’s pale, hairy hands were flat on the table.
    â€˜The same again, waiter! Do you know
     what the interests concerned amount to, inspector? A little more than three thousand
     grand, that’s to say three million. Well, we don’t want to take risks.
     Apparently there’s no will. Monsieur Charles isn’t anxious to have any
     trouble. So we wanted to ask you what ought to be done. Two people have already been
     trying to find whatever there is to be found. First a man called Monfils; you saw him
     with his boys today. Then the girl’s brother, young Gérard. Both of them would
     like to lay hands on some cash. We’re not saying no, but we need to know who it
     belongs to. Well, that’s the situation. You can’t close down a profitable
     joint just because …’
    The speaker suddenly got to his feet and
     took the inspector by the sleeve. ‘Come this way