Free The Shadow Puppet by Georges Simenon; Translated by Ros Schwartz

came as seldom as possible. Leaning against the half-open safe, his
     hands on the table.
    Nobody had noticed or heard anything.
     The concierge, crossing the courtyard, had seen him sitting in the same place as
     usual behind the frosted glass, but she was mainly concerned about Madame de
     Saint-Marc, who was giving birth.
    The madwoman upstairs had screamed! In
     other words, old Mathilde, padding around in felt slippers, had been concealed
     behind a door on the landing.
    Monsieur Martin, in his putty-coloured
     overcoat, had come downstairs to hunt for his glove by the dustbins.
    One thing was
     certain: right now, someone had the stolen 360,000 francs in their possession!
    And someone had committed a murder!
    â€˜All men are self-centred!’
     Madame Martin had said bitterly, with her pained expression.
    Was she the one who had the 360 brand
     new thousand-franc notes handed over by the Crédit Lyonnais? Did she now have money,
     a lot of money, a whole wad of fat notes promising years of comfort with no worries
     about the future or about the pension she would receive on Martin’s death?
    Was it Roger, with his puny body,
     ravaged by ether, and that Céline he’d picked up to moulder away with him in
     the dampness of a hotel bed?
    Was it Nine, or Madame Couchet?
    In any case, there was one place from
     which the whole thing could have been witnessed: the Martins’ apartment.
    And there was a woman prowling around
     the building, loitering in the corridors, listening at every keyhole.
    â€˜I’d better pay old Mathilde
     a visit!’ thought Maigret.
    But when he arrived at Place des Vosges
     the next morning, the concierge, who was sorting the post (a big pile for the
     Couchet laboratory and only a handful of letters for the other residents),
     intercepted him.
    â€˜Are you on your way up to the
     Martins’? I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Madame Martin was taken
     very ill last night. We had to call the doctor out urgently. Her husband is out of
     his mind.’
    The laboratory staff were crossing the
     courtyard on
their way to the offices and
     the lab. At a first-floor window, a manservant was shaking rugs.
    A baby could be heard wailing and a
     nanny was crooning monotonously.

6. A Raging Fever
    â€˜Sssh! … She’s
     asleep … Come in anyway.’
    Monsieur Martin stood aside, resigned.
     Resigned to showing his home in a state of disorder. Resigned to showing himself
     ungroomed, his moustache drooping, a greenish colour, which betrayed the fact that
     it was dyed.
    He had sat up with his wife all night.
     He was worn out, listless.
    He tiptoed over to close the door that
     communicated with the bedroom, through which Maigret glimpsed the foot of the bed
     and a bowl on the floor.
    â€˜The concierge told
     you?’
    He whispered, glancing anxiously at the
     door. As he spoke, he turned off the gas ring on which he had been making
     coffee.
    â€˜Some coffee?’
    â€˜No thank you. I shan’t
     disturb you for long. I wanted to inquire after Madame Martin.’
    â€˜You’re too kind!’
     said Martin emphatically.
    He really did not suspect any ulterior
     motive. He was so distraught that he must have lost his critical faculties, although
     it was not certain he had ever possessed any.
    â€˜It’s terrible, these
     attacks she has! Would you excuse me for drinking my coffee in front of
     you?’
    He grew flustered
     on noticing that his braces were flapping against his calves. He hastily adjusted
     his clothes and removed the bottles of medicine that were sitting on the table.
    â€˜Does Madame Martin often suffer
     these attacks?’
    â€˜No. And especially not as violent
     as this. She’s very highly strung. When she was a girl, apparently she had
     nervous fits every week.’
    â€˜And still does?’
    Martin gave him a hangdog look, barely
     daring to admit, ‘I have to make allowances