Free Félicie by Georges Simenon Page A

is
possible to extract information from them.
    â€˜I’ll get a couple of men on it, sir.
Meanwhile, I …’
    There is nothing for it: he is irresistibly drawn
elsewhere. As he has been from the start, from the very first day he set foot in that cardboard
cut-out world of Jeanneville.
    Shouldn’t his reluctance to put a distance
betweenhimself and Cape Horn and the erratic Félicie have been a kind
of warning?
    Events had proved him wrong. All the indications
now are that it is around Place Pigalle that the search for the truth about the death of old
Lapie should be centred.
    â€˜Even so, I’m going back out to the
sticks …’
    Pétillon had just had enough time to tell
him one thing: he wasn’t sleeping with Félicie. He looked totally bewildered when
Maigret talked about her, as if it had never even crossed his mind to think …
    It is now 8.30 a.m. Maigret phones his wife.
    â€˜That you? … No, nothing special
… I don’t know when I’ll be home …’
    She’s used to it. He stuffs the reports
into his pockets. Among them is one from Rouen giving the pedigree of all the girls who work at
the Tivoli. Pétillon did not
go upstairs
with any of them. When he went in, he hid
himself away in a corner. Two of the girls sat down next to him on the crimson plush wall
seat.
    â€˜Isn’t there a girl here called
Adèle?’ he’d asked.
    â€˜You’re behind the times, kid.
Adèle hasn’t been around here for ages. You mean a small, dark-haired girl with boobs
like pears, is that her?’
    He doesn’t know. All he knows is that
he’s looking for a girl called Adèle, who was working in this brasserie the previous
year. She’s been gone for months. No one knows where she is. If he was going to have to go
looking for all the Adèles in all the brothels in France …
    One inspector has been despatched to make a
thorough search of the saxophone player’s room in Rue Lepic.Janvier,
who hasn’t had much of a chance to rest for long, will spend the day in and around Place
Pigalle.
    While that is happening, Maigret has taken the
train at Saint-Lazare station, gets out at Poissy and starts walking up the slope to
Jeanneville.
    It seems that after the previous day’s
storm the fields have become even greener, the sky a more delicate blue. Soon he comes in sight
of the pink houses. He waves at Madame Chochoi, who stares back blankly through her window as he
passes by.
    He goes straight to find Félicie. Why does
he feel so pleased by the prospect? Why does he unconsciously quicken his step? He smiles at the
thought of seeing Lucas’s glum face after an overnight stake-out of Cape Horn. He sees him
from a distance, sitting by the side of the road, an unlit pipe between his teeth. He must be
feeling sleepy. He must be feeling hungry.
    â€˜Had a hard time, Lucas? Anything
happened?’
    â€˜Nothing, sir. But I could fancy a cup of
coffee and bed. The coffee first …’
    His eyes are puffy with lack of sleep, his
overcoat is worn, his shoes and the bottoms of his trousers are covered with reddish mud.
    â€˜Take yourself off to the Anneau
d’Or. There’s been a development.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜The musician’s taken a hit
…’
    It might seem that the inspector is callous, but
Sergeant Lucas is not taken in, and moments later he is walking away, shaking his head.
    Best foot forwards! Maigret
looks all round him with the satisfaction of one who finds himself back in familiar
surroundings, then strides towards the front door of the house. But no. He decides instead to
walk round the building and go in through the garden. He pushes the side-gate … The
kitchen door is open.
    He stands rooted for a moment, stunned by
surprise, and then wonders whether he’s not about to start laughing. Hearing his
footsteps, Félicie has come to the door, where she stands very