Free Félicie by Georges Simenon Page B

straight, confronting him
with a stern expression on her face.
    What on earth is the matter with her now? What is
it that makes her look so different? It’s not because she has been crying that her eyes
look so puffy and her face covered with red blotches.
    As he walks towards her, she says in a voice
which is more acid than ever:
    â€˜Well? Are you satisfied now?’
    â€˜What’s happened? Did you fall down
the stairs?’
    â€˜What’s the point of standing a
policeman outside the house night and day! I assume your guard-dog was asleep on the
job?’
    â€˜Slow down, Félicie, say it more
clearly … You’re not trying to make me believe …’
    â€˜That the murderer came and that he
attacked me? Yes, I am! Isn’t that what you wanted?’
    Maigret was intending to talk to her about
Pétillon and last night’s shooting, but decides that first he’d rather hear
more about what has been going on at Cape Horn.
    â€˜Come and sit yourself down. Here, in the
garden, that’sit! Don’t look so sorry for yourself! …
Now, stay calm, don’t look so fierce, just tell me nicely what happened. When I left you
yesterday evening, you were overwrought. What have you been up to?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ she said disdainfully.
    â€˜Very well, I assume that first you ate
… then you locked up and went upstairs to your room … All right so far? Are you
quite sure you locked the doors?’
    â€˜I always lock the door before I go to
bed.’
    â€˜So you got into bed … What time was
it?’
    â€˜I waited downstairs until the storm had
passed.’
    It was of course true that he had been callous
enough to leave her alone despite her fear of thunder and lightning!
    â€˜Did you drink anything?’
    â€˜Just coffee …’
    â€˜To help you to sleep, no doubt …
What next?’
    â€˜I read.’
    â€˜For a long time?’
    â€˜I don’t know. Maybe until midnight.
I turned the light off. I was sure something terrible was going to happen … I did warn
you.’
    â€˜Now tell me what that something terrible
was.’
    â€˜You’re making fun of me … But
I don’t care … You think you’re so clever, don’t you! … Well, at
some point, I heard a sort of scraping noise coming from Monsieur Lapie’s room
…’
    Of course. Maigret does not believe a word of
what she is telling him and as he listens and observes her, he wonders what she’s up to
with this new fabrication. Lying comesto her as naturally as breathing. The
local police chief at Fécamp had phoned with some information as requested.
    Maigret knows now that Félicie’s
insinuations about the nature of her connection with Jules Lapie were pure invention. Actually
she has a father and mother. Her mother takes in washing, and her father is an old drunk who
roams around the docks, lending a hand here, helping out there, especially when it means being
stood small shots of strong, rotgut brandy. Questioning local men and the most gossipy of the
neighbours yielded nothing: old Lapie had never had any close relations with the laundress. When
he needed someone to keep house for him, his brother, the ship’s carpenter, pointed him in
the direction of Félicie, who used to come sometimes to his place to help with the
housework.
    â€˜Right, so you heard a sort of scraping
sound … Naturally you threw open the window immediately to call the policeman who was
standing guard outside.’
    He has spoken with heavy irony, but she shakes
her head.
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜Because!’
    â€˜Because, I can only suppose, you
didn’t want the man you assumed to be in the room across the landing to be
arrested?’
    â€˜Perhaps!’
    â€˜Go on …’
    â€˜I got out of bed, without making a noise
…’
    â€˜And without putting the light on either, I
expect. Because if you’d