Free Maigret in New York by Georges Simenon

don’t know a thing. I’ve no right to get mixed
up in anything. I’ve a good mind to tell you not to either, but it would clearly be
useless.’
    ‘True.’
    ‘Good luck. Call me if there’s any news. I might
just happen to run into whichever of my colleagues in the city police is in charge of this case.
I don’t yet know who’s been assigned to it. It’s also possible that, during our conversation, he
might tell me a few little things that might interest you. I’m not inviting you to lunch today
because I’ll be having lunch shortly with two of my superiors.’
    It was a far cry from the two men’s first meeting
and their good-humoured, even joking conversation.
    Now they both had heavy hearts. That street up in
the Bronx, with its Italian shops, its neighbourly life, the children running around, where an
old man toddled along on his walk and a car shot savagely forwards …
    Maigret almost went into a cafeteria for a bite,
but, as he was not far from the St Regis, he suddenly thought of the bar. He was not expecting
anything to happen, except perhaps to see MacGill, who’d seemed fond of going there at cocktail
time.
    And he was there, in fact, with quite a pretty
woman. Catching sight of the inspector, he rose halfway in greeting.
    Then
he must have said something to his companion, because she began staring curiously at Maigret
while smoking her lipstick-stained cigarette.
    Either MacGill knew nothing or he was remarkably
cool-headed, for he seemed very relaxed. As Maigret sat on alone at the bar with his drink,
MacGill abruptly decided to excuse himself to his companion and go over to the inspector,
holding out his hand.
    ‘I’m rather glad to see you, actually, because
after what happened yesterday, I’d intended to speak to you.’
    Maigret had pretended not to see the proffered
hand, which the secretary finally put in his pocket.
    ‘Little John’s behaviour towards you was rude and
very clumsy. That’s in fact what I wanted to say: he’s more tactless than mean-spirited. For a
long time he’s been used to everyone’s complete obedience, and the slightest obstacle or
opposition irritates him. And then where his son is concerned, his feelings are very private –
if you like, they’re the intimate, secret part of his life he keeps jealously to himself. That’s
why he became angry watching you take an interest in this business despite his objections.
    ‘I can tell you in confidence that ever since
your arrival, he’s been moving heaven and earth trying to find Jean Maura.
    ‘And he will find him, because he has the means
to do so.
    ‘In France, no doubt, where you could be of some
help to him, he would accept your assistance. Here, in a city you don’t know …’
    Maigret was absolutely still. He seemed as impassive as a
wall.
    ‘So, I do hope that you—’
    ‘Will accept your apologies,’ the inspector added
calmly.
    ‘… And his.’
    ‘Was he the one who told you to offer them to
me?’
    ‘What I mean is—’
    ‘That the two of you are anxious, for the same
reasons or for different ones, to see me go somewhere else.’
    ‘If you’re going to take it like that
…’
    And, turning back to the bar to pick up his
glass, a surly Maigret replied, ‘I’ll take it any way I please.’
    When he looked in their direction again, he saw
MacGill sitting next to the blonde American, who was asking him questions he obviously had no
desire to answer.
    The young man looked gloomy, and when the
inspector left he felt MacGill gazing after him with both anguish and resentment.
    So much the better!
    Sent on from the St Regis, a cable awaited him
at the Berwick. Ronald Dexter was there as well, waiting patiently for him on a bench in the
lobby. The message read:
Received cable excellent news Jean Maura stop
will explain situation your return stop investigation pointless now stop expect you next boat
stop
    Yours sincerely
    François d’Hoquélus
    Maigret folded the yellow paper into a small