Free Monsieur Pamplemousse on Probation by Michael Bond

là!
’ or two.
    The sunken bath was approached via three marble steps, and behind a glass-panelled wall at its foot he could see a second television receiver in the bedroom, this time on a swivel base so that it could be turned to face whoever was in the bath.
    Entering the next room, Monsieur Pamplemoussetested the springiness of the vast double bed with his hand, then lay back for a moment taking stock of his surroundings. He could get used to this and no mistake. Pommes Frites would be in his element when he saw it.
    On either side of him there were stainless steel panels let into the wall. Closer inspection revealed several rows of buttons controlling the roller blinds, not only in the bedroom itself, but in the other rooms as well. Other buttons operated the lighting system in seemingly endless variations and combinations, as well as the television with its combined video player. Separate knobs controlled temperature and humidity, and as far as he could tell the air conditioning was mercifully silent. On a bad day you need never get up.
    It was a wonder they didn’t make sure you had a degree in electronics before they allowed you in.
    Hearing noises coming from the other room he retraced his steps to the sitting room.
    ‘I’m sorry we’ve been such a long time,’ said Shinko. ‘For some reason best known to himself, Pommes Frites fancied a walk in the snow. He seemed to have a lot of investigating to do.’
    ‘Sometimes,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, ‘he plays his cards close to his chest. He didn’t spend several years in the Paris
Sûreté
for
nothing.’
    ‘Pommes Frites was in the Paris
Sûreté
?’
    ‘We both were,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse proudly. ‘He only left because he was made redundant following a cutback. It was my good fortune that it happened at the same time as I took early retirement and they gave him to me as a leaving present. In his time he was sniffer dog of the year. He won the Pierre Armand Golden Bone trophy.’
    ‘Brilliant!’ The girl gazed at them both with new respect. ‘I tell you something, though. He’ll have to do something about wiping his paws when he comes in. Just look at the trails he’s left.’
    ‘He is tired,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘We both are. We have had a long journey. I wonder … would it be possible to order something? A steak for Pommes Frites and a sandwich or two.’
    ‘Of course. All things are possible.’ She glanced down at Pommes Frites.
    ‘
À point
?’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse shook his head and reached for his wallet again. ‘Given the choice, he prefers it
saignant
.’
    Shinko gave a sudden frown – almost like a nervous tic. ‘This time it really isn’t necessary.’ She was gone before he had time to argue.
    Left to his own devices Monsieur Pamplemousse picked up the nearest telephone, dialled 9 for an outside line, and tried calling Doucette. There wasno answer. Either she was out shopping or she had gone to see her sister in Melun.
    He had no better luck with the Director.
    Véronique was
désolée
. ‘He left early. He’s been like a cat on hot bricks all day. You could try reaching him on his mobile. He was asking earlier if you had rung in yet.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse glanced at his watch. It was approaching the hour of
affluence
and he had no wish to embark on long explanations if Monsieur Leclercq was battling with the rush hour traffic. He had a habit of disappearing into tunnels just at the crucial moment and then being tetchy when he came out the other end having missed half the conversation.
    ‘If he asks again, tell him I’m at the hotel and I’ll try later.’
    Feeling strangely deflated, Monsieur Pamplemousse switched on the television and set about doing his unpacking.
    Picking up the remote control, he flipped through the channels as he came and went. There was nothing he wanted to see. The Sports Channel was showing tennis from goodness knew where. Not only was the world shrinking at an