Free Friend of Madame Maigret by Georges Simenon Page B

each time with a big bucket full of ashes.
    â€œShe thought you had been doing some spring cleaning and burning old papers.
    â€œWe have more evidence, from Madame Béguin who lives on the top floor and who states that your chimney smoked incessantly all day Sunday. Black smoke, she specified. At one point she opened her window and noticed an unpleasant smell.”
    â€œIsn’t the old Béguin girl, who is sixty-eight, generally regarded in the neighborhood as not quite all there?” the lawyer interrupted, crushing out his cigarette in the ashtray and taking another from a silver case. “May I also point out that for four days, as the weather reports for February 15, 16, 17, and 18 prove, the temperature in Paris and its surroundings was abnormally low?”
    â€œThat doesn’t explain the teeth. Nor does that explain the presence of the blue suit in the wardrobe or the bloodstains found on it.”
    â€œYou’re making the charge and it’s up to you to prove it. But you’re not even able to prove that the suit actually belongs to my client.”
    â€œMight I ask a question, Monsieur le Juge?”
    The magistrate turned to the lawyer, who had no time to protest, since Maigret, turning to face the Fleming, was already continuing:
    â€œWhen did you first hear of Maître Philippe Liotard?”
    The lawyer stood up to make a retort, and Maigret unperturbed, went on:
    â€œWhen I finished questioning you on the night of your arrest, or rather in the early hours of the morning, and asked you if you wanted the services of a lawyer, you answered affirmatively and nominated Maître Liotard.”
    â€œThe prisoner has an absolute right to choose any lawyer he likes, and if this question is asked again I shall be obliged to bring the matter up before the Bar Council.”
    â€œBring it up then! Bring it up! It’s you I’m talking to, Steuvels. You haven’t answered me.
    â€œIt wouldn’t have been at all surprising if you had mentioned the name of a famous barrister or lawyer, but that’s not the case.
    â€œIn my office you didn’t consult any directory, you didn’t ask anybody any questions.
    â€œMaître Liotard doesn’t live in your neighborhood. I believe that until three weeks ago his name had never appeared in the papers.”
    â€œI protest!”
    â€œPlease do. As for you, Steuvels, tell me whether, on the morning of the twenty-first, before my detective’s visit, you had ever heard of Maître Liotard. If you had, tell me when and where.”
    â€œDon’t answer.”
    The Fleming hesitated, his back hunched, watching Maigret through his thick glasses.
    â€œYou refuse to answer? All right. I’ll ask you something else. Did you receive a telephone call on that same day, the twenty-first, during the afternoon, concerning Maître Liotard?”
    Frans Steuvels was still hesitating.
    â€œOr, if you prefer it, did you ring anybody up? I’m going to take you back to the atmosphere of that day, which had begun just like any other day. The sun was shining, and it was very mild, so you hadn’t lit your furnace. You were at work, facing your window, when my detective appeared and asked to inspect your premises on some pretext or other.”
    â€œSo you admit that!” interrupted Liotard.
    â€œI admit it, Maître. It’s not you I’m interrogating.
    â€œYou immediately realized that the police had their eye on you, Steuvels.
    â€œAt that time there was a brown suitcase in your workshop, which was gone that evening when Inspector Lucas came with a search warrant.
    â€œWho phoned you? Whom did you warn? Who came to see you between the visits of Lapointe and Lucas?
    â€œI’ve had a check made of the list of people you ring up frequently, whose numbers you’ve written down on a pad. I checked your telephone directory myself. Liotard’s name does not appear among those of your