Free The Yellow Dog by Georges Simenon Page A

was Le Pommeret’s miserable death …
    â€˜Why him? Why not me? We were together two hours earlier, at the same table, with the same glasses in front of us … I had a premonition that if I left the hotel I’d be next. I felt the circle tightening around me, that even in
the hotel, even locked in my room, danger was tracking me down …
    â€˜I felt a kind of thrill when I saw you sign the warrant for my arrest. And yet …’ He looked at the walls around him, at the window with three iron bars that opened on the courtyard. ‘I’ll have to move my bunk, push it
into that corner … How, yes, how in the world could someone tell me about a yellow dog five years ago, when this dog here was probably not even born? … I’m afraid, inspector! I admit that. I tell you I’m afraid! I don’t care what people think when they
hear I’m in jail. The only thing I care about is not dying. And someone’s after me, someone I don’t know, and who’s already killed Le Pommeret, who probably killed Goyard, who shot Mostaguen … Why? Tell me! Why? It must be some maniac. And they still
haven’t managed to wipe him out! He may be lurking nearby right now! He knows I’m here … He’ll come, with his awful dog that stares like a man!’
    Maigret slowly stood up, knocked his pipe against his heel.
    And the doctor repeated in a pitiful tone, ‘I know you
think I’m a coward. It’s going to be hell for me tonight, with this kidney …’
    Maigret stood there like the antithesis of the prisoner – of agitation, fever, sickness – the antithesis of that unwholesome and repellent terror. ‘Do you want me to send a doctor?’
    â€˜No! If I knew someone was supposed to come here, I’d be even more frightened. I’d be worried that
he
might turn up – the man with the dog, the maniac, the murderer.’
    Before long his teeth would start to chatter. ‘Do you think you’ll arrest him? Or will you just kill him, like a mad dog? Because he is mad! Nobody kills the way he has for no reason!’
    In another three minutes the doctor’s frenzy would turn into a nervous breakdown. Maigret chose to leave, and the prisoner gazed after him, his head huddled between his shoulders, his eyelids red.
    â€˜Is that perfectly clear, sergeant? No one is to enter his cell except you, and you yourself are to take him his food and whatever else he needs. Meanwhile, take away anything he could use to kill himself with – his shoelaces, his tie. See
that the courtyard is under surveillance day and night. And show consideration – the utmost consideration.’
    â€˜Such a distinguished man!’ sighed the sergeant. ‘You think he’s the one who—’
    â€˜Who might be the next victim, yes. So you’ll answer to me for his life!’
    Maigret went off down the narrow street, splashing through the puddles. The whole town knew him by now. Curtains parted as he passed. Children broke off their games to watch him with timid respect.
    He was crossing the drawbridge between the Old Town and the new when he ran into Leroy, who was looking for him.
    â€˜Anything new? I don’t suppose they’ve laid hands on my bear, have they?’
    â€˜What bear?’
    â€˜The man with the big feet.’
    â€˜No. The mayor gave orders to stop the search because it was upsetting the public. He placed a few policemen at strategic spots … But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s the newspaperman, Goyard, Jean
Servières. A travelling salesman who knows him just got into town, and he says he ran across him yesterday in Brest. Goyard pretended not to see him and walked off.’
    Leroy was surprised at how calmly Maigret took the news. ‘The mayor is convinced that the salesman was mistaken. He says there are plenty of