Friend of Madame Maigret by Georges Simenon Page B

always been on good terms with the police, haven’t you? The Hotels Section doesn’t bother you too much?”
    â€œI get you. But I don’t know any more.”
    â€œGood morning.”
    He and Lapointe were back on the sunny pavement in the midst of the bustle.
    â€œA little drink?” suggested the chief inspector.
    â€œI don’t drink.”
    â€œYou’re quite right. Have you thought things over in the meantime?”
    The young man realized that he wasn’t talking about what they had just found out at the hotel.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œI’ll speak to her tonight.”
    â€œDo you know who it is?”
    â€œI have a friend who’s a reporter on the same paper that printed that story this morning, but I didn’t see him yesterday. Anyway, I never talk to him about what goes on at the Quai, and he often teases me about that.”
    â€œDoes your sister know him?”
    â€œYes. I didn’t think they were going around together. If I tell my father, he’ll make her go back to Meulan.”
    â€œWhat’s the reporter’s name?”
    â€œBizard. Antoine Bizard. He’s on his own in Paris too. His family lives in Corrèze. He’s two years younger than me, and some of his articles carry his own byline already.”
    â€œDo you meet your sister at lunchtime?”
    â€œIt depends. When I’m free and not too far from the rue du Bac I go to lunch with her in a snack bar near her office.”
    â€œGo and meet her today. Tell her what we found out this morning.”
    â€œShould I really?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat if she passes this on too?”
    â€œShe will pass it on.”
    â€œIs that what you want her to do?”
    â€œGo ahead. But be sure to be nice to her. Don’t let it look as if you’re suspicious of her.”
    â€œBut I can’t have her going out with a young man. My father told me to be sure . . .”
    â€œGo on.”
    Maigret walked down the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette just for the pleasure of walking and took a taxi only at the Faubourg Montmartre after dropping into a bar for a glass of beer.
    â€œQuai des Orfèvres.”
    Then he changed his mind, rapped on the glass.
    â€œGo by way of the rue de Turenne.”
    He saw Steuvels’s shop with its door shut, as it was every morning now, for Fernande must have been on her way to the Santé with her set of casseroles.
    â€œStop a minute.”
    Janvier was at the bar of the Grand Turenne and, recognizing him, gave him a wink. What new check-up had Lucas assigned to him? He was deep in conversation with the cobbler and two plasterers in white overalls, and the milky tint of their Pernods was recognizable even at a distance.
    â€œTurn left. Drive through the place des Vosges and the rue de Birague.”
    This meant passing the Tabac des Vosges, where Alfonsi was sitting alone at a little table near the window.
    â€œAre you getting out?”
    â€œYes. Wait for me a minute.”
    It was the Grand Turenne he entered, after all, to have a word with Janvier.
    â€œAlfonsi’s across the street. Have you seen any newspapermen over there this morning?”
    â€œTwo or three.”
    â€œKnow them?”
    â€œNot all.”
    â€œHave you got much more to do?”
    â€œNothing very serious. And if you have anything else for me, I’m free. I just wanted to talk to the cobbler.”
    They were a good distance away from the group and were speaking in lowered voices.
    â€œSomething occurred to me just now, after I read the story. The old chap talks far too much, you know. He’s determined to be somebody and he’d make things up if necessary. Besides, every time he finds something to tell it means a few drinks for him. Seeing that he lives right opposite Steuvels’s studio and works in his window too, I asked him whether any women ever came to see the bookbinder.”
    â€œWhat did