Maigret and the Man on the Boulevard by Georges Simenon Page A

crowd! In the end, I managed to spot Monique sitting at a table, but she was on her own. I sat at a table on the opposite side of the room, and had a very nasty meal. The young lady seemed very much on edge, and never stopped glancing toward the door.”
    â€œDid he arrive eventually?”
    â€œNo. She made her food last as long as she could. In a dump of that sort, the meals are served with the utmost speed, and dawdling is frowned on. In the end, she had no choice but to get up and go, but she hung about outside, pacing up and down for nearly a quarter of an hour.”
    â€œWhat happened next?”
    â€œShe was so concerned about the young man, that she didn’t notice me. Next she made for the Boulevard Saint-Michel. I followed her. You know that big corner bookshop, where they have trays of books outside on the pavement?”
    â€œYes, I know the one you mean.”
    â€œWell, she went in there, and spoke to one of the salesmen, who referred her to the cashier. I could see that she was being very persistent, but to no avail. In the end, looking very crestfallen, she left.”
    â€œDidn’t you follow her?”
    â€œI thought I’d do better to concentrate on the young man, so I, in my turn, went into the bookshop, and asked the manager whether he knew anyone of the name of Albert Jorisse. He said yes, he worked in the shop, but only in the mornings. When I expressed surprise, he explained that it was common practice with them, as most of their employees were students, who were unable to work full time.”
    â€œIs Jorisse a student?”
    â€œGive me a chance! I wanted to know how long he’d been working there. The manager had to consult his records. He’s been with the firm for just over a year. At the beginning, he worked full time. Then, after he’d been there for about three months, he said he was going to work for a law degree, and henceforth could only come in in the mornings.”
    â€œDo you know his address?”
    â€œHe lives with his parents in the Avenue de Châtillon, almost opposite the church of Montrouge. But that’s not all. Albert Jorisse didn’t turn up at the shop today. It’s not the first time, it happens two or three times a year, but, up to now, he’s always telephoned to let them know. Today, he didn’t.”
    â€œWas he there yesterday?”
    â€œYes. I thought you’d be interested, so I took a taxi to the Avenue de Châtillon. His parents are thoroughly respectable people. They have a flat on the third floor. It’s spotlessly clean. His mother was busy ironing.”
    â€œDid you tell her you were a police officer?”
    â€œNo. I said her son was a friend of mine, and I needed to see him urgently.”
    â€œDid she suggest you went to the bookshop?”
    â€œExactly. She doesn’t know a thing. He left home this morning at a quarter past eight, as usual. She’s never heard a word about this law degree project. Her husband works for a wholesaler in fabrics in the Rue de la Victoire. They couldn’t afford to pay for a higher education for their son.”
    â€œWhat did you do next?”
    â€œI pretended I thought I was on the wrong tack, and that her son probably wasn’t the Jorisse I was looking for. I asked her whether she had a photograph of her son. She took me to see the one on the dresser in the dining room. She’s a good soul, and she doesn’t suspect a thing. All she ever thinks about is reheating her iron, and making sure she doesn’t scorch the linen. I stayed on for a while, talking sweet nothings…”
    Maigret made no comment, but listened with a marked lack of enthusiasm. It was plain to see that Santoni had not been working under him for long. Everything he said—and even his manner of saying it—was out of tune with the way Maigret’s mind, and indeed the minds of his closest associates, worked.
    â€œOn the way out, taking