The Night at the Crossroads by Georges Simenon

before … So I dragged him along after
me …’
    â€˜Didn’t he swear to you he was innocent?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜You didn’t believe him?’
    â€˜Not at first …’
    â€˜And now?’
    She took her time, pronouncing each syllable distinctly.
    â€˜I believe that, in spite of all his misfortunes, Carl is incapable of deliberately doing anything evil … But listen,
chief inspector, he’ll probably be getting back home soon and if
he finds you here, God knows what he’ll think!’
    And yet, there was something almost flirtatious, if not provocative, about her smile.
    â€˜You will defend him, won’t you? You’ll get him out of all this? I would be so grateful!’
    She held out her hand to him and, as she did so, the peignoir fell slightly open once again.
    â€˜Goodbye, chief inspector.’
    He picked up his hat and sidled from the room.
    â€˜Could you lock the door again, so that he won’t notice anything?’
    A few moments later, Maigret was going downstairs, crossing the drawing room with its motley collection of furniture, stepping out on to the terrace bathed in sunshine that was already warm.
    Cars were humming along the road. The front gate did not creak when he locked it behind him.
    As he passed the garage, a mocking voice called out, ‘Good for you! You’re a brave one, that’s for sure!’
    It was Monsieur Oscar, in a jovial, man-of-the-people mood.
    â€˜Come on!’ he added. ‘Take the plunge and have a drop with me! Those fellows from the prosecutor’s office have already left, so you can easily spare a minute …’
    The chief inspector hesitated, wincing as a mechanic scraped his file across a piece of steel clamped in a vice.
    â€˜Ten litres!’ called a motorist waiting by one of the pumps. ‘Anyone around, in there?’
    Monsieur Michonnet, as yet unshaven and without his
shirt collar, was standing in his tiny garden looking over the fence at the road.
    â€˜Finally!’ exclaimed Monsieur Oscar when Maigret made a move to join him. ‘Plain and simple, that’s how I like folks. Not like that snob at the Three Widows!’

5. The Abandoned Car
    â€˜This way, inspector! … Nothing fancy, eh! This is just a working man’s home here …’
    He pushed open the door of the house behind the garage and they walked directly into a kitchen that must also have served as a dining room, for the breakfast dishes still sat upon the table.
    A woman in a pink housecoat of heavy crêpe stopped polishing a copper tap.
    â€˜Come over here, honey, and meet Detective Chief Inspector Maigret … My wife, inspector! She could afford her own maid, mind you … but then there’d be nothing left to do and she’d be bored!’
    The woman was neither ugly nor pretty. She was about thirty. Her housecoat was cheap-looking and unflattering, and she stood awkwardly before Maigret, watching her husband.
    â€˜Well, go and fetch us an aperitif! … An Export Cassis, chief inspector? … You’d rather we went into the drawing room? No? That’s fine! I never stand on ceremony, myself. Right, honey? … No, not
those ones – get some highball glasses!’
    He leaned back in his chair. He was wearing a pink shirt, no waistcoat, and he slipped his hands inside his belt, cradling his ample belly.
    â€˜Exciting, isn’t she, the lady over at the Three Widows house … Mustn’t make a point of it in front of my wife, but between ourselves, she’s certainly easy on a
man’s eyes. Only problem is, she has a brother … or so
he
says! A “knight of doleful countenance” that one is – and he spends his time spying on her … I’ve even heard it said around here that when he goes off for an hour, he locks her in –
and does the same