The Shadow Puppet by Georges Simenon; Translated by Ros Schwartz Page A

frosted. The others were clear, transparent, washed two or three times a week
     by the cleaning women.
    There was a clear view of the spot where
     Couchet had been killed, and of Monsieur Philippe signing the typed letters that his
     secretary was handing to him one at a time. He could see the lock on the safe.
    And the communicating door to the
     laboratory stood ajar. Through the laboratory windows, a row of women in white
     overalls, sitting at a massive bench, could be seen packing glass tubes.
    Each woman had a particular task. The
     first took the bare tubes from a basket and the ninth passed the neat packages with
     their patient information leaflets to an office worker, in other words, goods ready
     to be delivered to the pharmacists.
    â€˜Pour him a drink anyway,’
     said Madame Martin’s voice behind Maigret.
    And her husband
     busied himself opening a cupboard with a clinking of glasses.
    â€˜Just a thimbleful of Vermouth,
     Detective Chief Inspector! … No doubt Madame Couchet is able to offer you
     cocktails—’
    And Madame Martin gave a peeved smile,
     as if her lips were barbs.

5. The Madwoman
    Glass in hand, watching Madame Martin
     closely, Maigret said, ‘If only you’d been looking out of the window
     yesterday evening, my investigation would be over! Because from here it is
     impossible not to see everything that goes on in Couchet’s office.’
    His voice and manner contained no
     insinuations. He sipped his Vermouth and carried on chatting.
    â€˜I’d even say that this case
     would have been one of the most unusual instances of witnessing a criminal act.
     Someone who was present at a murder from a distance! What am I saying? With
     binoculars, you’d be able to see the lips of the speakers so clearly that you
     could work out what they were saying.’
    Not knowing what to think, Madame Martin
     remained guarded, a vague smile frozen on her pale lips
.
    â€˜But also, how upsetting for you!
     Standing at your window, minding your own business, and suddenly seeing someone
     threatening your ex-husband! Even worse, for the scenario must have been more
     complicated than that. I can picture Couchet all alone, absorbed in his accounts. He
     gets up and goes to the toilet. When he comes back, someone has ransacked the safe
     but hasn’t managed to get away. But there is one odd detail, which is that
     Couchet sat down again. True, perhaps he knew
the thief? … He speaks to him … He
     chides him, asks him to hand back the money—’
    â€˜The only thing is, I’d have
     had to be at the window,’ said Madame Martin.
    â€˜Perhaps other windows on this
     floor afford the same view? Who lives on your right?’
    â€˜Two girls and their
     mother … The ones who play records every night.’
    Just then came a scream, which Maigret
     had heard before. He said nothing at first, then murmured, ‘That’s the
     madwoman, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Sssh!’ said Madame Martin
     tiptoeing over to the door.
    She flung it open and in the dimly lit
     corridor the shape of a woman beating a hasty retreat could be seen.
    â€˜Old cat!’ grumbled Madame
     Martin loudly enough to be heard by the receding figure.
    Coming back into the room, furious, she
     explained, ‘It’s old Mathilde! A former cook. Did you see her? She looks
     like a fat toad! She lives in the room next door with her sister, who’s mad. I
     don’t know which one’s the ugliest. The mad one hasn’t left her
     room once in all the years we’ve had this apartment.’
    â€˜Why does she scream like
     that?’
    â€˜Why indeed! She screams when
     she’s left alone in the dark. She’s afraid, like a child. She
     screams … I’ve finally worked out what’s going on. From
     morning till night, old Mathilde roams the corridors. You’re bound to come
     across her lurking