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

behind a door. And when you catch her, she’s not even
     embarrassed … She wanders off with her ugly, placid grin. You don’t
     feel at home here any more,
you have to
     talk in whispers if you want to discuss private matters. I just caught her at it,
     didn’t I? Well, I bet she’s already back.’
    â€˜It’s not very
     pleasant,’ agreed Maigret. ‘But can’t the landlord do anything
     about it?’
    â€˜He’s done his best to throw
     them out, but unfortunately there are laws. To say nothing of the fact that
     it’s both unhealthy and repugnant, those two old women in one tiny room! I bet
     they never wash.’
    Maigret had grabbed his hat.
    â€˜Forgive me for having disturbed
     you. It’s time for me to go.’
    Now he had a clear picture of the
     apartment in his mind, from the doilies to the calendars on the walls.
    â€˜Be very quiet and you’ll
     catch the old lady at it.’
    That was not entirely the case. She
     wasn’t in the corridor, but behind her half-open door, like a plump spider
     waiting to ambush her prey. She must have been disconcerted when the inspector
     greeted her politely as he walked past.
    Aperitif time found Maigret sitting in
     the Select, not far from the American bar where all the talk was of horse-racing.
     When the waiter came over, he showed him the photo of Roger Couchet, which he had
     ‘borrowed’ from the young man that morning.
    â€˜Do you know this young
     man?’
    The waiter looked surprised.
    â€˜That’s strange.’
    â€˜What’s strange?’
    â€˜He left
     not even fifteen minutes ago. He was sitting at this table! I wouldn’t have
     noticed him except that instead of telling me what he wanted to drink, he said,
     “Same as yesterday”! But I didn’t recall seeing him, so I said,
     “Can you remind me what that was?” “A gin-fizz, remember?”,
     and that’s the oddest part. Because I’m sure I didn’t serve a
     single gin-fizz yesterday evening.
    â€˜He stayed for a few minutes and
     then he left … It’s strange that you should come in just now and
     show me his photograph.’
    It wasn’t strange at all. Roger
     had been determined to establish that he had been at the Select
the previous
     evening, as he had told Maigret. He had used quite a clever trick but his mistake
     had been to choose a drink that was out of the ordinary.
    A few minutes later, Nine came in,
     looking downcast, and sat at the table closest to the bar. Then, spotting Maigret,
     she rose, dithered, and came over to him.
    â€˜Did you want to talk to
     me?’ she asked.
    â€˜Not especially. Actually yes!
     I’d like to ask you a question. You come here almost every evening,
     don’t you?’
    â€˜Raymond always asked me to meet
     him here.’
    â€˜Do you have a regular
     table?’
    â€˜Over there, where I sat when I
     came in.’
    â€˜Were you there
     yesterday?’
    â€˜Yes, why?’
    â€˜And do you remember seeing the
     original of this portrait?’
    She looked at the photo of Roger and
     murmured, ‘But that’s my next-door neighbour!’
    â€˜Yes,
     he’s Couchet’s son.’
    Troubled by this coincidence, her eyes
     opened wide as she wondered what it meant.
    â€˜He came over shortly after you
     left this morning. I’d just got back from the Moulin
     Bleu
.
’
    â€˜What did he want?’
    â€˜He asked me if I had an aspirin
     for Céline, who was ill.’
    â€˜And did they hire you at the
     theatre?’
    â€˜I have to go there this evening.
     One of the dancers is injured. If she’s not better, I’ll stand in for
     her and perhaps they’ll give me a permanent job.’
    She lowered her voice and went on,
     ‘I have the hundred francs. Give me your hand.’
    And that gesture revealed her entire
     character. She didn’t