A Man's Head by Georges Simenon

alleyway a
metre wide and from there he climbed over a wall. Then I realized he’d gone into a small outhouse where they probably keep animals.’
    â€˜Is that everything?’
    â€˜More or less. Half an hour later, old man Heurtin came out to pin back the shutters and open the shop. He seemed pretty unconcerned. I went in for a drink, and he didn’t seem upset in any way. On the way there, I’d been lucky
enough to come across a gendarme on a bike. I asked him to let one tyre down and use that as an excuse to wait inside for me to come back.’
    â€˜Good!’
    â€˜Is that what you think? It’s obvious you weren’t the one who got covered in mud. My shoes are all mushy, like poultices. My shirt must be wet through. So what do I do now?’
    â€˜It goes without saying that you weren’t carrying a case with a quick change of clothes?’
    â€˜If I’d had to carry a case as well! …’
    â€˜Go back there. Say anything, say you’re waiting for a friend you’ve arranged to meet there.’
    â€˜Will you be coming?’
    â€˜No idea. But if Heurtin gets away yet again, it’s very likely I’ll explode.’
    Maigret hung up and looked idly around him. He called to the office clerk through the half-open door:
    â€˜Listen, Jean. When I’ve gone, I want you to phone Monsieur Coméliau and tell him … er … tell him that everything is going well, and that I’ll keep him informed … Got that? … And be
nice … Use all the polite words you can think of.’
    At eleven o’clock he was getting out of a taxi at the Coupole. The first person he saw as he pushed the door open was Inspector Janvier, who, like all rookies, thought he could convey a casual air by hiding three-quarters of his person
behind an open newspaper without ever turning the pages.
    In the corner opposite sat Jean Radek who was absently stirring his coffee with a spoon.
    He was clean shaven and wearing a clean shirt. It was just possible that his curly hair had had a comb passed through it.
    But the main impression he gave was one of intense inner jubilation.
    The bartender had recognized Maigret and was readying himself to tip him off.
    Behind his newspaper Janvier was also miming madly.
    But Radek made their efforts unnecessary by calling out to Maigret directly:
    â€˜Would you like a drink?’
    He had half risen from his seat. He was barely smiling, but there was no part of his face that did not proclaim the presence of a sharply intelligent mind.
    Maigret walked over to him, thick-set and ponderous, grabbed the back of a chair with a hand capable of pulverizing it and sat down heavily.
    â€˜Back already?’ he said, but his eyes were elsewhere.
    â€˜Your colleagues were very helpful. It seems I won’t have to appear before a justice of the peace for a fortnight, because the courts are so overloaded … Look, it’s too late now for coffee. What would you say to a glass
of vodka and caviar sandwiches? Bartender!’
    The bartender flushed until even his ears were red. He was visibly unsure about serving this very strange customer.
    â€˜I do hope that you’re not going to make me pay in advance again. As you see, I’m with someone,’ Radek went on.
    And to Maigret he explained:
    â€˜These people just do not understand … Imagine, when I got here, he refused to serve me. He didn’t say anything but went and fetched the manager. The manager asked me to leave. I was forced to lay down money on the table.
Don’t you find that amusing?’
    He spoke the words solemnly, in a faraway voice.
    â€˜You will note that if I were some common swindler type, like one of those gigolos you probably spotted here yesterday, I’d be given any amount of credit. But I’m not just anybody! So you get my drift, inspector? We’ll have
to thrash it out one of these