Friend of Madame Maigret by Georges Simenon Page A

not paying attention to what was going on around me when I got the impression that someone was touching my casseroles.
    â€œI just had time to see a hand trying to put the metal handle back in position.
    â€œI stood up, turning to face the person next to me. We were pulling in to Montparnasse, where I had to change. Nearly everybody was getting out.
    â€œI don’t know how he did it, but he managed to upset the whole thing and make his way out on to the platform before I could see him full face.
    â€œThe food spilled all over the place. I’ve brought you the casseroles, which are practically empty, except for the bottom one.
    â€œLook at them for yourself. A strip of metal with a handle on top holds the stack together.
    â€œIt can’t open by itself.
    â€œI’m sure somebody was following me and tried to slip some poison into the food meant for Frans.”
    â€œTake it to the laboratory,” said Maigret to Lapointe.
    â€œThey may not find anything, because of course it was the top one they tried to put the poison in and it’s empty. Can’t you believe me just the same, chief inspector? You must have realized that I’ve been honest with you.”
    â€œAlways?”
    â€œAs far as possible. This time Frans’s life is at stake. They’re trying to get rid of him, and those dirty crooks wanted to use me without my knowing it.”
    Her bitterness was brimming over.
    â€œIf only I hadn’t been so absorbed in my paper I might have had a good look at the man. The only thing I know is that he was wearing a raincoat just about the color of mine, and that his black shoes were worn.”
    â€œYoung?”
    â€œNot very young. Not old either. Middle aged. Or rather a man of no particular age, if you know what I mean? There was a stain near the shoulder of his raincoat, I noticed it while he was getting away.”
    â€œTall? Thin?”
    â€œRather small. Average height at the most. Looked like a rat if you want my opinion.”
    â€œAnd you’re sure you’ve never seen him before?”
    She thought for a moment.
    â€œNo. He doesn’t suggest anything.”
    Then, changing her mind:
    â€œNow it’s coming back to me. I was just reading the article with the story of the lady with the little boy at the Hôtel Beauséjour. He made me think of one of those two men, the one the manageress said looked like the type that sells fancy postcards. You’re not laughing at me, are you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou don’t think I’m making it all up?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you think they were trying to kill him?”
    â€œPossibly.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do?”
    â€œI don’t know yet.”
    Lapointe came back and said that the laboratory could not let them have a report for several hours.
    â€œDo you think he’d better stick to prison food?”
    â€œIt would be safer.”
    â€œHe’ll be wondering why I haven’t sent him his meal. I won’t see him till visiting hours in two days’ time.”
    She wasn’t crying, wasn’t making a fuss, but her dark eyes, deeply ringed, were full of anxiety and distress.
    â€œCome with me.”
    He winked at Lapointe, led her downstairs, through corridors that became more and more deserted the farther they went. With some trouble he opened a little window overlooking the yard, where a police van was waiting.
    â€œHe’ll be down in a minute. Will you excuse me? There’s something I must attend to upstairs . . .”
    He made a gesture toward the attic floor.
    Incredulously she watched him, then took hold of the bars with both hands, trying to see as far as possible in the direction from which Steuvels was going to emerge.

5
    It was restful, after leaving the offices where the doors banged incessantly behind inspectors and where all the telephones were ringing simultaneously, to make one’s way, up a permanently