Maigret by Georges Simenon Page B

twenty minutes later, he had in his pocket the
     necessary warrants to question Cageot, Audiat, the owner of the Tabac Fontaine,
     Eugène, the fellow from Marseille and the short deaf man.
    Eugène was already in the building
     waiting to see Amadieu, and so was Audiat. Maigret had made him come upstairs,
     where, since early morning, he had been sitting scowling at the end of the corridor
     watching the police officers’ comings and goings.
    At 9.30, inspectors set off to round up
     the others, while Maigret, heavy with sleep, roamed the establishment to which he no
     longer belonged, sometimes pushing open a door, shaking the hand of a former
     colleague or emptying his pipe into the sawdust of one of the spittoons.
    ‘How are you doing?’
    ‘Fine!’ he replied.
    ‘They’re furious, you
     know!’ Lucas whispered.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Amadieu … The chief …’
    And Maigret waited, soaking up the
     atmosphere of the place that had been his home. Ensconced in a red velvet armchair,
     Eugène showed no sign of impatience. On catching sight of Maigret, he even gave a
     cheery half-smile. He was a good-looking fellow, high-spirited and brimming with
     confidence. He exuded health and a happy-go-lucky attitude through every pore, and
     his tiniest movements displayed an almost animal grace.
    An inspector came in from outside and
     Maigret hurried over to him.
    ‘Did you go to
     the garage?’
    ‘Yes. The garage owner says that
     the car was in the garage all night and the night watchman confirms his
     statement.’
    The answer was so predictable that
     Eugène, who must have overheard, did not even bother to smirk.
    It was not long before Louis appeared,
     bleary-eyed, annoyance written all over his face.
    ‘Detective Chief Inspector
     Amadieu!’ he grunted at the office boy.
    ‘Have a seat.’
    Acting as if he didn’t recognize
     Eugène, Louis sat down three metres from him, his hat on his knees.
    Inspector Amadieu called Maigret in and
     once again they found themselves facing each other in the small office overlooking
     the Seine.
    ‘Are your rogues here?’
    ‘Not all of them.’
    ‘Do you want to tell me exactly
     what questions you want me to ask them?’
    The seemingly friendly and deferential
     little phrase sounded so innocent. But it was an affirmation of passive resistance.
     Amadieu knew as well as Maigret that it is impossible to determine in advance the
     questions that will be asked during an interrogation.
    Nevertheless, Maigret dictated a number
     of questions for each witness. Amadieu took notes with the obedience of a secretary
     and with blatant satisfaction.
    ‘Is that all?’
    ‘That’s all.’
    ‘Shall we begin
     right away with the one called Audiat?’
    Maigret shrugged to indicate that he was
     not bothered, and then Amadieu pressed a bell, issuing orders to the inspector who
     appeared. His secretary sat at the end of the desk, with his back to the light,
     while Maigret sat in the darkest corner.
    ‘Have a seat, Audiat, and tell us
     what you were doing last night.’
    ‘I wasn’t doing
     anything.’
    Even though he had the sun in his eyes,
     Audiat had spotted Maigret and managed to glower at him.
    ‘Where were you at
     midnight?’
    ‘I can’t remember. I went to
     the cinema, then I had a drink in a bar in Rue Fontaine.’
    Amadieu glanced at Maigret to
     signal:
    ‘Don’t worry. I’ll
     take your notes into account.’
    And, his pince-nez on his nose, he
     slowly read out:
    ‘What are the names of the friends
     you met in this bar?’
    The battle was lost before it had begun.
     The questioning had got off to a bad start. The inspector sounded as if he was
     trotting out a lesson. Audiat, sensing this, grew increasingly bold.
    ‘I didn’t meet up with any
     friends.’
    ‘And you didn’t even notice
     someone who is here in this room?’
    Audiat turned to Maigret and jerked his
     head in his direction.
    ‘That gentleman maybe. But
     I’m not sure. I didn’t take