Mr Hire's Engagement by Georges Simenon Page A

He raised the ball level with his head and flung it behind him, between his knees.
    'Seven!'
    Everybody was talking at once. They were putting on their jackets and overcoats. They were leaving. Mr. Hire went up to the President's wife.
    'Allow me to offer you . . .'
    He pointed to the turkey.
    'On one condition, that you come along and help us to eat it.'
    'I'm so sorry, I really can't. My duties . . .'
    It was all over. Nobody was paying any more attention to him. Hands were being shaken absentmindedly.
    'See you to-morrow?'
    And the clicking of billiard balls was again the dominant sound. The waiter had switched off half the lights, as they do in a circus the moment the last turn is finished, and the place had the dusty glow and the empty feeling of a circus, too. Mr. Hire, however, had not worked off all that liveliness that seethed within him. He was pacing up and down, unheeded, unnoticed, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and suddenly he came to a stop in front of the inspector, who stood counting the change he had just received from the waiter.
    'Well, my little man?'
    The words came out spontaneously, emphatically, and Mr. Hire's face had a protective look.
    'Funny job I've let you in for, haven't I?'
    In spite of everything his lips were quivering, with excitement rather than fear. The policeman was perhaps equally ill at ease, for after coughing behind his hand, he stuttered:
    'Are you speaking to me?'
    'Joseph, my overcoat!' called Mr. Hire instead of answering.
    The club President took him aside.
    'My wife tells me ... Won't you really take your turkey? Somebody would be glad to have it.. .'
    'No, I assure you . . .' he said, with a chilly smile.
    Nobody could have explained why the evening always finished like this, with a sort of anti-climax. There was only a group of four or five members of the committee left, discussing some new rules. They merely waved good-bye to Mr. Hire from a distance and, as soon as his back was turned, nudged one another, muttered together, called the waiter.
    'Who was that other fellow?'
    'The little bearded chap in the shabby overcoat? A police inspector.'
    They exchanged delighted glances.
    'What did I tell you?'
    Mr. Hire went through the main room with his briefcase under his arm, swimming against the stream. It was the interval at the cinema, and the audience was pouring out into the café. He was jostled, pinned in between people's elbows. He hat was pushed off and he found it three steps further on, balancing on someone's shoulder.
    He stood, hesitating, at the edge of the pavement, in the orange glow from the neon sign. The boulevard was deserted, except for such of the cinema audience as did not want a drink, who were lounging in the shadows, smoking cigarettes and waiting for the bell to ring again.
    A couple of yards further along, also on the edge of the pavement, the inspector was stamping his feet and turning up his overcoat collar, as a cold drizzle was beginning to fall.
    'To the Public Prosecutor…'
    'To the Pub . . .'
    Indecision could be read in Mr. Hire's attitude. From his left came the sound of an engine starting up, and he caught sight of the President of the club and his wife in a shaky little closed car. The turkey, roughly wrapped in a sheet of newspaper, lay in the woman's lap.
    As they went past Mr. Hire, the President waved his hand, but his wife did not even notice.
    In the middle of the boulevard five taxis were waiting, one behind the other, and Mr. Hire beckoned. The first driver got out to crank the engine. The inspector's face clouded.
    'To Villejuif, just beyond the cross-roads. I'll tell you when to stop.'
    The taxi smelt of face-powder and there was a faded carnation lying on the seat. Looking through the closed window, Mr. Hire watched the bearded inspector still hesitating and finally setting out on foot towards the Métro.
    The kummel was giving him heartburn. His knees were shaking, as they did on the first Monday of each month after he