The Hotel Majestic by Georges Simenon

something had happened.”
    â€œWhat did you think had happened?”
    â€œOh well! . . . I thought of the husband . . . I thought that if he had followed her . . .”
    â€œWho took the letter up for you?”
    â€œA bellboy . . . He assured me he had given it to the right person . . . But those boys lie all the time . . . It comes from being with such an odd lot of people . . . And then Clark could have found the letter . . .
    â€œSo—I don’t know if anyone saw me, but I opened nearly all the doors in the basement . . . Of course no one takes much notice of anyone else, so perhaps no one noticed me . . . I went into the cloakroom . . .”
    â€œWas the door of locker 89 really open?”
    â€œNo. I opened all the empty lockers . . . Do you believe me? . . . Will anyone believe me? . . . No, they won’t, will they? . . . And that’s why I didn’t tell the truth . . . I was waiting . . . I hoped no one would pay any attention to me . . . It was only when I saw that I was the only one you weren’t questioning . . . I’ve never felt so awful as I did that day, while you walked up and down in the basement without saying a single word to me, without seeming to see me! . . . I didn’t know what I was doing . . . I forgot the instalment I had to go and pay . . . I came back again . . . Then you joined me in the Bois de Boulogne and I knew you were on my track . . .
    â€œThe next morning, Charlotte said when she woke me up: ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had killed her? . . .’
    â€œSo you see, if even Charlotte . . .”
    It was broad daylight, and Maigret hadn’t noticed. A stream of buses, taxis and delivery vans was going across the bridge. Paris had come to life again.
    Then, after a long silence, and in an even more miserable voice, Prosper Donge mumbled: “The boy doesn’t even speak French! . . . I asked . . . You couldn’t go and see him, superintendent? . . .”
    And suddenly frantic: “No! You’re not going to let him go away again? . . .”
    â€œHello! . . . Superintendent Maigret? . . . The boss’s asking for you . . .”
    Maigret sighed, and went out of his office. It was time to make his report. He was in the head of the Judicial Police’s office for twenty minutes.
    When he got back, Donge was sitting there unmoving, leaning forwards with his arms crossed on the table and his head on his arms.
    The superintendent was worried in spite of himself. But when he touched the prisoner’s arm, he slowly looked up, with no attempt to hide his pockmarked face, which was wet with tears.
    â€œThe magistrate wants to question you again in his office . . . I advise you to repeat exactly what you have told me . . .”
    An inspector was waiting at the door.
    â€œForgive me if . . .”
    Maigret took some handcuffs out of his pocket and there was a double click.
    â€œIt’s the regulation!” he sighed.
    Then, alone in his office once more, he went to open the window and breathed in the damp air. It was a good ten minutes before he went into the inspectors’ office.
    He appeared fresh and rested again, and asked in his usual way: “All right, children?”

6
    CHARLOTTE’S LETTER
    There were two policemen sitting on the bench, leaning against the wall, their arms crossed on their chests, and their booted legs stretched out as far as possible, barring the way down the corridor.
    A low murmur of voices came through the door beside them. And all along the corridor were other doors flanked by benches, on most of which sat policemen, some with a handcuffed prisoner between them.
    It was midday. Maigret was smoking his pipe, waiting to go into examining magistrate Bonneau’s office.
    â€œWhat’s that?” he asked one of the policemen, pointing to the door.
    The reply was as laconic, and as eloquent, as the question: “Jeweller’s in the Rue Saint-Martin . . .”
    A