The Hotel Majestic by Georges Simenon Page B

of course . . . He narrowly escapes being sent to a remand home and is put on probation for two years . . .”
    The odd thing was that, while the magistrate was saying all this, Maigret kept thinking: “Where the devil did I see that . . . ?”
    And he wasn’t thinking of Donge, but of the boy who had come out as he went in.
    â€œFifteen years later, in Cannes, three months’ suspended sentence for criminal assault, and insulting behaviour to a policeman . . . And now, superintendent, perhaps it’s time I showed you something . . .”
    At which he held out a bit of squared paper like that sold in small shops or used as bill chits in small cafés. The text was written in violet ink, with a spluttery pen, and the writing was that of an ill-educated woman.
    It was the famous anonymous letter which had been sent to the magistrate, informing him about Prosper and Mimi’s affair.
    â€œHere is the envelope . . . As you see, it was posted between midnight and six in the morning in the postbox in the Place Clichy . . . Place Clichy, you note . . . Now, take a look at this exercise book . . .”
    A rather grubby school exercise book, covered with grease marks. It contained cooking recipes—some cut from newspapers and stuck in, others copied out.
    This time, Maigret frowned, and the magistrate couldn’t disguise a triumphant smile.
    â€œYou would agree that it’s the same writing? . . . I felt sure you would . . . Well, superintendent, this exercise book was taken from the dresser in a kitchen which you already know, in Saint-Cloud—at Prosper Donge’s house, in fact—and these recipes were copied out by a certain Charlotte . . .”
    He was so pleased with himself that he made a show of apologizing.
    â€œI know the police and ourselves don’t always see things in quite the same light . . . At the Quai des Orfèvres, you have a certain sympathy for a particular kind of person, for certain irregular situations, which we as magistrates have difficulty in sharing . . . Admit, superintendent, it is not always we who are wrong . . . And tell me why, if this Prosper is the upright man he appears, his own mistress, this Charlotte who also pretends to be such a good sort, should send me an anonymous letter to destroy him?”
    â€œI don’t know . . .”
    Maigret seemed completely bowled over.
    â€œThis case can be tidied up quite quickly now. I’ve sent Donge to the Santé prison. When you’ve interrogated the woman, Charlotte . . . As for the second crime, it can easily be explained . . . The poor night porter . . . Colleboeuf, I believe? . . . must have been party to the first crime . . . At any rate he knew who the murderer of Mrs. Clark was . . . He couldn’t rest all day . . . And finally no doubt, tortured by indecision, he came back to the Majestic to warn the murderer that he was going to denounce him . . .”
    The telephone rang.
    â€œHello! Yes . . . I’ll come at once . . .”
    And to Maigret: “It’s my wife, to remind me that we have some friends coming to luncheon . . . I will leave you to your inquiry, superintendent . . . I think you now have enough leads to go on . . .”
    Maigret was almost at the door, when he came back, with the look of someone who has at last pinned down what he had been trying to remember for some time.
    â€œAbout Fred, sir . . . It was Fred-the-Marseillais you were interrogating when I arrived, wasn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s the sixth time I’ve interrogated him without discovering the names of his accomplices . . .”
    â€œI met Fred about three weeks ago, at Angelino’s in the Place d’Italie . . .”
    The magistrate stared at him, clearly unable to see the relevance of this remark.
    â€œAngelino, who has a ‘club’ frequented by rather dubious types, has been going with the sister of Harry-the-Squint for a year . . .”
    The magistrate